TALES 
 
 POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
SOOHRAB AND GURD-AFREED. 
 
 DRAWN BY \V. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., J.MiUUI.H "\ \\ooi. |jy Q, 15\\Ti:K. 
 
 i>i lu.iMirn i',\ \\ HI rrxKi-.u AND co. 
 
TALES 
 
 AND 
 
 POPULAR FICTIONS; 
 
 THEIR RESEMBLANCE, 
 
 AND 
 
 TRANSMISSION FROM COUNTRY TO COUNTRY, 
 
 BY 
 
 THOMAS KEIGHTLEY, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' OUTLINES OF HISTORY,' * THE CRUSADERS,' ETC. 
 
 'Fore God, they are both in a tale ! " 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 
 
 
 UNIV 
 
 LONDON: 
 WHITTAKER AND CO., AVE-MARIA LANE. 
 
 1834. 
 
GENERAL 
 
 PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR, RFD LION COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
ROBERT SOUTHEY, ESQ. LL.D. 
 
 POET LAUREATE, ETC. 
 
 THE POET, 
 THE HISTORIAN, THE CRITIC, 
 
 .AND 
 THE MAN OF UNBLEMISHED LIFE, 
 
 THIS VOLUME 
 
 IS INSCRIBED. 
 
 109512 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 CHANCE led me to write this work; and 'to 
 print, or not to print,' in days like these, was a 
 question I debated for some time. The die is now 
 cast, the work is lying before me in sheets ; and 
 as I look at them, I cannot refrain from passing 
 mentally in review the various divisions of my 
 future readers. 
 
 First then, in fancy, I behold a band of youth- 
 ful students, aged ten years and upwards, eager 
 to gaze on pretty wood-cuts, to learn how Prince 
 Cleomades carried off the Princess Claremond, 
 and to fathom the mysteries of the Giant-killer, 
 and of Whittington's Cat. My eye next rests on 
 a train of fair and accomplished ladies, whose 
 studies go beyond the mere novel, and who have 
 a taste for the light kind of philosophy here to be 
 found. I lastly view grave philosophers and men 
 of learning, who know that even here there is 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 philosophy, and that a few hours devoted to Po- 
 pular Fictions may not prove misspent. 
 
 Such, with those who have read and been 
 pleased with my other works, will be my corps 
 d'armee : there will, of course, be some stragglers 
 from other quarters, but on these alone I reckon 
 with any confidence. Thus I give up all hopes of 
 the lovers of excitement and breathless interest, 
 my work being rather placid and sedative in its 
 nature ; and to the supercilious disciples of Uti- 
 lity I cry with the Sibyl, * Procul, O procul este, 
 
 profani totoque absistite libro ! ' for here is 
 
 nothing for you, nothing about rail-ways, corn- 
 laws, circulating medium, or anything that is 
 useful." 
 
 Without meaning to disparage my other works, 
 I may state that this has had advantages which 
 they have not enjoyed. It was written at perfect 
 leisure, from materials which had gradually col- 
 lected in my mind, and more than a year before it 
 was sent to press ; and I had some most important 
 aid. I am therefore disposed to regard it as my 
 least imperfect work, and feel that I have no right 
 to ask for any indulgence at the hands of the cri- 
 tics. My literary sins are all premeditated; tastes 
 differ, and here it may be seen how / think Popu- 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 lar Fictions should be treated. The manner being 
 therefore somewhat desultory, and the matter va- 
 rious, I would advise those who read for mere 
 amusement to begin at the second and to skip 
 over the eighth chapter. They cannot then com- 
 plain of my having deceived them. 
 
 Be the reception of this volume what it may, 
 I think I can assure my readers that it is the 
 last time we shall meet upon this ground. I 
 have here, and in the Fairy Mythology, contri- 
 buted my full quota on the subjects of popular 
 fiction and superstition ; the days when inquiries 
 respecting them could attract the general ear are 
 departed, perhaps never to return, and graver 
 studies now demand my attention. I have, I be- 
 lieve, made some few discoveries ; and my name 
 may, possibly, be mentioned by future critics and 
 commentators. Small, however, in any case, is 
 the portion of fame to which I can aspire. 
 
 Nothing to me is more delightful than the ac- 
 knowledgement of favours and kindness. In the 
 preface to my Fairy Mythology, I had to regret my 
 total want of acquaintance with the learned and 
 the ingenious. My case is widely different now, 
 and I could produce a very creditable list of lite- 
 rary friends. Of these I will venture to mention 
 
X PREFACE. 
 
 two, namely, Francis Douce, Esq. and Sir Frede- 
 rick Madden, as, from them I have received most 
 valuable aid. To enjoy the advantage of Mr. 
 Douce's conversation, to be permitted to draw ad 
 libitum on his stores of knowledge, and to have 
 the command of his noble library, are privileges 
 of no common order. 
 
 Nor must I, while speaking of friends and obli- 
 gations, omit my excellent friend and countryman, 
 W. H. Brooke, Esq., whose elegant and fanciful 
 designs, exhibited to such advantage as they are 
 by the admirable wood-engraving of Mr. Baxter, 
 will, I am inclined to think, form the greatest at- 
 traction of my volume. Specimens of art to equal 
 these are not of common occurrence ; and I must 
 particularly call attention to the beautiful manner 
 in which Mr. Baxter has printed them. It will 
 give me much and sincere pleasure to see the fame 
 of both artist and engraver widely diffused. 
 
 T. K. 
 
 London, January 1st, 1834. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Page. 
 
 INTRODUCTION Similarity of Arts and Customs 
 Similarity of Names Origin of the Work Imi- 
 tation Casual coincidence Milton Dante ... 1 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 The Thousand and One Nights Bedoween Au- 
 dience around a Story-teller Cleomades and 
 Claremond Enchanted Horses Peter of Pro- 
 vence and the Fair Maguelone 31 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The Pleasant Nights The Dancing Water, the 
 Singing Apple, and the Beautiful Green Bird 
 The Three Little Birds Lactantius Ulysses 
 and Sindbad 91 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Shah-Nameh Roostem and Soohrab Con- 
 loch and Cuchullin Macpher son's Ossian 
 Irish Antiquities 129 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Pentamerone Tale of the Serpent Hindoo 
 Legend 183 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Jack the Giant-Killer The Brave Tailorling 
 Thor's Journey to Utgard Ameen of Isfahan 
 and the Ghool The Lion and the Goat The 
 Lion and the Ass 205 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Whittington and his Cat Danish Legends Ita- 
 lian Stories Persian Legend 241 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 The Edda Sigurd and Brynhilda Volund Helgi 
 Holger Danske Ogier le Danois Toko 
 William Tell 267 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Peruonto Peter the Fool Emelyan the Fool 
 Conclusion 303 
 
 APPENDIX 337 
 
ENGRAVINGS. 
 
 N.B. The References are to the Pages from which the Subjects are taken. 
 
 Page. 
 I. Combat of Soohrab and Gurd-afreed 142 
 
 II. Bedoweens round a Story-teller 34 
 
 III. Cleomades and Claremond carried off on 
 
 the Enchanted Horse 56 
 
 IV. Serena taking the Green Bird 106 
 
 V. Death of Soohrab 160 
 
 VI. The Serpent embracing the Princess Gran- 
 
 nonia 190 
 
 VII. The Tailorling seeing the Giant 209 
 
 VIII. Ansaldo's Cats at the Court of Canary 255 
 
 IX. Descent of the Valkyrias 275 
 
 X. The Princess Vastolla enclosed in the Cask . 311 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 Page 132, line 18, for descriptive read deceptive. 
 261, 18, for Aquilina read Aquileia. 
 282, 23, for Sorv ... Antoeor read Sorde ... Antvor. 
 
TALES 
 
 POPULAR FICTIONS, 
 
 RESEMBLANCE AND TRANSMISSION. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 INTRODUCTION SIMILARITY OF ARTS AND CUSTOMS 
 
 SIMILARITY OF NAMES ORIGIN OF THE WORK IMI- 
 TATION CASUAL COINCIDENCE MILTON DANTE. 
 
 MANY years ago I chanced to read in a news- 
 paper an interesting account of the loss of a ship ; 
 but in what part of the world it occurred, I am 
 now unable to recollect. The narrative stated, 
 that the crew and passengers saved themselves on 
 two desert islets at some distance from each other. 
 They remained for some time separate ; at length 
 they joined, and made their way to a friendly port. 
 To their no small surprise, they found that during 
 their state of separation they had fallen on pre- 
 cisely the same expedients for the supply of their 
 
TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 wants. As they had been in a state of nearly total 
 destitution, the vessel having gone down, these ex- 
 pedients were necessarily various and numerous, 
 and many of them were remarkably ingenious. 
 
 This little narrative made a strong impression 
 on my mind. I often reflected on it : I compared 
 with' it other phenomena as they presented them- 
 selves, and insensibly fell into the habit of view- 
 ing man as :in inventive and independent, rather 
 than a merely imitative being. 
 
 Aristotle and his authority is high with me 
 asserts, in his Politics, that "forms of govern- 
 ment, and most other things, have been invented 
 over and over again, or rather an infinite number 
 of times, in the long course of ages ; for necessity 
 would of itself teach such as were indispensable, 
 and those relating to comfort and elegance would 
 then follow of course." Of the truth, to a certain 
 extent, of these words of the philosopher, I am 
 firmly convinced ; and I will freely confess, that 
 I see little strength in the arguments for the ori- 
 ginal unity of mankind, founded on a similarity 
 of manners, customs and social institutions; and 
 am also inclined to reject these arguments, when 
 brought forward in proof of migrations and colo- 
 nisation. I know no proof of the former but the 
 testimony of Scripture and physical characters ; 
 I admit no evidence of the latter but language 
 and a constant and credible tradition 1 . 
 
 1 Supposing, what has not been demonstrated, that the 
 ancient inhabitants of Attica were divided into classes re- 
 
SIMILARITY OF ARTS AND CUSTOMS. 3 
 
 Examples are always agreeable, and sometimes 
 convincing; I will therefore give a few of the 
 cases in which I am sceptical. 
 
 The similarity of form between the brazen 
 casque of the Hellenic warrior and the feather- 
 helm of the Polynesian chief, is to me no proof of 
 the common origin of the Greeks and the South 
 Sea islanders. A branch of olive might be the 
 symbol of peace among the one people, and a 
 branch of plantain among the other, and nought 
 be proved thereby. The universal employment 
 of the bow, the spear and the shield, affects me 
 not. I see not why every tribe who dwelt on the 
 shores of the sea or of lakes, or on the banks of 
 rivers, may not have discovered the mode of con- 
 structing boats. The Egyptians, we are told, were 
 brewers of beer ; so also were the ancient Scan- 
 dinavians ; and it follows not that they borrowed 
 from each other, or from a common instructor. 
 Almost every people of the circle of the earth in 
 which the vine is indigenous, appears to have dis- 
 covered the art of making wine. Mining and 
 the art of smelting metals may have been prac-* 
 tised by tribes as remote in origin as in position. 
 Alphabets, I suspect, are an invention to which 
 more than one people may lay claim. The early 
 knowledge of gunpowder in the East is no proof 
 that Schwartz did not discover the mode of ma- 
 
 sembling the castes of Egypt, it does not follow that an 
 Egyptian colony came to that country nearly 1500 years 
 before we have any account of it. 
 
 B 2 
 
TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 king it 1 . The mariner's compass may have been 
 invented at Amalfi, though familiar to the Chinese 
 from the most remote times. Finally, I cannot 
 discern in the pyramidal form of the Pyramids of 
 Egypt, the temple of Belus at Babylon, and the 
 temples at Cholulu and elsewhere in Mexico, a 
 proof of anything but of the common perception 
 of the stability and convenience of that form. 
 
 The same is the case with religious and poli- 
 tical institutions. Attic laws occur in the insti- 
 tutes of the Hindoo Menoo ; and I do not thence 
 infer any communication between Attica and Hin- 
 doostan. Ancient Egypt had its Feast of Lamps, 
 and China has its Feast of Lanterns ; yet I see 
 no connexion between them. There were Vestals 
 at Rome, and Virgins of the Sun at Cuzco, bound 
 to chastity ; yet it does not follow from thence 
 that Peru derived its religion from Asia, or that, 
 as I have seen it asserted, Rome was founded by 
 a colony of gypsies from India 2 . I could cite 
 many more cases, but these may suffice. 
 
 A practice, which has been carried to a most 
 ludicrous extent, is that of supposing that where 
 two or more peoples have the same or a similar 
 
 1 I am only supposing possibilities, not making assertions. 
 Were the invention of gunpowder an ancient mythic legend, 
 I would say that the name Schwartz (Black} looked a little 
 suspicious ; yet Dr. Black was a celebrated chemist, and a 
 man's name and his occupation have often a most curious 
 coincidence. 
 
 2 The object of the author was to account for the similarity 
 between the Sanscrit and the Latin languages. 
 
SIMILARITY OF NAMES. 5 
 
 name, the one is a colony from the other. The 
 Albanians of Epirus, and the Iberians of Spain, 
 are confidently deduced from Mount Caucasus. 
 Scoti happening to resemble Scythi, and Hiberni 
 Iberi, what is called the ancient history of Ireland 
 favours us with an account of the Scythic and 
 Spanish origin of the Celts of that island, per- 
 fectly heedless of their community of language, 
 manners and religion with those of Britain and 
 Gaul 
 
 I look upon the following coincidences of name 
 as being purely accidental : Albani of Caucasus, 
 Albani of Latium, Albanians of Epirus, Albyn 
 or Albion a name of Britain, Albis (Elbe) of 
 Germany, and Alpes ; Iberi of Caucasus and of 
 Spain, Hiberni of Ireland, Ibrim (Hebrews) of 
 Syria; Veneti of Italy and of Gaul, Venedi 
 (Vends) of Germany, and Heneti of Asia Minor; 
 German! of Europe, and Germani (Kermanians) 
 of Persia, and the country of Caramania in Asia 
 Minor ; Lygies of Italy and of Asia. 
 
 Those may be questioned : no one, I hope, will 
 deny that the following are accidental : Brito- 
 martis was the Cretan name of Diana, and Brito- 
 martis was a king of the Gauls ; Pharphar was a 
 river of Damascus, and in Italy there was a stream 
 named Farfarus ; Arganthonius was a king of 
 Tartessus in Spain, and there was an Argantho- 
 nian Hill near the Euxine Sea. Mazippa was a 
 Moorish chief, who at the head of his light horse 
 gave the Romans some trouble in the time of 
 
6 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Tiberius ; and who knows not Mazeppa the Cos- 
 sack? The North American Indians call a fall or 
 rapid, Coho ; and such is the popular appellation 
 of a cascade near Spa in Germany. 
 
 When chance led me to think of writing the 
 Fairy Mythology, I had to read a great quantity 
 of poems, tales, romances, legends and traditions 
 of various countries and in various languages. I 
 here met such a number of coincidences where 
 there could hardly have been any communication, 
 that I became convinced that the original same- 
 ness of the human mind revealed itself as plainly 
 in fiction as in the mechanical arts, or in manners 
 and customs, civil or religious. 
 
 Accordingly, in the Preface to that work, I 
 stated how much I had been struck by this simi- 
 larity, and expressed my dissent from those who 
 supposed nations of common origin to have brought 
 these legends with them at the time of their mi- 
 gration from a common country ; and I reminded 
 the reader of the sameness which runs through the 
 thoughts and the actions of man, which wearies 
 us in history, in fiction, and in common life. 
 
 Some legends were, I thought, transmitted ; 
 others, of independent formation. When in a tale 
 of some length a number of circumstances are the 
 same, and follow in the same order, as in another, 
 I should feel disposed to assert that this is a case 
 of transmission. Brief fictitious circumstances, 
 such as shoes of swiftness and coats of darkness, 
 might, I thought, be independent, and be referred 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WORK. 7 
 
 to what I termed the poverty of the human ima- 
 gination, which, having a limited stock of mate- 
 rials to work on, must of necessity frequently pro- 
 duce similar combinations. A third class of fic- 
 tions, such as Whittington and his Cat, a legend 
 to be found (as I shall show,) in more countries 
 than one, I professed myself unable to dispose 
 of to my own satisfaction : they might be trans- 
 mitted, they might be independent. 
 
 " These," said I, " are a few hints on a subject, 
 the full discussion of which would demand a vo- 
 lume." Little, at the time, did I think that I ever 
 should write a volume on it ; but ' thou knowest 
 not what a day may bring forth' : the volume is 
 written, and I have only to request that no one 
 will suppose it intended to be a ' full discussion* 
 of the subject. It only claims to be regarded as 
 a development of the principles contained in that 
 Preface, and is designed, by giving a sufficient 
 number of instances of resemblance, to enable the 
 reader to judge for himself on this curious sub- 
 ject. The tales and legends are given at length ; 
 for what conviction could I hope to convey to the 
 mind of a reader, by merely telling him that such 
 a tale in the Neapolitan Pentamerone, for instance, 
 resembles a Hindoo legend ? or that an episode 
 of the Persian Shah Nameh is founded on the 
 same circumstance with an Irish poem? How 
 many readers would, how many could, examine 
 these different tales and compare them ? 
 
 I am, certainly, neither so ignorant nor so san- 
 
8 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 guine, as to reckon on a very extensive class of 
 readers ; and if I 'fit audience find though few,' 
 I shall be very well content. The direction taken 
 by what is usually, but incorrectly, termed the 
 * march of intellect' 1 9 is such, that all the lighter 
 and more elegant branches of literature seem 
 likely to fall, ere long, into utter neglect. Wild 
 improbable romance, bit-and-scrap knowledge, 
 or political disquisitions, alone have attractions. 
 Never shall I forget the look of mingled pity and 
 contempt with which I was regarded by a gentle- 
 man who has written some things on political eco- 
 nomy, when I chanced, in his hearing, to speak 
 on the subject of classical mythology. He seemed 
 altogether amazed at my folly in expecting that 
 such puerile fictions could find readers in this en- 
 lightened age. 
 
 Yet, though thus despised by the narrow-minded 
 and intolerant disciples of utility, popular fiction 
 has attractions for those whose views are more 
 enlarged, and who love to behold Philosophy ex- 
 tending her dominion over all the regions of the 
 human mind. A writer whom I shall frequently 
 quote in the following pages, and who was no 
 mere man of letters, thus expresses himself on 
 the subject 2 . <c Believe me, he who desires to be 
 
 1 I say so, because with us march is a military term, 
 whereas the marche of the French, from whom we have bor- 
 rowed the phrase, merely denotes progression. La marche 
 de Vesprit can hardly be said to be figurative. 
 
 2 Sir John Malcolm, Sketches of Persia, ii. 92, 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WORK. 
 
 well acquainted with a people, will not reject their 
 popular stories or local superstitions. Depend 
 upon it, that man is too far advanced into an arti- 
 ficial state of society who is a stranger to the 
 effect which tales and stories like these have upon 
 the feelings of a nation ; and his opinions of its 
 character are never likely to be more erroneous, 
 than when in the pride of reason he despises such 
 means of forming his judgement." Sir Walter 
 Scott 1 says, " A work of great interest might be 
 compiled on the origin of popular fiction, and 
 the transmission of popular tales from age to age 
 and from country to country. The mythology of 
 one period would then appear to pass into the ro- 
 mance of the next century, and that into the 
 nursery tale of the subsequent ages. Such an 
 investigation, while it went greatly to diminish 
 our ideas of the richness of human invention, 
 would also show that these fictions, however wild 
 and childish, possess such charms for the popu- 
 lace, as enable them to penetrate into countries 
 unconnected by manners and language, and hav- 
 ing no apparent intercourse to facilitate the means 
 of transmission." And long since the illustrious 
 Luther 2 said, " I would not for any quantity of 
 gold part with the wonderful tales which I have 
 retained from my earliest childhood, or have met 
 with in my progress through life." Surely then, 
 
 1 Note on the Lady of the Lake. 
 
 2 Quoted by Grimm, Kinder- und Hausmarchen, iii. 265. 
 
 B 5 
 
10 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 even though few should be induced to go the 
 same road, I need feel no shame to travel in such 
 society as this, and may let those plod on their 
 weary way, who, knowing but one subject, think 
 it contains all knowledge. 
 
 Those words of the great Reformer reveal the 
 true cause of the high degree of pleasure which 
 some minds derive from popular fictions. They 
 bring back the memory of childhood of those 
 innocent and happy days when, as a Swedish poet 
 most beautifully expresses it, * the dew of morn- 
 ing lay upon life' ] : they come surrounded by 
 a thousand delightful associations, whose effect, 
 though powerful, is not to be described ; for, 
 mellowed by distance, every event and every 
 scene connected with childhood acquires a charm 
 to the eye of memory. It is, I apprehend, only 
 on those who have passed their early days in the 
 country that this principle operates with its entire 
 force. May I, since such is the case with myself, 
 (and it is not totally alien to the matter in hand,) 
 may I hope for indulgence while I trace the 
 origin of my own fondness for popular fiction ? 
 
 It was my lot (no unenviable one,) to be reared 
 in the country, and near the mountains. In Ire- 
 land we are less aristocratic, and mingle more 
 familiarly with the lower orders of the people, 
 
 1 " In her early dawn, with the ' dew of her youth ' so 
 
 fresh upon her " Robert Hall, of the Princess Charlotte. 
 
 Was the passage of Scripture here quoted in the mind of the 
 Swede also 1 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WORK. 11 
 
 than seems to me to be the case here : one cause 
 of this I believe to be nearly the same with that 
 which produces similar affability in the East ', 
 and which also operates in the South of Europe. 
 Be this as it may, in consequence of this state of 
 manners, a great companion of my younger days 
 was Johnny Stykes, who, like Guse Gibbie of fa- 
 mous memory, first kept the turkeys, and then, 
 as his years advanced, was promoted to the more 
 important office of minding the cows. Johnny, 
 by the way, though called Stykes, and a good Ca- 
 tholic 2 , knew well that his real name was Sykes 3 , 
 and that he derived his lineage from one of the 
 soldier-saints of the formidable Oliver Cromwell, 
 to whom the lines had fallen in those pleasant 
 places where we dwelt. Often, as memory looks 
 back through the glade of life along which my 
 course has lain, doth her eye rest on the figure of 
 my humble companion, returning in the evening 
 from the stubble with his feathered charge, who 
 go along yeeping and leisurely picking their steps, 
 heedless of the hushing and bawling of their 
 driver. To any one who should then ask Johnny 
 how many turkeys he had, he would stammer out, 
 
 1 See Sketches of Persia, ii. 185, 186. 
 
 2 The lower order of the Irish Catholics are quite proud if 
 they can prove that they have what they call good Protestant 
 blood in their veins. They regard the Protestants as a su- 
 perior caste. 
 
 3 It is very amusing to observe the corruption of proper 
 names. Among the peasantry of the place of which I write, 
 Archbold had become Aspal, and Hopkins, Hubbuk, 
 
12 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 " Three twenties and a ten" or so, an answer 
 which was always sure to produce a laugh, either 
 on account of his employing twenty for score, or 
 it may be from the * march of intellect,' which 
 had taught the peasant to despise his forefathers' 
 simple mode of counting by dozens and scores. 
 
 But it was in Johnny's bucolic days that he was 
 favoured most with my society ; partly because 
 he was a capital player at tip-top-caslle, but chiefly 
 because he had not his fellow in the whole country 
 for what is called shanahas, or old talk, that is, 
 tales, legends, and traditions, handed down from 
 age to age, and transmitted from mouth to mouth. 
 And let me now fearlessly confess the truth. I 
 have since seen some of Nature's finest scenery, 
 I have conversed with the learned and the inge- 
 nious, and have read the master-works of the 
 human mind; and yet I am convinced I have 
 never, at most very rarely, felt a degree of plea- 
 sure at all comparable to what I enjoyed, when 
 sitting with Johnny, of a summer's day, beneath a 
 spreading tree, or on the bank of a purling stream, 
 while his cows were feeding around, and the air 
 was filled with the melody of birds, and listening 
 to some wild tale of wonder and enchantment. 
 Much would I give to 'be able to recollect his 
 tale of The Fair Norah na Vodha and the White 
 Bear of Worroway (Norway), a Beauty-and-Beast 
 kind of story, in which the heroine is pursued 
 by I know not who, and " when he was on the 
 hill she was in the hollow, and when she was 
 
ORIGIN OF THE WORK. 13 
 
 on the hill he was in the hollow;" or another 
 about a princess, (for he had all kinds of high per- 
 sonages at command,) who was confined in some 
 dismal place all full of sarplnts and toads and 
 vifers l . Johnny, too, had a story answering to 
 the Robber-bridegroom in MM. Grimm's collec- 
 tion, in which the lady at the bridal banquet 
 told, as if relating a dream, all that she had seen 
 when she secretly entered the robbers' den, and 
 as she proceeded in her narrative, the disguised 
 robber would get up and say, 
 
 " Dreams are butfeebles, andfeebles are but lies ; 
 By your leave, gentlemen, pray let me by." 
 
 He also knew the Frog-king 2 , and several others 
 in the same collection ; and he had tales of fairies 
 without end. Poor Johnny ! he grew up, got mar- 
 ried, died young (no uncommon fate with the Irish 
 peasant), and lies buried at the ruined church of 
 Tipper ; a place to which, in my serious moods, 
 I was wont to repair, to meditate among the 
 graves, not tombs, for tombs there were none. 
 
 These little details into which I have ventured 
 to enter, chiefly, I must own, to indulge in the 
 pleasure which I feel in calling back the happy 
 
 1 Animals nearly as unknown to the Irish peasant as kan- 
 garoos and opossums. 
 
 2 This story was also related to me by a woman from So- 
 mersetshire. Dr. Leyden heard it in Scotland. My Somer- 
 set friend concluded it by saying, " and I came away." She 
 could not tell why ; but it is, I should suppose, a formula 
 signifying that the narrator knows nothing further. 
 
14: TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 days of childhood, will, I know, expose me to the 
 scorn of many, doubtless very sage and very sa- 
 gacious personages ; but there are others (and 
 they are those whose approbation I most covet,) 
 by whom they will, I am confident, be received 
 with indulgence, if not with favour. Begging par- 
 don, therefore, for my digression, I now proceed 
 with my subject. 
 
 A great coincidence of thought and expression 
 is often to be observed between writers of the 
 same age and country, or of different ages and 
 different countries ; and yet there may have been 
 no imitation whatever. We are, in fact, too apt to 
 make charges of plagiarism. For my part, I am 
 slow to make the charge myself, or to admit it 
 when made by others l . It must, to convince me, 
 be quite certain that the author had read the work 
 from which he is accused of having borrowed, and 
 that the number of similar ideas and expressions 
 should be so great as to leave no room for doubt 2 . 
 
 1 I have myself been charged with taking the simile of a 
 map of the world, in the Preface to my Outlines of History, 
 from the work of a similar title in the Library of Useful Know- 
 ledge ; whereas the truth is, I doubt if I have ever seen that 
 work. 
 
 2 " There is a pleasure sure in being mad 
 
 Which none but madmen know." 
 
 Dryden's Spanish Friar. 
 " There is a pleasure in poetic pains 
 
 Which none but poets know." Cowper's Task. 
 Though I think there is imitation here, I would not positively 
 assert it. 
 
IMITATION. 15 
 
 Thus no one can hesitate to believe that Lord By- 
 ron took the admired description of a shipwreck 
 in his Don Juan from a narrative which was pub- 
 lished a short time before at Edinburgh, though 
 his lordship kindly left to the critics or to poste- 
 rity the pleasure of making the discovery. It has 
 never entered the mind of any one to doubt that 
 Spenser was largely indebted to Tasso for his 
 Bower of Acrasia, or that Virgil frequently did 
 no more than translate Homer. The simile of the 
 reflection of the sunbeams from the water, in the 
 ^Eneis, has surely been taken from the Argonau- 
 tics of that sweet poet Apollonius of Rhodes ; and 
 Ariosto ] and Camoens 2 have as surely been in- 
 debted to Virgil for the use of the same compari- 
 son, though the latter poet has altered, in my opi- 
 nion much improved it, by substituting a mirror 
 in the hand of a boy for the original pot of water. 
 On the other hand, (to give a single and a slight 
 instance,) when Horace says that the Julian star 
 (the young Marcellus) shines among others like 
 the moon among the lesser fires 3 ; and when Bo- 
 jardo, in one of his most pleasing stanzas, says 
 that all other beauties were to Angelica as the 
 other stars to the moon, or the moon to the sun 4 , 
 
 1 Orl. Furioso, c. viii. st. 71. 
 
 2 Os. Lusiadas, c. viii. st. 87. 
 
 3 " micat inter omnes 
 
 Julium sidus, velut inter ignes 
 Luna minores." 
 
 4 " Tal sarebbon con lei qual esser suole 
 
 L'altre stelle a Diana e lei co '1 sole." 
 
 Orl. Innam., I. c. iii. st. 69. 
 
16 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 we might say that he had Horace in view ; for 
 the lord of Scandiano was well read in the classics. 
 But when, in an Arabian tale, we meet, " Noor- 
 ed-deen, who shone among his companions like 
 the moon among the inferior luminaries" 1 , we see 
 at once that this is a mere coincidence ; for what 
 could the Arabian story-teller know of Horace ? 
 These coincidences are much more frequent 
 than people in general seem to suppose. I will 
 give an instance which occurred to myself. Hav- 
 ing occasion, in the Fairy Mythology, to re- 
 late an Irish legend in the character of an old 
 woman, I said, speaking of a field of wheat at 
 sunset, " and it was a pretty sight to see it waving 
 so beautifully with every air of wind that was 
 going over it, dancing like to the music of a 
 thrush that was singing down below in the hedge." 
 It was not without surprise that some time after 
 I read, in the Rosenol of Jos. von Hammer, the 
 following passage from an Arabian author : 
 " The sun was just setting, and the glow of rubies 
 was penetrating the emeraldine enamel of the 
 trees, whose boughs were waving to the sound of 
 the melody of the birds V Though the language 
 and colouring are widely different, the idea, it will 
 be seen, is precisely the same. Here I will ob- 
 serve, for the benefit of writers of fiction, that 
 minds operate in so similar a manner, that one 
 
 1 Noor-ed-deen signifies ' light of religion': hence the 
 simile readily presented itself. 
 
 2 Fairy Mythology, ii. p. 184. Rosenol, ii. p. 45. 
 
CASUAL COINCIDENCE. 17 
 
 may venture, without fear of violating nature, to 
 give very poetic and even very philosophic ideas 
 to characters taken from any rank in society, pro- 
 vided the language in which they are clothed be 
 such as these persons are in the habit of employ- 
 ing. An instance may serve to illustrate this as- 
 sertion. 
 
 Coleridge, in a most beautiful poem, when de- 
 riding the error of those who call the note of the 
 nightingale melancholy *, exclaims, 
 
 " A melancholy bird ! Oh ! idle thought ! 
 In nature there is nothing melancholy : 
 But some night- wandering man, whose soul was pierc'd 
 With the remembrance of a grievous wrong, 
 Or slow distemper, or neglected love, 
 (And so, poor wretch! fill'd all things with himself, 
 And made all gentle sounds tell back the tale 
 Of his own sorrow,) he, and such as he, 
 First named these notes a melancholy strain, 
 And many a poet echoes the conceit 2 ." 
 
 1 The earliest instance, perhaps the source, of this error 
 is the passage of the Odyssey, xix. 518 et seq. 
 
 3 See Petrarca, son. 270. In ' Die Nacht' of Gothe oc- 
 curs the following stanza, which contains the whole philoso- 
 phy of the matter : 
 
 " Wenn die Nachtigall Geliebten 
 Liebevoll ein Liedchen singt 
 Das Gefang'nen und Betriibten 
 Nur wie Ach und Wehe klingt." 
 " When the nightingale to lovers 
 Singeth full of love a lay 
 That to captives and th' afflicted 
 Soundeth nought but Wellaway." 
 Had Coleridge read this before he wrote the lines above ? 
 
18 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 I was one evening in a favourite village of mine, 
 listening with my usual delight to the song of this 
 ' Attic warbler,' and I remarked to the mistress 
 of the house where I was living, how absurd it was 
 to say that the note was melancholy. She readily 
 agreed that it was not so ; and observed, that it 
 was probably first regarded as such by some one 
 who was sitting up at night with a sick friend, and 
 heard the nightingale singing. My worthy friend 
 is no great reader, and sure I am she had never 
 read those lines of Coleridge ; yet how, except 
 in elegance of thought and expression, does her 
 hypothesis differ from that of the metaphysical 
 poet? 
 
 " Deuce take the ancients, they have stolen all 
 my best thoughts ! " was a very natural exclama- 
 tion ; and Nullum est jam dictum quod non dictum 
 sit prius was said two thousand years ago. How 
 constantly, too, do discoverers find that they have 
 been anticipated l ! In my own Mythology of 
 Greece, (to speak from knowledge,) there is ten 
 times more originality than I shall ever get credit 
 for ; but I claim no praise, for I should have 
 known what had been done by others, and I 
 must be content to be considered indebted to 
 them, and that, to make matters worse, without 
 having * whispered whence I stole those balmy 
 
 1 Can anything be more surprising than the anticipation 
 of ttie theories of Wolf and Niebuhr by Vico, in his Scienza 
 Nuova ? Neither of them, certainly, knew anything of that 
 work. 
 
CASUAL COINCIDENCE. 19 
 
 spoils' 1 . Again, as my style is tolerably lucid, 
 (for I am never content if I do not make my 
 meaning perfectly clear,) I am, by those who 
 seem to judge of depth by obscurity, frequently 
 represented as deficient in profundity. I will not 
 presume to say that the charge is totally devoid 
 of foundation ; but I would entreat such persons 
 to reflect that the utmost perspicuity is compa- 
 tible with considerable depth 2 ; and I would re- 
 mind them that the limpid animated Thames 
 flows deeper than the opake sullen ' Mole. I 
 will cite an instance which bears on the present 
 subject. A passage was selected from that My- 
 thology as a proof of my want of depth. Now 
 the very same thought happens to occur in Plato, 
 and expressed in so similar a manner that few 
 would believe I had not taken it from him ; yet 
 most certainly I had not then read that part of 
 his works. 
 
 Though a writer may be indebted for his ideas 
 and expressions to a work which he has read, it 
 does not follow that his imitation is direct, or that 
 the passage was actually present to his mind at 
 the time. I will again, at the risk of being charged 
 
 1 Often have I repeated these words of Neapolis, an old 
 commentator on Ovid : " Hoc olim me primum vidisse crede- 
 bam, sed repperi postea ab aliis prteoccupatum." 
 
 2 I always thought that Cicero had more depth than he 
 gets credit for; and I am glad to find that the learned 
 A. Bbckh is of the same way of thinking. I doubt if John- 
 son be very much more profound than Addison. 
 
20 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 with egotism, instance in myself; for I know what 
 has occurred in my own case, and could only con- 
 jecture in the case of another. 
 
 I remember to have written many years ago 
 some very indifferent verses ; for I except myself 
 from the number of those to whom it has been 
 given to be poets. If I recollect rightly, the first 
 stanza ran thus : 
 
 As when a storm in vernal skies 
 
 The face of day doth stain, 
 And o'er the smiling landscape flies, 
 
 With mist and drizzling rain ; 
 If chance the sun look through the shower 
 
 O'er hill and flowery dale, 
 Reviving nature owns his power 
 
 And softly sighs the gale. 
 
 It will be seen at once that the original of this 
 are the following beautiful lines of Milton : 
 
 "As when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds 
 Ascending, while the north-wind sleeps, o'erspread 
 Heaven's cheerful face, the lowering element 
 Scowls o'er the darkened landskip snow or shower : 
 If chance the radiant sun with farewell sweet 
 Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 
 The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 
 Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings." 
 
 Many even of the words are the very same. I 
 was familiar with Milton, and yet it was some time 
 before the similarity struck me. The passage, then, 
 had been secretly lurking in my mind ; and I was 
 beguiled with a phantom of originality at the time 
 
MILTON. 21 
 
 that I was an unconscious imitator. I consi- 
 der this case worth recording as a psychological 
 fact 1 . 
 
 As I do not intend to subject myself to the 
 trammels of method, and am resolved to digress 
 when and where I please, I will now make an ex- 
 cursion, and attempt to vindicate the poetic cha- 
 racter of our great poet ; for he has fallen into 
 the hands of a sad set of literary thief-takers, who 
 are eager to exercise their vocation on even the 
 mere suspicion of a possibility. In fact, every one 
 of those ingenious persons who have undertaken 
 to elucidate the Paradise Lost, and his other 
 poems, has shown a most laudable desire to re- 
 duce him from his high estate, and bring him 
 down to the condition of a mere centoist, who 
 went sedulously peering into every nook and 
 corner of literature in search of words and ideas. 
 They seem incapable of conceiving the creative 
 and self-sufficient power of original genius ; they 
 think that because Milton was a great reader he 
 must needs have been a great plagiary ; and they 
 make him like the daw in the fable, with this 
 difference, that the daw adorned his person with 
 the feathers of finer birds than himself, while the 
 eagle of British poetry pilfered the plumage of 
 
 1 I however think that a man may have met with thoughts, 
 images, expressions, or even theories, in books he had read, 
 which made no impression on him at the time, and which he 
 afterwards produced of himself. 
 
22 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 birds of every kind, even of the titmouse and the 
 wren ! . 
 
 Now I opine differently. I regard Milton as 
 being of the Dantean, and not of the Virgilian 
 class of poets ; and I view the Paradise Lost as 
 one great conception, matured in the maker's 
 mind, and poured, as it were, from the furnace 
 at a cast, not a mosaic sedulously and painfully 
 put together from pieces collected in various 
 quarters. We have, in fact, no proof that Milton 
 was gifted with any extraordinary powers of me- 
 mory, (indeed, the errors into which he falls in 
 some plain points of classical mythology prove 
 the contrary 2 ,) and without such he could hardly 
 have retained all those passages of poets, both 
 great and small, which it is supposed he imitated. 
 It is nowhere said that, like Butler, he kept a 
 commonplace-book ; and his daughters and his 
 
 1 It may be said that they meant that unconscious kind of 
 imitation of which I have just given an instance. Whoever 
 reads them, however, will see that they had no such idea, 
 and thought only of plain, palpable, direct imitation. 
 
 - We are told by Toland, that Milton had Homer nearly 
 by heart. How then could he say, 
 
 *' As when Ulysses on the larboard shunn'd 
 
 Charybdis, and by the other whirlpool steer'd"? 
 Surely the Homeric Scylla is not a whirlpool ! 
 
 Again, where did he learn that Hermione (Paradise Lost, 
 ix. 506.) was the name of the wife of Cadmus? In what ro- 
 mance did he read that 
 
 " Charlemain with all his peerage /^/7 
 By Fontarabbia"? 
 
MILTON. 23 
 
 friends do not seem to have been in the habit of 
 reading to him the divers obscure works to which 
 we are told he was indebted. If I understand 
 him aright, Milton himself intimates that his read- 
 ing, at least at the time he may be supposed to be 
 meditating his great poem, was select : and in the 
 Paradise Lost he says, 
 
 " But knowledge is as food, and needs no less 
 Her temperance over appetite, to know 
 In measure what the mind may well contain ; 
 Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns 
 Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind." 
 
 which surely is not the language of a literary 
 glutton. 
 
 By far the larger part of these supposed imi- 
 tations are nothing more than coincidences, and 
 often very slight ones. Johnson, in his Life of 
 Addison, tells us that a schoolmaster once said to 
 him, speaking of the simile of the angel in the 
 Campaign, that if he were to give the Battle of 
 Blenheim as a theme to ten of his boys, it would 
 not surprise him if eight of them brought him that 
 simile. I must confess that it would surprise me ; 
 and I should strongly suspect them of being all 
 copyists but one. Still it is certain, that when 
 two or more persons write on the same subject, 
 there will often be a marvellous similarity of dic- 
 tion, thought and imagery. This might suffice, 
 methinks, to account for the resemblance between 
 a few passages of the Paradise Lost and the Ada- 
 mus Exsul of Grotius, the Adamo of Andreini, 
 
24 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 and other obscure poems on the same subject. I 
 think I have seen it hinted, that Milton was under 
 some obligation to the Batavian poet Vondel, and 
 to the Anglo-Saxon Caedmon : though he knew not 
 Dutch, and it may be doubted if his editor Junius, 
 much less Milton, understood Caedmon. Were any 
 passages similar to some in the Paradise Lost to be 
 found in the Ramayuna or Maha-Bharata, it would 
 not in the least amaze me to see the course traced 
 out by which Milton had irrigated his genius by 
 rivulets derived from these huge tanks. 
 
 Milton, who, as Mr. Rossetti most justly ob- 
 serves, resembled Dante in more points than one, 
 derived, like him, his inspiration from the Bible. 
 This was the fount to which he unceasingly re- 
 paired, and whence he * in his golden urn drew 
 light' ; and he who will understand Milton aright, 
 must study the sacred volume, riot merely in the 
 translation, but in the original languages 1 . The 
 higher poetry of Greece and Latium was also fa- 
 miliar to his mind, and his knowledge of it was 
 kept up by frequent perusal, and ideas thence de- 
 rived were mingled with his own original concep- 
 tions. Very few traces of his obligations to the 
 minor poets are to be found ; and it is remarkable 
 how seldom he has adopted the language or ideas 
 of the * lofty grave tragedians', though Euripides 
 
 1 Dante, on the contrary, drew from the Vulgate, which 
 must be read if we would understand him. Mr. Rossetti has 
 used it to great advantage. Dante borrowed from it and 
 Virgil alone ; in this independence, too, resembling Milton. 
 
MILTON. 25 
 
 was one of his greatest favourites, and he had pro- 
 bably the Prometheus of ^Ischylus in view when 
 he conceived his Satan. I doubt if he read much 
 Italian in his latter years : he very rarely employs 
 the thoughts or language of Dante l ; but some 
 passages of Tasso seem to have adhered to his 
 mind. He was evidently fond of Fairfax's ver- 
 sion of the Jerusalem Delivered ; and expressions 
 derived from it, the Faerie Queene, and the dramas 
 of Shakspeare, occur in his heroic poems. I feel 
 disposed to doubt the extent of his acquaintance 
 with the old romances of chivalry, as everything 
 relating to it in his works is to be found in the 
 Morte d'Arthur and the Italian romantic poems 2 . 
 Such are a few of my notions respecting Milton 
 and his poems. His commentators seem to be all 
 of a different way of thinking : to prove him to 
 be the most learned of poets, they have sought to 
 lower him in the poetic scale, placing nearly on a 
 
 1 From the terrestrial Paradise of Dante, and its copy by 
 Ariosto, Milton only took the idea of its being on a hill. 
 * We are told that Swift showed that 
 
 " on a sudden openfly, 
 
 With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 
 The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 
 Harsh thunder," 
 
 was suggested by " Open flew the brazen folding- doors, grating 
 harsh thunder on their turning hinges" in Don Bellianis of 
 Greece, Pt. ii. c. 19. See Todd. Another critic (see Newton) 
 sends us for it to the castle of Brandezar in that romance. I 
 have examined three translations of Bellianis, published in 
 the seventeenth century, and could not find it. 
 C 
 
26 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 line with Virgil and Gray, him whose proper sta- 
 tion is with ^Eschylus and Dante. I will give an 
 instance or two of this lust of tracing imitation. 
 When the gates of hell opened, the poet says, 
 
 " So wide they stood, and like a furnace-mouth 
 Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame." 
 
 His last commentator, in his note, refers us to 
 Dante : 
 
 " E giammai non si videro in fornace 
 Vetri o metalli si lucenti e rossi 
 
 Come io vidi un che dicea :" Purg., c. xxiv. 
 
 " Was ne'er in furnace glass or metal seen 
 So bright and glowing-red as was the shape 
 I now beheld." Gary. 
 
 This is certainly worthy of honest Fluellin : 'there 
 is & furnace in both' and there ends the parallel. 
 On 
 
 " up stood the corny reed, 
 
 Embattled in her field," 
 
 all the commentators quote Virgil's 
 
 " quo cornea summo 
 
 Virgulta et densis hastilibus horrida myrtus," 
 
 regarding it, of course, as at least an illustration. 
 I confess my apprehension is not acute enough to 
 discern the secret tie which links the cornel-trees 
 of the one poet with the corny reed of the other. 
 This, however, may only prove the obtuseness of 
 my intellect ; but I think, on the other hand, that 
 I can prove that they have all misunderstood the 
 'corny reed,' which they assert to be equivalent 
 with ' horny rush.' Johnson, for instance, gives 
 
MILTON. 27 
 
 in his Dictionary, * horny' as a sense of * corny/ 
 quoting this very passage of Milton as a proof, to 
 which Mr. Todd adds, from Lisle's Dubartas, 
 
 " (The rain) downward 'gan to rave, 
 And drowned the corny ranks." 
 
 I however think, that as, in another place of the 
 poern, * balmy reed' plainly signifies the reed that 
 bears the balm, so here the most natural sense of 
 * corny reed' is the reed (calamus, not arundo,} that 
 produces corn. 
 
 I would prove it thus. The angel is describing 
 to Adam the progress of the vegetable creation : 
 the * bare earth,' he says, * brought forth the ten- 
 der grass' ; then < the herb that flowered ' ; then 
 
 " Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept 
 The swelling gourd, up stood the corny reed 
 Embattled in her field, and the humble shrub 
 And bush with frizzled hair implicit." 
 
 The progression is leaf, flower, fruit ; and we find 
 the * corny reed' placed with the last. I will only 
 add, that * embattled in her field' applies far better 
 to a field of wheat or barley than to rushes grow- 
 ing in a marsh or along a stream. The ' corny 
 ranks' of Lisle will also apply best to a field of corn. 
 
 Ere I quit the subject of Milton, I will notice an 
 instance of critical hardihood emulative of Bentley. 
 
 Speaking of the infernal artillery, the poet says, 
 
 " at each behind 
 
 A seraph stood, and in his hand a reed 
 Stood waving, tipt with fire, while we suspense 
 Collected stood within our thoughts amused." 
 c 2 
 
28 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 In the last edition, the note on ' stood waving' 
 is, " This is certainly an error ; * stood' occurs in 
 the line before and after. Bentley would read 
 * held' ; but wishing to keep as close to the text 
 as I can, I propose ' shone' : Mr. Dyce proposes 
 ' shook'." 
 
 Now I would crave permission to suggest to 
 these ' learned Thebans,' that Milton must have 
 had the proof-sheets of his poem read out to him, 
 and that such an enormous error could hardly 
 have escaped his ear, and be repeated in his second 
 edition. This consideration alone might satisfy us. 
 But in reality, Milton had not the horror of the 
 recurrence of the same word which prevails among 
 us pygmies of these degenerate days : like his 
 admired ancients, he loved, as numerous instances 
 show, to repeat the same word ; and his object 
 here was evidently to express the state of pause 
 and anxious expectation which preceded the dis- 
 charge of the Satanic ordnance. Possibly the 
 second f stood' was meant to express the Italian 
 stava : it was, however, more probably intended 
 to indicate the erect posture in which the reed 
 was held, * waved' by its own weight, or by the 
 motion of the air. 
 
 I have many more arrows in my quiver ready 
 to discharge at the Miltonian commentators, but 
 I must not trespass too much on the patience of 
 the reader. A time may perhaps arrive when I 
 shall be able to devote my pen to the illustrious 
 theme, and possibly clear away some of the clouds 
 
DANTE. 29 
 
 of error and ignorance which still dim the efful- 
 gence of this other sun of the British heaven of 
 poetry. 
 
 Having mentioned Dante, I cannot refrain from 
 gratifying (as I know it will) his admirable expo- 
 sitor, my friend Rossetti, by declaring thus pub- 
 licly my conviction of the soundness of his views 
 respecting the true sense of the Divina Commedia. 
 His commentary on the Inferno commands my 
 assent : the poem is no longer the pilgrimage of a 
 Catholic devotee through the abodes of the de- 
 parted ; it is the keen satire of the ardent Ghibel- 
 line : the hell is Guelfic Italy, immersed in vice 
 and misery; the Pope is Lucifer ; and Virgil, who 
 conducts the poet, is a personification of the mon- 
 archic principle. I have little doubt that Mr. Ros- 
 setti's succeeding volumes will, as he promises ', 
 prove that the Purgatory reveals the means of 
 political regeneration, and the Paradise pictures 
 forth the reformed world under one sole head the 
 image of God on earth. I must confess, too, that I 
 am not indisposed to regard the Beatrice of Dante, 
 the Laura 2 of Petrarca, the Fiammetta of Boc- 
 
 1 In his curious work " Sullo Spirito Antipapale de' Clas- 
 sici Italiani." 
 
 3 In the canzone beginning with 
 
 " Una donna piu bella assai che '1 sole," 
 the lady is evidently a ' donna di mente,' or personification ; 
 yet I think it is hinted pretty plainly that she is Laura. 
 
 " I should be glad," said an ingenious friend to me, " to 
 see any theory established which would prove that Petrarch 
 was not a fool." There is meaning in this. 
 
30 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 caccio, and all those ladies with significant names 
 first met in Passion-week, and who die so strange- 
 ly, all before their lovers, as having more the air 
 of abstraction than of reality. I also think it by 
 no means unlikely that the Ghibellines were a 
 secret society, and had a gergo, or conventional 
 language, understood only by themselves. I have 
 had occasion to make some inquiries into the sub- 
 ject of secret societies ; and perhaps things which 
 prove stumbling-blocks to others are plain and 
 easy to me. 
 
 Let not, then, my excellent friend despond : 
 truth is great, and will prevail ; and if his system 
 of interpretation be founded in truth, as I believe 
 it is, his name will go down to the most remote 
 posterity coupled with that of one of the greatest 
 poets that have ever existed. To few is such glory 
 given ! 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS BEDOWEEN AUDIENCE 
 
 AROUND A STORY-TELLER CLEOMADES AND CLARE- 
 
 MOND ENCHANTED HORSES PETER OF PROVENCE AND 
 
 THE FAIR MAGUELONE. 
 
 IT is now more than a century and a quarter since 
 Europe became, through M. Galland's French 
 translation, acquainted with the Thousand and 
 One Nights l , the Elf Leila wa Leila of the Arabs 
 that marvellous collection of tales which has 
 afforded more delight to mankind than perhaps 
 any other product of the human imagination. The 
 avidity with which these tales were read almost ex- 
 ceeds belief; they were speedily translated into 
 other European languages; the adventures of Sind- 
 bad, Aladdin, Agib, and the other heroes of these 
 brilliant fictions, became as familiar and as attrac- 
 tive in the West as they were in the East ; and by 
 a curious casualty, the same tale might be listened 
 to at the same moment; in the Syrian or Egyptian 
 coffee-house, the Bedoween circle, and the French 
 or British cottage. We are told that in Paris par- 
 ties used at night to stop before the house in which 
 
 1 Or Arabian Nights' Entertainments, as the Grub-street 
 worthy who was employed to do them into English chose to 
 entitle them. 
 
S2 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 M. Galland resided, wake him up from his sleep, 
 and insist on his relating to them a story. 
 
 It is needless to ask whence the charms of the.e 
 tales arise : the wonderful will always have attrac- 
 tions, brilliant imagination will always assert its 
 power ; and the circumstance of our religion, and 
 the volume in which it is contained, being derived 
 from the East, raises in the youthful mind an early 
 predilection for that part of the world. The East, 
 we are taught, contained the blissful Paradise of 
 man's infancy and innocence, which the genius of 
 Milton has filled with all that can yield delight. 
 It was in the East that Abraham and the succeed- 
 ing patriarchs led that life of pastoral ease and 
 abundance so dear to the imagination of ingenuous 
 youth. 
 
 " Those pleased the most where by a cunning hand 
 Depicted was the patriarchal age ; 
 What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee land 
 And pastured on from verdant stage to stage, 
 Where fields and fountains fresh could best engage. 
 Toil was not then: of nothing took they heed 
 But with wild beasts the silvan war to wage, 
 And o'er vast plains their herds and flocks to feed. 
 Blest sons of nature they ! true golden age indeed!** 
 
 The East was the scene of the sweet tale of Ruth, 
 and of the interesting adventures of David. It was, 
 in fact, the land of miracle and wonder, favoured 
 with the choicest regards of the Deity ; and imagi- 
 nation has always invested its front with a nimbus 
 of splendour. Such, at least, were my own early 
 impressions of the East ; and I should suppose I 
 
THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS. 33 
 
 am but one of the many. The Thousand and One 
 Nights, and similar collections, come to augment 
 this illusion ; the noble Vision of Mirza and other 
 fictions of the same kind lend their aid ; and I ap- 
 prehend there are few persons fond of reading who 
 have not exaggerated ideas of the magnificence and 
 beauty of that part of the world lurking in the 
 recesses of their imagination. Nor is this illusion 
 (as those who have lost it well know,) to be deplored. 
 Many are the dark and cloudy days of life ; and 
 most happy is he for whom they are most frequently 
 gilded by the rays of fancy. And the brilliant fic- 
 tions of the East, and the popular tales which amused 
 our childhood, and still recall its pleasures, have in 
 this the advantage over the modern novel, they 
 go at once beyond the regions of probability, and 
 cannot therefore injure by exciting romantic ex- 
 pectations of the fortune of the hero or heroine 
 being realised in ourselves l . This power of yield- 
 ing innocuous pleasure they share with the higher 
 order of poetry, a taste for which has never, I be- 
 lieve, proved anything but beneficial to any mind 
 whatever. 
 
 In Europe we read these tales ; in the East, 
 where the printing-press is unknown, they are 
 
 1 Few have a clear conception of the evils produced by in- 
 discriminate novel- reading. Sir Walter Scott, with his usual 
 felicity, compares novels to opiates. These of course should 
 be used with extreme moderation ; but, alas ! I fear that the 
 number of our opium-eaters is considerable. Was he then 
 totally blameless who supplied so much of the seductive drug, 
 and gave dignity to the use of it ? 
 c 5 
 
34 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 mostly listened to from the lips of the story-teller. 
 The manner in which the story-teller by profes- 
 sion enacts his narrative to the idle loungers in the 
 coffee-house, or to the crowd in the streets, has 
 often been described } ; but few have an adequate 
 conception of the eager attention and breathless 
 interest with which the unsophisticated children 
 of the desert listen to tales of love, of war, and of 
 wonder. I will therefore, in the words of an eye- 
 witness, place a Bedoween audience and story- 
 teller on the scene. 
 
 " When the burning sun," says M. von Ham- 
 mer 2 , " has sunk behind the sand-hills, and the 
 thirsty ground is licking up and swallowing the 
 cooling dew, they no less greedily swallow the 
 tales and fables which they have perhaps already 
 heard a hundred times, but which nevertheless 
 thanks to the mobility of their imagination and 
 the expertness of the narrator operate on them 
 with all the force of novelty. 
 
 " One should see these children of the de- 
 sert, how they are moved and agitated, how they 
 melt away in feeling and flame up in rage, how 
 they fall into an agony and then recover their 
 
 1 See Jon. Scott's Introduction to his edition of the Arabian 
 Nights, Hajji Baba, Sketches of Persia, &c. 
 
 2 In a review of the English translation of Antar in the 
 Vienna Jahrbiicher der Literatur, vol. vi. Whenever I have 
 to treat of matters concerning the East, I am always deeply 
 indebted to the writings of this distinguished orientalist, with 
 whose friendship and correspondence I am honoured. 
 
TALES 
 
 With e 
 Of IOT 
 
 story 
 nil glory ; 
 
 DRAWN BY W. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY G. 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER AND CO. 
 
BEDOWEEN AUDIENCE. 35 
 
 breath, how they laugh and weep, how they par- 
 ticipate with the narrator and with the hero of the 
 tale, in the magic of the descriptions, and the 
 frenzy of the passions. It is a perfect drama, but 
 one in which the audience are at the same time 
 the actors. Is the hero of the story threatened 
 by imminent danger, they shudder, and cry 
 aloud, * No, no, no, God forbid, it cannot be ! ' 
 (La, la t la, iataghferallah /) Should he be in the 
 midst of the fight, mowing down the hostile 
 squadrons with his sword, they grasp their own, 
 and stand up, as if they would fly to his aid. 
 Does he fall into the snares of treachery and 
 falsehood, their foreheads contract in wrinkles 
 of displeasure, and they cry, ' The curse of God 
 on the traitor ! ' Does he succumb at last beneath 
 the multitude of his foes, a long and glowing * Ah ! ' 
 comes from their breast, accompanied by the bless- 
 ing of the dead, * May the mercy of God be upon 
 him ! may he rest in peace ! ' But if he returns 
 from the fight victorious and crowned with fame, 
 the air is filled with loud cries of * Praise God the 
 Lord of Hosts ! ' Descriptions of the beauties of 
 nature, and especially of the spring, are received 
 with repeated exclamations of Tctih> taib, i. e. 
 ' Good, good ! ' and nothing can compare with 
 the satisfaction that sparkles in their eyes when 
 the narrator leisurely and con amore draws a pic- 
 ture of female beauty. 
 
 " They listen with silent attention ; and when he 
 ends his description with the exclamation, * Praised 
 
36 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 be God, who hath created beautiful women ! ' they 
 all, in the enthusiasm of admiration and gratitude, 
 shout out in full chorus, * Praised be God, who 
 hath created beautiful women! ' Forms of speech of 
 this kind frequently introduced into the course of 
 the narrative, and lengthened out with well-known 
 sayings and circumlocutions, serve, as it were, for 
 resting-places to the narrator, to enable him to 
 take breath, or to continue quietly and easily spin- 
 ning on with them the thread of the narrative, 
 without any new demand on his memory or ima- 
 gination. Where the narrator to a European au- 
 dience would say, * And now they continued their 
 journey,' the Arabian orator says, * And now they 
 went on over hills and dales, through woods and 
 plains, over meads and deserts, over fields and 
 pathless wilds, up hill, down dale, from the morn- 
 ing dawn till the evening came.' While uttering 
 these forms of speech, which flow unconsciously 
 from his lips, he collects his attention, and then 
 goes on with his story, till the declining night, or 
 the fatigue of his lungs, enjoins him to break off 
 his narrative, which, with the good-will of his au- 
 ditors, would never come to a termination. A 
 story-teller, however, never ends his tale the same 
 evening, but breaks off in one of the most interest- 
 ing parts, promising to give the continuation or 
 the conclusion the next evening : and if it should 
 happen to terminate early in that evening, he im- 
 mediately begins another, the continuation of which 
 again is put off till the following evening : and thus 
 
THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS. 37 
 
 evening after evening are woven together in a series 
 of narrations l ." 
 
 It is a general, but I believe an erroneous idea, 
 that the Thousand and One Nights are familiarly 
 known all over the Mohammedan East. Mr. Jo- 
 nathan Scott says that he never heard any of them 
 in India. I do not recollect that Mr. Morier, or 
 any of our travellers in Persia, makes any mention 
 of them as forming a part of the literary funds of 
 the story-tellers of that country. M. Hammer 
 says, that when he went to Constantinople in the 
 year 1799, he was charged by the Austrian mi- 
 nister for foreign affairs to purchase for him a 
 copy of these tales, at any price ; and the result 
 of his inquiries at the book-mart and among the 
 Meddah, or coffee-house narrators, was, that they 
 were totally unknown at Constantinople, and were 
 only to be had in Egypt. And in effect it is only 
 in Syria, Arabia, Egypt, and the north coast of 
 Africa, that is, in the countries where the Arabic 
 language is spoken, that copies of this work can 
 be procured 2 . 
 
 Yet Persia is evidently the original country 
 of the Thousand and One Nights. M. Hammer 
 quotes the following passage from the Golden 
 
 1 This explains the artifice of Shehrzade in the Arabian 
 Nights. 
 
 2 The Arabic Thousand and One Nights is now made 
 attainable to all orientalists by a very neat edition, published 
 lately in Germany by Dr. Habicht, from a manuscript pro- 
 cured from Tunis. 
 
38 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Meadow of Massoodee, a writer who flourished 
 in the twelfth century. " The historical work of 
 Obeid Ben Sheriyeh is in the hands of all the 
 world ; but many persons class his narrations with 
 the tales and stories invented for the amusement 
 of indolent princes, by which people seek to in- 
 sinuate themselves into their favour. This book, 
 then, is rather one of the same kind with those 
 fabulous works which have been translated out of 
 the Persian, Indian and Greek languages; such, 
 for example, as the book of the Thousand Arti- 
 fices (Hezar Efsdneh), called in Arabic the Thou- 
 sand Tales (Elf Kharafa), and which is usually 
 known under the name of the Thousand Nights 
 {Elf Leila). It contains the story of a king, his 
 daughter Shehrzade, and her nurse Dinarzade. 
 A similar work is that of Jelkand and Sheemas, 
 that is, the History of an Indian King and his ten 
 Viziers : such, too, are the Voyages of Sindbad, 
 and other works of the kind." The same writer 
 says in another place, speaking of the Khalif 
 Mansoor, the father of Haroon-er-Rasheed, " He 
 was the first who had books translated out of the 
 Persian, among which was that called Kolaila iva 
 Dimna 1 .'* M. Hammer infers from these pas- 
 
 1 That is, the Fables of Bidpai, or Pilpai, the celebrated 
 Kartaka Damnaka, or Hitopadesa of the Hindoos. In the 
 Sketches of Persia (vol. i. p. 139 et seq.) will be found a 
 very interesting account of the manner in which this work 
 was brought to Persia in the time of Noosheerwan the 
 Just. 
 
THE THOUSAND AND ONE NIGHTS. 39 
 
 sages that the Thousand Nights, as they were 
 originally called, could not have been translated 
 into Arabic before the time of Mansoor ; but as 
 the first passage quoted is not to be found in all 
 the manuscripts of Massoodee, and as it has been 
 asserted that the Persian poet Rastee, who lived 
 at the court of Mahmood of Ghizni (a century 
 later than Massoodee,) was the author of the 
 Thousand Tales (Hezar Efsdneh\ he will not 
 maintain that the passage in question is not an 
 interpolation, an evil to which, he says, manu- 
 scripts are so very liable. At all events, it is clear 
 that the work is originally Persian, and some of 
 the tales (particularly the two presently to be no- 
 ticed,) bear evident marks of their Persian ex- 
 traction. As, however, Haroon-er-Rasheed, the 
 son of Khalif Mansoor, is the hero of the greater 
 portion of them, M. Hammer is led from this and 
 other circumstances to infer, that it was at the 
 court of the later Mamlook sultans of Egypt that 
 the work received its present form, and the greater 
 part of its present contents were written. The 
 Voyages of Sindbad, we may observe, was ori- 
 ginally a separate work. I will further add, that 
 I cannot perceive any traces of a Hindoo original 
 in the tales translated by M. Galland ; but some 
 of those translated by M. Hammer certainly came 
 from the land of the Bramins. 
 
 I trust the reader will not deem this inquiry 
 into the origin and history of these celebrated tales 
 superfluous. It follows from it, that at least the 
 
40 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Persian portion of them was in existence before 
 the Decamerone, or any other European collection 
 of tales, was written. I will now proceed to show 
 that some of these very Persian tales made their 
 way to Europe centuries before the appearance 
 of M. Galland's translation. 
 
 The most distinguished French poet of the thir- 
 teenth century was Adans, or Adenes, surnamedZe 
 Rot, either on account of his superior poetic talent, 
 or, as M. Paris with more probability thinks, be- 
 cause he held the post of Roi des Menestrels, or mas- 
 ter of the band of jongleurs, at the court of France. 
 Adenes was a native of Brabant ; and when the 
 Princess Mary of Brabant became queen of France, 
 she took him with her to Paris. Here, to gratify 
 his patroness and her sister-in-law Blanche of 
 France, he composed a long romance in verse, 
 named Cleomades, of which the date may be thus 
 determined. Mary of Brabant was married to 
 Philip the Bold in 1274, and Blanche, who had 
 been married in 1269 to Fernando de la Cerda, 
 infant of Castille, returned on his death in 1275 
 to the court of her brother. King Philip died in 
 the year 1283, so that the romance was probably 
 composed in the interval between 1275 and that 
 year. 
 
 This romance, of which several copies exist in 
 France, but not one I believe in this country, con- 
 tains about 19,000 octosyllabic verses. The scene 
 is laid in the time of the Emperor Diocletian ; and 
 the narrative is frequently interrupted by episodes, 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 41 
 
 one of the most remarkable of which is the ac- 
 count of the marvels performed by the poet Virgil, 
 the greatest magician of his time in Rome. Le 
 Cheval de Fust, or the Wooden Horse, is another 
 title of this poem, as a steed of that kind is an 
 important actor in it 1 . 
 
 An Extrait of this story, under the title of 
 * Cleomades et Claremonde', was given by Count 
 Tressan in the Bibliotheque des Romans. His ac- 
 count of it is, that it was originally composed in 
 Spanish verse, and then translated into prose, both 
 in French and Spanish. From a copy of the former 
 version in the library of the Marquis of Paulmy, 
 he made his Extrait. Having perhaps an unjust 
 suspicion of Count Tressan's literary integrity, 
 and not being able to go and personally examine 
 the poem, I applied to M. Paulin Paris, of the 
 Royal Library at Paris, who most kindly gave me 
 all the information I required. The following is 
 a part of his letter. 
 
 " Tressan's imitation, though it gives but a very 
 imperfect idea of the merit of the romance on 
 which it is founded, is nevertheless exact as to 
 the succession and connexion of the events. The 
 romance imitated by Tressan is not, however, that 
 of the Roi Adenes, but an imitation in prose, made 
 at the end of the fifteenth century by an unknown 
 author after the romance in verse of Cleomades, 
 
 1 For the preceding details I am indebted to the letter pre- 
 fixed by M. Paulin Paris to his edition of Adenes' poem of 
 Li Romans de Berte aux grans Pies. Paris, 1832. 
 
44 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 to travel for his improvement. He visited Greece, 
 Germany and France, and was proceeding to 
 Italy, when he was summoned home by the king 
 and queen to give his presence at the nuptials of 
 his sisters, whose hands were sought by three 
 great princes, who were now arrived in Seville, 
 whither their fame had preceded them. For they 
 were not only powerful monarchs, but were deeply 
 versed in astronomy, and well skilled in the art of 
 magic. The one was Melicandus, king of Barbary ; 
 the second was Bardigans, king of Armenia ; the 
 third, whose name was Croppart, was king of Hun- 
 gary. This last was ugly and hump-backed ; his 
 soul was as deformed as his body, and his tongue 
 was pregnant with falsehood. 
 
 These three kings had met together before they 
 set out for Seville, and had agreed that each should 
 give such a present to the king and queen as would 
 entitle him to ask a gift in return. On their ar- 
 rival they were received with all becoming ho- 
 nours ; and King Melicandus presented the royal 
 pair with a man of gold, who held in his right 
 hand a trumpet formed of the same metal, made 
 with so much art, that if treason lurked within 
 even a considerable distance of him, he put the 
 trumpet to his mouth and blew a loud and piercing 
 blast. 
 
 Bardigans presented a hen and six chickens of 
 gold, so skilfully formed that they seemed to be 
 alive, He placed them on the ground, and they 
 instantly began to run about, to peck, and to clap 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 45 
 
 their wings. The hen flew up on the queen's knee, 
 cackled, and laid a fine pearl in her lap. " She 
 will do the same every third day," said Bardi- 
 gans. 
 
 All present were lost in admiration of these 
 wonderful gifts. King Croppart now came for- 
 ward with a large wooden horse, magnificently 
 caparisoned, with pins of steel on his head and 
 shoulders. " Sire," said he in a harsh and dis- 
 cordant voice, " with the horse which I offer you 
 one may mount in the air, cross the seas, and 
 travel at the rate of fifty leagues an hour." 
 
 The king and queen, who yielded to none in 
 generosity, offered the strangers in return any- 
 thing that was in their power to bestow. At once 
 they craved as a boon the hands of the three fair 
 princesses of Seville ; and Marchabias and Ectriva 
 seeing no sufficient reason to justify a refusal, ac- 
 corded them their demand. The two elder prin- 
 cesses and the whole court were pleased with the 
 kings of Barbary and Armenia, who were hand- 
 some and agreeable in their persons. But the 
 Princess Maxima, when she saw that she was the 
 choice of King Croppart, burst into tears, and 
 running to her brother, implored him to deliver 
 her from such a hideous monster, or to put her to 
 death with his own hand. Cleomades, who loved 
 his sister tenderly, and could not endure the idea 
 of her being thus sacrificed, arose and declared to 
 his father that he had bound himself by oath to 
 defend the liberty of his younger sister, and that 
 
46 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 he could not consent to such a union. On the 
 other hand, Croppart insisted on the promise of 
 the king. The prince, darting at him a look of 
 indignation, said, " The two other kings have 
 merited by the value of their gifts the performance 
 of the king's promise ; but what claims do this pal- 
 try wooden horse, and the fable you have ventured 
 to tell us, give you?" " My lord," said Croppart, 
 gladly seizing the opportunity presented of getting 
 rid of the prince, " be judge yourself of the merits 
 of my horse. There is nothing I will not submit 
 to if I deceive you." "Yes," cried the prince, " I 
 will make the trial of him this very instant." So 
 saying, he had the horse brought out into the 
 garden : the golden man gave a loud blast on his 
 trumpet, but his warning was unheeded, all being 
 so occupied about Prince Cleomades. The prince 
 mounted the horse, but he remained immoveable : 
 he began to menace Croppart : " Turn the steel 
 pin in his forehead," cried the latter : the golden 
 man blew his trumpet more fiercely than before. 
 The king heard it, and called to his son to dis- 
 mount ; but it was now too late, the prince had 
 turned the pin, and was aloft in the air, carried 
 along with such velocity that he was speedily out 
 of sight. 
 
 The king and queen, full of grief and indig- 
 nation, instantly had Croppart seized, menacing 
 him with the most cruel death in case any evil 
 should befall their son. But he replied with the 
 greatest calmness, " The fault is not mine ; he 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 47 
 
 should have waited till I had told him how to 
 manage the horse." There appeared so much 
 reason in what he said, that they did not feel jus- 
 tified in having recourse to any measures of ex- 
 treme rigour against him. He was therefore only 
 confined in an apartment in the palace, but in other 
 respects honourably treated. To the two other 
 kings they made an apology for deferring the 
 nuptials till they should have had tidings of the 
 safety of their son, at the same time assuring them 
 that they had no idea whatever of not fulfilling 
 their engagements. 
 
 Meantime Prince Cleomades was carried along 
 with great rapidity. He lost neither his courage 
 nor his self-possession. At first he expected that 
 the horse would bring him back to where he had 
 set out from ; but when he saw the appearance of 
 the country continually changing beneath him, and 
 at last found that he was passing over the sea, he 
 perceived to his grief that he was quitting Spain. 
 Night was now spread over the earth, but still the 
 speed at which he was proceeding remained un- 
 changed. Recollecting, at length, that there were 
 pins on the horses shoulders similar to that on his 
 forehead, he took advantage of the first rays of 
 light to make trial of them. He found that by 
 turning one of them to the right or the left, the 
 horse went in that direction ; and that when the 
 one on the other shoulder was turned, he slack- 
 ened his pace and descended towards the earth. 
 This discovery cheered the prince, and he even 
 
48 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 began to conceive hopes of some fortunate adven- 
 ture. The rays of the sun, now reflected from 
 glittering domes and spires, informed him that he 
 was passing over some great and magnificent city ; 
 so, skilfully managing the pins on the shoulders of 
 his horse, he descended on the leads of a lofty 
 tower, which stood in the midst of the gardens of 
 a great palace. 
 
 The prince, who was both fatigued and hungry 
 after so long a journey through the air, dis- 
 mounted, and leaving his horse on the roof of the 
 tower, opened a trap-door, and went down a flight 
 of steps, which led him to a hall, where stood a 
 table still covered with the remains of a feast. He 
 sat down and regaled himself, and having drunk 
 some delicious wine, ventured to enter a chamber, 
 the door of which was half open. The first ob- 
 ject that met his view was a huge giant, lying 
 stretched on the ground, and fast asleep. The 
 prince softly drew from his hand a key which he 
 saw in it, and coming to a richly ornamented door, 
 tried the key, and opened it. He there beheld 
 three beds, on each of which was reposing a young 
 and beautiful maiden. The prince gazed for a mo- 
 ment on their charms, and then passed on to a door 
 which was standing open, and which gave him a 
 view of a chamber still more magnificent than that 
 which he was in. He entered, and found a bed with 
 rich hangings, and occupied by a maiden in the 
 flower of youth, whose beauty far surpassed that 
 of her companions. She was in a profound sleep. 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 49 
 
 Cleomades stood lost in rapture, and then for the 
 first time felt the influence of love. As he gazed 
 on her a bee flew into the apartment, and was 
 going to settle on her bosom : fearing to awaken 
 her, the prince blew at the bee with his breath : 
 the insect turned and stung him in the cheek. 
 Just at that instant the maiden awoke, and seeing 
 a man in the chamber gave a loud cry. " Rash 
 man," said she, " how have you presumed to enter 
 this apartment ? Are you King Liopatris, whose 
 bride I am destined by my father to be ? If you 
 are not, nothing can save you from death." " Yes, 
 Princess," instantly replied Cleomades, " I am. 
 By rny address, and under cover of the night, I 
 have penetrated into this chamber. I wished to 
 see and do homage to the beauty destined for me, 
 before I offered her my hand. Haply my respect 
 had led me to retire without awaking you, had 
 not this cruel bee menaced your bosom ; and I 
 could only avert the stroke by receiving it my- 
 self." He took her lovely hand ; the princess was 
 moved, and said, " I pardon you this indiscretion : 
 retire to the garden, while I summon my attendants 
 to aid me to rise." 
 
 The prince obeyed without hesitation, and the 
 three attendants coming at the call of their mis- 
 tress, prepared to attire her. She related to them 
 with a blush her adventure, and did not conceal 
 the impression which the appearance and manners 
 of her future husband had made on her mind. 
 When dressed, the fair princess, followed by her 
 D 
 
50 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 maids of honour, went down to the garden, where 
 she found Cleomades expecting her. They en- 
 tered an arbour, and in the course of the conver- 
 sation which ensued, he learned, by what fell from 
 the attendants, that the princess's name was Clare- 
 mond, and that she was daughter of Cornuant king 
 of Tuscany, who had engaged her to Liopatris 
 king of A strachan. 
 
 Cleomades could not avoid secretly reproaching 
 himself for the deception he had practised ; but 
 he was too deeply in love to run the risk of losing 
 his present bliss. Under his assumed character 
 he proffered vows of everlasting attachment ; and 
 taking advantage of the momentary absence of the 
 princess's maidens, who had risen to gather flowers, 
 he fell on his knees before her, and drew from the 
 fair Claremond a confession of corresponding af- 
 fection, and a vow of eternal fidelity. Just at this 
 moment a loud noise was heard, the doors of the 
 garden flew open, and King Cornuant entered, fol- 
 lowed by his courtiers and a troop of armed men. 
 
 The giant on awaking had gone to look after 
 his fair charge. Not finding her in her apartment 
 he became uneasy ; but hearing the voices of her 
 maids in the garden, he looked out at a window, 
 and beholding a young knight at the feet of the 
 princess in the arbour, he went with all speed and 
 gave information to the king. 
 
 Cornuant in a rage demanded of his daughter, 
 how it happened that he thus found a stranger at 
 her feet. " Surely," replied the princess, "it must 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 51 
 
 be with your own consent that he is come hither, 
 for he is no other than the prince to whom you 
 had engaged me." 
 
 " Traitor," cried the king in a fury, turning to 
 Cleomades, " what madness has induced you to 
 intrude on the retirement of my daughter, and to 
 call yourself Liopatris ? " 
 
 " Ah, Sire," replied Cleomades respectfully, 
 " have pity on a young and helpless knight, who 
 is persecuted by the vengeance of the fairies. My 
 father, one of the sovereigns of Europe, having 
 given them some offence, they condemned me at 
 the moment of my birth to be exposed for three 
 days in each year to the greatest perils, and the 
 moment in which these perils excite fear in my 
 soul, is to be the last of my life. 
 
 " From the time I was knighted they have every 
 year caused me to be carried off by a wooden 
 horse, that flies through the air, and takes me all 
 over the world, exposing me to the most appalling 
 dangers ; but as yet my courage has never given 
 way. Deign now, Sire, to send up to the leads 
 of this tower, and the horse will be found, who of 
 himself descended in that place. Overcome with 
 hunger and fatigue, I went down in search of re- 
 lief. Entering the chamber of your daughter, I 
 heard her cry out, ' Rash man, if you are any 
 other than Prince Liopatris, I will call for aid, 
 and your head will be cut off.' I must confess, 
 Sire, that the natural love of life made me have 
 recourse to a stratagem, which I now strongly con- 
 D 2 
 
52 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 demn, and I submit to whatever you may please 
 to determine respecting me." 
 
 Cornuant was amazed at this relation, to which 
 he did not, however, give full credit. He sent 
 some persons to the roof of the tower, and con- 
 trary to his expectations, saw them return, bear- 
 ing with some difficulty a large ill-formed wooden 
 horse. 
 
 He assembled his council, and their unanimous 
 opinion was, that the stranger was deserving of 
 death, for having dared to deceive the Princess 
 Claremond, and assume the name of King Liopa- 
 tris- King Cornuant then directed him to prepare 
 for death, as he had not many moments to live. 
 
 " I expected nothing else," replied the prince 
 with calmness ; then turning to Claremond, who 
 seemed overwhelmed with affliction, " Pardon, 
 divine Princess, the artifice to which I had re- 
 course. Impute it to love, and believe that the 
 most devoted of lovers will expire before your 
 eyes." 
 
 The princess sighed, wept, and unable to speak 
 covered her head with her veil. The executioners 
 approached. 
 
 " King Cornuant," cried the prince, " I am a 
 knight, and of noble blood ; let me die according 
 to the fashion of my own country, where a knight 
 always receives death mounted on his war-horse. 
 Let me mount this instrument of the malignity of 
 the fairies ; it may suffice to save my honour and 
 that of my country." 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 53 
 
 Cornuant, who felt a secret pity for the prince, 
 readily granted his request. Cleomades mounted 
 the wooden horse, turned the pin in his forehead, 
 and was in an instant high in the air, and beyond 
 all danger. He hovered about for some time, to 
 the utter terror and amazement of the beholders ; 
 then crying aloud, " Charming Princess, I shall 
 ever remain faithful,"^ directed his course home- 
 wards. As he now perfectly understood the ma- 
 nagement of the horse, he speedily reached Se- 
 ville. He dismounted, and left the horse at a 
 small country palace, not far from the city, and 
 hastened to console his anxious parents. 
 
 The nuptials of the two elder princesses with 
 the kings Melicandus and Bardigans were no 
 longer delayed. But as the Princess Maxima 
 persisted in her aversion to King Croppart, and 
 the golden man blew his trumpet every time he re- 
 newed his proposal, and Prince Cleomades more- 
 over still declared himself the champion of his 
 sister, King Marchabias gave him a positive re- 
 fusal, accompanied with orders to quit the court 
 immediately. 
 
 Croppart having been obliged to quit his own 
 kingdom, and stay away for the space of a year, 
 on account of some crimes which he had com- 
 mitted, resolved to remain in the neighbourhood 
 of Seville. He disguised himself, and passed for 
 an Indian physician l t and taking up his abode in 
 
 1 In the old French romances physicien has the sense of 
 
54 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 one of the villages near the city, watched the 
 movements of the royal family. He soon learned 
 that Prince Cleomades had set out on another ex- 
 pedition. For this young man, unable to control 
 the violence of his passion for the fair Claremond, 
 had made a confidant of his mother, who, feeling 
 that it would be useless to seek to detain him, had 
 consented to his returning, by means of the wooden 
 horse, to the abode of that princess, only enjoining 
 him prudence and caution. 
 
 Cleomades arranged the time of his departure 
 so as to arrive by night at the tower of his beloved 
 Claremond. Instead of alighting on the leads, he 
 directed his horse to a little garden, whose only 
 entrance was from the apartments of the princess, 
 and concealed him in an arbour. Full of hope, 
 of fear, and love, he then drew nigh to the door. 
 It was open, he entered, and advanced towards 
 the chamber of Claremond. He found her lying in 
 a gentle slumber : a single lamp gave light in the 
 apartment. Having gazed for some moments with 
 rapture on her charms, he gently waked her. 
 " Ah ! rash youth," said she, in a tender and af- 
 fectionate tone, " why will you again venture on 
 certain death ! What do you propose, since you 
 are not King Liopatris ?" " To adore you while I 
 live," returned he, " and give you a station worthy 
 
 our word physician. M. Tressan has perhaps added this 
 trait from the eastern tale, in which the owner of the horse 
 is an Indian. They knew nothing of Indian physicians in 
 the thirteenth century in Europe. 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 55 
 
 of you. I am Cleomades, son of the king of Spain. 
 My parents know of my love, and will press you 
 to their bosom, and make you mistress of one of 
 the most splendid thrones in the world." " What ! " 
 cried the princess, " are you that Cleomades whom 
 fame proclaims to be the most gallant and accom- 
 plished of knights ? " The prince replied by pre- 
 senting her with a splendid bracelet, containing 
 his mother's portrait and his own. The princess 
 avowed her love ; she told him that Liopatris was 
 to arrive that very day, attended by all the knights 
 of his court, and that nothing would induce her 
 father to break his word. Cleomades then in- 
 formed her of his plan, and she consented to mount 
 the enchanted horse, and suffer him to conduct 
 her to Spain. 
 
 Day was now approaching : she summoned her 
 three attendants to her presence, who were greatly 
 surprised to see there again the young man who 
 had already run such a risk. Their surprise was 
 augmented when their mistress informed them that 
 he was the celebrated Prince Cleomades. They 
 made no needless remonstrances, but attired the 
 princess in her most costly dress. One packed 
 up her jewels in a small writing-case; another 
 made ready a basket of provisions for her to take 
 with her. The third, more cautious, begged of 
 Cleomades to defer his departure till the sun was 
 risen, and to carry off the princess in the sight of 
 King Cornuant, who every morning walked in the 
 
56 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 gardens adjoining those of the princess; by which 
 means, she said, she and her companions would 
 escape all blame. Cleomades consented ; the maids 
 retired to their beds, and leading the princess out 
 into the garden, he placed her behind him on the 
 mngic horse. 
 
 The sun was now spreading his beams over the 
 earth. Cleomades turned the pin in the forehead 
 of his horse, and the steed rose into the air. \Vhen 
 he had ascended as high as the tops of the palace 
 towers, he beheld the king and his court in the 
 gardens beneath : " Sire," cried he, " know that I 
 am Cleomades, prince of Spain. Be not uneasy 
 about the princess, my father and mother will re- 
 ceive her with all respect and affection. If King 
 Liopatris, who has never beheld her, should feel 
 offended, I will give him satisfaction ; or if he 
 will, I will bestow on him the hand of my sister." 
 So saying, he made an inclination to the king ; 
 the princess stretched forth her arms to her father, 
 but the rapidity of the motion soon made her clasp 
 her lover round the waist. 
 
 The aerial travellers did not arrive at Seville 
 till early the next morning. The prince descended 
 as before, at the small summer palace, and leaving 
 the princess there to take some repose and re- 
 cover from the fatigues of her journey, he pro- 
 ceeded to the city to announce her arrival to his 
 father and mother. Marchabias and Ectriva were 
 charmed at his success \ they ordered their most 
 
TAJLIES 
 
 Swift as the shaft flies from the s 
 Swift as tlie bird is on the whig, 
 The enchanted steed bears throuj 
 Cleomades and Claremond fair. 
 
 DRAWN BY W. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD 13 V G. 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKEll AND CO. 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 57 
 
 splendid equipages to be prepared, and in a few 
 hours the whole court set forth to conduct the 
 fair stranger to the city. 
 
 Claremond meantime having taken some repose 
 and refreshment, went forth into the garden, where 
 she amused herself with gathering flowers and 
 weaving them into a chaplet, singing the while 
 some extemporaneous verses. As ill-luck would 
 have it, the malignant Croppart was at one end of 
 the garden culling simples, in his assumed charac- 
 ter of a physician. Hearing a melodious voice, he 
 drew near unperceived, and the first object that 
 met his view was his own wooden horse. He then 
 looked on the princess, and he thought her still 
 more beautiful than Maxima. Just then Clare- 
 mond gave a sigh, and began to weep. " Cleo- 
 mades, beloved Cleomades, where are you ? Could 
 you have deceived me when you said you were 
 going in quest of those who would receive me 
 with honour ? Haste, haste, delay no longer ! " 
 
 Croppart instantly formed his plan ; he ap- 
 proached the princess. " Fair and noble lady," 
 said he, " dry up your tears. The prince on ar- 
 riving at the palace, finding himself unwell in con- 
 sequence of fatigue, said to me, who am in his 
 most secret confidence, ' Mount the enchanted 
 horse, fly to her whom I adore, and bring her 
 hither with all speed.' He then taught me how 
 to manage him. So, lady, mount, and I will with 
 speed conduct you to the prince." 
 
 The unsuspicious Claremond mounted the horse 
 D 5 
 
58 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 without hesitation. Croppart turned the pin, and 
 they ascended into the air with such velocity, that 
 the princess was obliged to shut her eyes to avoid 
 becoming dizzy. But when she at length ventured 
 to look below, and saw no signs of a city, but on 
 the contrary forests, lakes and mountains, she be- 
 came aware of the extent of her misfortune. Crop- 
 part, heedless of her reproaches, grasped her fair 
 hands, and turning the head of his horse from the 
 direction of Hungary, whither he was at first pro- 
 ceeding, urged his course over Italy towards Africa. 
 Suddenly the princess gave a piercing cry, and 
 Croppart found that she had swooned away. 
 
 He immediately made the horse descend in a 
 mead, watered by a fountain. He took her down, 
 and sprinkled her with water till she revived. He 
 then began to make proposals of love to her, de- 
 claring that he had been so captivated by her 
 charms, that he had considered every stratagem 
 lawful, but that it was to raise her to the rank of 
 queen of Hungary that he had carried her off. 
 
 The princess, who did not want for talent and 
 quickness, instantly replied, " Ah ! Sir, what are 
 you thinking of? Would you make a queen of a 
 poor peasant girl, whom Prince Cleomades pur- 
 chased of her parents for his pleasure ? " " No 
 matter," said Croppart, " your beauty makes you 
 worthy of the first throne in the universe." 
 
 His respect, however, now in a great measure 
 vanished, and he urged his suit to the princess in 
 such a manner that she began to grow terrified. 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 59 
 
 She had again recourse to art. " Stop," said she, 
 " or I shall expire before your eyes. I consent 
 to marry you, if you will only wait till we come 
 to some town where we may be legally united." 
 
 Croppart, who, bad as he was, did not wish to 
 be needlessly lowered in her opinion, assented to 
 this moderate request ; and being nearly overcome 
 by the heat and fatigue, he went and plunged his 
 arms into the fountain : he also drank of the water 
 to quench his thirst, and the cold of it was so great, 
 that he fell nearly senseless on the ground. Clare- 
 mond also sat down at a little distance, and ex- 
 hausted by grief and fatigue, fell fast asleep. 
 
 In this state they were found by the falconers 
 of the king of Salerno, who were in pursuit of one 
 of their hawks which had flown away, and had 
 seen him alight at the fountain to drink. They 
 <were not a little amazed at finding in this lone- 
 some place an ugly little hunchback, who was 
 breathing as if struggling against death, and near 
 him a lady of surpassing beauty lying fast asleep. 
 They immediately dispatched one of their number 
 with the strange tidings to the king of Salerno, 
 whose name was Mendulus. 
 
 This prince, who was of a voluptuous character, 
 instantly mounted his horse and flew to the mead, 
 where he found Croppart and Claremond in the 
 same state in which the falconer had left them. 
 The beauty of Claremond astonished him, and for 
 the first time in his life perhaps he experienced 
 love mingled with sentiment and with respect. 
 
60 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 On their awaking he interrogated them. Crop- 
 part asserted that he was a free man, that he had 
 fallen asleep at the fountain, and that the young 
 woman was his wife. Claremond, being asked if 
 this was true, positively denied it, and implored 
 the king to protect her against him. Mendulus 
 had them both brought to the palace ; the horse, 
 of which he knew not the use, was not left behind. 
 The fair Claremond was assigned an apartment in 
 the palace : Croppart was placed in confinement ; 
 but the disorder which he had caught at the foun- 
 tain was so severe, that he expired during the 
 night. 
 
 Next morning Mendulus, all impatience, waited 
 on Claremond with the offer of his hand and crown. 
 But she pretended to believe that he was only 
 mocking her. She told him that she was nothing 
 but a foundling, picked up by some persons, who 
 gave her the name of Trouvee (Foundling), and 
 had afterwards married her to a gentleman ; but 
 that the hunchback, who was a great clerk and 
 physician, had carried her off, and brought her 
 with him from country to country, where he made 
 a great deal of money by his philtres and tricks of 
 sleight of hand ; so that he had always kept her 
 well clothed and fed until the evening before, when 
 he had beaten and abused her without reason. 
 
 Mendulus, who was a good sort of man, and 
 not troubled with too much delicacy, was not at 
 all repelled from the alliance which he proposed 
 by this frank confession. Having for form-sake 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 61 
 
 held a council, composed of the companions of his 
 pleasure, and gotten their approval of his design, 
 he returned and announced it to the princess. 
 Claremond now saw no other means of retarding 
 the marriage, which she dreaded, than to feign that 
 joy had turned her brain. She committed acts of 
 the greatest folly and extravagance, and at length 
 became so violent, that the king found it neces- 
 sary to take measures for her cure, and he put her 
 under the care of ten of the most sensible and 
 strongest women he could find. 
 
 The court of Spain was meantime in the utmost 
 affliction. When the king and queen arrived with 
 Cleomades at the summer palace, they sought in 
 vairi for the Princess Claremond. Cleomades 
 picked up one of her gloves, but no other trace 
 of her or of the enchanted horse could be disco- 
 vered. His parents brought him back to the pa- 
 lace in a condition which caused apprehensions to 
 be entertained for his life. 
 
 In the course of a few days came ambassadors 
 from the court of Tuscany, and the royal family 
 were filled with shame at being obliged to declare 
 that they knew not what was become of the prin- 
 cess. The chief of the embassy, however, who 
 was a prudent sensible man, saw that reproaches 
 would be cruel, and he set about giving consola- 
 tion to the prince. At the same time he could 
 not refrain from upbraiding him for thus giving 
 himself up to despair, instead of setting out and 
 
62 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 searching the whole world for a princess so de- 
 serving of regret. 
 
 Cleomades felt his strength and courage revive 
 at this reproof; and as soon as he was able to 
 bear the weight of his arms, he mounted a gallant 
 steed, and directed his course towards the king- 
 dom of Tuscany, in the hope of there hearing 
 some tidings of his adored princess. He reached 
 the lofty mountains which surround it, passed 
 through them, and it was far in the night when 
 he came to a castle which stood alone, where 
 he resolved to demand hospitality. As the draw- 
 bridge was raised, he called aloud, and a man an- 
 swered him from the battlements, and told him 
 that it was the custom of this castle, that any 
 knight who was entertained in it should next 
 morning leave his arms and his horse, unless he 
 was willing singly to engage two valiant knights 
 in arms. " The custom is a discourteous one," 
 replied Cleomades. " It was established," said 
 the other, " in consequence of a traitor who was 
 entertained here having assassinated the lord of 
 the castle during the night. When his two nephews 
 found him next morning weltering in his blood, 
 he made them swear, ere he expired, to maintain 
 this custom." 
 
 Cleomades was not to be daunted by the pro- 
 posed terms of hospitality : the drawbridge was 
 lowered, he entered, was well received and enter- 
 tained, and then retired to repose. In the morn- 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 63 
 
 ing, the knight who had done the honours of the 
 house required him to surrender his arms, or to 
 fight. The prince forthwith mounted his horse, 
 grasped his lance, and rode forth to where two 
 armed knights awaited his arrival. Immediately 
 the two charge him together; their lances are 
 shivered against his shield, but he remains firm 
 in his seat, while one of the knights is unhorsed, 
 and his shoulder put out of joint by the stroke of 
 the prince's lance. The other then drew his sword, 
 and a long and dubious conflict ensued. At length 
 Cleomades proves victorious, and disarms his op- 
 ponent, whom he now finds to be a most valiant 
 knight whom he had met when on his travels. 
 They both go to the aid of the wounded knight, 
 who, on being informed of the name of his illus- 
 trious adversary, assured him that it was against 
 his will he had aided to maintain that iniquitous 
 custom ; adding, that he only regretted his wound 
 because it would prevent his undertaking the de- 
 fence of a damsel wrongfully accused of treason. 
 
 They convey the wounded knight to the castle, 
 and then Cleomades learns that the damsel is one 
 of the princess Claremond's maids of honour. 
 For on the arrival of Liopatris at the court of 
 Tuscany, three knights of his train had forthwith 
 accused the three maids of honour of being ac- 
 complices in the carrying off of their mistress. 
 
 The two knights confess to Cleomades that they 
 are enamoured of two of the accused damsels, and 
 the wounded man again bemoans his inability to 
 
64 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 defend the life and innocence of his mistress, 
 " Ah, sir," replied Cleomades, " cease to afflict 
 yourself; no one is more bound than I to defend 
 the fair Lyriade. I will depart with your comrade, 
 and trust speedily to restore her to you." 
 
 Cleomades having selected a suit of plain ar- 
 mour, that he might not be known, set out with 
 his comrade for the court of King Cornuant. On 
 their arrival, he halted in the suburbs, while the 
 knight of the castle went forward to announce 
 that two knights were come to undertake the de- 
 fence of the accused damsels against the three 
 accusers. Next morning the combatants appear 
 in the lists ; the word of onset is given, the knights 
 dart forth and encounter. The strongest of the 
 champions of Liopatris singly engages Cleomades, 
 whose lance penetrates his shield and corselet, and 
 enters his heart. He then flies to the aid of his 
 companion, whom the other two had unhorsed. 
 Ere long they cry for mercy, and deliver up their 
 swords. According to the law of combat, the ac- 
 cused damsels are now pronounced innocent, and 
 delivered to their defenders ; and mounting their 
 palfreys, they set forth with them, and accompa- 
 nied by their relatives, for the castle whence the 
 victor-knights had come. 
 
 When Cleomades disarmed himself, the damsels, 
 to their great surpr'-e and joy, recognised in him 
 the lover of the Princess Claremond. Their gra- 
 titude to him knew no bounds ; but their inqui- 
 ries after their mistress awoke his grief, and they 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 65 
 
 mingled their tears with his. All now began to 
 consult on the means of getting tidings of her ; but 
 none of the proposed plans seemed to offer a like- 
 lihood of success. At length an old knight said 
 he knew at Salerno an astronomer " who saw the 
 most secret things quite clear." Cleomades in- 
 stantly resolved to go and consult this sage ; and 
 accordingly, next morning, after taking leave of 
 the lovers, and making them promise to come to 
 Spain to him if he should find his Claremond, he 
 set out for Salerno. 
 
 On his arrival in that city, Cleomades put up at 
 an inn in the suburbs. His first care was to inquire 
 of the host after the sage of whom he was come 
 in quest. " Alas ! sir," said the host, " it is now 
 a year since we lost him ; and never did we regret 
 him more ; for were he now alive, he might be of 
 the most essential service to our prince, by re- 
 storing to reason the most beautiful creature that 
 ever lived ; of whom, though she is of low origin, 
 he is so enamoured, that he is resolved to marry 
 her." 
 
 Cleomades was filled with melancholy at hear- 
 ing of the death of the sage ; and the host, to di- 
 vert him, related the tale of the hunchback, and 
 how the king had met with that lovely creature, 
 and how her head had turned with joy at the idea 
 of being married to a king. He ended his nar- 
 rative by what he deemed the least interesting 
 part of it, namely, by telling of the wooden horse 
 which had been found near where the rascally 
 
66 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 hunchback was lying. When he mentioned the 
 horse, Cleomades threw his arms about his neck : 
 " Ah ! my dear friend," said he, " both your for- 
 tune and mine are made ; for I possess infallible 
 cures for madness. Lead me at once to your 
 prince : but stay, as my arms might excite some 
 suspicion, get me a false beard, and the dress of 
 a physician. Depend upon my success, and on a 
 full half of the reward." 
 
 The host quickly supplied him with all that he 
 required, and then going to the court, announced 
 the arrival at his house of a most renowned phy- 
 sician, who would undertake the cure of the mad 
 lady. The king ordered him to be brought to 
 court without a moment's delay. 
 
 Cleomades, taking with him the glove of Clare- 
 mond, which he had filled with some common 
 herbs and flowers, repaired to the palace. King 
 Mendulus himself conducted him to the apartment 
 of the fair patient, who, as soon as she saw him 
 approaching, redoubled her demonstrations of 
 frenzy. " Sire," said Cleomades, " be under no 
 apprehension, I will soon make her calm." He 
 drew nigh to her, and put her glove near her face, 
 as if to make her smell to it. Surprised at seeing 
 her own glove, she looked sharply at the physi- 
 cian, and at once recognised Cleomades. Instantly 
 she became quite calm : she took his hand, and 
 he felt the pressure of love and of recognition. 
 " Doctor," said she, " your glove is skilful, for it 
 has done me some good ; but as for yourself, poor 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 67 
 
 creature, I believe you are just as mad as I am. 
 With all your airs of importance, I bet that my 
 wooden horse knows more than you do. But, 
 by the way, I am afraid they will let him die of 
 hunger. I wish they would bring him here to 
 dispute with you. Oh ! how he would argue if 
 he could get some Seville oats to eat ! " and she 
 raised her eyes to heaven. 
 
 Her lovely countenance had now resumed all its 
 beauty. Mendulus, enraptured, but at the same 
 time grieved to hear her, as he thought, talking 
 more irrationally than ever, implored the physician 
 to employ all his skill for her recovery. " I will," 
 replied he ; " but we must begin by giving way 
 to her little caprices and fancies. Fair Trouvee," 
 then continued he, " I have not the slightest ob- 
 jection to argue with your horse. I have often 
 before now disputed with these animals. It is, 
 to be sure, no easy matter to convince them ; but 
 by proper management one may succeed in taming 
 them, and making them useful. Let them lead in 
 
 your horse then, and " " Ha ! ha ! ha ! you 
 
 poor fool ! " cried Claremond in a fit of laughter, 
 " my horse is of another sort from those you are 
 used to hold your arguments with. Lead him in ! 
 He will not let himself be led ; he likes to be car- 
 ried by asses like yourself. So go fetch him, and 
 then, if you dare, dispute with him in my pre- 
 sence." Cleomades pretended not to understand 
 her. " Sire," said he to Mendulus, " she has got 
 
68 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 some fancy about a horse into her head : let one 
 be brought out of your stables." Mendulus, who 
 thought himself now wondrous wise, replied, " I 
 see how it is ; I know better than you what she 
 wants :" and he ordered the wooden horse to be 
 brought out into the garden. 
 
 " Fair Trouvee," said he then with a smile, 
 " you know the horse might dirty your chamber: 
 come down to the garden, and he shall be there 
 for you." " Ah ! " said she, " you talk sense, not 
 like this prig of a physician. Come, give me your 
 arm and let us go down." She then caught Cleo- 
 mades by the ear, as if to pull him after her ; and 
 all the court followed, laughing at her acts of folly. 
 When she saw the horse, she ran up and embraced 
 him. " Ah ! " said she, " how lean you are : they 
 have half starved you :" and she instantly began 
 to gather grass and flowers to feed him. 
 
 Cleomades, showing the king a little phial, said, 
 " We must lose no time in making her swallow 
 this." Claremond instantly changed her tone, and 
 affected to feel great confidence in the physician 
 and his remedies. " O thou great man," cried she, 
 " mount the horse with me, and take me away 
 from this rabble, who are tormenting me. You 
 will find my cure in the horse's ear." Cleoma- 
 des shrugged his shoulders, as if he now doubt- 
 ed of her cure ; but Mendulus pressed him to 
 comply with her whim, and he himself placed her 
 behind him on the horse. The prince, with the 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 69 
 
 phial in his hand, affected to search the ear of the 
 horse ; and watching his opportunity, turned the 
 pin. The horse rose, like an arrow from a bow, 
 into the air, and all present uttered a cry of amaze- 
 ment. " Mendulus," said he, as they went off, " I 
 am Cleomades prince of Spain, and this is the fair 
 Claremond, daughter of the king of Tuscany :" and 
 they soon were out of view. 
 
 Next morning the happy pair arrived at Seville. 
 The nuptials were immediately performed ; and 
 shortly afterwards King Cornuant came, with a 
 part of his court, to visit his daughter. KingLio- 
 patris, who also came in disguise, was so smitten 
 with the charms of the Princess Maxima, that he 
 forthwith asked and obtained her in marriage. 
 Claremond's maids of honour, and their lovers 
 also, made their appearance at the court of Se- 
 ville, and all respired joy and happiness. 
 
 Before I offer any remarks on this tale, I will 
 give some proof that it is a genuine Extrait of the 
 old story. Tn the delectable history of Reynart 
 the Foxe, translated into c rude and symple En- 
 glyssche' by William Caxton, and imprinted by 
 him ' in thabbey of Westmestre' in the year 
 1481, and in the 32nd chapter, Reynart, when 
 enumerating the jewels he had lost, thus speaks 
 of the wood in which his wonderful glass was 
 set '. 
 
 1 Mr. Douce first directed my attention to this passage. 
 
70 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 " The tree ] in which this glas stode was lyght 
 and faste, and was named cetyne, hit sholde en- 
 dure ever er it wold rote, or wormes shold hurte 
 it, and therefore kynge Salamon seelyd (cieled)li'is 
 temple wyth the same, and withy nforth men prysed 
 it derrer than fyn gold, hit is like to tree of he- 
 benus (ebony), of whyche wode kynge Crompart 
 made his hors of tree for the love of kynge Mo- 
 rardigas daughter that was so fayr, whom he hail 
 wende for to have wonne, that hors was so made 
 within that wo somever rode on hit if he wolde he 
 shold be within lesse than on hour an hundred 
 myle thens and that was wel preved ffor Cleo- 
 medes the kynges sone wolde not byleve that that 
 hors of tree had suche myght and vertue, he was 
 yonge lusty and hardy and desired to do grete 
 dedes of prys for to be renomed in this world, 
 and leep on this hors of tree, Crompart torned a 
 pynne that stode on his brest, and anon the horse 
 lyfte him up and went out of the halle by the 
 wyndowe and ere one myght say his pater noster 
 he was goon more ten myle waye, Cleomedes was 
 sore aferd and supposed never to have torned 
 agayn as thystorye therof telleth more playnly 
 but how grete drede he had and how ferre that he 
 rood upon that horse made of the tree of hebenus 
 er he coude knowe the arte and crafte how he 
 shold tome hym and how joyeful he was when he 
 knewe it and how men sorowed for hym and how 
 
 1 In the northern languages, tree is ' wood.' With us, roof- 
 tree, boot-tree, cross-tree* swingle-tree, &c. are still in use. 
 
CLEOMADES AND CLAREMOND. 71 
 
 he knewe all this and the joy e thereof when he 
 came agayn al this I passe over for losyng of 
 tyme." 
 
 Here, then, we have some of the most import- 
 ant circumstances of the romance in the 15th cen- 
 tury ; and I think we may place the usual degree 
 of faith in Count Tressan's honesty. 
 
 The story, as every one must see, is that of 
 the Enchanted Horse in the Thousand and One 
 Nights ; and it is a very remarkable instance of 
 the transmission of fictitious narratives, little al- 
 tered, from distant regions. It is undoubtedly in- 
 ferior to the oriental tale ; but that is a matter of 
 no importance in our present inquiry. We have 
 here, then, an eastern tale known in Europe in the 
 13th century : let us see how it came thither. 
 
 The Enchanted Horse is in my opinion an an- 
 cient Persian tale, from the time of the Shahpoors 
 and Yezdejirds ; and is in all probability one of 
 those which moved the choler of the Arabian pro- 
 phet, and against which a Sura of the Koran came 
 down from heaven. It is purely Persian, free 
 from all allusion to Islam, and its tenets and prac- 
 tices. It is, we may observe, at the ancient Persian 
 festival of the Noo Rooz (New Day), by which 
 Persia has, according to tradition, from the time 
 of the renowned Jemsheed, celebrated the return 
 of the vernal equinox, that the Indian appears 
 with his wonderful horse before the monarch of 
 Iran : the king is named Khoosrou Shah, and his 
 son Firooz Shah, both genuine Persian names ; 
 
72 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 and the only countries mentioned in the tale, be- 
 sides Persia itself, are the neighbouring realms of 
 India and Cashmeer. The description too of Persia 
 given in it perhaps accords best with the state of 
 the country in the time of the Sassanian dynasty. 
 I cannot take on me to say that the Sassanian 
 monarchs held their court at Sheeraz, as they are 
 made to do in this tale; but the substitution of a 
 well-known name for an obsolete one could have 
 been no great liberty in the Arabian translator. 
 Observe the difference between this tale and that 
 of Beder and Giauhara (Jouhara) \ The scene of 
 this last is also in Persia, and in the time of the 
 Sassanians ; but the personages are all good Mos- 
 lems, their names are Arabic, and the king's pa- 
 lace is in an island, arid close to the sea ! Yet this 
 is possibly an ancient Persian tale also, though the 
 Arabian narrator may have taken greater liberties 
 with it. As a further proof of the Arabs' igno- 
 rance or negligence of the ancient Persian history, 
 I will just notice that the Bluebeard-sultan, to 
 whom all these tales of the Khalif Haroon-er- 
 Rasheed and others are related, is called a Sassa- 
 nian, and is made a good Mussulman before the 
 days of Mohammed ! l 
 
 1 I cannot, however, help suspecting that the Arabs re- 
 tained, to a certain extent, the original frame of these tales, 
 and that it was to a Sassanian Shah, and not a Moslem Sultan, 
 that Shehrzadeh (City-born), when awaked by her nurse 
 Dinarzadeh (Dinar-born) a good name for a slave related 
 tales of the ancient Kyanean princes of Iran. The names in 
 this frame are all Persian. See above, p. 38. 
 
ENCHANTED HORSES. 73 
 
 " No law," justly observes M. Hammer, " be it 
 even given in the name of heaven, can long stand 
 on earth, if it be in direct opposition to the man- 
 ners and character of the people to whom it is 
 given." The Persians always loved wine, and 
 heedless of the Prophet they still drink it ; the 
 Arabs loved tales of wonder, and the Koran con- 
 demned them in vain. The ancient tales of Per- 
 sia soon spread along the shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean ; the Moors of Spain, who kept up a con- 
 stant intercourse with all the Moslems who spoke 
 the tongue of Arabia, must have had their share 
 in the possession of these treasures of the imagi- 
 nation ; the Franks, who occupied Syria with their 
 colonies during two centuries, must have learned 
 many a tale from their Moslem subjects and neigh- 
 bours ; and the Venetians, who possessed exclu- 
 sively the trade of Syria and Egypt down to the 
 sixteenth century, may have imported tales as well 
 as spices in their argosies. Why then should we 
 wonder to find an ancient Persian tale in France 
 in the thirteenth century ? 
 
 I might be content with merely reminding the 
 reader of the celebrated steed Clavileno Aligero 
 (Wooden-pin Wing-bearer), which enabled Don 
 Quixote and his faithful squire to achieve the de- 
 liverance from their beards of the Dolorida Duena 
 and her companions in misfortune. But Cervantes, 
 whose memory frequently played him false, has 
 
74 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 made a mistake here, which none of his commen- 
 tators has discovered. 
 
 The Dolorida informs the knight that the en- 
 chanter Malambruno had told her, that when she 
 had found her deliverer he would send him a con- 
 veyance, which would be " that very wooden horse 
 on which the valiant Peter carried off the fair Ma- 
 galona, which horse is guided by a pin that he 
 has in his forehead, which serves him for a bridle ; 
 and he flies through the air with such speed that 
 it seems as if the devils themselves were carrying 
 him. This same horse, according to ancient tra- 
 dition, was framed by the sage Merlin. He lent 
 him to Peter, who was his friend, with which he 
 made long journeys, and carried off, as has been 
 said, the fair Magalona, taking her behind him 
 through the air, leaving in amazement all who be- 
 held them from the earth." 
 
 Again, when they are mounted on the wooden 
 steed, and Sancho in his terror implores the prayers 
 of the bystanders, the knight says to him in great 
 choler, " Art thou not, heartless and cowardly 
 creature, in the very same place which the fair 
 Magalona occupied, and from which she descend- 
 ed, not to her grave, but to be queen of France, 
 if the histories lie not?" 
 
 Bowie, in his note, points out the resemblance 
 between Clavilefio and the horse of brass in Chau- 
 cer's Squier's Tale, and hints that Chaucer and 
 Cervantes may have drunk at the same fount, and 
 
ENCHANTED HORSES. 75 
 
 have found the fiction in some Arabian story. He 
 refers to the Seville edition of the romance, printed 
 in 4 to in the year 1533. Pellicer says, that how- 
 ever it may be with the horse of the English poet, 
 Cervantes assuredly took his from the Historia de 
 la Linda Magalona, hija del Rey de Napoles, y 
 de Pierres, hijo del Conde de Provenza, printed at 
 Seville in the year 1533, in 4to. Now, after all 
 this positiveness of assertion and exactness of re- 
 ference, it may surprise the reader unversed in 
 these matters to learn that, as will presently ap- 
 pear, there is not one word about a wooden horse 
 in that romance. The truth is, Cervantes, who 
 was poor, had probably but few books, and there- 
 fore was often obliged to depend on his memory. 
 He recollected to have read somewhere how a 
 prince carried off a princess on a wooden horse ; 
 he knew that Peter of Provence had run away 
 with the fair Magalona ; and he confounded the 
 two stories. I think that Tressan was right in 
 saying that Cleomades had been translated into 
 Spanish ; and, in my opinion, this was the very 
 story which Cervantes had read. It is evident 
 that neither Bowie nor Pellicer had ever examined 
 the romance to which they so confidently refer. 
 Bowie took its title from some catalogue, and 
 Pellicer copied it from him. 
 I think it not unlikely that 
 
 " the wondrous horse of brass 
 
 On which the Tartar king did ride," 
 
 in the Squier's Tale, may also have been derived 
 E 2 
 
76 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 from Cleomades. This horse was sent, with the 
 ' vertuous ring and glass', as a present to ' Cam- 
 buscan bold', by the king of Arabic and Inde. 
 To set him in motion it was only necessary to 
 ' trill ' a pin that was in his ear, and to tell him 
 whither to go : at the voice of his rider, and the 
 turning of another pin, he descended ; and when 
 a third pin was trilled, he vanished, but came again 
 when called in a particular manner. This is not 
 unlike the horse of King Croppart. 
 
 But who was ' Cambuscan bold ' ? and where 
 did Chaucer get the tale? On these points the 
 commentators give us no information ; but I think 
 I can make a guess myself. The Squier's Tale 
 begins thus : 
 
 " At Sarra in the lond of Tartarie 
 Ther dwelt a king that werreied Russie, 
 Through which ther died many a doughty man : 
 This noble king was cleped Cambuscan, 
 Which in his time was of so great renown 
 That ther n'as no wher in no regioun 
 So excellent a lord in alle thing." 
 
 And so it goes on enumerating the excellent qua- 
 lities of this '* noble king'. A little further on we 
 are told, that on the last Idus of March he held 
 the feast of his nativity with great pomp and 
 splendour, at which time the bearer of the pre- 
 sents of the king of Arabic and Inde entered his 
 hall of state. 
 
 Now in looking into the Travels of Marco Polo, 
 we find, in the very first page, that Barcha, the 
 
ENCHANTED HORSES. 77 
 
 monarch of Western Tartary (Kipchak), " one of 
 the most liberal and courteous lords that had ever 
 been among the Tartars," had two cities, named 
 Bolgora and Assara ; the former his summer, the 
 latter his winter, residence. The proper name of 
 Assara is Sarai ; but Marco Polo seems to have 
 given it with the Arabic article prefixed. 
 
 Again, when describing the Court of the Great 
 Can at Cambalu, (also a winter residence,) the 
 traveller says, " All the Tartars, and those who 
 are subject to the Great Can, keep holiday on the 
 birthday of this lord ;" and " On this day all the 
 Tartars in the world, and all the provinces and 
 kingdoms subject to him, send him very great 
 gifts, according to the usage and custom." 
 
 I think, then, that it is not unlikely that Chau- 
 cer had seen the Travels of Marco Polo, and that 
 Cambuscan, or Cambu's Can, is a contraction of 
 Cambalu Can. We may observe that the name 
 of one of his sons is Camballo ] . Of Algarsif, the 
 other son, I can give no account. The name of 
 his daughter Canace is Greek. Chaucer himself 
 probably invented the story, which he has 'left 
 half told*. 
 
 The age and the author of Valentine and Orson 
 are unknown ; but it probably, like so many others, 
 belongs to the fifteenth century. The copy which 
 I have used was evidently printed early in the six- 
 teenth century. It is there said, 
 
 1 Spenser has Cambello, and Milton Cambuscan ; both 
 wrongly accented. 
 
78 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 " That same dwarf was named Pacollet : he was 
 full of great sense and subtle ingenuity, who, at 
 the school of Toledo, had learned so much of the 
 art of necromancy, that he was, beyond all others, 
 the most perfect ; and in such sort, that by his en- 
 chantment he made and composed a little horse 
 made of wood ; and it had in its head, artificially, 
 a pin, which was so set that every time that he 
 mounted the horse to go anywhere, he turned the 
 said pin to the place whither he wished to go, and 
 he soon found himself in the place, and without 
 danger ; for the horse was of such fashion that 
 he went through the air as quickly and more 
 lightly than any bird could fly." 
 
 Have we not here, again, the horse of Cleo- 
 mades ? I say this because that is the oldest of 
 the European stories, and was evidently exceed- 
 ingly popular. We know how unceremoniously 
 the romancers borrowed from one another. 
 
 I have not yet exhibited the whole of my en- 
 chanted stud. I have still a horse to produce, 
 hitherto unknown to fame. 
 
 "The common fame," says Leland 1 , " is in 
 Ruthelandeshire, that there was one Rutter, a 
 man of great favour with his prince, that desired 
 to have of rewarde of hym as much land as he 
 could ryde over in a day upon a horse of woodde, 
 and that he ridde over as much as now is in 
 Ruthelandeshire by arte magike, and that he was 
 
 1 Itinerary, vi. 50, 
 
ENCHANTED HORSES. 79 
 
 after swallowed into the yerthe ! ." " This," saga- 
 ciously adds my author, " is very like a lye." 
 
 I will not say that this horse came from Cleo- 
 mades ; but I pray the reader to observe how the 
 name gave origin to the legend. Rutland, i. e. 
 Red-land, is so named from the colour of its soil 2 . 
 The same principle which in Greece made kings 
 and heroes out of the names of towns and coun- 
 tries, gave being to Rutter ; and the resemblance 
 between Rutter and rider produced the horse, 
 which, to increase the wonder, was made of wood. 
 
 I have been all my life fond of horses, so I feel 
 loth to quit the subject, and will therefore say a 
 few words of the enchanted horses of flesh and 
 blood, or water-steeds as I may call them, from 
 their connexion with that element. 
 
 Every one knows the classic steeds Pegasus and 
 Arion, both the offspring of the god of the sea ; 
 the latter by Mother Earth. I need therefore only 
 allude to them. 
 
 It was foretold 3 to Yezdejird king of Persia, 
 father of Bahram Gur, hereafter to be mention- 
 ed, that he would come to the spring of Soo, and 
 
 1 Falstaff calls one of Prince Henry's companions Yedward 
 (Ang.-Sax. Eadward). Earl is by the vulgar still pronounced 
 yerL The Anglo-Saxon e would therefore seem to answer 
 to the Icelandic j, and Jarl and Earl to have been nearly the 
 same in sound. 
 
 2 " And little Rutlandshire is termed Raddleman." 
 
 Dray ton, Polyolb., Song xxiii. 
 
 3 See the Shah Nameh. 
 
80 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 there find his death. He resolved that he would 
 never approach that fount, and so live for ever. 
 But a disorder seized him, and by the advice of 
 a priest he had himself carried to that fount; 
 where, on praying to God, and sprinkling a few 
 drops of its water on his head, he was cured of 
 his disease. But his pride returned when he found 
 himself restored to health and vigour. Then sud- 
 denly rose out of the spring a black horse, strong 
 and wild as a lion. Yezdejird commanded his 
 nobles to take the noose and catch the horse. 
 They tried, but in vain : the Shah, full of anger, 
 pursued the horse himself; but when he came 
 up with him, the water-steed smote him with his 
 hoof on the breast, so that he fell down and died. 
 The horse then plunged into the spring and va- 
 nished. 
 
 When King Gradasso l had cut down the tree 
 in the enchanted wood, there issued from it a 
 stately horse. The undaunted hero mounts him, 
 and the steed rises into the air, and then plunges 
 with his burden into the River of Laughter (Fiume 
 del Riso). This may remind one of the horse in 
 the tale of Prince Agib, or the Third Calendar, 
 who carries the prince away from the castle, where 
 he had lived in such 'great joy and solace' with 
 the fifty fair princesses, and leaves him, wanting 
 an eye, on the roof of the Castle of Repentance; 
 a tale, by the way, not without its moral. To 
 
 i Bojardo, Orl. Innam., IU. vii., 2428, 
 
ENCHANTED HORSES. 81 
 
 these may be added the horse which Sindbad saw 
 come out of the sea to King Mihrage's mares l . 
 
 According to Gervase of Tilbury 2 , a Catalo- 
 nian nobleman of his time, whom he calls Giral- 
 dus de Cabreriis, had a very extraordinary horse, 
 by whose advice he was always guided. Gervase 
 cannot say in what manner the steed conveyed his 
 sentiments to his master, but he knew that he ate 
 wheaten bread out of a silver dish or trough 
 (concha), and lay on a feather-bed instead of 
 straw ; and further, that when, after his master's 
 death, he was seduced to solace himself with some 
 young females, he dashed out his brains with vex- 
 ation. The good marshal is sadly puzzled what 
 to make of him. " If he was an ordinary horse," 
 says he, " whence did he get sense and reason ? 
 If he was enchanted, (Jadus^) why did he eat ? " 
 Whence we may learn that enchanted horses eat 
 not. Don Quixote, however, learned the same 
 respecting enchanted folk in general, when he was 
 in the cavern of Montesinos. 
 
 I cannot expect every one to take the same in- 
 
 1 Nothing is more curious than this wide-spread notion of 
 a connexion between horses and the water. See Fairy My- 
 thology, passim. I have in various places vainly attempted to 
 account for it. Perhaps my first attempt was the best. See 
 Fairy Legends of the South of Ireland, vol. i. adfinem. 
 
 It is singular that the Greeks should have named the large 
 quadruped which they saw in the Nile (the Behemoth of 
 Scripture) Hippopotamus, i. e. River-horse, though he has 
 not the slightest resemblance to a horse. 
 
 2 Leibnitz, Scriptores Rerum Brunsvicarum, i. 991. 
 
 E 5 
 
82 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 terest in horses that I do myself; I must there- 
 fore conclude, passing, over that very suspicious 
 steed who carried our great Robert Grosthed 
 (who was afterwards bishop of Lincoln) through 
 the air and among the planets, from England to 
 Rome and back again, in less than a day ] . This 
 however, and steeds of the sort, I suspect were 
 not real horses, but daemons, who had taken that 
 form for the nonce. 
 
 To what a digression has Cleomades given rise ! 
 
 In that pleasing old French romance of Peter 
 of Provence and the fair Maguelone, mentioned 
 above, there is a circumstance so like one in the 
 Arabian Nights, that it may have come from the 
 East. I know not the age of the romance, but it 
 is certainly posterior to the establishment of the 
 Angevin dynasty at Naples. As it does not ap- 
 pear to have ever existed in verse, I would refer 
 it to the fifteenth century. 
 
 Peter, son to the Count of Provence, hearing of 
 the beauty of Maguelone, daughter of the king of 
 Naples, determined to go thither in person, and 
 view the peerless maiden. He accordingly went 
 in disguise to the Neapolitan court, and there, as 
 an unknown knight, so distinguished himself in 
 
 1 See Ricardus Badeniensis de Vita Robert! Grosthed apud 
 Wharton, Anglia Sacra, ii. 331. For this reference I am in- 
 debted to Mr. Douce. 
 
PETER OF PROVENCE AND THE FAIR MAGUELONE. 83 
 
 the tournaments, that he won the favour of the 
 king, and the heart of the lovely Maguelone. After 
 some time, being desirous to return to Provence, 
 he persuaded the princess to fly with him. She 
 yielded her assent, and they secretly left the pa- 
 lace and departed on horseback, taking a third 
 horse laden with provisions. On the second day 
 they came to a dense wood on a mountain near 
 the sea, and being fatigued and overcome with 
 the heat, they alighted from their horses to rest 
 them ; and the princess, laying her head on the 
 lap of Peter, fell fast asleep and l 
 
 " While Magalona, as has been said, was sleep- 
 ing on the lap of her dear friend Peter, the said 
 Peter delighted his whole heart by gazing on the 
 sovereign beauty of his lady ; and when he had 
 to his pleasure contemplated her beautiful coun- 
 tenance, and had well admired and kissed that 
 sweet and agreeable, small and beautiful mouth, 
 he could not satiate himself with looking at it 
 more and more : then he could not refrain from 
 uncovering her a little, and gazing on her most 
 beautiful and white bosom, that was whiter than 
 the crystal ; and he touched her sweet bosom, and 
 when he did so he was so penetrated with love 
 that it seemed to him that he was in paradise, and 
 that nothing could ever cause him any affliction. 
 But that pleasure did not last long ; for he suffered 
 
 1 I translate from a Spanish translation of the romance in 
 the King's Library, printed at Seville in 1519; possibly the 
 very edition that Cervantes had read. 
 
84 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the most inestimable pain and ill-fortune, as you 
 shall hear, that man could ever think of. And 
 the noble Magalona suffered not less, for she af- 
 terwards passed through many great afflictions. 
 
 " For while Peter thus admired and touched the 
 sweet Magalona, he found in her bosom a coloured 
 piece of silk, which was folded up, and he had a 
 very great desire to know what was in it. And 
 he began to unfold it, and he found in it three of 
 his mother's rings, which he had given to Maga- 
 lona, and she had kept them out of good love. 
 And when Peter had seen them, he folded them 
 up again, and placed them near him on a stone ; 
 and he turned his eyes to the noble Magalona, 
 and regarded her with good love, and he almost 
 fainted away with love and with pleasure, so that 
 it seemed to him that he was in paradise. But our 
 Lord showed that in this world there is not plea- 
 sure without pain, nor perfect happiness. For a 
 bird of prey, thinking that that coloured silk was 
 a piece of flesh, came flying, and took that silk, 
 and went away with it, and flew to the mountain, 
 and seated itself on a very lofty tree. 
 
 " When Peter saw this he was greatly grieved, 
 and he thought that Magalona would be grieved 
 at it, whom he wished to please more than any 
 person in the world. He put his cloak under the 
 head of Magalona, and then got up very quietly, 
 without her perceiving anything. And he began 
 to follow that bird, and to pelt it with stones, to 
 make it drop the silk it was carrying. And there 
 
PETER OF PROVENCE AND THE FAIR MAGUELONE. 85 
 
 was there a little rock near the land. Yet between 
 the rock and the land there was a great quantity 
 of water, and no one could pass to that rock with- 
 out swimming. And this bird went flying from 
 tree to tree to settle on that perilous rock, and 
 Peter flung a stone at it, so that that bird went 
 from thence, and let that silk fall into the sea ; 
 and the said Peter could not pass thither, because 
 he knew not how to swim. Nevertheless, as the 
 distance was not great, he began to search on one 
 side and the other if he could find anything in 
 which he could pass to the rock to go to look for 
 it. Then said Peter, * Would to God that I had 
 not taken the rings or the silk from where I took 
 them, and that I had not meddled with them, for 
 they will cost me dear, and Magalona still more ; 
 for if I delay much longer Magalona will go look 
 for me.' And as Peter was thus searching along 
 the shore of the sea, he found an old boat, which 
 the fishers had abandoned because it was worth 
 nothing ; and Peter went into it, and was greatly 
 joyed, but his joy lasted not long. And he took 
 some sticks that he had picked up to row with, 
 and went off for the rock. But God, who does all 
 things at his pleasure, caused to rise a great wind, 
 cold and strong, from the land side, which carried 
 Peter and his bark, against his will, very far out 
 to sea, and all his rowing availed him nought ; 
 for the sea was very high and very deep, and he 
 could not get to land, and the wind carried him 
 along in despite of himself." 
 
86 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 I need not tell how Peter was taken up by a 
 ship and brought to Egypt, where he became a 
 great favourite with the Sultan, and how Mague- 
 lone went to Provence, and was made directress of 
 an hospital, whither Peter was brought as a pau- 
 per, and how she recognised him, and made herself 
 known to him, and how they were united, and 
 passed their days in uninterrupted felicity. 
 
 The Arabian tale, in which the corresponding 
 circumstance occurs, is that long tale of tales, 
 ' The Story of the Amours l of Camaralzaman 
 prince of the Isles of the Children of Khaledan 
 and of Badoura princess of China,' the main story 
 of which (for the episodic ones certainly are not) 
 is possibly of Persian origin. In this tale, the hero 
 and heroine, as they and their suite were journey- 
 ing from China to the dominions of the prince's 
 father, came one sultry day to a delicious mead, 
 planted with trees. Camaralzaman ordered the 
 tents to be pitched ; and as soon as her tent was 
 
 1 In this and the preceding story, the ignorant translator 
 finding amours in the French, instead of rendering it by loves, 
 as he should have done, retained a word which bears quite a 
 different sense in English. 
 
 It is, I believe, a rule of the Semitic languages to express the 
 magnitude or quantity of an object by using the plural num- 
 ber ; if so, may not Loves be intended to express the greatness 
 of their affection ? I do not recollect to have seen explained 
 anywhere why Behemoth (a fern, plur.) should be the Hebrew 
 name of the River-horse ; yet the reason I think is simple. 
 Behema (sing.) is pecus; therefore Behemoth is the huge 
 graminivorous animal. 
 
PETER OF PROVENCE AND THE FAIR MAGUELONE. 87 
 
 ready, the princess went into it, and taking off 
 her girdle, lay down to sleep. The prince shortly 
 afterwards entered the tent, and seeing that she 
 was asleep, sat down, and taking up her girdle, 
 began to admire the precious stones which adorn- 
 ed it. Perceiving a little purse attached to it, and 
 containing something solid, he opened it, and found 
 in it the princess's talisman, a cornelian, on which 
 some unknown characters were engraven. Being 
 curious to examine it, he went out into the light; 
 and as he was holding it in his hand, a bird made 
 a dart at it, and snatched and carried it off. The 
 prince pursued the bird in vain during ten days, 
 and at last lost sight of it. The princess meantime 
 assumed his dress and character, and, arriving at 
 the island of Ebene, married the daughter of the 
 king. Camaralzaman is afterwards, when she by 
 accident learns where he is, brought by her or- 
 ders to the isle of Ebene, and becomes the hus- 
 band of the two princesses. 
 
 We may perceive at once the similarity of the 
 circumstance of the bird carrying away the talis- 
 man, and the silk with the rings. But there is 
 also another incident equally similar in the two 
 stories. 
 
 When Camaralzaman had found the treasure in 
 the garden, the old gardener with whom he lived 
 advised him to distribute it in pots, and fill the 
 upper part of them with olives. He did so ; but 
 the ship sailed without him, and went to the isle 
 of Ebene, where the Princess Badoura bought the 
 
88 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 olives, and in them found her talisman. Just so 
 Peter of Provence, when leaving Egypt, put his 
 valuables into barrels, which he filled with salt; 
 and having fallen asleep in the isle of Sagona, the 
 ship sailed away, leaving him behind. On ar- 
 riving at the place where Maguelone dwelt, the 
 captain gave her the barrels of salt for the use 
 of the hospital, and in them she found the trea- 
 sure. 
 
 It is therefore, I think, by no means unlikely 
 that some part at least of the oriental tale travelled 
 westwards. 
 
 Every one who has read Ariosto or La Fontaine 
 must recollect the very amusing, if not very de- 
 corous, tale of Giocondo. Making due allowance 
 for the difference between Asiatic and European 
 taste and manners, we may see at once that it is 
 the very same story as the introductory tale of the 
 Thousand and One Nights ; and I think we may 
 venture to say, that at some time or other it also 
 came from the East. 
 
 The mountain of loadstone in the tale of Prince 
 Agib, or the Third Calendar, is plainly the same 
 with the chastel d'aymant in the old French ro- 
 mance of Ogier le Dannoys } . I do not think, 
 however, that we should be justified in asserting 
 a transmission of it from Syria to France; yet, 
 
 1 Fairy Mythology, vol. i. p. 75. Both the Grub- street 
 hero and Mr. Dunlop render aimant by adamant. They 
 never reflected that adamant does not attract iron. 
 
PETER OF PROVENCE AND THE FAIR MAGUELONE. 89 
 
 as the following lines of Petrarca prove, there 
 was in the middle ages a notionthat a mountain of 
 loadstone existed somewhere in the East. 
 
 " Una pietra e si ardita 
 La per 1'Indico mare, che da natura 
 Tragge a se il ferro, e il fura 
 Dal legno in guisa che i navigj affonde." 
 
 Canzone xxxi. 
 
 *% Since the last sheet went to press, I have been informed 
 by Sir Frederick Madden that a copy of the poem of Cleo- 
 mades was purchased by Sir Thomas Phillips at Mr. Lang's 
 sale in 1828. The Histoire Plaisante et Recreative du noble 
 et excellent chevalier Clamades et de la belle Clermonde was 
 printed at Troyes. It has no date. Les ^ventures de Cla~ 
 mades et Clarmonde appeared at Paris in 1733. 
 
91 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PLEASANT NIGHTS THE DANCING WATER, THE 
 
 SINGING APPLE AND THE BEAUTIFUL GREEN BIRD- 
 THE THREE LITTLE BIRDS LACTANTIUS ULYSSES 
 
 AND SINDBAD. 
 
 HAVING shown, then, that a tale of the Thousand 
 and One Nights was known in Europe in the thir- 
 teenth century, I might consider my theory esta- 
 blished. To make, however, assurance doubly 
 sure, I will show that one of them was printed in 
 the sixteenth century. 
 
 In the year 1550 appeared at Venice, under the 
 title of the Pleasant Nights (Le Notti Piacevoli\ a 
 collection of tales written by a person named Stra- 
 parola. They are divided into thirteen Nights, 
 and are seventy-four in number. Though some 
 of them are very indelicate, the author assures us 
 that they are not his, but that he heard them from 
 the lips of ten young ladies. It is probable, how- 
 ever, that this is merely a literary artifice, and that 
 he picked up the tales wherever he found them. 
 At all events, they seem not to be any of them his 
 own invention. 
 
 The following is the third story of the Fourth 
 Night : 
 
92 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 THE DANCING WATER, THE SINGING APPLE 
 AND THE BEAUTIFUL GREEN BIRD. 
 
 In Provino, a famous and royal city, dwelt in 
 times past three sisters, fair of face, polished in 
 manners, and correct in conduct, but of low ex- 
 traction; for they were the daughters of one 
 Master Rigo, a baker, who baked other people's 
 bread in his oven. One of them was called Bru- 
 nora, the other Lionella, and the third Chiaretta. 
 
 As these three maidens were one day all to- 
 gether in their garden, in which they took great 
 delight, Ancilotto, the king, passed by with much 
 company, on his way to amuse himself at the chase. 
 Brunora, who was the eldest, seeing such a fine 
 and honourable company, said to her sisters, " If 
 I had the king's major-domo for a husband, I 
 would undertake to satisfy the whole court with 
 a single glass of wine." " And I will make this 
 boast," said Lionella, " if I had the king's privy 
 chamberlain for a husband, I would with a rock 
 of my thread make so much linen, that I should 
 supply the whole court with the finest and most 
 beautiful shirts." "And I will declare," said 
 Chiaretta, " that if I had the king for my husband, 
 I would bear him three children, two boys and a 
 girl, at a birth, and each of them would have its 
 hair hanging down on its shoulders, mixed with 
 the finest gold, and a collar round its neck, and a 
 star in its forehead." 
 
 These words were overheard by one of the 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC- 93 
 
 courtiers, who immediately rode up to the king 
 and informed him exactly of all that the girls had 
 been saying. The king had them brought before 
 him, and asked them one after the other what it 
 was they had said when they were together in the 
 garden. They all three, with the utmost respect, 
 repeated in order what they had been saying. 
 King Ancilotto was greatly pleased with them, 
 and he did not leave the spot till the major-domo 
 had taken Brunora, the chamberlain Lionella, and 
 himself Chiaretta to wife : and giving up all idea 
 of going to the chase, they all returned home, 
 when the nuptials were celebrated with great 
 pomp. 
 
 The king's mother was greatly displeased at 
 his marriage ; for although the maiden was of a 
 beautiful and agreeable countenance, of a hand- 
 some person, and expressed herself with the ut- 
 most sweetness, yet as she was of a mean and low 
 origin, she was not suited to the greatness and 
 power of the king : neither could his mother in 
 any way endure that a major-domo and a cham- 
 berlain should be called the brothers-in-law of her 
 son. Her hatred to her daughter-in-law became, 
 therefore, so intense, that she could not hear of 
 her, much less see her. However, not to grieve 
 her son, she kept her hatred concealed in her own 
 bosom. 
 
 It came to pass* according to the pleasure of 
 Him who ruleth all, that the queen proved with 
 child. This caused the greatest joy to the king, 
 
94 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 who was now in the utmost raptures, expecting 
 to see the beautiful progeny which she had pro- 
 mised him. Having, however, to journey to an- 
 other country, and to stay there a few days, he 
 most earnestly commended to his mother the 
 queen, and the children which she should bear. 
 And though she did not love her daughter-in-law, 
 or even wish to see her, still she made lavish pro- 
 mises to her son that she would take good care of 
 them. 
 
 Soon after the king had taken leave and set out 
 on his journey, the queen lay-in of three children, 
 two males and one female, and all three, exactly 
 as she had promised the king before marriage, 
 had their hair hanging down in ringlets on their 
 shoulders, with handsome chains round their necks, 
 and stars on their foreheads. The cruel and ma- 
 lignant mother of the king, devoid of all pity, and 
 inflamed with mortal and destructive hatred, as 
 soon as the three dear infants were born, resolved, 
 without ever changing her perfidious design, to 
 put them all to death, so that they should never 
 more be heard of, and the queen should fall into 
 disgrace with the king. Besides this, ever since 
 Chiaretta had been queen and ruled over all, her 
 two sisters had conceived the greatest possible 
 envy of her, and with their arts and practices con- 
 tinually laboured to increase the hatred of the 
 foolish queen-mother against her. Now it hap- 
 pened just at the time that the queen lay -in, a 
 shepherd's bitch had had three whelps in the 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 95 
 
 court-yard, two male and one female, with stars 
 on their faces, and a sort of ring round their necks. 
 The two envious sisters, moved by a diabolical 
 spirit, took the three puppies from the dugs of 
 their mother, and brought them to the cruel mo- 
 ther-in-law, and having made the due reverence, 
 said to her, " We know, madam, that your high- 
 ness has little love and affection for our sister, and 
 justly so, for she is of low origin; and a woman of 
 such mean blood as she is of, is not suited to your 
 son and our king. We, therefore, knowing your 
 desire, are come hither, and have brought three 
 puppies, that have stars in their foreheads, in order 
 that we may have your opinion." 
 
 The queen -mother was greatly delighted at 
 this, and she resolved to present them to her 
 daughter-in-law, who did not as yet know what 
 she had brought forth, and to tell her that these 
 were the children she had borne. And that there 
 might be no discovery, the wicked old woman de- 
 sired the nurse to tell the queen that the children 
 she had lain-in of were three little puppies. The 
 mother-in-law, then, arid the queen's sisters, and 
 the nurse, went all together to the queen, and said, 
 " Behold! O queen ! the result of your fine lying- 
 in. Keep it, that the king when he comes may 
 see the beautiful fruit you have produced." And 
 having said these words, the nurse put the little 
 dogs beside her, comforting her withal, and telling 
 her not to despair, for that things of this kind were 
 wont now and then to befall great personages. 
 
96 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 The wicked women had now accomplished their 
 vile and odious design, and one thing only re- 
 mained, to give a cruel death to the innocent 
 children. But it was not the will of God that 
 they should defile their hands with their own 
 blood, so having made a coffer, and covered it 
 well with pitch, and put the infants into it, and 
 closed it up, they flung it into the neighbouring 
 river, and let it go down the stream. The righteous 
 God, who permits not that innocent blood should 
 suffer, sent to the bank of the river a miller named 
 Marmiato, who, seeing the coffer, took it and 
 opened it, and found within it three infants that 
 smiled on him. As they were so beautiful, he 
 thought that they must be the children of some 
 great lady, who had committed such a heinous 
 deed through fear of the world. So closing the 
 coffer, and putting it on his shoulder, he went 
 home and said to his wife, whose name was Gor- 
 diana, " See, wife, what I found on the banks of 
 the river. I will make thee a present of it." Gor- 
 diana, when she saw the children, received them 
 kindly, and reared them as affectionately as if 
 they were her own offspring. To one of them she 
 gave the name of Acquirino, to the other that of 
 Fluvio, because they had been found in the river ; 
 and the little girl she called Serena. 
 
 Meantime King Ancilotto was quite happy, al- 
 ways thinking that on his return he should find 
 three beautiful children. But matters did not turn 
 out as he expected ; for his crafty mother, as soon 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 97 
 
 as she perceived him coming to the palace, went 
 forth to meet him, and told him that his dear wife 
 had brought forth, instead of three children, three 
 shepherd's curs. She then led him into the cham- 
 ber where his afflicted wife was lying, and showed 
 him her, and the three little dogs beside her ; and 
 though the queen, weeping piteously, most posi- 
 tively averred that she had neve? brought them 
 forth, nevertheless the envious sisters confirmed 
 everything that the old mother had said. The 
 king was greatly agitated, and nearly fell to the 
 ground with grief. When he was somewhat re- 
 covered, he stood a long time in suspense, but at 
 last gave implicit credit to what his mother had 
 told him. But as the wretched queen had been 
 most patient, and suffered with magnanimity the 
 envy of the courtiers, he felt too much pity for her 
 to put her to death, but ordered that she should 
 be set under the place where they washed the pots 
 and dishes, and that her food should be the filth 
 and offal that fell down from it. 
 
 While the poor queen was thus dwelling in this 
 odious place, Gordiana, the wife of Marmiato the 
 miller, lay-in of a son, whom she named Borghino, 
 and brought up in affection with the other three. 
 It was her practice every month to cut the long 
 curling locks of the three children, from which 
 there used to fall many precious jewels and large 
 white pearls ; the consequence of which was that 
 Marmiato gave up his paltry trade of milling, as 
 he speedily grew extremely rich; for Gordiana and 
 
98 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the three children and Borghino lived in great har- 
 mony and comfort. 
 
 When the three children were somewhat grown 
 up, they learned that they were not the offspring 
 of Gordiana and Marmiato, but that they had been 
 found in a little coffer floating down the river. 
 This caused them great uneasiness ; and being de- 
 sirous to try their fortune, they asked permission 
 to depart, a thing which gave little satisfaction 
 to Marmiato and Gordiana, who thus saw them- 
 selves deprived of the treasure which came from 
 their fair ringlets and their starred foreheads. 
 
 The two brothers, then, and the sister, having 
 quitted Marmiato and Gordiana, made many long 
 journeys, till at length they chanced to arrive at 
 Provino, the city of Ancilotto their father ; where, 
 having hired a house, they all lived together, sup- 
 porting themselves by the sale of the jewels and 
 precious stones that fell from their heads. 
 
 It happened one day that as the king was going 
 through the town with some of his courtiers, he 
 passed by where the sister and the two brothers 
 lived ; and as they had never seen or known the 
 king, they came down stairs and out at the door, 
 where they took off their caps, and bending the 
 knee and bowing, respectfully saluted him. The 
 king, who had the eye of a falcon, looked them 
 steadily in the face, and saw that they had both 
 of them a golden star in their forehead, and he 
 immediately felt in his bosom a vehement per- 
 suasion that they were his sons. So he stopped, 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 99 
 
 and said to them, " Who are you, and whence do 
 you come ?" They humbly replied, "We are poor 
 strangers who are come to live in this city." The 
 king said, " It pleases me much ; and what are 
 your names?" The one then said, " Acquirino"; 
 the other said, " My name is Fluvio." " And I," 
 said the sister, " am named Serena." The king 
 then said, " We invite you all three to dine with us 
 tomorrow." The young persons blushed a little, 
 and as they could not refuse so courteous an invi- 
 tation, they promised compliance. 
 
 The king on returning to the palace, said to his 
 mother : " Madam, as I was going out today to 
 take an airing, I saw by chance two handsome 
 youths and a beautiful maiden, all of whom had a 
 golden star in their forehead ; so that, if I err not, 
 they seem to be the very children that were pro- 
 mised to me by the queen Chiaretta." 
 
 When the wicked old woman heard this, she 
 smiled a little at it, though it was like the stab of 
 a knife in her heart ; and calling for the nurse to 
 whom the children had been given, she said to 
 her, " Do you not know, good nurse, that the 
 king's children are alive, and are handsomer than 
 ever ? " " How is that possible ? " replied the 
 nurse, " were they not drowned in the river ? 
 And how do you know it?" " As far," said the 
 old queen, " as I can understand by the words of 
 the king, they are alive, and we have now more 
 need than ever of your assistance, otherwise we 
 are all in peril of death." "Do not be uneasy, 
 F 2 
 
100 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 madam," answered the nurse, " for I expect to be 
 able to manage so that they shall all come to their 
 death." 
 
 The nurse then departed, and went immediately 
 to the house of Acquirino, Fluvio and Serena ; and 
 finding Serena alone, she saluted her, and entered 
 into a long conversation with her ; and after she 
 had talked a great while she said, " Do you 
 happen, my child, to have any of the Dancing 
 Water ? " Serena replied that she had not. " Ah ! 
 my dear child," said she, " what fine things you 
 would see if you had some of it, for you would 
 only have to wash your face in it to become far 
 more beautiful than you are." " But how, then," 
 said Serena, " could I manage to get it ?" " Send 
 your two brothers to look for it," said the old 
 woman ; " they will find it, for it is not far from 
 this country." 
 
 So saying she took her leave ; and when Acqui- 
 rino and Fluvio came home, Serena went to meet 
 them, and besought them out of regard for her to 
 search with all solicitude till she should have some 
 of the precious dancing water. Fluvio and Acqui- 
 rino laughed at her folly, and refused to go, be- 
 cause they did not know where such a thing was 
 to be found. At length, however, overcome by her 
 entreaties, they took a phial and departed. They 
 had ridden several miles along the road, when 
 they arrived at a clear living fountain, where a 
 white dove was refreshing herself. The dove, cast- 
 ing away all timidity, said to them, " O youths ! 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 101 
 
 what is it you are looking for ?" Fluvio replied, 
 " We are looking for that precious water which 
 they say dances. " O wretched youths!'* said 
 the dove, " and who has sent you to get such 
 water ?" " It is our sister," said Fluvio. Then 
 said the dove, " For certain you are going to your 
 death, for there are many venomous animals there, 
 who, as soon as they see you, will devour you. 
 But leave the burden of this to me, and I will 
 surely bring you some of it." So taking the vial 
 which the youths had with them, ar/? tying it 
 under her right wing, she rose* into the air, and 
 going to where that delicate wat^r 'vas. sYe'fillcc' 
 the vial with it, and returned to the youths, who 
 were waiting for her with the greatest anxiety. 
 The young men having gotten the water, arid 
 expressed their gratitude to the dove, returned 
 home and presented it to Serena, giving her a 
 strict charge not to impose any more such tasks 
 upon them, as they had been in danger of losing 
 their lives. 
 
 Some days after, the king saw them again, and 
 said, " Why, after you had accepted our invita- 
 tion, did you not come to dine with us ? " They 
 replied with the utmost respect, " Please your 
 sacred majesty, the most urgent affairs have been 
 the principal cause." " Then," said the king, " we 
 shall expect you tomorrow at dinner, without fail." 
 The young men made their excuses. 
 
 The king, on his return to the palace, told his 
 mother that he had again seen the youths with the 
 
102 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 stars on their foreheads, which when she heard, 
 she was greatly disturbed in her rnind ; and she 
 again sent for the nurse, and told her the whole 
 in private, praying her to see and provide against 
 the imminent danger. The nurse reassured her, 
 and told her not to be afraid, for she would take 
 care that they should not be seen any more. And 
 leaving the palace, she went straight to the house 
 of Serena, and finding her alone, asked her if she 
 had yet had the dancing water. She replied that 
 she !rid, but not without the greatest peril of the 
 lives of her brothers. " Ah ! but, my daughter," 
 Sc'id the nurse, " I should wish you to have the 
 Singing Apple, for you never saw a finer, and never 
 tasted a sweeter and more delicious song." " T 
 know not," said Serena, " how I can get it, for my 
 brothers will not go in search of it, since they have 
 already had more peril of death than hope of life." 
 " They brought you the dancing water," said the 
 old woman, " and they are not dead, and they will 
 bring you the apple in the same way." She then 
 took her leave and departed. 
 
 The nurse was scarcely gone, when Acquirino 
 and Fluvio came in, and Serena said to them, 
 " Ah, brothers ! I long so to see and taste the 
 apple that sings so sweetly ; and if you do not 
 contrive to get it for me, you may reckon on soon 
 seeing me without life." When they heard this, 
 they reproved her sharply, telling her that they 
 would not expose their lives for her as they had 
 done already. Still such was the effect of her 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 103 
 
 reiterated and urgent prayers, joined with the co- 
 pious tears that flowed warm from her heart, that, 
 come what might, Acquirino and Fluvio resolved 
 to do everything to content her. 
 
 They accordingly mounted their horses and de- 
 parted ; and they rode till they came to an inn, 
 which they entered, and calling for the host, asked 
 him if he could give them any information respect- 
 ing the place where the apple might be found that 
 sung so sweetly. The host replied that he could, 
 but that they could not go to it, for the apple was 
 in a charming and delightful garden, under the 
 care of a deadly animal, who, with his expanded 
 wings, killed all who went near it. " But what 
 are we to do ? said the young men, " for we have 
 determined to have it at all events." The host 
 replied, " If you do what I tell you, you will have 
 the apple, and you will not be afraid of the venom- 
 ous beast, and still less of death. You have only 
 to take this vest, all covered with mirrors, and one 
 of you to put it on him, and thus clad to enter the 
 garden alone, of which you will find the door 
 open; and the other to remain outside, and not let 
 himself be seen on any account. And as soon as 
 he shall have entered the garden, the animal will 
 come towards him, and seeing himself in the mir- 
 rors, he will straightways fall dead on the ground l : 
 and then let him go up to the tree that bears the 
 
 1 In Hatim Tai (p. 47.) a monster is destroyed in a similar 
 manner. There is something of the same kind in the Orlando 
 Innamorato, lib. 1. c. xii. st. 38, 39. 
 
104 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 singing apple, pluck it gently, and go out of the 
 garden without looking behind him." 
 
 The young men gave many thanks to the host, 
 and departed. They did exactly as he had de- 
 sired them, and having gotten the apple, brought 
 it to their sister, at the same time requesting her 
 not to send them any more on such dangerous ex- 
 peditions. 
 
 A few days after, the king saw the young men, 
 and calling them to him, said, " What is the reason 
 that you did not come to dine with us as we had 
 agreed?" Fluvio replied, "No other reason, 
 sire, has prevented our coming than the divers 
 occupations which have detained us." The king 
 said, " We shall expect you then tomorrow, and 
 take care not to fail on any account." Acquirino 
 made answer, that if they could get free from some 
 family affairs, they would go most willingly. 
 
 On his return to the palace, the king told his 
 mother that he had seen the young men again, and 
 that they were deeply impressed on his heart, as 
 he was always thinking of those that Chiaretta 
 had promised him, and that he could have no 
 peace of mind till they came to dine with him. 
 The old queen hearing these words was in greater 
 trouble than ever, fearing that she had been dis- 
 covered ; and in great grief and affliction she sent 
 for the nurse, and said to her, " I thought, nurse, 
 that those children were dead by this time, and 
 that we should hear nothing more of them ; but 
 they are alive, and we are in danger of death* 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 105 
 
 Look, then, to our case, or else we shall all be de- 
 stroyed." " Noble madam," said the nurse, " be 
 of good cheer, and do not disturb yourself, for I 
 will manage in such a way that you will praise 
 me, and never more hear tell of them." And she 
 departed full of rage, and going to Serena, gave 
 her the good day, and asked her if she had gotten 
 the singing apple. Serena replied that she had. 
 The crafty old jade then said, " Do not think, 
 daughter, that you have gotten anything, if you 
 have not a thing that is far more beautiful and far 
 finer than those two." " And what is that, mo- 
 ther, that you tell me is so beautiful and so fine?" 
 said Serena. '* T is," said the old woman, " the 
 Beautiful Green Bird that talks night and day, 
 and says wonderful things. If you had him in 
 your possession, you might call yourself fortunate 
 and happy indeed." 
 
 So saying she went away ; and as soon as her 
 brothers came home, Serena went to meet them, 
 and begged them not to refuse her one single 
 favour. They asked her what that favour was, 
 and she replied the beautiful green bird. Fluvio, 
 who had encountered the venomous beast, and 
 recollected the danger he had there incurred, po- 
 sitively refused to go ; but Acquirino, though he 
 also refused several times, was at length moved by 
 fraternal love, and by the copious tears that Se- 
 rena shed ; and he prevailed on his brother, and 
 they both resolved to satisfy her. So mounting 
 their horses, they rode for several days, till they 
 F 5 
 
106 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 came to a verdant flowery mead, in the midst of 
 which was a lofty tree of thick foliage, surround- 
 ed by various marble figures that appeared to be 
 alive ; and by it ran a little brook, that watered 
 the whole mead. On this tree was the beautiful 
 green bird, amusing himself with jumping from 
 bough to bough, uttering words that seemed not 
 human but divine. The young men got down 
 from their horses, and turning them to graze in 
 the mead, approached the marble figures ; but 
 scarcely had they touched them, when they be- 
 came marble statues themselves. 
 
 Serena, having for several months anxiously 
 expected her beloved brothers Acquirino and Flu- 
 vio, at length became persuaded that they were 
 lost, and that she should never see them again. 
 Having long grieved and deplored their untimely 
 fate, she at last resolved to try her own fortune : 
 so mounting a stout horse, she set out, and rode on 
 till she came to the place where the beautiful green 
 bird dwelt, sweetly talking on the branch of a 
 leafy tree. When she came into the verdant mead, 
 she instantly recognised the horses of her brothers, 
 which were feeding on the herbage ; and casting 
 her eyes hither and thither, she saw her brothers 
 turned into two statues, which retained their like- 
 ness, at which she was utterly astonished. She 
 got down off her horse, and approaching the tree, 
 stretched forth her hand and put it on the green 
 bird, who, when he saw himself deprived of liberty, 
 prayed her to let him go, and not to keep him, for 
 
TTALIEI 
 
 Full many a year, at liberty, 
 
 The Green Bird hopped on yonder tree, 
 
 While all who came to take him 
 Were turned to stone ; but now the day 
 Is come, in which a lady gay 
 
 Her captive was to make him. 
 
 DRAWN BY W. II. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY G. BAXTER, 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER AND CO. 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 107 
 
 in due time and place he would remember her. 
 Serena replied that she would not on any account 
 comply with his desire, if her brothers were not 
 first restored to their former state. " Then," said 
 the bird, " look under my left wing, and you will 
 find a feather much greener than the rest, with 
 some yellow marks inside of it. Take it, and go 
 to the statues, and touch them with it ; for as soon 
 as you have touched them, they will become alive, 
 and return to their former state." 
 
 Serena raised his left wing and found the feather 
 as the bird had told her ; and going to the marble 
 figures, touched them one after the other with it, 
 and instantly they became men instead of statues. 
 When she saw her brothers restored to their ori- 
 ginal form, she kissed and embraced them with 
 the utmost joy. As she had now accomplished 
 what she had desired, the beautiful green bird 
 again besought her to give him his liberty ; pro- 
 mising her, if she granted him that favour, to aid 
 her much if at any time she should have need of 
 his succour. Serena, not satisfied with this, re- 
 plied that she would never release him until they 
 had found out who were their parents ; adding, that 
 he must support that calamity patiently. A great 
 dispute now arose among them for the possession 
 of the bird, but after much contest it was by com- 
 mon consent left with Serena, who kept it with no 
 little care, and held it very dear. Having thus 
 gotten the beautiful green bird, Serena and her 
 
108 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 brothers mounted their horses, and returned home 
 happy and contented. 
 
 The king, who often passed by the house of the 
 young men, was greatly surprised at not seeing 
 them ; and on his inquiring of the neighbours what 
 was become of them, they replied that they knew 
 not anything of them, and that it was a long time 
 since they had seen them. But two days did not 
 pass after their return, till they were seen by the 
 king, who asked them what was the reason that 
 they had not let themselves be seen for so long a 
 time. Acquirino replied, that some strange acci- 
 dents which had occurred were the cause ; and 
 that if they had not waited on his majesty as he 
 wished, and as was their desire, they asked par- 
 don, and w r ould make amends for their fault. 
 
 The king, hearing of their misfortune, and feel- 
 ing great compassion for them, would not stir from 
 the spot till they all three agreed to go to the pa- 
 lace to dine with him. Acquirino secretly took 
 with him the dancing water, Fluvio the singing 
 apple, and Serena the beautiful green bird ; and 
 they joyfully entered the palace with the king, 
 and sat down at the table. The malignant mother 
 and the envious sisters, seeing such a beautiful 
 maiden, and such handsome and elegant youths, 
 whose eyes shone like lovely stars, had great mis- 
 givings, and felt no little anxiety in their hearts. 
 
 When dinner was over, Acquirino said to the 
 king, " Before the table is taken away, we will 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 109 
 
 show Your Majesty some things that will please 
 you much :" and taking a silver cup, he put into 
 it the Dancing Water, and set it on the table. His 
 brother Fluvio then thrust his hand into his bosom 
 and drew out the singing apple, and set it near the 
 water. Serena, who had the beautiful green bird 
 in her lap, lost no time in putting him on the table. 
 The apple then began a most delightful tune, and 
 the water danced wonderfully to its melody. The 
 king and all present felt so much pleasure at this, 
 that they could not refrain from laughing. But the 
 grief and apprehension of the iniquitous queen- 
 mother, and of the sisters, increased not a little, 
 for they were in great doubt of their lives. 
 
 When the song and dance were ended, the 
 beautiful green bird began to speak, and said, 
 " O ! sacred king ! what would that person de- 
 serve who had caused the death of two brothers 
 and a sister ? " The crafty queen-mother instantly 
 replied, " Nothing less than the fire : " and all pre- 
 sent said the same. Then the dancing water and 
 the singing apple raised their voice, and said, 
 " Ah ! false mother ! full of iniquity, thy own 
 tongue condemns thee : and you, ye wicked and 
 envious sisters, shall be condemned to the same 
 punishment along with the nurse." 
 
 The king hearing this, was quite astonished ; 
 but the beautiful green bird went on and said, 
 " Sacred Majesty ! these are the three children 
 that you so much longed for; these are your 
 children who have a star in their forehead ; and 
 
110 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 it is their most innocent mother who has been to 
 this hour, and is still, in that filthy place." 
 
 The unhappy queen was then brought forth 
 and honourably clad ; and as soon as she was 
 dressed, she came into the presence of the king ; 
 and although she had been a long time a prisoner 
 and ill-treated, she had nevertheless been pre- 
 served in all her original beauty. The beautiful 
 green bird then, in the presence of all, related the 
 whole story from beginning to end ; and the king, 
 learning how matters had really been, with many 
 tears and sighs embraced his wife and his beloved 
 children. The dancing water, the singing apple, 
 and the beautiful green bird, as no one was mind- 
 ing them, all vanished in an instant. Next day 
 the king commanded that a large fire should be 
 kindled in the great square, and ordered that his 
 mother and the two sisters, and the nurse, should 
 be burnt without any mercy in presence of all the 
 people. He then lived a long time with his dear 
 wife and his amiable children ; and having mar- 
 ried his daughter honourably, left his sons sole 
 heirs of his kingdom. 
 
 This is, as every one will perceive, ' The Story 
 of the Sisters who envied their younger Sister,' 
 and beyond question it has been transmitted from 
 the East. This assertion will find more ready ac- 
 ceptance, when we consider that it was at Venice 
 that the work in which it appears was published ; 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. Ill 
 
 and Venice was, if T may so express it, the most 
 Oriental city in Europe l . The Venetians had com- 
 mercial establishments in Syria and Egypt, and 
 in a great measure monopolized the commerce of 
 these countries, before they fell under the power 
 of the Ottomans ; and these, as has been already 
 observed, are the countries in which the Thousand 
 and One Nights are best known. Venice is there- 
 fore the very spot in which we might expect to 
 meet with these tales. 
 
 I look upon the tale in the Arabian Nights as 
 being genuine old Persian. In the first place, the 
 names in it are all pure Persian : and this is a 
 circumstance of some weight ; for just as Homer 
 gives Greek names to his Egyptians, Pheeacians, 
 and other distant nations, and makes them all of 
 the same religion and same manners with the 
 Greeks, so the Arab gives Arabic names to the 
 Chinese, for example, and makes them good Mos- 
 lems 2 . And though the circumstance of the proper 
 names in a tale being Arabic, and Islam being the 
 religious system which appears in it, is no proof 
 
 1 It is curious enough that the host who tells the story of 
 Giocondo in Ariosto (see above, p. 88.), says he was told it 
 by a Venetian. 
 
 2 Thus in the tale of the Wonderful Lamp (in my opinion 
 a story of Persian origin also), the proper names which occur 
 in it are all Arabic. They are but four in number ; Mustafa, 
 Fatima, Aladdin (Ala-ed-deen, Exaltation of Religion), and 
 Badroulboudour (Bedr-ul-budur, Full-moon of Full-moons). 
 All the personages in the tale are followers of Islam. 
 
112 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 of its not being an old Persian tale, any more than, 
 in the present case, the Italian names of the per- 
 sonages in the Italian version are an argument 
 against its Eastern origin ; yet the retention of the 
 original names is, when well considered, nearly a 
 convincing proof of its belonging to the country 
 in whose language these names are to be found. 
 The Sultan of this tale is Khoosrou Shah (King 
 Khoosrou), the Cyrus of the Greeks; the two 
 brothers are called Bahman and Perveez, well- 
 known names of the Sassanian kings ; and their 
 sister is named Parizade (Pari- or Peri-born *), 
 the Parysatis of Grecian history. In the second 
 place, I regard the manners in it as perhaps ac- 
 cording better with those of ancient than of mo- 
 dern Persia. Parizade, " when the princes were 
 learning to ride, would not permit them to have 
 that advantage over her, but went through all ex- 
 ercises with them, learning to ride, bend the bow, 
 and dart the reed or javelin (i. e. the Jereed\ and 
 oftentimes outstrip them in the race." I do not 
 recollect that the Moslem fair, except among the 
 Eelyats or nomadic tribes, acquire these accom- 
 plishments 2 ; but in an episode shortly to be 
 given from the Shah Nameh of Ferdousee, in 
 
 1 For the Peris, see the Fairy Mythology. 
 
 2 The abbot Guibert, one of the original historians of the 
 First Crusade, says that in the Persian (i. e. Turkish) army 
 of Kerboga, which came to the relief of Antioch, pharefrata 
 cum arcubus advenere virgines. As the abbot was not an 
 eye-witness, I am strongly disposed to doubt the fact. 
 
THE DANCING WATER, ETC. 113 
 
 which the manners of Old Persia are so well pre- 
 served, we shall find a Persian heroine, like a 
 Marfisa or Bradamante, encountering the formi- 
 dable Soohrab in the battle-field. I think some 
 other proofs of a Persian origin might be given, 
 but these must suffice for the present. 
 
 The inferiority of the European tale to the ori- 
 ginal must be apparent to every one ; and I know 
 not whether the introduction of the stars, collars, 
 and precious stones and pearls, should be called 
 an improvement. The tale in Straparola has the 
 appearance of one written from an oral, and per- 
 haps altered, narrative of the oriental story. It is 
 curious, however, to observe how some minute and 
 unimportant circumstances of the original have 
 been preserved. Thus, Bahman and Perveez twice 
 disappoint the Sultan, when he invited them to his 
 palace ; and the young men in the Italian tale do 
 just the same. In this last, the character of Serena 
 is far less amiable than that of Parizade in the 
 original ; for she shows considerable selfishness 
 and disregard for the lives of her brothers. The 
 circumstance of the knife and string of pearls, 
 which were to inform Parizade of the fate of her 
 brothers, is not to be found in the tale in Strapa- 
 rola ; but we meet something like it in one, of 
 those in the Neapolitan Pentamerone 1 . 
 
 1 In the tale of the Enchanted Hind. When Cannelora 
 is departing, his friend Fonzo asks him for a token of his 
 love. He sticks his dagger in the ground, and a fountain 
 rises from the place, which, he tells him, by the state of its 
 
114 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 The Pleasant Nights of Straparola were trans- 
 lated into French ; and Madame D'Aulnoy took 
 from the present tale her Princess Fair-star (La 
 Princesse Belle Etoile). She has made consider- 
 able alterations in it, especially by introducing a 
 Prince Beloved (Cheri '), a cousin of Fair-star and 
 her brothers, and consequently, to suit the French 
 taste, a love-story. This ingenious lady could not 
 possibly have known anything of the Thousand and 
 One Nights at the time her Fairy Tales were 
 written, as Galland's translation did not appear 
 till 1704, only the year before her death. 
 
 But this tale is also a popular one in Germany. 
 There is a mountain called the Keuterberg, or Teu- 
 terberg, about nine English miles west of Corvei, 
 on whose summit the boundaries of Corvei, Lippe 
 and Hanover meet. Its sides are covered with 
 wood : its top is bare, affording a scanty pasturage 
 for sheep ; large stones lie scattered upon it, and 
 many a legend is connected with it. Six villages 
 lie at its feet, in one of which MM. Grimm heard 
 the following tale, which they have given in the 
 original dialect in which it was narrated to them 2 . 
 
 water, will always indicate the condition of his life : and 
 plunging his sword into the ground, he causes a myrtle to 
 shoot up, which will always do the same by the appear- 
 ance of its branches and foliage. 
 
 1 Of which the English translator made his Prince Cherry. 
 
 2 Kinder- und Haus-marchen, ii. 63. iii. 180. 
 
115 
 
 THE THREE LITTLE BIRDS. 
 
 It is a thousand years and more ago, when there 
 were only little kings in the land here, that one of 
 them lived on the Keuterberg, who was very fond 
 of going a-hunting. One time, as he was riding 
 out with his hunters from his castle, there were 
 three girls keeping their cows under the hill ; and 
 when they saw the king with all his train, the 
 eldest called out to the other two girls, and point- 
 ed to the king, " Hilloa ! hilloa ; if I do not get 
 him, I will have nobody." l Then answered the se- 
 cond, from the other side of the hill, and pointed 
 to him who was on the right hand of the king, 
 " Hilloa ! hilloa ! if I do not get him, I will have 
 nobody." Then cried the youngest, and pointed 
 to him who was on the left hand, " Hilloa! hilloa! 
 if I do not get him, I will have nobody." Now 
 these were the two ministers. The king heard 
 all this ; and when he was come home from the 
 hunt, he had the three girls brought to him, and 
 he asked them what it was they had said the day 
 before on the hill. They would not tell him ;" but 
 the king asked the eldest if she would not have 
 
 1 In illustration of this, MM. Grimm say, that when the 
 children who are keeping cattle on the different sides of the 
 Keuterberg want to say anything to each other, one calls out 
 " Hilloa !" or " Hilloa ! hilloa ! harkye :" then answers the 
 other from above, " Hilloa! hilloa ! what do you want ?" 
 "Hilloa! hilloa! come over to me." " Hilloa ! hilloa! I 
 will come bye and bye." It is curious to observe how by 
 these means tales are localised. 
 
116 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 him for her husband. She said " Yes." And her 
 two sisters married the two ministers ; for they 
 were all of them fair and handsome, especially 
 the queen, who had hair like flax. 
 
 Now the two sisters had no children ; and when 
 the king one time had to take a journey, he let 
 them come to the queen, to keep up her spirits, 
 as she was with child at the time. She brought 
 forth a little boy, that had a rich red star on its 
 forehead. Then the two sisters said one to the 
 other, they would throw the pretty babe into the 
 water. When they had thrown it in, (I believe it 
 was into the Weser,) up flew a little bird into the 
 air, and sang, 
 
 " Ready to die, 
 For judgement hie 
 To the lily-bough : 
 Brave boy, is it thou ? 1 
 
 When the two heard this, they grew quite uneasy, 
 and hurried away from the place. When the king 
 came home, they told him that the queen had had 
 a little dog. Then said the king, " What God 
 does is well done ! " 
 
 1 " Tom Daude bereit, 
 
 Up wietern Bescheid, 
 
 Tom Lilien-Strus : 
 
 Wacker Junge, bist du 's ? 
 
 which MM. Grimm say, means " the child was ready for 
 death (L e. dead), but has been saved for a further decision 
 (that of God) : the lily lives still, for the lily is also the immor- 
 tal spirit." I am inclined to think that " to the lily-tuft" is an 
 allusion to the old German custom of holding courts under trees. 
 
THE THREE LITTLE BIRDS. 117 
 
 But there lived a fisherman on the river, who 
 fished up the little boy while he was still alive ; 
 and as his wife had no children, they reared him. 
 A year after, the king went to travel again ; and 
 the queen had another little boy, which the two 
 false sisters took, and threw him also into the 
 water. That little bird then flew again up in the 
 air, and sang, 
 
 " Ready to die, 
 For judgement hie 
 To the lily-bough : 
 Brave boy, is it thou ? " 
 
 And when the king came back, they said to him 
 that the queen had again had a little dog ; and he 
 said again, " What God does is well done ! " But 
 the fisherman drew this one out of the water also, 
 and reared him, 
 
 The king then went to travel again; and the 
 queen had a little girl, which the false sisters 
 threw also into the water : the bird then flew 
 again up into the air, and sang, 
 
 " Ready to die, 
 For judgement hie 
 To the lily-bough : 
 Brave girl, is it thou ? " 
 
 And when the king came home, they said to him 
 the queen had had a cat. The king then grew 
 angry, and he threw his wife into prison, where 
 she remained many years. 
 
 The children had in the mean time grown up ; 
 and the eldest of them went out one time with 
 
118 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 other boys to fish ; but the other boys would not 
 let him be among them, and said, " Go your ways, 
 you foundling ! " He was then greatly troubled, 
 and he asked the old fisherman if that was true. 
 He told him that he was fishing one time, and 
 had drawn him out of the water. He then said, 
 that he would go away and look for his father. 
 The fisherman and his wife besought him to stay 
 where he was, but he would not be kept, and at 
 last they gave their consent. He then set out, and 
 went along the road for several days ; and at last he 
 came to a huge great river, by which an old 
 woman was standing and fishing. " Good day, 
 mother ! " said the youth. " Many thanks."- 
 (t Thou wilt be a long time fishing there before 
 thou catchest any fish." " And thou wilt be a 
 long time seeking, before thou findest thy parents. 
 How then wilt thou get over the river ? " "Aye, 
 God only knows that." The old woman then took 
 him on her back, and carried him over, and he 
 sought for a long time, and could not find his 
 parents. 
 
 When a whole year had passed, the second went 
 away too, to seek his brother. He came to the 
 river, and the same thing happened to him as had 
 happened to his brother. The daughter alone was 
 now in the house, and she mourned so about her 
 brothers, that she too at last prayed the fisherman 
 and his wife to let her go and seek her brothers. 
 She came then to the great river, and said to 
 the old woman, "Good day, mother !" "Many 
 
THE THREE LITTLE BIRDS. 119 
 
 thanks." " God help you in your fishing !" When 
 the old woman heard this, she became very 
 friendly, and carried her over the river, and gave 
 her a rod, and said to her, " Now go, my daugh- 
 ter, all along this way ; and when you come to a 
 great black dog, you must go by him boldly and 
 silently, and without laughing, and without look- 
 ing at him. You will then come to a great open 
 castle, and you must let the rod fall upon the 
 threshold, and go straight through the castle, 
 and out at the other side : there is there an old 
 well, out of which grows a great tree, from which 
 hangs a bird in a cage : take him down, then take 
 a glass of water out of the well, and come the 
 same way back again with them ; take the rod 
 up again off the threshold, and when you are 
 passing again by the dog, strike him in the face, 
 and be sure that you hit him, and then come back 
 again to me." 
 
 She found all exactly as the old woman had 
 said ; and as she was coming back, she found her 
 two brothers, who had sought through half the 
 world. They went together, till they came to 
 where the black dog lay in the way ; she struck 
 him on the face, and he became a handsome 
 prince, and went with them to the river. The old 
 woman was still standing there, and she was 
 greatly rejoiced at their being all there again, 
 and she carried them all over the river, and then 
 she went away too ; for she was now released. 
 
120 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 But the others all went to the old fisherman and 
 his wife, and they were all joyful at having all 
 come together again ; but they hung the bird up 
 against the wall. 
 
 But the second son could not stay quietly at 
 home, and he took his bow and went out to hunt. 
 When he was tired, he took out his flute and played 
 a tune. But the king was out hunting too ; and 
 when he heard it, he went towards it ; and when 
 he met the young man, he said, " Who has given 
 you leave to hunt here ? " " Oh ! no one." 
 " Who are you, then?" "I am the fisherman's 
 son." " He has no children." " If you will not 
 believe me, come with me." The king did so, 
 and he inquired of the fisherman and his wife : 
 they told him all, and the bird on the wall began 
 to sing, 
 
 " The mother sits alone, 
 And doth in prison moan, 
 O king, O noble blood ! 
 These are thy children good. 
 The wicked sisters two 
 The pretty babies threw 
 Into the rapid stream, 
 Where the fisherman found them." 
 
 Then all were astonished ; and the king took the 
 bird, the fisherman, and his wife, and the three 
 children with him to the castle, and had the prison 
 opened, and took his wife out again ; but she was 
 quite sick and miserable. Then her daughter 
 gave her some of the water of the well to drink, 
 
THE THREE LITTLE BIRDS. 121 
 
 and she became fresh and healthy ; but the two 
 false sisters were burnt, and the daughter married 
 the prince. 
 
 It will be seen that this homely German version 
 of the tale agrees in some points with the Eastern, 
 in some with the Italian story l . This MM. Grimm 
 regard as the surest proof of its independence ; 
 " though," they add, " any one who is acquainted 
 with the country where it was taken down, must 
 be convinced that those foreign tales never could 
 have reached it." I must confess I am not at 
 all convinced of this. The Keuterberg is not, 
 I apprehend, so completely separated from the 
 world that strangers do not visit its villages, and 
 some of their inhabitants resort in search of em- 
 ployment, or go as soldiers, to other parts of 
 Germany ; and how easily might one of them 
 bring back in his memory a tale he had heard 
 read, if he had not read it himself, out of the 
 Thousand and One Nights, or Madame D'Aul- 
 noy's Fairy Tales, or one of the many popular 
 story-books in which tales taken from these and 
 other collections of the kind are to be found ! 
 MM. Grimm do not give us the age of the tale ; 
 they cannot prove that it was in existence in the 
 seventeenth century : and I know that tales from 
 the Arabian Nights, altered and localised as much 
 
 1 The difference of the details from those in the Italian tale 
 need not surprise us. See below, ch. ix., the Russian tale of 
 Emelyan and its original, as appears to me, in Straparola. 
 G 
 
122 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 as I conceive it has been, are now popular stories 
 in Ireland. Why might not the same be the case 
 in Germany? 
 
 On the whole, I feel quite satisfied that the Per- 
 sian tale is the original, and that all the others 
 have been derived from it mediately or imme- 
 diately. 
 
 There is another tale in Straparola, and also a 
 popular story in Germany, which have some resem- 
 blance to one of those in the Thousand and One 
 Nights, though probably only an accidental one. 
 
 In the story of the Second Calendar, when the 
 Lady of Beauty is going to restore to his proper 
 form the prince whom the genie had turned into 
 an ape, she performs her magic rites, and the ge- 
 nie appears in the shape of a huge lion. She then 
 turns herself into a sharp sword, and cuts the lion 
 in two. The genie then becomes a scorpion, and 
 the princess a serpent. Overcome under this form, 
 he flies away as an eagle, and she pursues as a 
 larger eagle. A black cat then comes out of the 
 ground, followed by a black wolf: the worsted 
 cat changes herself into a worm, and pierces a 
 pomegranate, which swells and bursts : the wolf 
 becomes a cock, and picks up the seeds : one seed 
 rolls into a canal, and becomes a little fish : the 
 cock jumps into the water, and is turned into a 
 pike : presently the genie and princess appear all 
 in flames, and are reduced to two heaps of ashes. 
 
LACTANTIUS. 123 
 
 The substance of the tale in the Pleasant Nights 
 is this: A magician, named Lactantius, followed 
 the trade of a tailor : he took an apprentice, who, 
 happening to overhear his incantations, loses all 
 relish for tailoring, and his father takes him home. 
 Lactantius, however, receives him again, and sets 
 him now only to common work, and the father 
 takes him away again. As they were very poor, 
 the son said to the father, " Father, I will turn 
 myself into a fine horse : do you then sell me, 
 but be sure to keep the bridle, and not to let it 
 go with me, or else I cannot come back." Lac- 
 tantius seeing the horse, knows who it is : he buys 
 him, and persuades the father to let him have the 
 bridle with him. Having got the horse into his 
 possession, he ties him up, beats him, and abuses 
 him. One day the daughters of the magician led 
 the horse to water, when suddenly he turned him- 
 self into a little fish, and dived down. Lactantius 
 hastened to the spot, and, becoming a large fish, 
 pursued the little one, who jumped, in the form 
 of a ruby set in a gold ring, into the basket of 
 the king's daughter, who was gathering pebbles 
 at that place. She takes him away with her, and 
 he shows himself to her in his true form, of a 
 handsome youth. She loves him, and keeps him 
 with her as a ring. The king falling sick, Lac- 
 tantius comes as a physician, and cures him, and 
 for his fee demands a ruby-ring which his daugh- 
 ter has, and with which he is well acquainted. 
 The princess refuses to give it up ; but when at 
 
124 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 last she is compelled to surrender it, the youth 
 tells her to throw it against the wall before the 
 magician. She obeys ; and as soon as tHe ring 
 falls to the ground, it is turned into a pomegra- 
 nate, which bursts, and scatters its seeds about. 
 The magician converts himself into a cock, and 
 picks them up ; but one hides itself from him, 
 and, becoming a fox, catches him by the neck, 
 and bites his head off. The king then gives the 
 young man his daughter in marriage. 
 
 In the German tale of the Gaudeif (thief) and 
 his Master, as MM. Grimm heard it in the dialect 
 of Miinster, the pupil is sold in the same manner, 
 as a horse, and the father likewise gives the bridle 
 with him. When he gets it off he turns himself 
 into a sparrow ; the master pursues him in the 
 shape of a sparrow also : they then become fishes : 
 the master finally is a cock, and the pupil, as a fox, 
 bites his head off. 
 
 In an Austrian version, the last change is that 
 of the master into a grain of oats, which is swal- 
 lowed by the pupil in the shape of a cock ; and 
 the magician is thus annihilated. 
 
 There are, it will be seen, some points of resem- 
 blance in these different tales, but perhaps hardly- 
 sufficient to justify an assertion of one being bor- 
 rowed from the other. Yet possibly the Arabian 
 story had reached Venice. 
 
 The selling of the horse with the bridle reminds 
 us of a circumstance in another Arabian tale 
 
ULYSSES AND SINDBAD. 125 
 
 that of Prince Beder, When Beder was instructed 
 by old Abdallah how to turn the tables on the 
 magic queen Labe, and to transform her into a 
 mare, he was strictly charged by him, if ever he 
 parted with her, to be sure not to give up the 
 bridle. Neglecting this admonition, he sold the 
 mare to an old woman, who happened to be 
 Labe's mother, and he was turned by them into 
 an owl l . 
 
 This is also a curious coincidence ; and I can- 
 not help thinking that the trait may have been 
 transmitted from the East. 
 
 Queen Labe, with her lovers turned into various 
 animals, reminds one strongly of the Homeric 
 Circe ; and I think it not at all impossible that 
 Grecian fable may have penetrated into Persia. 
 The escape of Sindbad from the cavern in which 
 he had been buried alive with his wife, by follow- 
 ing an animal which used to come in to feed on 
 the dead bodies, is exactly the same with that of 
 Aristomenes, the Messenian hero, from the cavern 
 into which he had been thrown by the Lacedae- 
 monians 2 . But the closest parallel is between the 
 
 1 There is nothing said about the bridle in the account of 
 the sale ; but I am sure that, in the original tale, Beder's mis- 
 fortune must have been owing to his having parted with it. 
 In Chaucer's Squier's Tale, the bridle would also appear to 
 have been of some importance. 
 
 2 Pausanias, iv. 18. 
 
126 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 adventure of Ulysses with the Cyclops, and that 
 of Sindbad with the black giant. 
 
 This giant dwelt in an island : he had but one 
 eye, and he was as tall as a palm-tree. When he 
 saw Sindbad and his companions, who had entered 
 his palace, he selected the fattest of them, roasted 
 him, ate him for supper, and then fell asleep. 
 They were obliged to pass the next night in his 
 palace, when he killed and ate another of them. 
 But when he was asleep, ten of the boldest of 
 them made ten of his spits red-hot, and bored out 
 the eye of the monster. He roared aloud with 
 the pain, and groped about, but to no purpose, 
 for those who had caused it, and then went howl- 
 ing through the island. Next morning they saw 
 him coming, led by two of his brethren, and fol- 
 lowed by several others. They lost no time in 
 getting on the rafts they had constructed the day 
 before ; but the giants flung great stones with so 
 exact an aim, that they sunk them all except the 
 one which carried Sindbad and two of his comrades. 
 
 These circumstances are nearly the same with 
 those in the Odyssey. The feat of sinking the 
 rafts by flinging rocks on them was performed, 
 we must observe, not by Polyphemus, but by the 
 Lsestrigonians. The Cyclops missed the ship, 
 when, guided by the sound of Ulysses' voice, he 
 hurled pieces of rock at it J . 
 
 1 For the story of Ulysses and the Cyclops, see the Ninth 
 Book of Homer's Odyssey, pr my Mythology of Ancient 
 Greece and Italy. 
 
ULYSSES AND SINDBAD. 127 
 
 I think it, then, not unlikely that the story of 
 the Odyssey travelled, one time or other, east- 
 wards. In proof of the migration of Grecian 
 fable, it may be mentioned that the Persian story 
 of Sicander, or Alexander the Great, was derived 
 from Byzantium. 
 
 Adieu to these splendid Oriental fictions, which 
 delight youth and beguile age ! The task of tracing 
 them in their progress from Asia to Europe has been 
 to me a source of much pleasure. I have proved, 
 I think, that some of them reached the West cen- 
 turies before the appearance of M. Galland's trans- 
 lation, and have so far established my theory re- 
 specting the transmission of fiction. I will now 
 proceed to show, that tales may be very similar, 
 and yet be quite independent of each other. 
 
129 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE SHAH-NAMEH ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB CONLOCH 
 
 AND CUCHULLIN MACPHERSON's OSSIAN IRISH ANTI- 
 QUITIES. 
 
 " IT must be owned," says an elegant and philo- 
 sophic historian, when speaking of the British 
 Arthur ] , " that the traditions of our heroic age 
 have not the same historical value as those of 
 other nations. The fables of Greece, for example, 
 besides their singular beauty, have the merit of 
 being the native produce of the soil. As pictures 
 of manners, and indications of character, they are 
 therefore true to nature. They may occasionally 
 approach the inferior truth of time and place, of 
 names and particulars, by a faint and rude outline 
 of real occurrences." 
 
 As this is the very view which I have taken of 
 the Grecian mythology in my Work on that agree- 
 able subject, I feel both pleasure and confidence 
 
 1 Sir James Mackintosh, in his History of England, vol. i. 
 p. 27. Should there be any among my readers I hope they 
 will not be few who love to contemplate the exercise of a 
 mild, charitable, and enlightened philosophy, and who would 
 imbibe true political wisdom, and learn to view the institu- 
 tions of their country with love and veneration, I would advise 
 them to devote their hours to this valuable work. It is for 
 this effect, and not for the narrative, that it should be read ; 
 and not merely read, but studied. 
 
130 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 at finding this coincidence of sentiment between 
 myself and so distinguished a man as the late Sir 
 James Mackintosh. 
 
 By * other nations,' in the above passage, I ap- 
 prehend could only be meant the Greeks, the Per- 
 sians, and the Scandinavians ; for I believe these 
 are the only nations that have a mythic history 
 the true growth of their own soil, unmingled with 
 exotic productions. Of that of Scandinavia I shall 
 bye and bye have occasion to say a few words ; 
 my present business is with that of Persia, and 
 the book in which alone it is to be found the 
 noble Shah-Nameh \ or King-book. 
 
 When the Arabian deluge poured in over Persia 
 under the first Khalifs, it extinguished alike the 
 literature and the religion of the conquered people. 
 The traditions of ancient Persian renown, which 
 had been cherished by the House of Sassan, were 
 despised by the new lords of Iran : the original 
 worshipers of Ormuzd, who had voluntarily or 
 compulsively embraced the law of the Arabian 
 prophet, gradually became negligent of the tales 
 which narrated the deeds of their fathers ; and 
 the faithful remnant who still clung to the religion 
 of Light, either sought a refuge in India, or led a 
 life of obscurity in remote districts of their own 
 country. A people whose spirit is broken are 
 generally negligent of the fame of their ancestors, 
 
 1 These letters, a, i, ft, are equivalent to aw,ee, oo. I shall 
 employ them indifferently ; ou is to be sounded as in our. 
 
THE SHAH-NAMEH. 131 
 
 which is, as it were, a reproach to themselves ; 
 and the legends of Persian glory seem to have 
 been on the brink of perishing, when patriotism 
 or poetic feeling urged a man of rank in Iran to 
 seek to rescue them from oblivion. From the 
 books and from the lips of the Moobeds (Ma- 
 gi), he collected the old traditions, and he wrote 
 them out in the Pehlvi language. This book, 
 which was named the Bostan Nameh (Old Book\ 
 became the consolation and the delight of all who 
 loved to dwell on the glories of the olden time ; 
 and one of the rnonarchs of the Turkish house 
 of the Samanee directed a poet to versify these 
 tales of the ancient wars of Iran and Tooran. The 
 poet commenced his task, but he shortly after- 
 wards perished by the hand of an assassin. At 
 length the renowned Mahmood of Ghizni imposed 
 the task on Aboo-'l-Kasim, the son of Ishak She- 
 riff Shah, a native of Toos in Khorassan, sur- 
 named Ferdousee (Paradisal) from the beauty of 
 his verses, or from his own or his father's occu^ 
 pation being gardening 1 . At the mandate of the 
 mighty Mahmood, Ferdousee celebrated the deeds 
 of the ancient monarchs and heroes of Iran. 
 
 The poem, when completed, was named the 
 Shah-Nameh, or King-book ; and it is at the pre- 
 sent day, and is likely ever to continue to be, the 
 pride and glory of Persian literature. It consists 
 
 1 Paradise, originally signifying park, (a word perhaps con- 
 nected with it,) is of Persian origin, and was adopted by the 
 Greeks. 
 
132 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 of sixty thousand rimed couplets : its measure is 
 rapid and animated ; it is everywhere embellished 
 by the flowers of a luxuriant and beautiful imagi- 
 nation. It is the only source from which the Per- 
 sians can derive any knowledge of the history of 
 their country previous to the Arabian conquest ; 
 and the sentiment of veneration with which they 
 regard it, almost exceeds that felt by the Greeks 
 for the Homeric poems. 
 
 It is impossible to assign the date of the mythic 
 legends of a people : they spring up, one knows 
 not how or when ; they receive accessions imper- 
 ceptibly ; they pass from mouth to mouth for 
 centuries before they are fixed by writing ; they 
 form a part of the life and being of the people. 
 The labours of the early logographers of Greece, 
 and of the Alexandrian critics, have given a de- 
 scriptive chronological air to the legends of Gre- 
 cian mythology : not merely the year, for instance, 
 but the very day of the month, on which Troy was 
 taken, was fixed ; though all must confess that this 
 event occurred before the Greeks began to write : 
 and it may very fairly be doubted if ever Troy and 
 its ten-year siege had an existence. All such 
 events lie far beyond the limits of chronology. 
 
 In like manner we can assign no date to the 
 early legends of the Shah-Nameh, the proper my- 
 thic history of Persia. Ferdousee asserts that he 
 invented none of them, but gave them as he found 
 them in the Bostan Nameh, or Old Book. Now 
 we know from Moses of Chorene, the Armenian 
 
THE SHAH-NAMEH. 133 
 
 historian, who wrote in the middle of the fifth cen- 
 tury, that at that time the legend of Zohak and 
 Feridoon was well known. It, and consequently 
 its fellow legends, could therefore hardly have 
 been invented in the time of the Sassanians ; still 
 less can we assign them to the period of Parthian 
 or Grecian dominion, when Persian nationality was 
 no more. We thus find ourselves in the days of the 
 Kyaneans (the Achaemenides of the Greeks) ; and 
 I see no reason for denying that Jemsheed, Zo- 
 hak, Feridoon, Zal, and Roostem, were the heroes 
 of popular lays, and the wars of the Iranian Shahs 
 against Afrasiab and his Turanians, sung by the 
 bards of Iran centuries before Xerxes led his host 
 to Greece, or Cyrus conquered Lesser Asia. One 
 of the very few passages of the Persian poem which 
 correspond with the history of Persia, as given by 
 the Greeks, is that of the early days of Ky Khoos- 
 rou, which is like what Herodotus tells of Cyrus ; 
 yet even that may have been an ancient poetic 
 fiction, and be no truer in the case of Cyrus 
 than in that of Romulus, Paris, or Habis ; of all 
 of whom nearly the same thing is told. Herodo- 
 tus, who lived not more than a century after that 
 prince, says that there were no less than three 
 different accounts of him, of which he selected 
 that which appeared the most probable. He adds, 
 that the narrators of these histories were more so- 
 licitous to exalt their heroes than to ascertain the 
 truth. 
 
 At all events, we possess in the Shah-Nameh 
 
134 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the genuine mythic history of Persia, as pure, 
 perhaps, as we have that of Greece in Grecian 
 poetry. The manners, too, are faithfully pre- 
 served : the heroes are those of old, and not of 
 Mohammedan Persia ; they are potent, for in- 
 stance, at the wine-cup, and enjoy the banquet ; 
 and we may recollect that one strong reason given 
 by the younger Cyrus to prove himself more 
 worthy of the throne than his brother Artaxerxes, 
 was, that he was able to drink more wine. Many 
 other traits of Persian manners will present them- 
 selves to the reader of the poem. 
 
 I will now give an epitome of the tale of Sooh- 
 rab, robbed of all the charms of verse, and of much 
 of the splendour of imagination. I regret much 
 that I can do no more 1 . 
 
 A 
 
 ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 
 
 ' Now let us hearken to the story of the com- 
 bat of Roostem with Soohrab, a tale full of pity 
 
 1 Mr. Atkinson has translated it into English verse. It 
 will also be found in his epitome of the Shah-Nameh. I fol- 
 low Gbrres' epitome of it in his Heldenbuch von Iran. My 
 knowledge of Persian being extremely slight, I always refer 
 in cases of difficulty to my friends MM. Forbes and Arnot, 
 of the London Oriental Institution. 
 
 A fine edition of the original poem, edited by Mr. Turner 
 Macan, from a comparison of several of the best MSS., has 
 been printed at Calcutta. It is curious to observe that the 
 reflections with which the following episode opens, are dif- 
 ferent in it from those in the MS. used by Atkinson, and that 
 Gorres' MS. differs from both. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 135 
 
 and melancholy, and water of the eyes. The mild 
 heart of Roostem was thereby filled with affliction. 
 
 ' O youth ! who hearest, turn not away thy 
 face from joy and love, for joy and love are suit- 
 able unto youth. There will be time enough after 
 us, when the rose will glow and the spring be re- 
 newed, many clouds will pass along, many flowers 
 will bloom, thy body will dissolve and be mingled 
 with the black earth. No one knoweth what will 
 befall tomorrow ; all abideth and goeth as seemeth 
 fit unto heaven. When the storm bursts forth from 
 the narrow ravine, and tears up the young tree by 
 the roots, wilt thou call this a violent act of God? 
 O fool ! acknowledge him to be all-wise. If death 
 is unjust, what is just? and why complain we of that 
 which is just? Thy soul knoweth not this secret, 
 that young and old come to the same goal. There- 
 fore, so shouldest thou live upon earth, that thou 
 shouldest win thy salvation at the end.' 
 
 It has been related by the ancients, from the 
 Moobeds the tradition has been handed down, 
 that one morning Roostem arose and prepared 
 himself for the chase. He filled his quiver with 
 arrows, he mounted Rakish 1 (Lightning), and turn- 
 ed his face to the marches of Tooran. As he drew 
 nigh to them, he saw the plain far and wide co- 
 vered with wild asses (Goordn). The cheek of 
 the hero lighted up like the rose ; he smiled, and 
 urged on Raksh. With bow and arrow, mace and 
 
 1 The name of Roostem' s famous steed. 
 
1 36 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 noose, he brought to the ground many a swift ass 
 of the wilds. He gathered leaves and branches, 
 and kindled a fire ; then taking a tree, which in 
 his grasp weighed not a feather, he spitted on it 
 one of the wild asses. When it was roasted, he 
 ate it, and sucked the marrow of its bones ; he 
 then sought the water, and drank, and lay down to 
 sleep : his horse meantime grazed about. While 
 he slept, came seven-and-thirty times eight Turks 
 to the plain, and seeing a horse roaming alone in 
 the wood, they hasted to catch him. Raksh roared 
 like a lion ; one he killed with his teeth, another 
 with his hoof, but in vain ; they caught him in 
 the noose, and brought him to the city of Samen- 
 gan. When Roostem awoke, he was filled with 
 grief at the loss of his faithful steed ; but seeing 
 no remedy, he put the bridle and saddle on his 
 shoulder, saying, " Such is the way of the world; 
 now the back on the saddle, and again the saddle 
 on the back ; " and he moved on towards the 
 town. 
 
 As he drew nigh unto the town, the great men 
 advanced to meet him ; and when they saw that 
 he was clad in iron, they all said, " This is Roos- 
 tem." The Shah himself came forth and welcomed 
 him to his city. Roostem replied, that the traces 
 of his horse were thitherward, and menaced ven- 
 geance if he were not restored. The Shah de- 
 sired him to be pacified, promised that he should 
 be sought after and restored, and pressed him 
 meantime to come and pass the night over the 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB, 137 
 
 wine. Roostem accepted the invitation with joy : 
 the night passed away in festivity, and it was late 
 when the hero was conducted to a bed in the royal 
 palace. Overcome by wine and fatigue, he fell 
 asleep ; but when the night was nearly gone, and 
 the morning-star was gleaming, he heard a light 
 whispering by his bed. There stood Temeenah, 
 the daughter of the Shah, the moon-cheeked maid, 
 glittering like the sun, with a light in her hand at 
 the bedside of the drunken hero. * She came full 
 of fragrance and colour ; her eyebrows, two bent 
 bows ; her ringlets, nooses ; two rose-leaves flown 
 - on the cypress, her cheeks ; her lilies shedding 
 wine, and diffusing amber out of Paradise ; two 
 rubies beaming in the concealed place, pierced 
 through the middle with fire-hued diamond ; rings 
 in her glittering ear-lobes ; lips and neck formed 
 of sugar ; prudent and pure of soul, as if earth 
 had no share in her ; so was she formed in chas- 
 tity and beauty.* Roostem in amaze called out 
 to know who she was, and what she sought in the 
 dusky night. She told him she was the daughter 
 of the Shah. " I am," said she, " the tamer of 
 lions and tigers ; among the fair-ones of the earth 
 there is not my equal ; there is none so great as 
 I under the heaven. No one hath seen me be- 
 hind my veil, nor heard me speak." She then 
 proceeded to tell how tales had come to her ears 
 of the prowess of Roostem ; how he never had 
 feared either Deevs, or lions, or crocodiles ; how 
 he came alone in the night to Tooran, and slept 
 
138 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 there, and roasted and ate a wild ass. " Thou 
 makest the air to weep with thy sword ; in dread 
 of thee the eagle ventures not to fly ; thou drawest 
 the sea-snake out of the deep ; the hawk, when 
 he beholds thy sword, ceases to hunt ; the lion 
 bears the mark of thy noose. When I heard all 
 these tales of thy prowess and thy might, I bit my 
 lips in grief, and I longed for thy arms, and shoul- 
 ders, and breast. Then God brought thee hither to 
 me, and now I come to ask thee if thou wilt have 
 me: neither bird nor fish has ever seen me." 
 
 The enamoured princess further promised that 
 she would procure him again his good steed Raksh, 
 and lay all Samenga'n at his feet ; and Roostem 
 saw that the prospect was good, and he desired a 
 Moobed to ask her for him from her father. The 
 Shah consented with joy, and sent his daughter to 
 the Pahluwan 1 . That very night the princess con- 
 ceived, and Roostem felt thereby love for her 
 more strongly impressed on his heart. With day- 
 break he drew from his arm a costly ring, set with 
 a blue stone, and giving it to her, directed her if 
 the child should be a female, to plait it into her 
 locks ; if a boy, to put it on his arm, assuring her 
 that the offspring of Roostem must be renowned, 
 and his virtue never could be concealed. 
 
 When the sun was rising, Roostem took leave 
 of the moon-cheeked princess : again and again he 
 
 1 Pahluwan signifies champion or hero. It is akin to the 
 Greek ira\ain<)v. Wrestlers are called Pahluw&na at the 
 present day in Persia. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 139 
 
 kissed her eyes and head, and the hearts of both were 
 filled with sadness. And when the sun had mount- 
 ed his ivory car, with the crown of rubies on his 
 head, the Shah came to Roostem,and asking "how 
 he had found his chamber and his sleep," told him 
 that Raksh was at hand awaiting him. The ex- 
 ulting hero placed the saddle on his gallant steed, 
 bade farewell to the Shah of Samengan, sprang 
 to horse, arid soon beheld again Sabool and Seis- 
 tan 1 .. But he told no one what had befallen him. 
 
 Nine moons had passed, and Temeenah became 
 the mother of a son, bright as the refulgent moon, 
 the image of the mighty Roostem, like unto Sam 
 and Nareeman 2 , and with joy she named him 
 Soohrab. And the child throve and grew apace : 
 in the first month he was as a child of a year old ; 
 when three years old he began to wrestle ; at ten 
 years no one could stand before him in the com- 
 bat. * An elephant in body, his countenance like 
 blood, his arms powerful as those of a camel, high 
 in stature, narrow in the waist, strong of fist, 
 thus was he formed. The chase of the lion was 
 his delight, and with hawks he hunted the valiant 
 beast 3 .' 
 
 One day he came to his mother and demanded 
 to know who was his sire, that he might have 
 wherewithal to answer those who asked him, me- 
 
 1 The countries over which he ruled. 
 3 Ancestors of Roostem. 
 
 3 See in the Sketches of Persia the mode of hunting an* 
 {elopes at the present day with hawks. 
 
140 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 nacing her with death in case of refusal. She 
 bade him rejoice, for that his sire was the noble 
 Roostem, the greatest hero whom earth had ever 
 seen. She showed him a letter from his father, 
 with three rubies and ten wedges of ruddy gold, 
 which Roostem had sent her out of Iran. But 
 she told him not, that, fearing to be deprived of 
 him, she had sent word to Roostem that her off- 
 spring was a female; and she prayed him to keep 
 all this a secret, lest it should reach the ears of 
 Afrasiab, the foe of Roostem and of Iran. The 
 soul of the youth took fire ; he vowed he would 
 never conceal so noble an extraction ; he would 
 collect an army of valiant warriors, he would in- 
 vade Iran, dethrone the unworthy Ky Kaoos, and 
 give the crown to Roostem ; then return, and hurl 
 Afrasiab also from his royal seat, and Roostem 
 should be the lord of the whole earth. 
 
 Forthwith Soohrab began to assemble an army. 
 For himself he sought a horse whose iron hoof 
 would crush the stones, who should be strong as 
 an elephant, swift as a bird in flight, as a fish in 
 the water, as a lion on the land. At the word of his 
 mother the whole herd was brought before him ; 
 he laid his hand on the back of each steed, and 
 the belly of each touched the ground beneath his 
 pressure. The youth was displeased. Then came 
 one, and told of a foal which Raksh had gotten 
 when in Samengan, whose body was like a moun- 
 tain, in speed a roe, an arrow in the wilderness ; 
 his talisman was the sun, and the wild bull dreaded 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 141 
 
 the stroke of his hoof. The foal was brought : 
 firm as a rock, he bent not beneath the pressure 
 of the hero's hand l . Soohrab grasped a lance like 
 a pillar, and cried, " Now that I have such a horse, 
 the day will darken before Kaoos." His grand- 
 father gave him horses, mules, arms and treasure 
 for the war against Iran, and joyful thereat was 
 the young Lion-heart. 
 
 Afrasiab, hearing of the warlike preparations of 
 Soohrab, sent two of his warriors, named Hooman 
 and Barman, with 12,000 men to his aid, in hopes 
 that Roostem would fall by the hand of Soohrab, 
 or Soohrab by that of Roostem, so that in either 
 case the advantage would be his : he therefore 
 directed his generals to prevent by all means the 
 mutual recognition of the father and the son. The 
 unsuspecting Soohrab hailed with joy the arrival 
 of the royal troops, and the march began for Iran. 
 
 Mounted on their wind-footed steeds, the war- 
 riors of Soohrab swept the country, wasting and 
 burning till they came before a fortress named 
 Zebeed. Hejeer, the governor, rode forth and 
 engaged in single combat with Soohrab, but he 
 was vanquished, and sent a prisoner to Hooman. 
 Gusdehem, who then took the command of the 
 fortress, had with him his sister, named Gurd- 
 
 1 This was the manner in which Roostem himself had se- 
 lected his steed Raksh. It is curious as an instance either of 
 original similarity of manners, or of the transmission of poetic 
 fictions, to find the same mode of selecting a hero's steed in 
 the Russian Popular Tales shortly to be noticed. 
 
142 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 afreed, a maiden valiant as a Pahluwan, the com- 
 batant of lions, unequalled in battle. When she 
 heard the cry of grief raised by men and women 
 at the capture of Hejeer, the tulip of her com- 
 plexion became dark as pitch ; she clad herself 
 in arms, concealed her hair beneath the helmet, 
 and rode forth, bearing a huge steel-headed lance. 
 With a voice of thunder she called out, " Who are 
 ye who come hither to war?" Soohrab, smiling, bit 
 his lips, and sprang forth to meet her. The maiden 
 grasped her bow and showered arrows on him, 
 ' that no bird could fly by.' Soohrab's wrath was 
 kindled. They fought eye to eye; the blood 
 flowed in streams. She flung away the bow and 
 seized the spear, but Soohrab came on like de- 
 vouring flame, and his lance tore her mail, and 
 cast her to the ground. Instantly she was on 
 foot, and drawing her sword, struck off the head 
 of the lance ; then springing to horse fled away. 
 The Sipehbad l pursued, shouting aloud. The 
 maid with a smile took off her helmet, and her 
 hair descended glittering like the sun, and Sooh- 
 rab saw that he had been fighting with a maiden. 
 He bound her, and told her that she was not to 
 look for freedom, for a wild ass like her had never 
 fallen into his toils, The maiden saw that her 
 only resource was craft. She threw on him the 
 full blaze of her charms : when her veil was with- 
 
 1 Sipehbad and Sipehdar mean warrior or commander. 
 Sipahi, from which we have made Seapoy, is in Persian a 
 soldier. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 143 
 
 drawn, a garden like that of Paradise smiled on 
 him ; harts, her eyes ; bows, her eyebrows : the 
 soul of Soohrab was captured, and he allowed 
 her to enter the fort to procure its surrender. But 
 she laughed at him from the walls, telling him the 
 Iranians matched not with Turks ; and that brave 
 though he was, he would be unable to stand be- 
 fore the Shah and Roostem. Soohrab was en- 
 raged at being thus outwitted ; but night was at 
 hand, and he returned to his camp. 
 
 Gusdehem then wrote to the Shah, describing 
 the might and the prowess of Soohrab ; and that 
 very night he and the garrison retired from the 
 fortress by a secret way. When Soohrab in the 
 morning prepared to give the assault, he found 
 none to resist him. He entered, and the defence- 
 less people implored his clemency : he sought 
 everywhere for Gurd-afreed, but found her not : 
 his heart was full of love, and he said, " Alas, 
 that the bright moon should thus be hidden among 
 the clouds ! " 
 
 The hopes of Iran lay in Roostem ; and the 
 Shah sent the Pahluwan Geev to tell him of the 
 letter of Gusdehem, and summon him to the aid 
 of the kingdom. And Roostem marvelled who 
 the Turkish hero might be. " A son," said he to 
 Geev, " had I by the daughter of the Shah of Sa- 
 mengan, but he is young, and knoweth nought as 
 yet of war. His mother tells me he is strong and 
 bold, and drinks wine like a lion, and one day he 
 will surely be renowned. But come, let us pass 
 
144 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 today in joy, and moisten the parched lip with 
 wine : tomorrow we haste to the field." The feast 
 was spread, they grasped their cups, and became 
 drunken. Each succeeding day was the same. 
 At last Geev reminded his host of the hasty tem- 
 per of the Shah, and on the sixth day the Pah- 
 luwan set his troops in motion. 
 
 When Geev and Roostem came into the royal 
 presence, Ky Kaoos ordered Toos to seize them 
 both, and hang them on a gallows. But Roostem, 
 kindling in anger, recounted all he had done for 
 the royal line of Iran, and for Ky Kaoos in par- 
 ticular, and then set out homewards, declaring he 
 would have nothing more to do with Iran, and 
 that with him sense and courage would depart 
 from the land. And all the men of renown were 
 dismayed, for he was the shepherd, they the flock; 
 and they sent Guders to remind the Shah of all 
 that Roostem had done for him, and how without 
 him they could not resist Soohrab. The Shah 
 listened to the words of Guders, and he saw that 
 they were true : he repented him of his folly, and 
 bade them to follow after Roostem, and persuade 
 him to return. Guders and his companions, when 
 they came up with Roostem, told him of the 
 Shah's repentance ; but he said, " What is this 
 Kaoos to me ? I need him not. My throne is my 
 saddle, my crown my helm, my robe my shirt- of- 
 mail." But they represented the disgrace it would 
 be to him should Iran be conquered by the Turks. 
 He paused awhile, and then consented to go back 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 145 
 
 with them. The Shah made excuses for what 
 he had done, and Roostem replied in the terms 
 of duty. " Today, then," said Kaoos, " we will 
 enjoy the banquet, tomorrow we march to the 
 field." 
 
 In the morning, when the sun had torn the 
 black veil (of night), Kaoos issued pay to his 
 army : 100,000 men came with shield and corse- 
 let ; the land was covered with horses and ele- 
 phants, and orders were given to march for Ze- 
 beed. When they approached the fortress, Sooh- 
 rab mounted the wall to view them. He sighed 
 as he beheld the plain filled with warriors, and he 
 said to Hooman, " This countless host makes me 
 uneasy. Seest thou not in the midst of it a war- 
 rior of lofty stature with a mighty mace?" But 
 he gave not way to melancholy ; and he came down 
 and called for wine. Then the Iranians came, and 
 pitched their tents before the fortress. 
 
 With night Roostem came before the Shah, 
 and craved permission to lay aside his helm and 
 corselet, and go to discover who the stranger- 
 chief and his commanders were. Having obtained 
 the consent of Ky Kaoos, he disguised himself as 
 a Turk, and entered the castle 'like a lion among 
 roes.' Following the sound of merriment, he came 
 to where Soohrab sat at the banquet with Zendeh 
 Resm at his right, Hooman and Barman at his 
 left : a hundred Turks stood around, and every 
 voice was raised in praise of the noble Soohrab. 
 Roostem stood long at a distance, looking on the 
 
146 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Pahluwans. Struck with his appearance, Zendeh 
 Resm arose, and coming to him, asked who he 
 was, and desired him to let his face be seen. The 
 hero struck him with his fist, and Zendeh Resm 
 fell dead to the ground, for God had determined 
 that Roostem should be the slayer of his own son. 
 For when Soohrab was setting forth on his way 
 to Iran, his mother called her brother Zendeh 
 Resm to her, who had seen and known Roostem 
 when he was at Samengan ; and she said to him, 
 " Go, thou man of prudence, with the youth, 
 and should the host be in straits on the day of 
 battle, point out the father to the son:" and 
 now there was no one with Soohrab who knew 
 Roostem. 
 
 Roostem fled away, and Zendeh Resm remain- 
 ed lying on the earth ; no one knew that he was 
 dead, they thought he was reposing. Night ad- 
 vanced, and he came not back ; then Soohrab 
 missed him. They found him dead ; and Sooh- 
 rab arose, and came forth with lights and servants. 
 He said, " Let no one sleep today ; a wolf has got- 
 ten among the herd ; he has deceived both the 
 dogs and the keepers." He then went back, and 
 ordered them to drown their sorrow in wine. 
 
 The morn came forth in brightness ; the sun 
 shook out his glittering hair, and flame ran down 
 the sides of the mountains. Soohrab mounted his 
 stone-coloured horse : he ordered Hejeer to be 
 brought before him, and said, " Answer truly to 
 the questions I shall put to thee, if thou hope to 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 147 
 
 obtain liberty. If so, a costly gift shall also be 
 thine: if not, bonds and a prison shall be thy re- 
 ward." " Ask what thou wilt of Iran," said He- 
 jeer, " and with truth will I tell thee what I know." 
 " I would know of that council of the proud and 
 the valiant yonder below, of the Shah of the herd, 
 of Toos, of Guders, of Roostem, and of all the 
 others. Answer with truth, and give me the en- 
 sign of each." From the height of the castle he 
 looked over the host of Iran, as it stretched far 
 and wide on the plain, countless banners and pa- 
 vilions glittering in the beams of the sun 1 . 
 
 " First then," said he, " yon many-hued tent, 
 with a hundred elephants before it, a stately re- 
 tinue about it, in the midst of the camp, whose 
 may it be?" Hejeer said, "That is the Shah of 
 Iran." " And yonder black tent to the left, where 
 are assembled numerous Pahluwans and elephants, 
 with many other tents around it, whose sayest 
 thou it to be ? " " That is Toos, the son of Nevder, 
 of the blood of the Padishah 2 , a mighty Sipehdar." 
 " Yon yellow tent, a lion before it glittering in 
 ruddy gold, a costly stone in the centre, before 
 and behind a numerous host in array, how shall 
 I name the chief?" " Name him Guders, the son 
 
 1 M. Hammer has given a fine versified translation of this 
 dialogue of Soohrab and Hejeer in his " Schbne Redekunst 
 Persiens." Let any one compare it with that of Mr. Atkin- 
 son, and he will see the great advantage of adhering to the 
 original measure of the verse. 
 
 2 That is, emperor. 
 
 H 2 
 
148 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 of Keshwad ; he himself has forty sons, like lions." 
 " And yonder green tent, in the midst of which is 
 a throne, and before it raised the banner of the 
 empire, whom may it contain? Here and there 
 sit Pahluwans in groups : one overtops them all ; 
 beside him is a horse, whose fellow I have ne'er 
 beheld ; his neighing is like the roaring of the sea. 
 Many harnessed elephants stand around ; when he 
 rises, and moves, none in Iran can compare with 
 Lim in stature ; like a dragon, he strides in his 
 strength: how namest thou the hero?" Then 
 said Hejeer to himself, " If I tell the ensign of the 
 Pure One ' to this lion-hearted youth, he will re- 
 move his luck from Roostem. Better then is it 
 that I tell him not the name of the Proud One." 
 Then said he, " Kerjeen came to the Shah while 
 I was in this castle : the Sipehdar may be he." 
 The soul of Soohrab was troubled when he saw 
 not the ensign of Roostem, of which his mother 
 had told him. He resumed : " Who are yonder 
 Pahluwans assembled around the ensign of the 
 \Vild Wolf, where I hear the sound of martial 
 pipes? and whose is the ensign?" " It is that of 
 Geev, the son of Guders, a chief over two parts of 
 the host of Iran, the brother-in-law of Roostem. 
 Few in Iran are like unto him." " Yonder," said 
 the youth, " I see a tent gleaming like the sun ; be- 
 fore it are many Pahluwans in ranks ; the Sipeh- 
 bad is on a golden throne, the tent is adorned with 
 
 1 A title of Roostem, 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 149 
 
 rich silk and satin ; many attendants are at the en- 
 trance. Who is the chief?" "That," said he, "is 
 Ferbers, the son of the Shah, the crown of the 
 nobles of Iran." " I see a yellow tent behind the 
 figure of a wild boar; its head a golden moon?" 
 " It is Kooras, of the race of Kiukans." Soohrab 
 was dejected ; he sought the ensign of his father, 
 and Hejeer concealed it, for so had destiny de- 
 creed. " Why cleave, O mortal ! to this world ? 
 its drink is poison, its pleasure is evil." 
 
 Again he asked after him for whom his heart 
 yearned, after the green tent and the illustrious 
 man. But Hejeer still maintained that he knew 
 not the owner of the green tent. " But where is 
 Roostem," cried Soohrzib, " he cannot be away in 
 the day of battle?" "Haply," said Hejeer, "the 
 lion is gone to Caubul ; it is now the season of the 
 banquet in Gulistan (Rose-land)" " Nay," said 
 the youth, "he goeth to the battle, he sitteth not 
 idle at the feast. Go to, now ! Show me the Pah- 
 luwan, and I will exalt thee above all, and open 
 to thee the hidden treasures ; else will I smite thy 
 head from thy body. Choose now between the 
 two." Hejeer pondered. The wise Moobed saith, 
 thought he, a word unspoken is like a precious 
 stone untouched in its cover ; if let free, it 
 darteth forth fire like a sun. Then said he to 
 Soohrab, " Who can do like the Pure One in 
 battle ? his head reaches to the clouds ; an ele- 
 phant is not so large as he ; he has the strength 
 of thousands ; his understanding reaches above 
 
150 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the heavens. When he rages in the day of battle, 
 what are lions and warriors to him ? A solid rock 
 cannot stand before him. Thou hast never seen 
 such warriors as Afrasiab and his men ; with his 
 sword he has rained fire on their heads." But 
 Soohrab, in the pride of his strength, declares that 
 Roostem will tremble before him like the sea be- 
 fore the wind. " This tiger," says he, " will sink 
 in sleep when the sun draws his flaming sword." 
 Hejeer fearing for Roostem, and for the empire 
 in case of his fall, resolved not to reveal his en- 
 sign. " If I lose my life," thought he, " Guders 
 has still six-and-seventy sons lion-hearted as I, 
 and my death will inflame my friends with re- 
 venge." " Then turning to Soohrab, he said, "What 
 needeth this anger ? from me thou shalt never know 
 of Roostem. Strike off my head then, if thou wilt." 
 Soohrab turned round and smote him with his fist, 
 that he fell from his seat ; he hid his face from 
 him in silence 1 . 
 
 Soohrab rode forth in arms, and approaching 
 the camp of Shah Kaoos, summoned the Pahlu- 
 wans to the combat, but none ventured to reply. 
 He came close to the tents, and then the Shah 
 sent Toos to carry the tidings to Roostem. " The 
 day of battle is my day of work," said the Pure 
 
 1 This dialogue reminds one of that of Balak and Balaam 
 in the Book of Numbers. The whole passage resembles that 
 in the Ilias where Helena describes the Grecian warriors to 
 Priam, which has been imitated by Euripides, Statius and 
 Tasso. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOIIRAB. 151 
 
 One ; and he commanded them to saddle Raksh : 
 he then mounted and rode forth, and called to 
 Soohrab with a pealing shout. The valiant youth 
 hasted to meet him ; and Roostem, in reply to his 
 threats, calmly noticing the feats of arms he had 
 himself performed, warned him of the danger of 
 the conflict. The heart of Soohrab inclined to 
 him, and he said, " I ask thee but one word, an- 
 swer me truly. I believe thee to be Roostem, of 
 the race of Nirm : tell me thy family, and delight 
 me with fair speech." The hero replied, " I am 
 not Roostem, nor is mine the race of Nirm ; he 
 is a Pahluwan, and I am one of no note, without 
 throne or crown." 
 
 Then hope departed from Soohrab ; the face 
 of the bright day darkened before his eyes : he 
 grasped his arms, and the combat began. In the 
 first career their lances broke ; they laid hold on 
 their swords, the blades sprang in pieces ; they 
 seized their maces, and the horses staggered as 
 they struck ; their shirts-of-mail were torn : ex- 
 hausted and bathed in sweat, stood both horses 
 and riders. Father and son stood apart; love 
 and understanding were far from both. ' Horses 
 know their young, and the fishes in the sea; man 
 doth not, when passion and cupidity blind him.' 
 Roostem said in secret, " The fight with the Deev 
 Seffeed l was but a blast of wind compared with 
 this." 
 
 1 That is, the White Deev, or demon. This occurred in Ma- 
 zenderan, when Roostem went to the relief of Ky Kaoos. 
 
152 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Having rested them awhile, they bent their 
 hows, and showered arrows like lightning, but 
 neither could injure the other. Roostem then 
 flung a stone like a mountain, but the youth with- 
 stood the blow. Now dismounted the two lions, 
 and began again to rage. Soohrab called on Roos- 
 tem to give over, and own himself overcome. 
 Roostem bade him not to boast, for his end was 
 in the hands of God. He then flung his noose ', 
 and caught Soohrab ; but the youth strained his 
 strength, and burst it. Roostem in amaze called 
 on God, and Soohrab smote him on the shoulder 
 with his mace, and laughed, and cried, " O valiant 
 Pahluwan ! abide no longer the wounds of the 
 Strong One." He sprang into the host of the 
 Iranians like a wolf. Roostem sighing, rushed 
 among the Turanians. Again he and Soohrab met, 
 "Early tomorrow,'* said Roostem, "we fight with 
 the swords of vengeance. Come what God wills !" 
 
 Each returned to his camp. Soohrab asked 
 Hooman of the deeds of the unknown warrior, and 
 
 1 Here is an instance of the retention of ancient manners; 
 for the kamund, or noose, as far as I can learn, is not used 
 by the modern Persians; but Herodotus (vii. 85.) describes 
 the Sagartii, a Persian tribe, as serving on horseback, using 
 chains of plaited thongs, with a noose on the end of them. 
 According to Mela (i. 19.), the women of some of the tribes 
 about the Euxine made use of the noose in battle. Sir J. Mal- 
 colm says that the noose is employed for catching unwary 
 passers-by, by some predatory hordes in India. It is the 
 lazo used by the Spaniards of South America for catching 
 wild cattle. Was it from the Moors that they learned the 
 use of it ? 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 153 
 
 highly extolled his strength and valour : " And 
 now," said he, " let us haste to the banquet, to- 
 morrow is a day of severe conflict." Roostem, 
 on his part, asked of the exploits of Soohrab, and 
 learned that none of the warriors of Iran had been 
 able to stand before him. He came to the Shah, 
 who made him sit by him on his royal seat ; and 
 then he highly praised the might and the valour 
 of Soohrab, avowing that he could not say what 
 might be the event of the combat on the morrow. 
 " Tonight," said the Shah, " will I pray to the 
 Highest, and I trust in my salvation that he will 
 give thee victory." 
 
 Roostem entered his tent, and called for wine. 
 He charged his brother Sewareh to have his best 
 arms and armour ready before the tent at sun- 
 rise. He desired him, in case of his fall, to lead 
 his troops without delay back to Sabul, arid to 
 comfort Zalhis father, and his mother Roodabeh. 
 " Tell her not to grieve overmuch on my account, 
 for no one lives for ever upon earth. Jemsheed 
 and Hushenk, and Feridoon 1 , had never their 
 equals, and yet they are all gone into the dark 
 earth. Sam and Nareeman, too, are dead. Many 
 Deevs and warriors, and monsters, have I slain ; 
 many walls have I broken ; and were my years a 
 thousand, still is the way and the work the same." 
 One half of the night he talked of Soohrab, the 
 remainder he passed in repose. 
 
 1 Ancient monarchs of Persia. 
 H 5 
 
154 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Soohrab sat at the banquet, and spake with 
 Hooman. " That warrior," said he, " is as large 
 as I ; I see on him the tokens given me by my 
 mother ; I believe he is Roostem, and unseemly 
 were it for the son to fight with the father." 
 " Oft have I seen Roostem face to face," said 
 Hooman, " and I have heard of his deeds in Ma- 
 zenderan. I know him ; none can withstand his 
 might and his star." Soohrab retired, and rested 
 till sunrise. 
 
 In the morning Roostem arose, and rode to the 
 field. He called aloud to the Turanians to come 
 forth to the fight. Soohrab mounted, and ad- 
 vanced to meet him. " Why," said the youth, 
 " art thou armed for the combat? Let us rather 
 sit down to the wine, and make a compact in the 
 sight of Him who rules the world ; and let our 
 hearts deplore our hatred, Let us make ready a 
 banquet, for my heart feels love to thee ; shame 
 will drive the water from my eyes. As thou art 
 descended from the great, make thy lineage known 
 to me. I have already asked thy name, do not 
 still conceal it. I see thy ensign, the name is still 
 to me unknown. Art thou not of the lineage of 
 the noble Dustan l ? " But Roostem said he was 
 come to fight, and not to parley, and refused all 
 satisfaction. " Then," said Soohrab, " let us dis- 
 mount, and wrestle with each other." 
 
 They tied their horses, they stood on the ground ; 
 
 1 A name of Zal, the father of Roostem. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 155 
 
 like lions they struggled ; the blood ran down in 
 streams. Soohrab grasped Roostem by the girdle ; 
 as he dragged it he cried like a lion tearing a wild 
 ass: the Pure One staggered, and fell to the 
 ground. Soohrab drew his sword to strike off* 
 his head as he lay. Then, thought he, I must 
 employ artifice. He said, " O warrior ! this was 
 never my way. No one strikes off the head of his 
 foe the first time he falls. The second time he 
 justly smites it off, and gains a lion-name. Such 
 was always my custom." The words pleased 
 Soohrab, for his heart was moved with love to 
 him. He said, " It is just, since such is thy cus- 
 tom ;" and he let him go. 
 
 Soohrab went to hunt, and thought no more of 
 Roostem 1 . When he came to his camp, Hooman 
 asked him of the event of the combat ; and when 
 he heard how he had given his life to his foe, he 
 cried, " Alas ! alas ! O youth ! thy magnanimity 
 has destroyed thee ; thou hast let the lion go out 
 of thy net." He told Barman what had befallen ; 
 and he said, " Never despise thy foe ; strong as 
 thou mayest be, count thine enemies ; even the 
 elephant must count the ants," " Cometh he to 
 the fight tomorrow," said Soohrab, " thou shalt 
 place thy foot on his neck." Roostem meantime 
 went to the river, drank, and washed his head ; he 
 then prostrated himself before God, and prayed 
 for strength and victory. And the prayer of the 
 
 1 JSee my Crusaders, vol. i. p. 303. 
 
156 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Pure One was heard, and God increased his 
 strength. He then went in before the Shah ; all 
 sat troubled and full of thought ; and all prayed, 
 both old and young, unto God for victory to Iran. 
 Soon as the trumpet sounded in the morning, 
 Roostem returned to the field. Soohrab, now 
 enraged with him, rushed down like a drunken 
 elephant, bearing mace and noose. " Why comest 
 thou again to the fight ? has honour departed from 
 thy soul ? Twice have I let thee leave the field ; 
 out of love to thee I will let thee now go the third 
 time. If thou tarry, with a blow of my fist I will 
 drive thy soul from thy body." " Thou speakest 
 as a youth, not as a manly warrior," said Roostem : 
 " come forward, and show what thou canst do." 
 They dismounted; each grasped the girdle of the 
 other. From the early morning until the sun again 
 cast shadows, lasted the conflict. Well saith the 
 pure-hearted Moobed, when speaking of ancient 
 writings, * When evil destiny is wrath, the hard 
 stone becometh soft as wax.' It was as if heaven 
 had bound the combatants in bands. At length 
 Soohrab fell to the ground; and Roostem, fearing 
 he might free himself from his grasp, drew his 
 dagger and plunged it into his bosom. The youth 
 gave a groan, and his thoughts of both good and 
 evil were enfeebled. He said, " I have brought 
 it on myself; I have put the key of my life into 
 thy hand. My mother gave me the token of my 
 father ; love brings my days to their close. I 
 sought him with eagerness, and dreamed not that 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 157 
 
 death should find me in the field, or that my hopes 
 should become dust. But swammest thou like a 
 fish in the water, couldest thou move through the 
 gloom of the night, or fly like a bird, thou wilt 
 not escape destruction ; and wentest thou like a 
 star in the sky, my father will yet exact vengeance 
 of thee, when he learns that I came from Tooran 
 hither out of love to Roostem, and have fallen by 
 the hand of a crafty old man." When Roostem 
 heard these words, the world grew dark before 
 his eyes, and he fainted away. On coming to 
 himself, he cried in accents of anguish, "O youth! 
 say what token hast thou of Roostem, for I am 
 he." " Art thou Roostem ?" saidSoohrab; "then 
 was the lot of my combat every way dark. Open 
 the band of my mail, and on my arm thou wilt 
 find thy ring, all that the son has ever seen of the 
 father. When the trumpets sounded before me, 
 the cheeks of my mother were filled with blood, 
 and she placed this ring on my arm, saying, 
 ' Keep this as a memorial of thy father.' She 
 also sent with me her brother Zendeh Resm, that 
 he might show me my father ; but the chief was 
 slain, for my star was darkened." When Roostem 
 beheld the ring, he rent his clothes ; blood burst 
 from his eyes ; he tore his hair, he covered his 
 head with earth ; water ran down his face as he 
 mourned over his son. Soohrab spake to console 
 him. " Thine was this head ; weep not thus : 
 this self-destruction bringeth no good. So it was 
 fated to be." 
 
158 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Meantime the sun drew nigh to setting ; and 
 when the Iranians saw that Roostem did not re- 
 turn, they became uneasy. They looked over the 
 plain, but could see nothing but the horses of the 
 two warriors, and they deemed that Roostem was 
 slain. They told Kaoos thereof, and he ordered 
 the trumpets to sound, and bade Toos to go and 
 examine the field ; " for," said he, " if Roostem 
 is slain, we must stay no longer here ; the host 
 must disperse over mountain and mead." 
 
 Meantime Soohrab said unto Roostem, " Since 
 my days are come to their close, for my sake let 
 not the Shah lead his host against the Turks. On 
 my account they came to Iran ; I gave them lofty 
 hopes, for I little deemed that I should fall by the 
 hand of my father ; and it were not seemly that 
 they should suffer injury. There is also a man 
 in that castle of whom I often asked after thine en- 
 sign : all he described to me accurately ; of thee he 
 would give but a confused account. See to him, 
 that he suffer no evil from the Turks. So was it 
 written in the stars, that I should die by the hand 
 of my father. Like lightning I came, like wind I 
 go." Again Roostem groaned in agony ; his heart 
 full of fire, and his eyes full of water, he said, " I 
 will do all as thou hast said, though for thy sake 
 I will no longer remain among the assembled 
 chiefs." Then mounting his horse, he rode to the 
 camp. The Iranians thanked God for his escape; 
 but when they saw dust on his head, and his gar- 
 ments rent, they marvelled, and asked what hacl 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 159 
 
 befallen. He told them all the mournful tale, and 
 they mixed their tears with his. He enjoined a 
 cessation of war with the Turks, and sent his 
 brother Sewareh to Hooman, to say that they 
 might depart in peace. He menaced Hooman, 
 whose artifices, he said, had caused the death of 
 Soohrab ; but the Turk threw all the blame on 
 Hejeer, whom Roostem would have slain, but for 
 the surrounding chiefs. 
 
 Roostem returned to his dying son, attended 
 by the chiefs of the Iranian host. They all strove 
 in vain to console him : he drew his sword, and 
 would have slain himself, but the chiefs caught 
 hold of him, and the words of Guders brought 
 him to composure. He then prayed Guders to 
 go to the Shah, and ask him to send some of his 
 precious balsam, so efficacious in the cure of 
 wounds, and with it a cup of wine. Guders 
 hasted to the Shah ; but Kaoos said, " If the 
 youth recover, he will slay Roostem ; and then 
 who is there to defend me, against whom all his 
 vengeance is directed ? Thou heardest how he 
 shouted out, ' Who is this Kaoos ? ' and how he 
 swore, * With this lance will I slay him.' He doth 
 evil who sustaineth his foe. I will never do aught 
 to benefit him." Guders brought the words of the 
 Shah to Roostem ; and the hero himself was on the 
 way to him, when a messenger overtook him, with 
 tidings that his son had expired. " A coffin, not 
 a throne, he now asks of thee : he sought his 
 father, gave a deep sigh, and closed his eyelids." 
 
160 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 When the Pure One heard these words, he tore 
 his cheeks and hair, he flung himself from his 
 horse, and cast dust on his head. He lamented 
 for his son, and deplored his own hard fate, who 
 had done a deed unheard of on earth, a deed to 
 cover his name with infamy, and draw on him the 
 reproaches of his parents, the noble Zal and the 
 prudent Roodabeh. 
 
 Roostem returned, and clad his son in a royal 
 robe : he ordered the ivory car to be brought, 
 and a coffin to be prepared : he then returned to 
 the camp. They kindled a fire, and burned the 
 tent, the throne, and the saddle of Soohrab, and 
 all the host cast dust on their heads, and uttered 
 loud cries of grief. The Pahluwans sat by Roos- 
 tem, and mingled their tears with his : their cheeks 
 were pallid with mourning : they assayed to con- 
 sole the Pure One in his affliction. They said, 
 " How long wilt thou consume thyself? It is the 
 will of Heaven : in one hand the crown, in the 
 other the noose ; settest thou that on thy head, 
 this quickly snatches thee away. War is like the 
 sea ; now it yields pearls, now stones and sand. 
 Destiny never gives an account of the how and 
 the wherefore." The Shah, when he heard of the 
 death of Soohrab, came and beheld Roostem lying 
 on the ground, with his garments rent. He said, 
 " From Mount Elburz unto the ocean, all befalls 
 as Destiny has decreed : one endeth sooner, an- 
 other later ; in the end, we all are Death's. And 
 wert thou to draw the heaven down to earth, and 
 
TALES 
 
 AND 
 
 F0FULAK FICTI0HJ 
 
 Ah gallant Soohrab ! in ill hour from Tooraa 
 Thau earnest, in quest of thy sire, to Iran ; 
 Lave and Hope led thee to him, but Destiny dire 
 HaJ doomed thee to fall, by the baud of that sire 
 
 DRAWN BY W. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY O. BAXTER, 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKEU AND CO. 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 161 
 
 cast fire into the world, still thou wouldst never 
 bring back the departed : his immortal part is in 
 yonder world. Alas! for these arms and this 
 breast ! from afar I beheld them, and was amazed 
 that such a warrior should be among the Turks. 
 Long did he fight against our host : at length he 
 fell before thee. The evil is come by the decree 
 of Fate : how long wilt thou weep for the de- 
 parted ? " 
 
 At the desire of Roostem, the Shah drew off 
 the host of Iran, and suffered the Turks to retire 
 unmolested, and the Pure One set forth for Sabu* 
 listan with the corse of his son. When Zal beheld 
 the coffin from afar, he dismounted from his 
 horse, and shed tears for the untimely fate of 
 the youth. Roostem placed the coffin in his pa- 
 lace ; he raised the lid, and displayed to Zal and 
 Roodabeh the beauty and the size of Soohrab ; 
 and they wept, and all their attendants with them, 
 and the palace was filled with mourning, as if the 
 noble Zal lay on his bier. Roostem said, " I will 
 raise him a golden monument:" and he made a 
 vault under the ground, and placed him in it, and 
 again they lamented the renowned youth, and 
 closed over him the tomb. * Thus is it decreed 
 for this world ; the riddle will never be solved ; 
 never wilt thou find the key, for no one may 
 open that which is closed.' 
 
 Hooman led back his host to Tooran, and the 
 mother of Soohrab heard of the fate of her son. 
 She wrang her hands, she tore her hair, she burned 
 
162 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 her dark tresses in the fire ; blood burst from her 
 cheeks like water, and the voice of her grief 
 ascended unto heaven. "O soul of thy mother !" 
 cried she, " whither art thou gone ? A stranger 
 and helpless, thou art captured, alas! captured 
 in the ground. My eyes looked forth on the 
 way. I said, ' It may be that tidings come of my 
 son and of Roostem ; he is now in the battle ; he 
 sought his father, and he has found him ; now 
 will he hasten to come. 5 O how could I know 
 what an affliction was before me, or dream that 
 thy own father should plunge the dagger into thy 
 side ? Came there not over him pity of thy face, 
 thy form, and thy hair, that he thus slew thee 
 with the sword ? I had reared thee, fed thee at 
 my bosom in the day and in the long night ; and 
 now is the garment rent on thy pure body. Whom 
 shall I now take by the hands ? whom shall I em- 
 brace ? who is the affliction of my heart ? whom 
 call T to me ? for whom am I in this exceeding 
 grief? Woe to this head ! woe to this soul ! woe 
 to these eyes ! Despair is grown out of hope : 
 thou sleepest in the dark earth ! Why, when thy 
 father went to pierce thy silver breast, didst thou 
 not show the token of thy mother? Thou sough test 
 thy father, and hast found thy grave. Thy mother 
 now remaineth solitary without thee, consumed 
 with grief, struggling with affliction beyond en- 
 durance. O gallant youth ! what now shall I 
 do? Life must depart from my breast, it cannot 
 otherwise be." 
 
ROOSTEM AND SOOHRAB. 163 
 
 She smote herself with her hands, and fell sense- 
 less to the ground. Again she revived, and she re- 
 newed her lamentation. She took the head-attire 
 of Soohrab, and wept over the crown. She called 
 for the horse that had borne him to the field, she 
 pressed his hoof to her bosom : the horse stood 
 amazed. She kissed his head and eyes, and a 
 stream of blood ran down on his feet. She laid 
 the arms of her son, his corselet and mail, his 
 bow, his sword, his mace, and lance, before her ; 
 she smote her head with his heavy mace ; she 
 took his saddle, bridle, and shield, and pressed 
 them to her cheek. She stretched his noose out 
 eighty ells before her on the ground. She wept 
 and mourned over them without ceasing. She 
 drew the sword of Soohrab, and cut with it the 
 halter of his horse, and gave him his liberty. She 
 gave to the poor one half of his riches, great 
 wealth in gold, in silver, and in horses. She clad 
 herself in blue : day and night she wept and 
 mourned without ceasing. She died, and her 
 soul went to her beloved Soohrab ! 
 
 Justly has the poet called this 'a tale full of 
 waters of the eye' : even in this epitome it must 
 assert its claims over the human heart; and what 
 must be its effect in its full proportions, invested 
 in the majesty of a rich, harmonious, and va- 
 ried versification ? Let us cast away classic pre- 
 judice, and acknowledge that the Muse of an- 
 cient Greece or Latium has produced nothing that 
 
164 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 will stand a parallel with the Persian tale. What 
 may be the age of the legend, it is beyond our 
 power to determine : it may go back to the most 
 distant ages, and be more ancient than even ' the 
 tale of Troy divine.' Neither can we ascertain 
 how much belongs to the early legend, how much 
 is to be ascribed to the genius of Ferdousee. Pro- 
 bably the Bostan-Nameh contained no more than 
 the mere story ; and the details, such as Soohrab's 
 survey of the Iranian camp and warriors, and the 
 description of the grief and lamentation of Te- 
 meenah, are the rightful property of the bard of 
 Toos. 
 
 Whither am I to go in search of a parallel for 
 this tale of woe ? The pathos of a son slain by 
 his father escaped the Muses of Hellas; the Ca- 
 tenae of Latium, who depend on their Grecian 
 sisters, know it not. It presented not itself to the 
 Scalds of Scandinavia. I have sought it in vain 
 in the ponderous tomes of chivalric romance. 
 Truth and history, to which he so rigidly ad- 
 hered, offered it not to the powerful genius of him 
 who has told, with unrivalled pathos, the sad tale 
 of Francesca da Rimini, and the horrid fate of 
 Ugolino. Had genius suggested it, or tradition 
 brought it, to the mind of Boccaccio, what a noble 
 pendant would it have formed to the tale of Ghis- 
 monda of Salerno ! To the various muse of Ari- 
 osto, and to the soft deep-feeling muse who in- 
 
CONLOCH AND CUCHULLIN. 165 
 
 spired Tasso, it was alike unknown '. Shakspeare, 
 who invented no stories, never heard of this : there 
 is nothing resembling it among the poetic treasures 
 of the British Parnassus. 
 
 But there is a muse whose literary productions, 
 few and in general of no exalted merit, are little 
 known to fame, while her musical melodies, simple, 
 gay, and deeply pathetic, command the admiration 
 of all who possess taste or feeling of musical de- 
 light. This is the Celtic muse of Erin, the Isle of 
 the West ; and her the pathos of a son falling by 
 the hand of his own father has not escaped. 
 
 In the Reliques of Ancient Irish Poetry, pub- 
 lished by Miss Brooke 2 , we find the tale of Con- 
 loch slain by his father Cuchullin. The original 
 poem is printed in Miss Brooke's volume ; but 
 I am not sufficiently versed in Iberno-Celtic to 
 translate it ; and that lady's version, though very 
 creditable to her poetic talents, is too long and 
 too paraphrastic for admission into these pages ; 
 
 1 There is something very near it in the old Italian poem 
 La Regina Ancroja, where Rinaldo's son Guidone Selvaggio, 
 coming in quest of his father, defies and defeats all Charle- 
 magne's knights. At length he engages and is overcome by 
 Rinaldo, to whom he then makes himself known. This last 
 particular, though not so tragic, is like what occurs in the 
 Irish poem I am about to notice. 
 
 2 Miss Brooke was daughter to Henry Brooke, the author 
 of the Fool of Quality, Gustavus Vasa, and other works of 
 merit. As the worthy artist who embellishes this, as he has 
 done all my other volumes, is a near relative of Miss Brooke's, 
 I must take care and treat her with all fitting respect and 
 courtesy. 
 
166 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 so I must e'en content myself, and try to content 
 my readers, with the simple unembellished story. 
 
 One of the most distinguished of the mythic 
 heroes of Ireland was Cuchullin, whom the Irish 
 historians make to have lived in the reign of 
 Conor Mac Nessa, a little before the Christian 
 aera. Ireland, we are assured, was at that time 
 distinguished for its civilisation : the sun of chi- 
 valry there shone in its meridian splendour, and 
 the Knights of Erin were renowned all over Eu- 
 rope under the name of the Heroes of the West- 
 ern Isle. Like the long posterior Knights of Ar- 
 thur's Round Table, and the Paladins of Charle- 
 magne, they did not confine their valour within 
 the narrow limits of their own isle ; they loved to 
 let their light shine so that all men might see it ; 
 and not unfrequently their adventurous spirit led 
 them over to the continent. 
 
 It was on his return from one of these conti- 
 nental expeditions, that the gallant Cuchullin, 
 taking his way through Albany (Scotland), ar- 
 rived at Dun Sgathach, in the Isle of Sky, where 
 he was hospitably entertained by Airdgenny, the 
 lord of the place. He became enamoured of Aise, 
 the beautiful daughter of his host : he demanded 
 her in marriage, and met no refusal. Urgent 
 affairs, some time after, calling him home, he 
 quitted his bride, whose altering form now an- 
 nounced that she was to be a mother. When 
 taking leave, he directed her, if her offspring 
 
CONLOCH AND CUCHULLIN. 167 
 
 should be a boy, to have him carefully brought 
 up to arms in the academy of Dun-Sgathach; and 
 giving her a chain of gold, desired her to put that 
 round his neck when his education was completed, 
 and send him over to Ulster, when his father would 
 recognise the golden chain, and acknowledge him 
 as his son. She was, moreover, to impress upon 
 his mind the following precepts : Never to reveal 
 his name to a foe ; to give the way to no man who 
 seemed to demand it as a right ; to decline the 
 single combat with no knight under the sun. 
 
 When the youth, who was named Conloch, was 
 perfect in his martial exercises, his mother sent 
 him over to Ireland ; but moved, as it would ap- 
 pear, by jealousy, or by revenge for Cuchullin's 
 having so totally neglected her, she gave her son 
 a false character or description of his father, 
 hoping, probably, that the old warrior might en- 
 gage the youth, and fall by his hand. Conloch, 
 perhaps unacquainted with the usages of Irish 
 chivalry, landed clad in armour ; whence it was 
 to be inferred that he came * bearing war'. He 
 advanced into the country till he drew near to 
 Emania, the residence of the Ulster monarchs, 
 and the preceptory of the Knights of the Red 
 Branch (Croabh-ruadK). King Conor sent a he- 
 rald to demand who he was, and wherefore he 
 was come, and requiring him to pay an eric, or 
 fine. To yield this last would have been an 
 acknowledgement of the superiority of the Red 
 Branch Knights ; chivalry and the injunction of 
 
168 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 his father forbade compliance with the former. 
 Conloch proudly defied to the Knights of Ulster. 
 A champion advanced to engage him, and was 
 overthrown ; a second shared his fate. Cuchullin 
 is now summoned in haste to sustain the honour 
 of the Ulster chivalry. He entreats the stranger 
 to reveal to him his name; and Conloch, in whose 
 bosom nature secretly operated at the sight of his 
 father, declares that he would most willingly do 
 so, were it not that the laws of chivalry forbade. 
 Cuchullin knew these laws two well to urge their 
 infraction, and the combat began. Long it con- 
 tinued : at length Cuchullin threw a spear with 
 such fatal aim as mortally to wound the youth. 
 Conloch, who, it would almost seem from the 
 poem, had known his father all along, reveals to 
 him who he is. The old hero, in his grief, apo- 
 strophizes Aise ; but his son assures him that she 
 is a treacherous woman, who, by deceiving him, 
 has caused his death. Conloch dies, and his father 
 mourns over him ! . 
 
 The tale of Conloch resembles that of Soohrab 
 in the circumstance of the father in each case 
 having quitted the mother of the unborn babe, 
 and never having returned ; and in that of his 
 having left behind him a token of recognition, to 
 be borne by his son (if it should be such) when 
 
 1 Very few of the foregoing particulars occur in the poem. 
 They are contained in the prose Introduction prefixed to it 
 by Mr. O'Halloran. 
 
MACPIJERSON'S OSSIAN. 169 
 
 grown up ; circumstances in which they both 
 agree with the Grecian legend of Theseus. There 
 is a further coincidence in the refusal to tell the 
 name ; but in the Persian tale it is the father, in 
 the Irish one the son, who will not reveal himself. 
 The character of Aise is infinitely less amiable 
 than that of the tender daughter of the Shah of 
 Samengan, and in poetic merit the Irish poem 
 falls immeasurably short of that inspired by the 
 Muse of Iran ; yet the coincidence between them 
 is curious, and I think we have here a decided 
 instance of resemblance without imitation. 
 
 I believe the whole annals of literature do not 
 furnish an instance of so audacious and so suc- 
 cessful a forgery as the Poems of Ossian, the son 
 of Fingal. The poems of Rowley, though by no 
 means devoid of merit, have fallen into oblivion, 
 while those of Ossian are still read, still admired, 
 and (though the forgery has been actually demon- 
 strated by the late Malcolm Laing,) still believed 
 to be genuine by a large portion of the Scottish 
 nation, and by many of the Continental scholars '. 
 The phenomenon, however, has nothing in it to 
 surprise us : the antiquated orthography adopted 
 by Chatterton repels at once, (How many are 
 there who really read Chaucer ?) while the mea- 
 sured prose of Ossian offers no difficulty whatever. 
 The bard of Morven and his heroes, moreover, 
 
 1 F. A. Wolf and Niebuhr are not of the number. 
 I 
 
1 70 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 possess great sensibility and gentleness of man- 
 ners, and his compositions are pervaded by a pen- 
 sive melancholy, which is both pleasing and sooth- 
 ing : they present noble mountain scenery, and 
 undoubtedly contain much genuine and beautiful 
 poetry l . Should we, then, wonder that they con- 
 tinue to give pleasure ? As to the Scots, their 
 well-known extreme nationality sufficiently ex- 
 plains why they thus fondly cling to the last hope 
 of preserving an ancient national poet ; yet surely 
 the country which has produced a Thomson, a 
 Burns, and a Scott, to say nothing of her living 
 bards, might very well give up maintaining the 
 genuineness of the pseudo-Ossian. I doubt if any 
 one south of the Tweed, who has read Laing's 
 edition of the poems, believes in their genuine- 
 ness ; and I must strongly suspect the soundness 
 of the critical acumen of such Continental scho- 
 lars as place the Poems of Ossian in the same 
 class with the Songs of the Edda, the Shah-Na- 
 meh, and the Homeric Rhapsodies 2 . 
 
 I must confess I have not always thought of 
 these poems as I do now. I doubt if even the 
 
 1 To deny genius to Macpherson is nothing but contempt- 
 ible prejudice. 
 
 2 Finn Magnussen, the learned expounder of the Eddas, 
 has written an essay, showing that the knowledge of the 
 Scandinavian religion evinced in the poems of Ossian was 
 unattainable in the days of Macpherson, and that conse- 
 quently the poems are genuine. As this essay is in the 
 Transactions of a foreign literary society, I have vainly 
 sought for it. I should like much to see it. 
 
MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN. 171 
 
 Arabian Nights fascinated my young imagination 
 more than they did. I regarded them as the ge- 
 nuine heroic lays of my country ; for, though of 
 Saxon blood, I was a native of the land which, 
 tradition said, had been the abode of the Fingalian 
 cycle of heroes : the mountains, the valleys, and 
 the plains which I trod, had been trodden by them ; 
 the sea on which I gazed, had been ploughed by 
 their keels, or by those of Lochlin ; the melodies 
 to which I delighted to listen, had possibly sounded 
 on the harps of their bards. Often, in the days of 
 autumn, when the wind flew over the hill side, 
 bending the tall thin grass, and scattering the 
 thistle's beard, and the shadows of the clouds 
 swiftly flitted along, or in spring, when, after the 
 shower, the evening sun shone mildly in the vale, 
 have the forms of the hunters and the deer, the 
 venerable bards and the white-bosomed maids, be- 
 come to me almost actual objects of vision, so 
 strongly did imagination body them forth. Many 
 a happy hour did these poems give me; but, alas! 
 as reason matured, doubt stole in, and began to 
 disturb my blissful visions. It is true I had always 
 thought that Macpherson, or rather the Highland 
 bards, had presumed to take some liberties with 
 the original poems : such, for example, as trans- 
 ferring the heroes from Ireland to the Western 
 Highlands. For how could I, with the hill of 
 Allen l before my eyes, and Killashee (Kill-Oisin, 
 
 1 Of which Macpherson has made Albyn. 
 I 2 
 
172 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Grave of Ossian,) within three miles of me ; who 
 knew the very spot where Finn Mac Comhal (Fin- 
 gal) had, as a babe in the cradle, bitten off the finger 
 of the Greek joiant (giant), who had bitten a piece 
 out of the iron griddle when it was baked in the 
 cake for him, and who flung the rock over the 
 house, and, attempting to catch it on the other 
 side, as Goll (Gaul) told him Finn and his heroes 
 used to do, was struck in the breast, and knocked 
 down by it ! ; and all the rest of the story ; and 
 had seen rocks and stones which had been cleft 
 by their swords, or flung by the vigour of their 
 arms ; and had heard legends of them without 
 number ; how could I believe that they were not 
 Irish heroes ? Does not Keating's most veracious 
 history assert it ? Did any genuine son of Mile- 
 sius ever doubt it ? 
 
 At length I met with Laing's edition of the 
 Poems, and all my illusions vanished ; and I said 
 with a sigh, 
 
 " Pol me occidisft' amice 
 
 Non servasfa' cui sic extorta voluptas 
 
 Et demptus per vim mentis gratissimus error." 
 
 For some years I could not endure even to look 
 on these poems, which so strongly offended my 
 moral sense ; but that feeling passed away with 
 time, and I read them now with pleasure, as a pic- 
 ture of ideal manners and sentiments, and of an 
 
 1 His Giantship was not so clever as the Nis who flung the 
 boy over the house. See Fairy Mythology, i. 233. 
 
MACPHERSON'S OSSIAN. 173 
 
 ideal state of society, all as remote from any- 
 thing that the real world has ever presented, as 
 are those in the Arcadia of Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 One of the most beautiful poems of the Ossian 
 of the eighteenth century is that named Carthon, 
 founded on the Irish tale which we have just been 
 considering. A comparison of it with the original 
 tale will, I think, give a very favourable idea of 
 Macpherson's genius, who could raise so noble a 
 structure on so slight a foundation. The imita- 
 tions of the Bible, the Classics, and the English 
 poets, which it contains, have been pointed out by 
 Laing, and are not now to be denied ! . It is a 
 striking instance of the power of confident asser- 
 tion to observe, that though, as I have remarked, 
 the usual tendency of the human mind is to infer 
 imitation where it finds similarity, when Macpher- 
 son had the hardihood to give at times in his Notes 
 the very passages he was imitating, as mere coin- 
 cidences, he was believed, and his numerous tacit 
 imitations were allowed to pass without examina- 
 tion, 
 
 It is quite certain that Macpherson could not 
 have had any knowledge of the story of Soohrab, 
 as no part of the Shah-Nameh had been translated 
 anterior to 1762, the year in which his Carthon 
 first appeared 2 . It is therefore curious to find 
 
 1 I do not of course go to the same extreme as Laing in 
 tracing imitation ; but Macpherson was a most notorious thief. 
 
 2 It is strange that the resemblance between the tale of 
 Soohrab and that of Carthon has, at least as far as I know, 
 
174 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 that in one or two of the places in which he de- 
 parts from his original, he chances to coincide with 
 Ferdousee. Thus in the Irish poem it is the son 
 who refuses to tell his name ; in the Shah-Nameh 
 it is the father ; and it is the father also in Ossian. 
 Again, in the Irish poem, Cuchullin kills his son 
 with his spear in fair and open combat ; in Ossian, 
 Clessammor, when vanquished, plunges his dagger 
 into the side of his son ; in the Shah-Nameh, Roos- 
 tem and his son fall to the ground together, and 
 the former rather unfairly draws his dagger, and 
 pierces the bosom of his antagonist. The recog- 
 nition, too, in Ossian is much more like that in the 
 Shah-Nameh than that in Conloch. Here surely 
 we again have resemblance without imitation ! 
 
 To ascertain the age of the Irish legend of Con- 
 loch is beyond our power. The poem which con- 
 tains it cannot, I should think, claim a date earlier 
 than the sixteenth, or at most the fifteenth, cen- 
 tury ; but the legend itself may have been the 
 theme of bards from times the most remote, and 
 may vie in antiquity with its Persian parallel. 
 Strong feeling, united with imagination, seems to 
 be the characteristic of the Celtic race. This is 
 strikingly exemplified in their music, with which, 
 
 never been observed. Yet Goerres is an admirer of Ossian, 
 and Atkinson has actually quoted from one of his poems in 
 his version of Soohrab. 
 
IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 175 
 
 in variety and depth of feeling, no national music 
 whatever can compare *. Their mythic tales and 
 traditions present the same appearance. As we 
 have just seen, it was only in Ireland that the tale 
 of Soohrab could find its parallel : and Darthula, 
 another of Ossian's most beautiful and affecting 
 poems, is also founded on an Irish original. Such 
 being the character of the Celtic mind, one might 
 expect to find the Celts the most poetic race on 
 earth ; yet, strange as it may appear, they have 
 neither in Ireland, the Highlands, Wales, nor Brit- 
 tany, produced a poet ! I mean, of course, a poet 
 of the higher order. Whenever a man of genius 
 appears among them, we are almost sure to find 
 that he is of the Gotho- Germanic blood. Nor is 
 this phenomenon difficult of solution. To form a 
 great poet, judgement must be equal to imagina- 
 tion ; and in the former quality the Celts have 
 been at all times notoriously deficient. Add to 
 this the want of perseverance, which Caesar long 
 since noticed as a part of their character ; and it 
 is plain why they have produced no epic or dra- 
 matic poetry : a short flight wearies the Celtic 
 muse. It is almost needless to mention that there 
 is no such thing as a Celtic historian a . 
 
 As to Celtic antiquities and early history, they 
 are the wildest and most improbable figments and 
 deductions that have ever come to my knowledge ; 
 and one is apt to be amazed how rational men 
 
 1 Unless we except the Lowland Scotch. 
 
 3 Is Sir James Mackintosh to be called a Celt ? 
 
176 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 could ever have arrived at the belief of such in- 
 credibilities. But, in fact, almost every one who has 
 entered this enchanted maze seems to have flung 
 off all the restraints of common sense and reason. 
 His faith almost exceeds that of Tertullian ; he 
 becomes a kind of literary ostrich, for whose di- 
 gestion nothing is too difficult. Surely if historic 
 criticism was generally known and cultivated in 
 Celtic lands, we should not find men, calling them- 
 selves scholars, with the plain testimony of history 
 before them as to the barbarism of the Irish in the 
 time of Henry II., dreaming of the ancient civili- 
 sation and ancient renown of the * Western Isle' } . 
 Even in the worst case of foreign conquest, history 
 presents no instance of decline and degradation 
 similar to what this theory must suppose. 
 
 Take a specimen of Celtic credulity. In the 
 poem called the Lament of Cuchullin, which fol- 
 lows that of Conloch in Miss Brooke's collection, 
 the hero, when bewailing his son, talks of India, 
 Persia, Greece, Spain, and the Picts. Any one 
 but a Celtic antiquary would, from this, at once 
 
 1 All Irish antiquaries are, of course, not included in this 
 censure. Sir James Ware, for example, forms an honourable 
 exception : See the Preface to his work. Ware, however, 
 was no Celt. 
 
 There is no greater desideratum than a philosophic and im- 
 partial history of Ireland ; and he who writes it will confer a 
 benefit on the world. From the pen of Mr. Moore, such is not 
 to be expected ; he is a poet, a Catholic, an Irishman, and the 
 author of Captain Rock, and the Travels of an Irish Gentleman. 
 Can he, then, hope that the adventure is reserved for him ? 
 
IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 177 
 
 infer the late age of the poem. Not so Mr. O'Hal- 
 loran, the Celtic Mentor of that accomplished lady. 
 The ancient Irish, according to him, had knowledge 
 far transcending this. In a note, Miss Brooke says : 
 
 " Our early writers, says Mr. O'Halloran, tell 
 us, and Archbishop Usher affirms the same, that 
 the celebrated champion Conall Cearnach, Master 
 of the Ulster Knights, was actually at Jerusalem 
 at the time of the crucifixion of our Saviour, and 
 related the story to the king of Ulster on his re- 
 turn. He also adds, that one of our great poets 
 in the fifth century traversed the East, and dedi- 
 cated a book to the Emperor Theodosius. Many 
 similar instances and proofs," continues the fair 
 lady, "could be here subjoined." 
 
 It would not, I apprehend, be easy to produce 
 an instance of credulity to exceed or even equal 
 this. I should feel ashamed were I to set seriously 
 about pointing out all the improbabilities which it 
 involves ; but I will briefly state my opinion of 
 what the Irish were anterior to the introduction 
 of Christianity in the fifth century. They were 
 then, as far as I can learn, nothing but rude fero- 
 cious barbarians (and Christianity does not seem 
 to have made them much better J ) ; they were 
 
 1 In the Scriptores Rerum Hibernicarum, published by the 
 late Dr. O'Conor, I find assassination and every other crime 
 just as frequent after as before the fifth century. 
 
 " The learning of Ireland in the ninth and tenth centuries 
 was an exotic of unstable growth. It belonged not to the 
 people, but to the monasteries; and as soon as these were 
 I 5 
 
178 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 ignorant of arts and letters, utterly unacquainted 
 with any country but their own and the neighbour- 
 ing Britain, with no vessel beyond the curragh, or 
 wicker-boat covered with raw hides. All their 
 commerce consisted in the exchange of their raw 
 materials with the foreign traders who visited 
 their coasts. The History of Ireland, by Jeffrey 
 Keating, is not one whit more true than that of 
 Britain by his namesake of Monmouth. The tri- 
 ennial convocations at Tara, the chivalry of the 
 Red Branch, all the pomp and splendour of Ema- 
 nia, are nothing but the fictions of monks l and 
 Senachies, to console a proud and ignorant people 
 under oppression, and rouse them to resistance, 
 but copied from nothing that ever really existed 
 in Ireland 2 . 
 
 With respect to Cuchullin, Finn Mac Comhal 
 
 destroyed by the Danes, every symptom of cultivation imme- 
 diately vanished, and Ireland was again barbarous." (Cooley, 
 Hist, of Marit. and Inland Discov.,i. 144.) For 'barbarous,' 
 I would read ' totally barbarous.' 
 
 1 It need not surprise us to find in Keating the story of 
 Midas and his barber told of an Irish king. Some monk had 
 read Ovid. 
 
 2 " Notandum quidem descriptiones fere omnium quae de 
 illis temporibus (antiquioribus dico) extant, opera esse pos- 
 teriorum seculorum." Warceus de Antiq., Praef. p. 1. 
 
 I know not whether it is to be regarded as a proof of the 
 palpable falsehood of early Irish history, or merely of my 
 tendency to historic scepticism, but 1 recollect to have re- 
 jected it with as full conviction before I was fifteen years of 
 age, as I do at this present moment 
 
IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 179 
 
 (Cool) or Fingal, Oisin, Oscar, Goll Mac Morni, 
 and the other heroes of the Irish mythic cycle, it 
 is difficult to say positively whether they ever had 
 a real existence or not. They stand on precisely 
 the same footing with the heroes of the cycles of 
 Greece, Persia, and Scandinavia ; and mytholo- 
 gists are, with regard to these, divided ; some 
 maintaining that all such personages had a real 
 and actual existence as common mortals, but were 
 subsequently elevated to the region of the mar- 
 vellous ; others viewing them as pure poetic cre- 
 ations. On this, as on many other grave and du- 
 bious points, I have never been able to muster 
 sufficient conviction to take a very decided part, 
 and 
 
 " Quo me cunque rapit tempestas deferor hospes." 
 
 My leaning at present is certainly towards the lat- 
 ter hypothesis, which, it cannot be denied, offers 
 most range to the imagination ; and I love to 
 ramble, free and unimpeded, through the regions 
 of fancy, to chase the rainbow-forms that come and 
 go along their plains, to view the combats and 
 feats of arms in their Boreal Lights, and gaze on 
 the pinnacles, battlements, and towers, piled up 
 by the masses of their summer clouds. 
 
 I cannot quit Ireland without saying a word or 
 two of its Fairy Legends and Traditions. It is 
 
180 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 well known that I had a share in the composition 
 of the work which contains them ; but it is not 
 equally known that, besides myself and the re- 
 puted author, no less than eight or ten other per- 
 sons contributed portions of fairy lore. My share 
 was a fair proportion of the tales l , and a very 
 large proportion of the Notes in the first and se- 
 cond volumes. With the third, which was appa- 
 rently intended to rival my Fairy Mythology, I, 
 of course, had nothing to do. It cannot be sup- 
 posed that I should expect any literary fame from 
 a share in a work of so trifling a character ; but 
 there has been so much of the sic vos non vobis in 
 the affair, and I have experienced so much hos- 
 tility on account of it, that I think it best to put 
 an end to all doubt on the subject. I have often, 
 also, been amused at seeing myself quoted by those 
 who intended to praise another person. 
 
 Enough of the Fairy Legends ! it was intended 
 to be nothing more than a work of mere amuse- 
 ment, and little is to be learned from it respect- 
 ing the Irish people. Other works of fiction have 
 since appeared, from which much more informa- 
 
 1 Namely, * The Young Piper', ' Seeing is Believing', ' Field 
 of Boliauns', 'Soul-Cages', 'Harvest Dinner', ' Scath-a-Le- 
 gaune', and 'Barry of Cairn Thierna'; besides greater or 
 smaller pieces of some others. My only verses are, Father 
 Cuddy's Latin Song and its translation. Some of those tales 
 have received a few additions from another hand. The non- 
 sense-verses in the Soul- Cages, for instance, are an extra- 
 neous beauty. 
 
IRISH ANTIQUITIES. 181 
 
 tion may be derived. At the head of these, with- 
 out meaning disparagement to any ! , I must place 
 Mr. Carleton's Traits and Stories of the Irish Pea- 
 santry. Here the English reader will find the ac- 
 tual Irish peasant, with all his good and evil pro- 
 pensities and habits about him : no straining after 
 effect mars the due proportions of the figure ; no 
 unnatural unions of vices and virtues call up an in- 
 credidus odi. I pledge myself for the correctness 
 of Mr. Carleton's delineations, and most strongly 
 recommend his work to all who would become ac- 
 quainted with Ireland, a country the most diffi- 
 cult to be known, without actual residence, of 
 perhaps any on the globe. 
 
 1 How very pleasing are Mrs. S. C. Hall's Idyllic sketches 
 of Irish life! I know nothing of the kind to exceed her 
 ' We '11 see about it '. 
 
183 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE PENTAMERONE TALE OF THE SERPENT HINDOO 
 
 LEGEND. 
 
 GIAMBATTISTA Basile, the author of the amusing 
 work named the Pentamerone, or Five Days' En- 
 tertainment 1 , was a Neapolitan by birth. He 
 spent his youth in the Isle of Candia, then pos- 
 sessed by the Venetians. He became a member 
 of the Venetian Accademia degli Stravaganti, ac- 
 companied his sister, a celebrated singer, to Man- 
 tua, and entered the service of the Duke. After 
 rambling a good deal through Italy, he returned 
 to Naples, where he died in the year 1637. 
 
 The oldest edition of the Pentamerone bears 
 the date of 1637, the year of the author's death. 
 It is a collection of fifty tales, of the kind we call 
 Fairy Tales, purporting to be related in five days 
 by ten women, for the amusement of a prince and 
 his wife. The tales are narrated in the Neapo- 
 litan dialect ; and in the opinion of Dr. Grimm, 
 with whom I fully concur, they are by many de- 
 grees the best and most amusing collection of the 
 
 1 The Neapolitan title is Lo Conto delli Conti, overo lo 
 Trattenemiento de Peccerille, i. e. The Tale of Tales, or En- 
 tertainment for the Little Ones. I know not whence the 
 title Pentamerone came : it is in no edition that I have 
 seen. 
 
184 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 kind in any language. A great number of the 
 popular tales of other countries are to be found 
 among them, but narrated in so peculiar a manner, 
 as to become altogether original l . There is a great 
 exuberance of fancy displayed in them ; they 
 contain several allusions to ancient history and 
 mythology, and have many marks of Orientalism; 
 but they do not always keep within the strict 
 limits of decorum and propriety. Yet the inde- 
 licacies which we meet in the Pentamerone, are 
 innocuous rather than injurious ; they are the 
 pranks of a luxuriant imagination, and are more 
 apt to excite laughter than any improper feeling. 
 
 It is not easy to ascertain how Basile came by 
 his tales. We have no grounds for asserting that 
 they are all Neapolitan ; and I am rather inclined 
 to think that he picked them up in various places, 
 and then gave them to his countrymen in their own 
 dialect. His residence in Candia and Venice will 
 perhaps best explain the Oriental traits which they 
 present. It is rather curious, that though he has 
 four tales in common with Straparola, he does not 
 appear to have taken them from the Pleasant 
 Nights, or even to have known that work. 
 
 In the Fairy Mythology will be found trans- 
 lations of three of the tales of the Pentamerone. 
 The present volume shall contain two ; and these 
 
 1 Of the ten stories in the Mother Goose's Fairy Tales of 
 Perrault, seven are to be found in the Pentamerone. Let 
 the reader compare Puss in Boots (Le Chat Botte) with the 
 tale of Gagliuso given in the Fairy Mythology, ii. 262. 
 
THE SERPENT. 185 
 
 five are, I believe, the only translations into any 
 language but Italian 1 . 
 
 THE SERPENT. 
 
 There was one time a gardener's wife who 
 longed for children more than the suitor longs 
 for a sentence of the judge in his favour, a sick 
 person for cold water, or an innkeeper for the 
 passing away of the dull season. But, gardener 
 as her husband was, she never was able to see 
 the produce she desired. 
 
 It chanced one day, that the poor man went to 
 the mountain to get a faggot for firing; and when 
 he came home with it, and opened it, he found a 
 pretty little serpent among the twigs. Sapatella 
 (that was the name of the gardener's wife), when 
 she saw it, gave a great sigh, and said, " Ah ! 
 even the serpents have their little serpents ; but 
 I came into this world so unfortunate, and have 
 such a noody of a husband, that for all his being 
 a gardener, he cannot make a graft." At these 
 words the little serpent spoke, and said, " Well, 
 then, since you cannot have children, take me for 
 a child, and you will make a good bargain, for I 
 shall love you better than if you were my own 
 mother." Sapatella, hearing a serpent thus speak, 
 
 1 MM. Grimm justly take credit to themselves for having 
 been the first to give an analysis of the Pentamerone. I may 
 do the same for having been the first to venture on a trans- 
 lation from it. 
 
186 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 had like to have fainted ; but plucking up courage, 
 she said, " If it were for nothing else than for this 
 affection which you offer, I am content to take you, 
 and treat you as if you were really the fruit of my 
 womb." 
 
 So saying, she assigned him a corner of the 
 house for a nursery, and gave him for food a 
 share of what she had, with all the affection in the 
 world ; and he increased in size every day. So 
 at length when he was grown pretty big, he said 
 one day to Cola 1 Matteo, the gardener, whom he 
 looked upon as his foster-father, " Daddy, I want 
 to get married." " With all my heart," said Cola 
 Matteo ; " we must look out, then, for another ser- 
 pent like yourself, and try to make up the match 
 between you." " What serpent are you talking 
 of?" said the little serpent. I suppose, forsooth, 
 we are all the same with the vipers and the adders ! 
 It is easy to see you are nothing but an Antony, 
 and make a nosegay of every plant. It is the 
 king's daughter I want : so go this very instant, 
 and ask the king for his daughter, and tell him it 
 is a serpent that demands her." 
 
 1 Cola, answering to our Nick, is the abbreviation of Ni- 
 cola. The Italians dock the head, we the tail. Thus Mas 
 (from Tommaso) is Tom ; and the celebrated Masaniello is 
 nothing more. than Tom Lamb, not Tom Ring, as I have seen 
 it rendered. Renzo, the hero of Count Manzoni's beautiful 
 novel, would in Ireland be simply Larry, as it comes from 
 Lorenzo. The Italian Tonio and our Tony correspond. 
 Why have we not a readable translation of Manzoni's 
 novel ? 
 
THE SERPENT. 187 
 
 Cola Matteo, who was a plain straight-forward 
 sort of man, and knew nothing about this kind of 
 wares, went quite innocently to the king, and de- 
 livered his message, saying, " The ambassador is 
 not to blame if the embassy should not please. 
 Know, then, that a serpent wants your daughter 
 for his wife. I am come therefore to try, as I am 
 a gardener, if I can make a graft of a serpent on 
 a young dove." The king, who saw at a glance 
 that he was a blockhead, to get him off his hands 
 said, " Go and tell your serpent that I will give 
 him my daughter if he turns all the fruit of this or- 
 chard into gold : " and then he burst out a-laugh- 
 ing, and dismissed him. 
 
 When Cola Matteo went home, and delivered 
 the answer to the serpent, he said, " Go tomorrow 
 morning and gather up all the fruit-stones you can 
 find in the city, and sow them in the orchard, and 
 you will see pearls strung on rushes." Cola Mat- 
 teo, who was no wizard, neither knew how to com- 
 ply or refuse ; so next morning, as soon as the 
 Sun with his golden broom had swept away the 
 dirt of the Night from the fields watered by the 
 Dawn, he put a basket on his arm, and went from 
 street to street picking up all the stones of peaches, 
 plums, nectarines, apricots and cherries, that he 
 could find. He then went to the orchard of the 
 palace, and sowed them as the serpent had desired 
 him. In an instant the trees shot up, and stems 
 and branches, leaves, flowers and fruit, were all 
 of glistening gold ; and the king, at the sight of 
 
188 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 such a wonderful thing, gave a loud cry of amaze- 
 ment, and went leaping about for joy. 
 
 But when Cola Matteo came again from the 
 serpent to the king, to demand the performance 
 of his promise, "Fair and easy," said the king, 
 " I must first have something else, if he would 
 have my daughter ; and what I require is this, 
 let him make all the walls, and all the walks of 
 the orchard, to be of precious stones." 
 
 When the gardener told this to the serpent, he 
 made answer, " Go tomorrow morning and gather 
 up all the bits of broken crockery-ware you can 
 find, and throw them on the walks, and along 
 by the wall of the orchard, for we will not let 
 this difficulty stand in our way." So Cola Mat- 
 teo, when the Night, having stood by and backed 
 the robbers, gets aid and goes about collecting 
 off the sky the faggots of twilight, took a basket 
 under his arm, and went about collecting bits of 
 tiles, lids and bottoms of pipkins, pieces of plates 
 and dishes, handles of jugs, spouts of pitchers; 
 picking up all the spoilt, broken, flawed, cracked 
 lamps, and all the fragments of pottery of every 
 sort he could find in his way: and when he had 
 done all that the serpent desired him, there was 
 to be seen the whole orchard mantled with eme- 
 ralds and chalcedonies, and coated with rubies and 
 carbuncles, in such sort, that the lustre seques- 
 tered the sight in the warehouses of the eyes, and 
 planted admiration in the fields of the heart. The 
 king was struck all of a heap at the sight, and 
 
THE SERPENT. 189 
 
 knew not what had befallen him. But when the 
 serpent sent to let him know that he was expect- 
 ing the performance of his promise, he made an- 
 swer, " Oh ! all that has been done is nothing, if 
 he does not turn my palace into gold for me." 
 
 When Cola Matteo had told the serpent this 
 new fancy of the king, he said, " Go get a parcel 
 of herbs of different kinds, and make a bundle of 
 them, and rub the bottom of the palace-walls with 
 them. We shall see if we cannot satisfy this whim 
 of his also." That very moment Cola Matteo 
 made a great broom of soft herbs, such as the 
 tops of turnips and carrots, and of honeysuckle, 
 and such like ; and when he had rubbed the lower 
 part of the palace with it, you might see it shining 
 like a gilded pill to purge melancholy from a hun- 
 dred houses that were ill-treated by fortune. And 
 when the gardener came again in the name of the 
 serpent to urge the conclusion of the marriage ] , 
 the king, finding his retreat cut off, called for his 
 daughter, and said to her : " My dear Grannonia, 
 I am going to give you a husband. It is one who 
 has asked for you, and I imposed such conditions 
 as I thought were impossible to be complied with; 
 but seeing myself foiled, and obliged to consent, 
 I still scarcely know how to ask you, as you are a 
 dutiful daughter, to enable me to keep my word, 
 and to be content with what Heaven wills and I 
 
 1 The reader will recollect Aladdin's demand of the prin- 
 cess of China to wife, and his mother's repeated visits to the 
 Sultan. 
 
190 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 am obliged to do." " Do as you please, papa," 
 said Grannonia, " for I am not the one to oppose 
 a single jot of your will." The king hearing this, 
 bid Cola Matteo tell the serpent to come. 
 
 The serpent, on receiving the invitation, set out 
 for the palace mounted on a car all of gold, and 
 drawn by four golden elephants. But wherever he 
 came the people fled away in terror, at seeing such 
 a large and frightful serpent thus making his pro- 
 gress through the city : and when he arrived at the 
 palace, the courtiers all turned pale, and trem- 
 bled like rushes ; and even the very scullions did 
 not venture to stay in the place. The king and 
 the queen, too, shut themselves up in a room, and 
 Grannonia alone stood her ground ; and though 
 her father and her mother kept crying out to her, 
 " Fly, fly, Grannonia ! save yourself, Rienzo l !" she 
 
 1 This apparently alludes to the fate of Cola Rienzo (Nicola 
 di Lorenzo), the Roman patriot, which it would appear was 
 become proverbial. In Ireland (and I suppose in Scotland) 
 it is usual to say to a person who has met with misfortune, 
 " You unfortunate Argyle ! " evidently alluding to the fate 
 of the Marquesses of Argyle in the seventeenth century. It 
 is curious how popular sayings and rimes will keep up the 
 memory of political events. Blackstone has been praised by 
 Niebuhr for discerning the usages of feudalism in the plays 
 of children ; and justly, for nothing is beneath the attention 
 of the true philosopher. I will give an instance of what may 
 be found in nursery rimes. They say to children in Ireland, 
 " I'll tell you a story, 
 
 Of Johnny Macgory, 
 
 He went to the wood, 
 
 And he killed a tory." 
 These will appear unmeaning to most readers ; but perhaps 
 
TALES 
 
 FOPHTLAB FE1F 
 
 
 In sooth it was a fearful sight 
 
 That serpent huge to see, 
 How be wound his long, long tail about 
 
 The waist o' the fair ladie. 
 
 DRAWN BY W. II. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD LY G. BAXTER, 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER AND CO 
 
THE SERPENT. 191 
 
 would not show any signs of fear, but said, " Why 
 do you want me to fly from the husband whom 
 you have given me?" And when the serpent 
 came into the room, he took Grannonia by the 
 waist in his tail, and gave her such a shower of 
 kisses, that the king writhed for all the world like 
 a worm ; and I warrant if you had bled him, you 
 would not have got a single drop of blood out of 
 him. The serpent then carried her into another 
 room, and made her fasten the door; and then 
 he shook off his skin on the ground, and became 
 a most beautiful youth, with a head all covered 
 with ringlets of gold, and with eyes that would 
 enchant you ; and then embracing the maiden, he 
 gathered the first fruits of his love. 
 
 The king, when he saw the serpent going into 
 the room with his daughter, and shutting the door 
 after him, said to his wife, " Heaven be merci- 
 ful to that poor soul our daughter ! for she has 
 become food for that cursed serpent. Beyond 
 doubt he has swallowed her up like the yolk of 
 
 they are not so. They refer, in my opinion, to the period 
 after the Scottish colony had been planted in the North of 
 Ireland ; and the Irish, being driven from the open country, 
 took refuge in the woods, whence they issued to rob the set- 
 tlers. Tory is in Irish a robber, probably from the verb to- 
 raim, ' to give,' a word of course frequent in the mouth of a 
 plunderer. We have thus in these verses a state of society 
 placed before our eyes ; the original native lurking in the 
 woods, and the Scottish colonist, like the Spaniard in Ame- 
 rica, going out armed a tory-hunting, and killing the miser- 
 able aborigine as he would a wolf. 
 
192 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 an egg ! " He then put his eye to the keyhole, to 
 see what had become of her ; but when he saw 
 the exceeding beauty of the youth, and the skin of 
 the serpent that he had left lying on the ground, 
 he gave the door a kick ; and they rushed in, 
 and took the skin, and flung it into the fire, and 
 burned it. 
 
 When the youth saw this, he cried out, " Ah ! 
 you renegade dogs ! you have done for me," and 
 instantly turned himself into a dove, to fly away ; 
 but finding that the panes of the window prevented 
 his escape, he butted at them with his head till he 
 broke them, but he cut himself in such a man- 
 ner that there did not remain a whole spot on his 
 pate. 
 
 Grannonia, who thus saw herself at the same mo- 
 ment happy and unhappy, joyful and miserable, 
 rich and poor, tore her face and bewailed her fate, 
 accusing her father and mother of this interruption 
 of pleasure, this poisoning of sweets, this over- 
 throw of good-fortune ; and they excused them- 
 selves by declaring that they had not intended 
 any evil. She then kept herself quiet till Night 
 came forth to illuminate the catafalque of the 
 skies for the funeral pomp of the Sun ; and when 
 she saw all in bed, she took her jewels, which were 
 in a writing-desk, and went out by a back-door, 
 intending to search everywhere till she had found 
 the treasure she had lost. 
 
 \Vhen she was gone out of the city, and was 
 proceeding, guided by the light of the moon, she 
 
THE SERPENT. 193 
 
 met a fox, who asked her if she wished for com- 
 pany. " Yes," said Grannonia, " you would oblige 
 me very much, for I am not overwell acquainted 
 with the country." So they went travelling along 
 together till they came to a wood, where the trees, 
 at play like children, were making baby-houses 
 for the shadows to lie in ; and being now rather 
 wearied with their journey, and wishing for re- 
 pose, they retired to the covert of the leaves, 
 where a fountain was playing carnival pranks 
 with the green grass, flinging the water on it by 
 dishfuls ; and stretching themselves on a mattrass 
 of tender soft grass, they paid the duty of repos 
 which they owed to Nature for the merchandise o 
 life. 
 
 They did not awake till the Sun, with his usual 
 fire, gave the signal to sailors and carriers to set 
 out on their road ; and after they awoke, they 
 still stayed a good while to listen to the singing 
 of the various birds. Grannonia expressed the 
 great pleasure she felt in listening to the warbling 
 they made ; and the fox seeing this, said to her, 
 " You would feel twice as much pleasure if you 
 understood, like me, what they are saying." At 
 these words Grannonia for women are by nature 
 as curious as they are talkative besought the fox 
 to tell her what it was he had heard the birds 
 saying in their own language. So after having 
 let her entreat him for a long time, in order to 
 excite the greater curiosity about what he was 
 going to tell, he said that those birds were talking 
 
19i TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 to one another of what had lately befallen the son 
 of the king of the country, who, being as beautiful 
 as a Fay (wo Fato), because he would not comply 
 with the unlawful desires of a cursed Ogress (Hu~ 
 orca\ had been sentenced by her magic power to 
 pass seven years in the form of a serpent; and that 
 he had just accomplished the term of his trans- 
 formation, when having fallen in love with the 
 daughter of a king, and being in a chamber with 
 the maiden, and having cast his skin on the 
 ground, her father and mother, out of their ex- 
 cessive curiosity, rushed in and burned his skin ; 
 and that as he was flying away in the shape of a 
 dove, and had broken a pane in the window to 
 get out at, he had broken in his skull in such a 
 manner that he was given over by the doctors. 
 
 Grannonia, who thus heard her own onions 
 spoken of, first of all asked whose son this prince 
 was, and then if there was any hope of cure for 
 his accident. The fox replied, that those birds 
 had said his father was the king of Big Valley 
 (Vallone Gruosso), and that there was no other 
 secret for stopping the holes in his skull, that his 
 soul might not get out at them, than to anoint his 
 wounds with the blood of those very birds who 
 had been telling the story. When Grannonia 
 heard these words, she fell down on her knees to 
 the fox, entreating of him to oblige and gratify 
 her by catching those birds for her, that she might 
 get their blood ; adding, that then, like honest 
 comrades, they would share the gain. " Fair 
 
THE SERPENT. 195 
 
 and softly, 5 ' said the fox, " let us wait till night, 
 and when the birds are gone to bed, let your 
 mammy alone, for I will climb up the trees and 
 weasen them one after the other." 
 
 They then passed away the entire day, talking 
 one time of the beauty of the young prince, an- 
 other time of the mistake made by the father of 
 the maiden; again, of the mishap that had befallen 
 the prince, chatting, chatting away till Day was 
 gone, and Earth began to spread out her great 
 large black piece of pasteboard, to collect the wax 
 that might drop from the tapers of Night. The 
 fox, as soon as he saw all the birds fast asleep on 
 the branches, stole up quite softly, and, one after 
 another, he throttled all the linnets, larks, gold- 
 finches, bullfinches, chaffinches, redbreasts and 
 nightingales that were on the trees ; and when he 
 had killed them all he came down, and they put 
 their blood into a little bottle that the fox carried 
 with him to refresh himself on the road. Gran- 
 nonia was so overjoyed, that she hardly touched 
 the ground ; but the fox said to her, " What fine 
 joy in a dream is this ! But, daughter of mine, you 
 have done nothing if you have not my blood also 
 to make a mess of along with that of the birds ;" 
 and so saying, he began to run away. Grannonia, 
 who saw all her hopes thrown down, had recourse 
 to the usual art of women, that is, cunning and 
 flattery ; and she said to him, " Gossip fox, there 
 would be some reason for your saving your hide 
 if I were not under so many obligations to you, 
 
196 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 and if there were no more foxes in the world than 
 yourself ; but as you know how much I owe you, 
 and also know that there is no scarcity of the like 
 of you in these plains, you may rely on my good 
 faith. So do not act like the cow that kicks down 
 the pail when she has filled it with milk. You have 
 done and have done, and now you fail at the best. 
 Do now stop ; believe me, and come with me to 
 the city of this king, where you may sell me for a 
 slave if you will." 
 
 The fox, who never dreamed that the quintes- 
 sence of foxery was to be met with, found himself 
 out-foxed by a woman. So he agreed to travel on 
 with Grannonia ; but they had hardly gone fifty 
 paces, when she lifted up the stick she carried, 
 and gave him with it such a neat rap, that he 
 forthwith stretched his legs. She then cut his 
 throat, and immediately took his blood and poured 
 it into the little bottle, and never stopped till she 
 came to Big Valley, where she went straightway 
 to the royal palace, and sent in to inform the king 
 that she was come to cure the prince. 
 
 The king made her come into his presence, and 
 he was astonished at seeing a girl undertake to 
 do what the best physicians in the kingdom had 
 failed in. However, as 'tis no harm to try, he said 
 he wished greatly to see the experiment made. 
 But Grannonia said, " If I make you see the ef- 
 fect that you desire, you must promise to give 
 him to me for a husband." The king, who looked 
 upon his son to be all as one as dead, made answer, 
 
THE SERPENT. 197 
 
 " If you give him to me safe and sound, I will 
 give him to you safe and sound ; for it is no great 
 matter to give a husband to her who gives me a 
 son." 
 
 So they went to the chamber of the prince, and 
 scarcely had she anointed him with the blood, when 
 he found himself just as if nothing had ever ailed 
 him. Grannonia, when she saw the prince stout 
 and hearty, told the king he must keep his word; 
 and the king turned round to his son, and said, 
 " Son, just now you saw yourself dead, and now 
 I see you alive, and can hardly believe it. So, as 
 I have promised this maiden that if she cured you 
 she should have you for a husband, now that 
 Heaven has shown you favour, enable me to per- 
 form my promise by all the love you bear me, 
 since it is necessary to pay this debt cheerfully." 
 
 To these words the prince replied, " Sir, I wish 
 I had such freedom in my inclinations as to prove 
 to you the love I have for you. But as I find 
 myself pledged to another woman, you would not 
 consent that I should break my faith, nor would 
 this maiden advise me to do this injury to her 
 whom I love ; nor indeed is it in my power to 
 change my sentiments." 
 
 Grannonia hearing this, felt a secret pleasure 
 not to be described at finding herself still fresh 
 in the memory of the prince ; her whole face be- 
 came crimson, and she said, " If I should get this 
 maiden whom you love to resign her claims to 
 me, would it be agreeable to you ? " " It is im- 
 
198 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 possible," said the prince, " for me ever to drive 
 from my bosom the lovely image of her whom I 
 love ; and whether she makes for me a conserve 
 of her love, or gives me a dose of cassia, I shall 
 ever be of the one mind, of the one way of think- 
 ing. I would sooner see myself in danger of losing 
 my place at the table of life, than play this trick, 
 or make this exchange." 
 
 Grannonia could retain her disguise no longer. 
 She discovered to him who she was ; for as the 
 chamber was darkened on account of the wounds 
 in his head, and as he saw her disguised, he had 
 not known her ; and the prince, when he recog- 
 nised her, embraced her with a joy that would 
 amaze you, telling his father who she was, arid 
 what he had done and suffered for her. They 
 then sent to invite her parents, the king and queen 
 of StarzaLonga, and they celebrated the wedding 
 with wonderful festivity, making great sport of 
 the ninny of a fox, and concluding at the last of 
 the last, that 
 
 " Pain doth always a seasoning prove 
 Unto the joys of constant love." 
 
 Such is the mode in which Basile narrated his 
 tales for the entertainment of the little ones of 
 Naples. The reader has possibly seen some points 
 of resemblance between this tale and some French 
 and German ones, such as the Blue Bird of Ma- 
 dame D'Aulnoy, and the Singing and Springing 
 Lark in the collection of MM. Grimm. But the 
 
HINDOO LEGEND. 199 
 
 reason for which I have introduced it here, is to 
 point out a most remarkable coincidence or agree- 
 ment between it and a legend contained in the sa- 
 cred books of the Hindoos. 
 
 Lieutenant Wilford, in his Essay on Vicrama- 
 ditya and Sativahana in the Asiatic Researches ! , 
 writes thus : 
 
 " The third Vicramaditya was the son of Gard- 
 dabharupa, or the man with the countenance of an 
 ass. There is a fulsome account of the birth of 
 this Vicrama in the first section of the Sinhdsana 
 Drvdrinsdli, called Vicrama Updi* hydna. 
 
 " In Gurjjara Mandalam are the Sabharamati 
 and Mahi rivers ; between them is a forest, in 
 which resided Tamra-lipta-Reshi, whose daughter 
 married King Tamra-sena. They had six male 
 children, and one daughter called Madana-Rec'ha. 
 The king had two young lads called Deva-Sarma 
 and Hari-Sarma, whose duty chiefly was to wash 
 every day the clothes of their master in the waters 
 of the nearest river. One day as Deva-Sarma 
 went by himself for that purpose, he heard a voice 
 saying, { Tell King Tamra-sena to give me his 
 daughter : should he refuse me, he will repent 
 it.' The lad, on his return, mentioned the whole 
 to his master, who would not believe it, and next 
 day sent Hari-Sarma to the river, who heard the 
 same voice also, with the threats in case of a re- 
 
 1 Vol. ix. p. 147. Calcutta edition. 
 
200 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 fusal. The king was astonished, and going him- 
 self, heard the voice also. On his return he as- 
 sembled his council, and after consulting together, 
 it was agreed that the king should go again, and 
 ask him who he was. The supposed spirit being 
 questioned, answered, * I am a Gand'harva (z. e. 
 heavenly chorister\ who, having incurred Indra's 
 displeasure, was doomed to assume the shape of 
 an ass. I was born in that shape in the house of 
 a Cumbhacara (i. e. potter), in your capital city, 
 and I am daily roving about in quest of food.' 
 The king said that he was very willing to give 
 him his daughter, but that he conceived that such 
 an union was altogether impossible while he re- 
 mained in that shape. The Gand'harva said, 
 * Trouble not yourself about that ; comply with 
 my request, and it will be well with you.' * If,' 
 said the king, * you are so powerful, turn the walls 
 of my city, and those of the houses, into brass, 
 and let it be done before sunrise tomorrow.' 
 The Gand'harva agreed to it, and the whole was 
 completed by the appointed time, and the king of 
 course gave him his daughter. 
 
 " Several learned Pundits," continues Mr. Wil- 
 ford, "inform me that this Gand'harva's name was 
 Jayanta, the son of Brahma. When cursed by 
 Indra, he humbled himself; and Indra, relenting, 
 allowed him to resume his human shape in the 
 night-time, telling him that the curse should not 
 be done away till somebody had burned his ass- 
 like form. 
 
HINDOO LEGEND. 201 
 
 " It is said in the Vicrama Upai'hyana, that the 
 mother of the damsel spied them once in the night, 
 and to her great joy found that the Gand'harva 
 dallied with her daughter in a human shape. Re- 
 joiced at this discovery, she looked for his ass-like 
 form, and burned it. Early in the morning the 
 Gand'harva looked for this body of his, and found 
 that it had been destroyed. He returned imme- 
 diately to his wife, informing her of what had hap- 
 pened ; and that his curse being at an end, he was 
 obliged to return to heaven and leave her. He 
 informed her also that she was with child by him, 
 and that the name of the child should be Vicra- 
 maditya ; that her maid was with child also, and 
 that the name of the child should be Bhartri-Hari. 
 He then left his wife, who resolved to die ; and 
 ripping up her own belly, she took out the child, 
 and entrusted it to the care of a Maline (L e. gar- 
 dener's wife, or flower- woman). * Go,' said she, 
 1 to some distant place, and there remain con- 
 cealed, because my father will attempt to destroy 
 the child.' The Maline went to Ujjayine with the 
 maid, and from the signal preservation of the child 
 in that city, it was called also Avanti 1 ." 
 
 The country over which the grandfather of 
 Vicramaditya ruled, is by the author of the work 
 quoted by Mr. Wilford, said to have been the pre- 
 sent Gujjerat, and the adjacent districts in the 
 
 1 From ava, Sanscrit, ' to preserve'. 
 
202 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 west of India ; and as the year in which Vicra- 
 maditya is said to have ascended the throne cor- 
 responds with the year 441 of the Christian sera, 
 Mr. Wilford is positive that he must have been 
 Yezdejird, king of Persia, the son of Bahrain, 
 surnamed Gur, or The Wild Ass, whose amours 
 with an Indian princess are famous, he says, all 
 over Persia, as well as India. 
 
 "Jayanta," says Mr. Wilford, "the son of 
 Brahma, incurred the displeasure of Indra, king 
 of the elevated grounds of Merii, or Turkestan, 
 and was doomed by him to assume the shape of 
 an ass in the lower regions. Bahram Gur, or The 
 Ass, likewise incurred the displeasure of the Kha- 
 ean, or mortal king of Meru, He ascended the 
 throne of Persia, and after having overcome his 
 enemies, he went to India in disguise to the Court 
 of a powerful prince of that country, who took 
 particular notice of him, on account of his valour 
 and personal merits. The Indian prince loaded 
 him with caresses and honours, and gave him his 
 daughter with an immense fortune, when he was 
 recognised by some noblemen who had carried 
 the usual tribute to Persia. Being thus disco- 
 vered, he returned to his own country, after an 
 absence of two years. The Hindoos assert that he 
 refused to take his wife along with him, and that 
 in consequence she killed herself. They show to 
 this day the place where he lived, about one day's 
 march to the north of Baroach, with the ruins of 
 
HINDOO LEGEND. 203 
 
 his palace. In old records this place is called 
 Gad'hendra Puri, that is, * The town of the lord 
 of Asses'." 
 
 This is what I term pragmatising, or endea- 
 vouring to extract historic truth out of mythic 
 legends, as bootless an alchemy as ever was 
 practised! The history of Bahram Gur 1 , as deli- 
 vered by Ferdousee, the sole authority, has little 
 resemblance with the Hindoo legend ; and I am 
 yet to learn that the heaven of Indra, the god of 
 thunder, was Turkestan. I do not think that Hin- 
 doo any more than Grecian mythology, trans- 
 ferred earth to heaven ; and I could as soon be- 
 lieve that Jupiter was only king of Crete, as that 
 Indra was no more than Khacan of Turkestan 2 . 
 In short, I regard the legend of the transformed 
 Gand'harva as being a pure fiction, with nothing 
 in it whatever of reality. 
 
 The following legend, related by Mr. Wilford 3 
 in another place, tends to prove that transforma- 
 tion into the form of some animal of earth, was a 
 
 1 In Ferdousee he is called the Khacan of Cheen. The 
 Cheen of the Shah-Nameh does not seem to be China : it is 
 rather some place between it and Persia. I should be in- 
 clined to assign a Persian origin to the tales of the Thousand 
 and One Nights, in which the scene is in China, i. e. Cheen. 
 
 2 Gur is the Wild Ass, not the Ass. Bahram, says Fer- 
 dousee, was so named, because one day at the chase he shot 
 a wild ass and her foal through with the one arrow. 
 
 3 Essay on Egypt and the Nile. Asiatic Researches, iii. 403. 
 See Fairy Mythology, i. pp. 65. 77. 
 
204 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. * ' 
 
 usual mode of punishment among the denizens 
 of the Hindoo heaven. 
 
 " Visvadhanva, the son of Cama the god of 
 Love, and Reti the goddess of Pleasure, was 
 with his youthful companions hunting one day on 
 the skirts of Himalaya, when he saw a white ele- 
 phant of an amazing size, with four tusks, who 
 was desporting himself with his females. The 
 prince imagined him to be Airavata, the great ele- 
 phant of Indra, and ordered a circle to be formed 
 round him ; but the noble beast broke through 
 the toils, and the hunters pursued him from 
 country to country till they came to the burning 
 sands of Barbara, where his course was so much 
 impeded, that he assumed his true shape of a 
 Racshasa (i. e. giant), and began to bellow with 
 the sound of the large drum called Dunda. The 
 son of Cama, undismayed, attacked the giant, and 
 after an obstinate combat, slew him, but was asto- 
 nished on seeing a beautiful youth rise from the 
 bleeding body, with the countenance and form of 
 a Gand'harva, who told him, before he vanished, 
 that he had been expelled for a time from the hea- 
 venly mansions, and as a punishment for a great 
 offence, had been condemned to pass through a 
 mortal state in the shape of a giant, with a power 
 to take other forms : that his crime was expiated 
 by death, but that the prince deserved and would 
 receive chastisement for molesting an elephant 
 who was enjoying innocent pleasures. The place 
 
HINDOO LEGEND. 205 
 
 where the elephant took the shape of a Racshasa, 
 and that where he was killed, are holy ; and a 
 pilgrimage performed to them, with the perform- 
 ance of certain holy rites, will ever secure the pil- 
 grims from the dread of giants and evil spirits." 
 
 I consider, then, the Gand'harva story to be 
 a genuine Hindoo production ; and the resem- 
 blance is so strong between it and the Neapolitan 
 tale, and extends to such a number of circum- 
 stances even the gardener's wife being a charac- 
 ter in both that I am almost inclined to assert 
 that, one time or other, it made its way to Europe. 
 
207 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JACK THE GIANT-KILLER THE BRAVE TAILORLING 
 
 THOR's JOURNEY TO UTGARD AMEEN OF ISFAHAN 
 
 AND THE GHOOL THE LION AND THE GOAT THE 
 
 LION AND THE ASS. 
 
 I PRESUME that few of my readers are unacquaint- 
 ed with the great and perilous adventures of that 
 
 " valiant Gornishman, 
 Who slew the giant Cormoran," 
 
 the redoubtable Jack the Giant-killer, as he was 
 justly named from his achievements. I need there- 
 fore only call to memory the adventure of this 
 doughty champion with the crafty two-headed 
 Welsh giant, who thought to rob him of life and 
 fame by deceit and guile. 
 
 It was night when the Giant-killer arrived at 
 the habitation of this monster, who, affecting great 
 courtesy, welcomed him, and gave him a good bed 
 to lie on. Unable to sleep from fatigue, our hero 
 lay awake ; and he heard his host walking back- 
 wards and forwards in the next room, and saying 
 to himself, 
 
 " Though here you lodge with me this night, 
 You shall not see the morning light, 
 My club shall dash your brains out quite." 
 
 He got up, searched about the room, and finding 
 
208 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 a large billet of wood, put it in his place in the 
 bed, and hid himself in a corner. In the middle 
 of the night the giant came in, struck the billet 
 several blows with his club, and then retired, 
 thinking he had dispatched his guest. 
 
 Great was his surprise next morning when Jack 
 came forth and thanked him for his hospitality. 
 " How did you sleep ? Did you hear or see any- 
 thing in the night?" he stammered out. "Oh! 
 nothing," said Jack quite carelessly ; " a rat, I 
 believe, gave me three or four slaps with his tail, 
 and disturbed me a little, but I soon went to sleep 
 again." 
 
 It is needless to tell how Jack again outwitted 
 this Cambrian giant, and made him rip open his 
 own belly. My purpose is to show that the arti- 
 fice related above is not peculiar to our own Giant- 
 killer, but has been put in practice by the legen- 
 dary heroes of other countries also. The first 
 witness whom I shall call up and examine is the 
 Brave Tailorling 1 (Das tapfere Schneider lem) of 
 our neighbours the Germans, who, it will appear, 
 had recourse to it in his dealings with giants. 
 
 1 Grimm, Kinder- und Haus-Marchen, i. 104. The En- 
 glish diminutives ling and kin answer to the lein and chen of 
 the Germans. Instances of the former, which is the more 
 common, are duckling, gosling (gooseling), troutling, young- 
 ling, &c. See a good article on the subject in the Cambridge 
 Philological Museum, i. p. 679. 
 
TAILED 
 
 Tin- little man he then set out, 
 And he travelled on until 
 
 He CHiae to where he a giant saw 
 Sitting upon a hill. 
 
 DRAWN BY W. II. BROOKE, F. S. A., i:\CK \\;:i) ON WOOD JJY C. 
 PUBLlSliEn EY WHITTAKER AND CO. 
 
THE BRAVE TAILORLING. 209 
 
 * 
 
 THE BRAVE TAILORLING. 
 
 A little tailor chanced one day to kill at a blow 
 seven flies that were on his bread. In amaze at 
 his own prowess, he determined that the whole 
 town should know of it ; so he made himself a 
 belt, and put on it in large letters, " Seven at a 
 blow." " Tut, tut," then said he, " what is the 
 town, the whole world shall know it !" and tak- 
 ing a cheese and a live bird in a bag with him, he 
 set out on his travels. 
 
 He had not gone far when he came to where a 
 giant was sitting on the top of a mountain. " Ho, 
 comrade !" cried he, " you are sitting up there look- 
 ing abroad into the world, I am going into it, have 
 you a mind to come with me?" The giant looked 
 at him, and said, "You are a paltry fellow." "That 
 may be," said the tailor ; and opening his coat, and 
 letting the giant see his belt, " There you have it 
 in writing, what sort of a man I am." The giant, 
 reading " Seven at a blow," thought at once that 
 they must be men whom he had slain, so he be- 
 gan to feel some respect for him. He resolved, 
 however, to make a trial of him ; so taking a stone 
 in his hand, and squeezing it till the water began 
 to trickle from it, " Do that like me," said he to 
 him, " if you are as strong as you say." " Is that 
 all ? " said the tailor ; and putting his hand into 
 his pocket, he pulled out his cheese, and squeezed 
 it till the whey ran out of it. "Ha!" said he, 
 " that was a taste better." 
 
210 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 The giant did not know what to say to this 
 feat, but he resolved to try him again ; so taking 
 up a stone, and flinging it into the air so high that 
 it went out of sight, " There, do that, you brat !" 
 cried he. " 'T was a good cast," said the tailor, 
 " but the stone will fall to the ground ; I will 
 fling one that will never come back." So taking 
 out his bird, he pitched it up into the air, and the 
 bird flew off gladly, and soon got out of sight. 
 " Well, comrade, what think you of that?" "You 
 can throw well," said the giant ; " let us now see 
 what you can do in the way of carrying a burden." 
 
 He led him into the wood, and pointing out a 
 huge oak-tree that had been felled, said, " Come, 
 we will carry this out of the wood." " Do you, 
 then, take the thick end on your shoulder," said 
 the little man, " and I will carry the boughs and 
 branches, and that is the heavier end," The giant 
 took up the trunk ; and the tailor, seating himself 
 on one of the branches, left him the whole tree 
 to carry, and himself into the bargain, and kept 
 whistling away, as if carrying a tree was mere 
 child's play to him. At last the giant got tired, 
 and cried out, " Hallo ! I must let the tree go." 
 The tailor then jumped down, laid hold on the 
 branches as if he was carrying, and said, " You 
 are a pretty fellow that can't carry a tree !" 
 
 They went on till they came to a cherry-tree, 
 and the giant catching a hold of the top, where 
 the best fruit was, pulled it down, and gave the 
 tailor a hold of it that he might eat too. But the 
 
JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 211 
 
 strength of the little man could not contend with 
 that of the tree, and he was hoisted aloft into the 
 air. " Hallo ! " shouted the giant, " can you not 
 hold down a twig ? " " Bah ! " said the tailor, 
 " what is that to one who has killed seven at a 
 blow? Don't you see the sportsmen are shooting 
 in the underwood? and I have jumped over the 
 tree out of the way : do you now do the same." 
 The giant tried to leap over the tree, but all in 
 vain ; he still fell into the branches, and victory 
 remained once more with the tailor. 
 
 " Come now home to our cave," said the giant, 
 " and spend the night with us." The tailorling 
 consented, and followed him. The giant showed 
 him his bed ; but the cunning wight took care not 
 to go into it, but crept into a corner; and when it 
 was midnight, the giant came with a huge iron 
 club, and gave the bed a blow, which went through 
 it. " I 've settled the grasshopper now," thought 
 he ; " we shall see no more of him." In the morn- 
 ing the giants went out to the wood, thinking no 
 more of the tailor ; when, to their great conster- 
 nation, they saw him coming forth alive and hearty. 
 They ran away as hard as ever they could, afraid 
 lest he should kill them all. 
 
 But this stratagem is to be found in a far more 
 venerable monument than our nursery-tale books. 
 Among the adventures of the prose Edda of Scan- 
 dinavia is Thor's Journey to Utgard ; and in it 
 
TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the god is illuded in a similar manner. I will re- 
 late the story at length, for the edification of my 
 readers, as it is a portion of the mythology and 
 theology of the ancient North. The language is 
 my own, but I have faithfully adhered to the ori- 
 ginal tale l . 
 
 I must previously inform the reader, that in 
 the Scandinavian theology Thor is the god of the 
 lower heaven, answering to the Jupiter Tonans of 
 the Latins, and the Indra of India. He is married 
 to Siff, that is, the summer-earth, clad with herbage 
 and plants, which in the Edda are called the hair 
 of Siff; for summer, we know, is the season of 
 thunder. Thor drives in a chariot drawn by buck- 
 goats ; his weapon is a short-handled hammer, 
 called Miolner 2 (crws/zer), which he unceasingly em- 
 ploys against the frost-giants and other noxious 
 beings. He has also a belt, which, when on him, 
 doubles his strength ; and a pair of iron gloves, 
 which are of great use to him, as Miolner is gene- 
 rally red-hot. Now to our tale. 
 
 THOR'S JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 
 
 Thor and Loki 3 once set out in the chariot 
 drawn by buck-goats for Yotunheim, or Giant- 
 
 1 I extract this from an article of mine on Scandinavian 
 mythology in No. VII. of the Foreign Quarterly Review. 
 
 2 Miolner is the thunderbolt. 
 
 3 Loki was originally the fire-god : he became a sort of 
 Eddaic Satan. 
 
THORS JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 213 
 
 land. Towards evening they arrived at the house 
 of a farmer (bonda\ where they took up their quar- 
 ters for the night. Thor took and killed his goats, 
 broiled their flesh, and invited his host and his chil- 
 dren to partake of the feast. When it was ended, 
 Thor spread the goat- skins on the ground, and de- 
 sired the children to throw the bones into them l . 
 The farmer's son Thialfi had broken one of the 
 bones, to get out the marrow. In the morning 
 Thor got up and dressed himself, and then, laying 
 hold of Miolner, swung it over the skins. Im- 
 mediately the goats stood up, but one of them 
 limped on the hind leg. The god exclaimed that 
 the farmer and his family had not dealt fairly with 
 the bones, for the goat's leg was broken. The far- 
 mer was terrified to death when he saw Thor draw 
 down his eyebrows, and grasp the handle of Miol- 
 ner till his knuckles grew white. He and his chil- 
 dren sued for grace, offering any terms ; and Thor, 
 laying aside his anger, accepted Thialfi and his sis- 
 ter Rosko for his servants, and left his goats there 
 behind them. 
 
 Thor now journeyed on towards Utgard 2 , or Yo- 
 tunheim, with Loki, Thialfi, and Rosko. They came 
 to the sea, swam across it, and arrived on the shore 
 of that country. They then entered a large wood, 
 
 1 Something like this is told of a Saint in a clever story 
 which I have seen in an Irish newspaper. 
 
 2 Utgard, i. e. Out-yard, is the region beyond the stream 
 which was supposed to encompass the earth. It was the abode 
 of giants, hence named Yotunheim, i. e. Giant-land. 
 
TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 through which they travelled the whole day long ; 
 Thialfi, who was the swiftest, carrying Thor's wal- 
 let. At the approach of evening they looked about 
 for a place to sleep in ; and in the dark they found 
 a great house, the door of which was as wide as the 
 house itself. They entered it, and went to rest ; 
 but about midnight there was a great earthquake, 
 the ground rocked, and the house shook. Thor 
 called up his companions, and finding a chamber 
 on the right-hand side, they went into it ; and 
 Thor, grasping his hammer, sat in the door, while 
 the others terrified crept in. They heard another 
 great crash, but they remained quiet till morning ; 
 when on going out of the house they saw a man, 
 * who was not little,' sleeping in the wood close 
 by, and snoring at a prodigious rate. Thor, now 
 seeing what the noise was which had terrified them 
 so much during the night, put on his belt, and was 
 preparing to dash out the sleeper's brains, when 
 the latter awoke, and on Thor's asking his name, 
 replied, that it was Skrymir ; adding, that he knew 
 very well who Thor was ; and then inquiring if 
 they had taken his glove, stretched out his hand 
 and picked it up. Thor now saw where it was he 
 had lodged, and that the house he had been in was 
 the thumb of the glove. Skrymir proposes that 
 they should join company, and also join stock ; 
 which being agreed on, he puts all into one wallet, 
 which he slings over his shoulder, and sets for- 
 ward at a huge pace. In the evening he lays him- 
 self down under an oak to sleep, desiring them to 
 
THOR'S JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 215 
 
 open the wallet and make their supper, He be- 
 gan to snore : Thor tried to open the wallet, but 
 in vain ; not a single knot could he loosen. In a 
 rage he caught up his hammer, and hit Skrymir a 
 blow on the head ; who, waking, asked, was it a 
 leaf, or what else, had fallen on him, and why they 
 were not gone to rest. Thor laid himself under 
 another oak ; and at midnight, hearing Skrymir 
 snoring, got up and drove his hammer into his 
 brain ; Skrymir complained that an acorn must 
 have fallen. A third time Thor struck him on 
 the cheek, and buried the hammer in it up to the 
 handle ; Skrymir rubbed his cheek, and inquired 
 if there were any birds sitting in the tree, as a 
 feather had fallen. 
 
 It being now near morning, Skrymir informs 
 them that they are not far from the city of Ut- 
 gard ; and that, big as they thought him, they will 
 meet with people there with whom he was not to 
 be compared ; advising them to behave themselves 
 modestly when there, but rather recommending 
 them to return. Utgard, he tells them, is to the 
 east ; his way lies north, to the mountains. They 
 part, and at mid-day the travellers arrive within 
 sight of Utgard, built in a great plain, so high, 
 that to see the top of it they must May their 
 necks on their back.' The wicket was so great 
 that Thor could not open it ; and they crept in 
 through the bars. They approached the palace, and 
 drawing near the throne, saluted Utgard-Loki, 
 who, after some time, smiled and said, " 'T is late 
 
216 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 to ask true tidings of a long journey since Oku- 
 Thor is become a little boy. But thou mayest be 
 greater than it appears to me. So what arts do 
 you possess, my lads ? No one can stay here who 
 is not expert at some art." Loki said that at eat- 
 ing he would turn his back on no one. Utgard- 
 Loki replied, that was an art if he could make 
 good what he said : then calling to a man named 
 Logi, who was sitting on the bench, he desired 
 him to come forward and try his strength with 
 Loki. A large trough full of meat was brought 
 in, and set on the floor : the champions sat down, 
 one at each end of it, and ate till they met in the 
 middle ; but it was found that Loki had picked 
 the bones, whereas Logi had eaten up his part, 
 bones and all ; and it was consequently given 
 against Loki. 
 
 Thialfi was now asked in what he excelled : and 
 when he had replied in running, a lad named Hu- 
 gin was matched with him. In the first heat, 
 Hugin, after going round the post, passed Thialfi 
 on his way to it. Utgard-Loki complimented 
 Thialfi on his swiftness, but told him he must do 
 better if he would win. In the second heat, Hugin 
 won by the length of a bow-shot. According to 
 modern practice, the race was now at an end ; but 
 in Giant-land they manage these matters differ- 
 ently, and a third heat was run, which was won 
 hollow by Hugin ; for he reached the goal before 
 Thialfi had gone over half the course. 
 
 Utgard-Loki now inquires of Thor what he 
 
JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 217 
 
 could do to justify the fame that went abroad 
 of him. The Thunderer replied, that he would 
 undertake to drink against any of his people. A 
 servant was ordered to fetch a drinking-horn, 
 which Utgard-Loki handed to Thor, observing, 
 that some of his people could empty it at one 
 draught, many of them at two, but that no one 
 took more than three to drain it. The horn was 
 long, but did not look very large : Thor was 
 thirsty after his journey, and he thought that one 
 good pull would be sufficient. He drank till his 
 breath was gone, when, on looking at the horn, he 
 found, to his vexation, that the liquor had only 
 sunk a little below the edge. A second and a 
 third attempt were equally unsuccessful, and he 
 gave up. "It is easy to see that your strength 
 is not great," said Utgard-Loki ; " but will you 
 try any other game ? " Thor doggedly assented, 
 leaving the choice to the proposer. " My young 
 people here frequently amuse themselves with lift- 
 ing my cat off the ground. I should not, indeed, 
 think of proposing such a thing to Asa- Thor, were 
 it not that I saw that he is less of a man than I 
 thought." Just as he spoke, a big grey tom-cat 
 leaped out on the floor. Thor put his hand under 
 him, to raise him up; but the cat curved his back, 
 and with all Thor's efforts he could only raise one 
 of his feet off the ground. " Ah ! it 's just as I 
 expected," said Utgard-Loki ; " the cat is large, 
 and you are short and little." " Little as I am," 
 said Thor, " let any of you come wrestle with 
 L 
 
218 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 me now I am vexed." Utgard-Loki looked round 
 him, and said, "I see no one here who would 
 think he should gain any reputation by wrestling 
 with you. Call hither the old woman that nursed 
 me : you may wrestle with her. She has thrown 
 down many young men, who were, as I think, not 
 inferior to you." The old dame was tough: Thor 
 struggled with might and main : the more he 
 tugged, the firmer she stood. Thor, in a violent 
 effort, fell on one knee ; and, as night was coming 
 on, Utgard-Loki put an end to the contest. 
 
 Next morning the Aser (gods) set out home- 
 wards, Utgard-Loki accompanying them out of 
 the town. On Thor's expressing his fears that they 
 would think disparagingly of him, his host spake 
 as follows : " Now that you are out of the town, 
 I may tell you the truth ; for if I had known that 
 your strength was so prodigious as it is, you never 
 should have gone into it. I began to practice illu- 
 sions on you in the wood, where I first met you. 
 When you went to open the wallet, it was fastened 
 with a strong iron bar, and you could not there- 
 fore loosen it." He then informed him that it was 
 a rock he had struck in place of his head, in which 
 he had made three great dints, one of which was 
 exceedingly deep ; that it was a devouring flame, 
 in the shape of a man, that ate against Loki ; and 
 that it was Hugin (Thought) that ran against 
 Thialfi ; that the smaller end of the horn had 
 been set in the sea, and when he arrived there he 
 would see how much its depths were diminished ; 
 
THOR'S JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 219 
 
 (and this, says the Edda, is the cause of bays and 
 shoals;) that the cat was Midgard's snake 1 , and 
 that they were all terrified when they saw him 
 raise a part of him off the earth ; finally, the old 
 woman with whom he wrestled was Old Age, 
 whom no one ever yet overthrew. Utgard-Loki 
 prayed Thor never to visit him again. The god, 
 enraged at those deceptions, raised his hammer 
 to crush Utgard-Loki, but the illuder was not to 
 be seen ; the city, too, had vanished like a mist, 
 and they found themselves alone in an open ex- 
 tensive plain, and returned to Thrudvang, Thor's 
 abode, without encountering any further adven- 
 tures. 
 
 Of the antiquity and genuineness of this legend 
 there can be no doubt ; for in the poem of the 
 elder Edda, called ^Igir's Banquet, where Loki 
 is casting in the teeth of the gods and goddesses 
 their various discreditable adventures, he reminds 
 z Thor of his having sat gathered up in the thumb 
 'of a glove, and not being able to undo the thong 
 of Skrymir's wallet. It is alluded to in the poem 
 of Harbard's Song ; and appears also to lie at the 
 foundation of the narrative given by Saxo in his 
 eighth book of the Voyage of Thorkild Adilfar 
 in search of Ugarthilok, undertaken at the desire 
 of Gorm king of Denmark. Thorlacius, who 
 quotes it at length in his celebrated essay entitled 
 
 1 The Snake that lies in the stream which encompasses the 
 Earth. See the Edda. 
 
 L 2 
 
220 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 " Something about Thor and his Hammer," sees 
 in it a strong confirmation of his opinion of there 
 having been a set of nature-gods worshiped in 
 Scandinavia before the arrival of the Asiatics, who 
 usurped their honours and their names, but who 
 were unable to eradicate the reverence for them, so 
 deeply was it implanted in the public mind. He 
 regards it as the composition of a free-thinker 
 a species that could not be wanting in the Old 
 North who, though outwardly complying with 
 the Odinian religion, secretly adored the powers 
 of Nature, and composed this legend to show how 
 feeble the reigning celestial dynasty was in com- 
 parison with Nature and her powers. There cer- 
 tainly can be little doubt that ancient Scandinavia 
 had her e sprits forts ; and the author of the poem 
 of ^Egir's Banquet, just mentioned, has not inap- 
 propriately been styled the Northern Lucian : but 
 I cannot by any means be induced to look upon 
 the framer of this legend as a depredator of Asa- 
 Thor. On the contrary, all through it his strength 
 is represented as enormous ; and the only refuge 
 of Utgard-Loki against it lay in deception and il- 
 lusion. 
 
 According to Finn Magnussen, this legend de- 
 notes the struggle between Thor, the hurler of the 
 thunder, and the Demon of the cold of winter. In 
 the old Northern calendars, he says, the glove is 
 the symbol of the commencement of winter, in 
 which, as thunder is rare in that season, Thor 
 may be said to go to sleep; the snoring of Skrymir 
 
TUCKS JOURNEY TO UTGARD. 221 
 
 is the storm and tempest of winter, on which the 
 blows of the Thunderer can produce no effect. 
 The insoluble knots of the wallet are the cold 
 which closes up the earth, the great bag of food. 
 Loki and Logi, whose names are nearly the same, 
 both signifying flame, he would regard with re- 
 spect to their effects ; taking the former for flame 
 properly so called, the other for the cold which 
 'performs the effect of fire.' Thialfi is the wind 
 of summer; the Thought of Utgard-Loki that of 
 winter. The disappearance of this latter and his 
 city, is the departure of winter with its storms, its 
 fields of snow and fantastic piles of ice, leaving 
 the grassy verdant plains free and unincumbered. 
 This explication is tolerably ingenious, and it may 
 be true ; but I fear it is only an instance of M. 
 Magnussen's usual babit of attempting to explain 
 every thing on the physical theory ; and I much 
 suspect, that if the Scald who framed the legend 
 were to return to life, he would declare that these 
 subtle allegories never entered his conception; 
 and that he only meant to entertain his auditors, 
 and exalt the mighty Thor. 
 
 Such, then, is the venerable mythe of the Edda, 
 and thus has it been explained. Shall we now say 
 that our Anglo-Saxon or Danish ancestors brought 
 it with them to England, and that the incident com- 
 mon to it and the tale of the Giant-killer was pre- 
 served by tradition, and adopted by the author of 
 that story ? Such an assertion would be too hardy, 
 
TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 yet it might be true: legends of the Edda are living 
 in the popular tradition of Scandinavia at this very 
 day ; and from the tone and circumstances of the 
 history of the Giant-killer, I think it by no means 
 unlikely that its date may be anterior to that of 
 the conquest of Wales by Edward I. It is cer- 
 tainly older than the time of Elizabeth ; for in 
 King Lear, Edgar, as Mad Tom, says, 
 
 " Child Rowland to the dark tower came ; 
 His words were still * Fee, faw, and fum ! 
 I smell the blood of a British man' :" 
 
 which evidently alludes to this renowned history. 
 The device, however, is, as we shall see, to be 
 found in the legendary lore of more distant coun- 
 tries. 
 
 In Sir John Malcolm's most agreeable and in- 
 structive Sketches of Persia, we meet the follow- 
 ing highly amusing story, which Sir John says 
 was related to him by his friend Hajee Hoosein, 
 at a dreary spot in Persia, named the Valley of the 
 Angel of Death. 
 
 The Hajee informed his companion, that this 
 was one of the most favourite terrestrial abodes of 
 Azrael (the Angel of Death), and that here he was 
 surrounded by Ghools, who are a species of mon- 
 sters that feed on the carcasses of all the beings 
 which he deprives of life. "The Ghools," he added, 
 " are of a hideous form, but they can assume any 
 shape they please, in order to lure men to their 
 
AMEEN OF ISFAHAN AND THE GHOOL. 223 
 
 destruction ; they can alter their voices for the 
 same laudable purpose." " The frightful screams 
 and yells," said the Hajee, " which are often heard 
 amid these dreaded ravines, are changed for the 
 softest and most melodious notes : unwary travel- 
 lers, deluded by the appearance of friends, or cap- 
 tivated by the forms and charmed by the music of 
 these demons, are allured from their path, and after 
 feasting for a few hours on every luxury are con- 
 signed to destruction." 
 
 In conclusion said the Hajee, " These creatures 
 are the very lowest of the supernatural world ; 
 and besides being timid, are extremely stupid, and 
 consequently often imposed upon by artful men ! . 
 I will recount you a story that is well authenti- 
 cated, to prove that what I say is just." 
 
 AMEEN OF ISFAHAN AND THE GHOOL. 
 
 " You know," said he, " that the natives of Is- 
 fahan, though not brave, are the most crafty and 
 acute people upon earth, and often supply the want 
 of courage by their address. An inhabitant of that 
 
 1 The Ghool is plainly the same kind of being as the Oreo 
 of the Italian, the Ogre of the French popular tales. In the 
 fifteenth of the Thousand and One Nights, Galland rendered 
 Ghool by Ogre. I believe I may take the merit of having 
 been the first to show that the Oreo of Bojardo and Ariosto 
 is an Ogre (Fairy Mythology, ii. p. 237.). Mr. Douce, 
 however, has shown me that he also had perceived it. The 
 description of Charlemagne's porter L'Orco, in the Morgante 
 Maggiore (C. xxvii. St. 262 264.), strongly tends to confirm 
 the identity of the French and the Italian monster. 
 
224 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 city was once compelled to travel alone and at 
 night through this dreadful valley. He was a man 
 of ready wit, and fond of adventures, and, though 
 no lion, had great confidence in his cunning, which 
 had brought him through a hundred scrapes and 
 perils, that would have embarrassed or destroyed 
 your simple man of valour. 
 
 " This man, whose name was Ameen Beg, had 
 heard many stones of Ghools of the Valley of the 
 Angel of Death, and thought it likely he might 
 meet one : he prepared, accordingly, by putting an 
 egg and a lump of salt in his pocket. He had not 
 gone far amid the rocks we have just passed, when 
 he heard a voice crying, * Holloa, Ameen Beg Is- 
 fahanee ! you are going the wrong road ; you will 
 lose yourself: come this way : I am your friend 
 Kerreem Beg : I know your father, old Kerbela 
 Beg, and the street in which you were born.' 
 Ameen knew well the power the Ghools had of 
 assuming the shape of any person they chose ; and 
 he also knew their skill as genealogists, and their 
 knowledge of towns as well as families : he had, 
 therefore, little doubt that this was one of those 
 creatures alluring him to destruction. He however 
 determined to encounter him, and trust to his art 
 for his escape. 
 
 " ' Stop, my friend, till I come near you,' was 
 his reply. When Ameen came close to the Ghool, 
 he said, 'You are not my friend Kerreem, you are 
 a lying demon ; but you are just the being I de- 
 sired to meet. I have tried my strength against 
 
AMEEN OF ISFAHAN AND THE GHOOL. 225 
 
 all the men and all the beasts which exist in the 
 natural world, and I can find nothing that is a 
 match for me. I came, therefore, to this valley, 
 in the hope of encountering a Ghool, that I might 
 prove my prowess upon him.' 
 
 " The Ghool, astonished at being addressed in 
 this manner, looked keenly at him, and said, 'Son 
 of Adam, you do not appear so strong/ ' Ap- 
 pearances are deceitful, 5 replied Ameen ; * but I 
 will give you proof of my strength. There,' said 
 he, picking up a stone from a rivulet, * this con- 
 tains a fluid ; try if you can so squeeze it that it 
 will flow out.' The Ghool took the stone, but after 
 a short attempt returned it, saying, ' The thing is 
 impossible.' * Quite easy,' said the Isfahanee, 
 taking the stone, and placing it in the hand in 
 which he had before put the egg : * look there ! ' 
 and the astonished Ghool, while he heard what he 
 took for the breaking of the stone, saw the liquid 
 run from between Ameen's fingers, and this ap- 
 parently without any effort. 
 
 " Ameen, aided by the darkness, placed the 
 stone upon the ground while he picked up another 
 of a darker hue. * This,' said he, * I can see, con- 
 tains salt, as you will find if you can crumble it 
 between your fingers.' But the Ghool, looking at 
 it, confessed he had neither knowledge to disco- 
 ver the qualities, nor strength to break it. * Give 
 it me,' said his companion impatiently ; and having 
 put it into the same hand with the piece of salt, 
 he instantly gave the latter, all crushed, to the 
 L 5 
 
226 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Ghool, who, seeing it reduced to powder, tasted 
 it, and remained in stupid astonishment at the 
 skill and strength of this wonderful man. Neither 
 was he without alarm lest his strength should be 
 exerted against himself; and he saw no safety in 
 resorting to the shape of a beast, for Ameen had 
 warned him that if he commenced any such un- 
 fair dealing he would instantly slay him ; for 
 Ghools, though long-lived, are not immortal. 
 
 " Under such circumstances he thought his best 
 plan was to conciliate the friendship of his new 
 companion till he found an opportunity of destroy- 
 ing him. 
 
 " * Most wonderful man ! ' he said, ' will you 
 honour my abode with your presence ? it is quite 
 at hand : there you will find every refreshment ; 
 and after a comfortable night's rest you can re- 
 sume your journey.' 
 
 " * I have no objection, friend Ghool, to accept 
 your offer : but mark me, I am, in the first place, 
 very passionate, and must not be provoked by any 
 expressions which are in the least disrespectful ; 
 and in the second, I am full of penetration, and 
 can see through your designs as clearly as I saw 
 into that hard stone in which I discovered salt : 
 so take care you entertain none that are wicked, 
 or you shall suffer.' 
 
 " The Ghool declared that the ear of his guest 
 should be pained by no expression to which it did 
 not befit his dignity to listen ; and he swore by 
 the head of his liege lord, the Angel of Death, 
 
AMEEN OF ISFAHAN AND THE GHOOL. 227 
 
 that he would faithfully respect the rights of hospi- 
 tality and friendship. 
 
 " Thus satisfied, Ameen followed the Ghool 
 through a number of crooked paths, rugged cliffs, 
 and deep ravines, till they came to a large cave, 
 which was dimly lighted. * Here,' said the Ghool, 
 1 1 dwell; and here my friend will find all he 
 can want for refreshment and repose.' So saying, 
 he led him to various apartments, in which was 
 hoarded every species of grain, and all kinds of 
 merchandize, plundered from travellers who had 
 been deluded to this den, and of whose fate 
 Ameen was too well informed by the bones over 
 which he now and then stumbled, and by the pu- 
 trid smell produced by some half-consumed car- 
 cases. 
 
 " * This will be sufficient for your supper, I 
 hope,' said the Ghool, taking up a large bag of 
 rice ; * a man of your prowess must have a toler- 
 able appetite.' * True,' said Ameen ; * but I ate 
 a sheep, and as much rice as you have there, be- 
 fore I proceeded on my journey. I am, conse- 
 quently, not hungry ; but will take a little, lest I 
 offend your hospitality.' * I must boil it for you,' 
 said the demon ; you do not eat grain and meat 
 raw, as we do. Here is a kettle,' said he, taking 
 up one lying amongst the plundered property : *I 
 will go and get wood for a fire, while you fetch 
 water with that,' pointing to a bag made of the 
 hides of six oxen. 
 
 " Ameen waited till he saw his host leave the 
 
228 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 cave for the wood ; and then, with great diffi- 
 culty, he dragged the enormous bag to the bank 
 of a dark stream which issued from the rocks at 
 the other end of the cavern, and after being visible 
 for a few yards, disappeared underground. 
 
 " How shall I, thought Ameen, prevent my 
 weakness being discovered : this bag I could hard- 
 ly manage when empty ; when full it would re- 
 quire twenty strong men to carry it : what shall 
 I do ? I shall certainly be eaten up by this can- 
 nibal Ghool, who is now only kept in order by the 
 impression of my great strength. After some 
 minutes' reflection, the Isfahanee thought of a 
 scheme, and began digging a small channel from 
 the stream towards the place where his supper 
 was preparing. 
 
 " ' What are you doing ? ' vociferated the Ghool, 
 as he advanced towards him ; * I sent you for water 
 to boil a little rice, and you have been an hour 
 about it. Cannot you fill the bag, and bring it 
 away ? ' ' Certainly I can/ said Ameen : * if I 
 were content, after all your kindness, to show my 
 gratitude merely by feats of brute strength, I 
 could lift your stream, if you had a bag large 
 enough to hold it ; but here,' said he, pointing to 
 the channel he had begun, * here is the commence- 
 ment of a work in which the mind of man is em- 
 ployed to lessen the labour of his body. This 
 canal, small as it may appear, will carry a stream 
 to the other end of the cave, in which I will con- 
 struct a dam that you can open and shut at plea- 
 
AMEEN OF ISFAHAN AND THE GHOOL. 229 
 
 sure, and thereby save yourself infinite trouble in 
 fetching water. But pray let me alone till it is 
 finished :' and he began to dig. * Nonsense !,' 
 said the Ghool, seizing the bag and filling it ; * I 
 will carry the water myself; and I advise you to 
 leave off your canal, as you call it, and follow me, 
 that you may eat your supper and go to sleep ; 
 you may finish this fine work, if you like it, to- 
 morrow morning.' 
 
 " Ameen congratulated himself on this escape, 
 and was not slow in taking the advice of his host. 
 After having eaten heartily of the supper that was 
 prepared, he went to repose on a bed made of the 
 richest coverlets and pillows, which were taken 
 from the store-rooms of plundered goods. The 
 Ghool, whose bed was also in the cave, had no 
 sooner laid down than he fell into a sound sleep. 
 The anxiety of Ameen's mind prevented him from 
 following his example : he rose gently, and having 
 stuffed a long pillow into the middle of his bed, to 
 make it appear as if he were still there, he retired 
 to a concealed place in the cavern to watch the 
 proceedings of the Ghool. The latter awoke a 
 short time before daylight, and rising went, with- 
 out making any noise, towards Ameen's bed, where 
 not observing the least stir, he was satisfied his 
 guest was in a deep sleep ; so he took up one of 
 his walking-sticks, which was in size like the trunk 
 of a tree, and struck a terrible blow at what he 
 supposed to be Ameen's head. He smiled, not to 
 hear a groan, thinking he had deprived him of 
 
230 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 life ; but to make sure of his work, lie repeated 
 the blow seven times. He then returned to rest, 
 but had hardly settled himself to sleep, when 
 Ameen, who had crept into the bed, raised his 
 head above the clothes and exclaimed, * Friend 
 Ghool, what insect could it be that has disturbed 
 me by its tapping? I counted the flap of its little 
 wings seven times on the coverlet. These vermin 
 are very annoying, for though they cannot hurt a 
 man, they disturb his rest ! ' 
 
 " The Ghool's dismay, on hearing Ameen speak 
 at all, was great ; but that was increased to per- 
 fect fright when he heard him describe seven 
 blows, any one of which would have felled an ele- 
 phant, as seven flaps of an insect's wing. There 
 was no safety, he thought, near so wonderful a 
 man; and he soon afterwards arose, and fled from 
 the cave, leaving Isfahanee its sole master. 
 
 " When Ameen found his host gone, he was at 
 no loss to conjecture the cause, and immediately 
 began to survey the treasure with which he was 
 surrounded, and to contrive means for removing 
 them to his own home. 
 
 " After ex mining the contents of the cave, and 
 arming himself with a match-lock, which had be- 
 longed to some victim of the Ghool, he proceeded 
 to survey the road. He had, however, only gone 
 a short distance, when he saw the Ghool returning 
 with a large club in his hand, and accompanied by 
 a fox. Ameei/s knowledge of the cunning animal 
 instantly led him to suspect that it had undeceived 
 
THE GOAT AND THE LION. 231 
 
 his enemy, but his presence of mind did not for- 
 sake him. ' Take that,' said he to the fox, aiming 
 a ball at him from his match-lock, and shooting 
 him through the head ; * take that for your not 
 performing my orders. That brute,' said he, ' pro- 
 mised to bring me seven ghools, that I might 
 chain them and bring them to Isfahan ; and here 
 he has only brought you, who are already my 
 slave.' So saying, he advanced towards the Ghool ; 
 but the latter had already taken to flight, and by 
 the aid of his club bounded so rapidly over rocks 
 and precipices, that he was soon out of sight. 
 
 " Ameen having marked well the path from the 
 cavern to the road, went to the nearest town, and 
 hired camels and mules to remove the property 
 he had acquired. After making restitution to all 
 who remained alive to prove their goods, he be- 
 came, from what was unclaimed, a man of wealth ; 
 all of which was owing to that wit and art which 
 ever overcome brute strength and courage." 
 
 As a parallel to the latter part of this tale, and 
 as a proof of his theory of most Persian tales 
 having been borrowed from the Hindoos, Sir J. 
 Malcolm relates the following story from the 
 Pancha Tantra of that people. 
 
 THE GOAT AND THE LION. 
 
 "The goat took shelter during a storm in the 
 den of a lion. When he saw no chance of escape, 
 
232 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 he terrified the king of the beasts by boasting of a 
 celestial origin, and telling him he had been con- 
 demned, before he could return to Heaven, to eat 
 ten elephants, ten tigers, and ten lions. He had, 
 he said, eaten every kind of animal but the lion ; 
 and saying this, he marched up to the astonished 
 monster, who fled by a back way from his den. 
 The lion in his flight met a fox, and described to 
 him the appearance of the goat (an animal he had 
 never seen before), his horns, his strange beard, 
 and, above all, his boasting language. The fox 
 laughed, and told his majesty how he had been 
 tricked. They went back together, and met the 
 goat at the entrance of the den. The latter at 
 once saw his danger, but his wits did not forsake 
 him. ' What conduct is this, you scoundrel ? ' 
 said he to the fox ; * I commanded you to get me 
 ten lions, and here you have only brought me 
 one.' So saying, he advanced boldly, and the 
 lion, again frightened by his words and actions, 
 fled in terror, allowing the goat to return quietly 
 to his home." 
 
 I am very willing to concede that this Hindoo 
 fable may have been the original of the latter part 
 of the Persian story. But how, unless by sup- 
 posing similar incidents to have been invented in 
 different countries, can we account for the re- 
 semblance between this last and the Brave Tai- 
 lorling? But it is curious enough, that most of 
 the circumstances of all three are to be found in 
 
THE LION AND THE ASS. 233 
 
 one of the stories of the Pleasant Nights ! It is 
 really very amusing to observe these various like- 
 nesses. 
 
 THE LION AND THE ASS 1 . 
 
 There was once upon a time a miller in Arca- 
 dia, a brutal ill-tempered fellow, and he gave his 
 ass such cruel treatment, that the poor animal 
 could bear it no longer. So one morning he ran 
 away from him, with the pack-saddle on his back, 
 and never stopped till he came to the foot of a 
 green flowery hill, where he resolved to take up 
 his quarters for life. He looked round on all sides, 
 and seeing no danger, mounted the hill boldly, 
 and began to feed, returning God thanks for his 
 goodness. But just then a fierce lion came out 
 of a dark cave, who, beholding the ass, marvelled 
 at his audacity in coming up on his hill ; never- 
 theless, not having before seen any such animal, 
 he was not without apprehension, and lie resolved 
 to proceed cautiously. As for the ass, his hair 
 stood on end with fear, and he could not stir from 
 the spot. The lion plucked up courage, and came 
 up, and civilly asked him who he was, and what 
 brought him there. The ass boldly asked him 
 who he was. " I am the king of all the beasts," 
 said the lion, somewhat daunted. " And what is 
 
 1 As there is no peculiar merit in the style of Strapa- 
 rola, I have abridged the story, and related it in my own 
 words. 
 
234 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 your name ?" said the ass. " They call me Lion. 
 But what is your name?" " Those who know me 
 call me Brancalion 1 ," replied the donkey. The 
 lion became now quite convinced that the ass was 
 his superior, and he said, " Brancalion, your name 
 and your words prove you to be stronger and 
 bolder than I am ; nevertheless, let us give some 
 proof of what we can do." The ass, stoutly, turned 
 round to him, and said, " See you this pack-sad- 
 dle and cross-bow ? if I were to shoot, you would 
 die with fear." So saying, he made two or three 
 curvets, and kicked up his heels in such fashion, 
 breaking the pebbles therewith, that the lion hardly 
 thought himself safe. However, as evening was at 
 hand, he asked him home to his cave, telling him 
 that in the morning he would set three things be- 
 fore him, and whoever did them best should be 
 lord of the mountain. 
 
 Next morning they set out, and went on till 
 they came to a broad deep ditch, and the lion 
 challenged the ass to jump over it. The lion 
 cleared it with ease ; but the poor donkey made 
 so awkward an attempt, that he landed with his 
 belly on a great beam that was in it, and was in 
 danger of breaking his neck. The lion, having vain- 
 ly called to him, came down and helped him off; 
 but when the ass found himself safe, he turned 
 to and began to abuse the lion for depriving him 
 of so much pleasure. "What pleasure?" said 
 
 1 Brancaleone (from brancare, to seize with the paw, and 
 teone, lion,) is difficult to translate. 
 
THE LION AND THE ASS. 235 
 
 the astonished lion. " I got across the beam on 
 purpose," said the ass ; " and I was balancing my 
 self to see which was the heavier, my head or 
 my tail." " In good truth," said the lion, " you 
 have a subtle wit. I will molest you no more, for 
 I see plainly that you are to be lord of the moun- 
 tain." 
 
 They came next to a deep rapid river. " Now," 
 said the lion, " friend Brancalion, " let us swim 
 across." " Content ! " said the ass, " but you must 
 go first." The lion, who could swim well, was soon 
 at the other side. He then called to the ass to fol- 
 low, and seeing there was no remedy, he plunged 
 in and swam to the middle of the river ; but here 
 the current was too strong for him, and it whirl- 
 ed him about at such a rate, that he lost all his 
 strength and courage. The kind lion was in great 
 perplexity how to act ; he was afraid that if he 
 did not go to his aid, he would be drowned ; and 
 that if he did go, he would kill him for his inter- 
 ference. At last, however, he plunged in, caught 
 him by the tail, and dragged him to the shore. 
 But the donkey, T ,vhen he found himself safe, got 
 into a towering rage, and lamented his misfortune 
 in losing such delight. The lion, in an agony of 
 fear, sought to excuse himself, and timidly asked 
 what the pleasure was. The ass then shook him- 
 self, and with the water there fell from him some 
 small fishes and reptiles which had stuck to him. 
 " See, you great booby," said he then, " what you 
 have done. If I had gone to the bottom, I should 
 
236 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 have caught as many fish as would have amazed 
 you. If you value my friendship, never touch me 
 again, even if you see me dead, for when I seem 
 to be dead I am only enjoying myself." 
 
 As the sun was now doubling the shadows, they 
 retired to the cave to rest ; and next morning, at 
 break of day, the lion proposed that they should 
 go hunt on different sides, and meet at a certain 
 time and place, and then he who had killed most 
 game should be lord of the mountain. This being 
 agreed on, the lion went into a wood and killed 
 plenty of animals ; the ass finding the gate of a farm- 
 yard open, went in, and meeting with a great heap 
 of oats, fell to, and ate till he was ready to burst ; 
 and then made his way to the appointed place, 
 where he lay down on the ground quite unable to 
 move from the spot. A crow happening to come 
 to the place, he contrived to catch and kill her ; 
 and when the lion came back laden with game, 
 and at his desire gave him an account of his 
 hunting, the ass mocked him to scorn, telling 
 him how he, without stirring from the spot, had 
 gorged himself with game, and had kept that fat 
 crow for him as a specimen, which he begged he 
 would take as a mark of his affection. 
 
 The lion, having taken the crow and thanked 
 the ass, went away to hunt again, firmly resolved 
 never to come back. On his way he met the wolf 
 in full gallop. " Whither so fast, Gossip Wolf? " 
 said he. " I am going on affairs of the greatest 
 importance, so pray do not stop me," replied the 
 
THE LION AND THE ASS. 237 
 
 wolf. The lion, knowing the danger into which 
 he was running, did all in his power to stay him. 
 " Close at hand," said he, " is Brancalion, a most 
 cruel animal, who has a cross-bow that makes 
 such a noise, that it is terrific to hear it ; and he 
 has, moreover, on his back a strange thing made 
 of leather, that I fancy serves him for a cuirass ; 
 his hair is grey, and he does such wonderful 
 things, as amaze all who come near him." The 
 wolf by this description knew at once what he 
 was talking about, and he said, " My lord, be 
 not afraid ; it is only an ass, the vilest creature 
 Nature has made, only fit to carry burdens and be 
 cudgelled. I have eaten many a hundred of them 
 in my time ; and though I am grey, I am not very 
 old yet. Come, Sir, and I will let you see the 
 proof of it." " Go yourself, if you like," said the 
 lion ; " for my part, I am quite satisfied with what 
 I have seen already." 
 
 The wolf, however, persuaded him ; and the lion 
 agreed to go back, on condition that they should 
 tie their two tails together, " that we may not se- 
 parate," said he, " and one of us be at his mercy." 
 So they knotted their tails and set forth. 
 
 When the ass saw them coming, he was ready 
 to die with terror, and was just preparing to run 
 away, when the lion seeing him said, " Gossip ! 
 he is corning, let us fly, or he will put us to death : 
 I know how furious he is." The wolf, who was 
 mad to attack him, said, " Wait, I pray you, my 
 lord, and do not fear, he is only an ass !" But the 
 
238 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 lion, more terrified than ever, scampered away 
 over hedge and ditch, and brake and thicket ; and 
 as he was jumping a thick hedge, a strong thorn 
 put out his left eye ; and thinking that this was 
 caused by Brancalion's cross-bow, he kept crying 
 to the wolf, " Did I not tell you so, Gossip ? let 
 us run, in the devil's name ; he has already shot 
 out my eye with his cross-bow." And away he 
 went, dragging the poor wolf over hill and dale, 
 through woods arid rocks, and briars and bram- 
 bles. At length, when he had reached, as he 
 thought, a place of safety, he said to the wolf, 
 " Gossip ! it is now time for us to untie our tails. 
 What say you ?" But getting no answer, and find- 
 ing on examination that the poor wolf was lifeless, 
 he cried, " Ah, Gossip ! did I not tell you he would 
 kill you. See what you have got! You have lost 
 your life, and I my left eye. But patience ! it is 
 better to lose a part than the whole." So, having 
 untied his tail, he left the dead wolf, and went and 
 took up his abode in the wild woods and caverns, 
 leaving the ass in possession of the hill, where he 
 lived a long time. And hence it is that the asses 
 inhabit cultivated places, and the lions the wild 
 and solitary deserts. 
 
 We may ask, Did this fable wander from the 
 banks of the Indus to those of the Po ? And who 
 can take on him to assert either the positive or 
 the negative dogmatically ? The fables of India 
 certainly made their way very early to Europe, 
 
THE LION AND THE ASS. 239 
 
 and the Lion and the Goat may have furnished 
 some circumstances to the Lion and the Ass ; but 
 Italian genius might have fallen on the same traits 
 with that of India. Like so many legends of other 
 countries, we may observe, that the object of the 
 Italian fable is to account for the different habits 
 of different animals. 
 
 I have not yet done with the stratagem (a very 
 simple one, by the way, it is,) of putting an impas- 
 sible substitute into one's bed. In Perrault's tale 
 of the Discreet Princess (L'Adroite Princesse), Fi- 
 netta makes a figure of straw, into which she puts 
 a bladder of blood, and places it in her bed ; and 
 the prince, taking it to be her, plunges his sword 
 into it. In the similar but far better story of 
 Sapia Liccarda in the Pentamerone, the heroine 
 forms an image of * sugar and spice and all that 's 
 nice,' and in like manner lays it in her bed. The 
 prince comes into the chamber determined to pay 
 her, now that she is in his power, for all her tricks 
 (she had one time, for instance, put a big stone 
 into his bed) : he draws his dagger, and with it 
 pierces, as he thought, the bosom of Sapia Lic- 
 carda. Not content with this abundant vengeance, 
 he would even taste her blood. He put his tongue 
 to the blade of the dagger, and getting the taste 
 of the sugar and spice, he repented, and began 
 bitterly to lament his having slain so srveet a girl. 
 In his despair he was about to bury the dagger in 
 
240 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 his own heart, when Sapia (who, like Finetta, was 
 concealed in the chamber,) ran to him and stopped 
 his hand, telling him that she had only done it to 
 try him. 
 
 So much, then, for tricks upon giants, gods, 
 ghools, lions, and naughty princes ! Now for one 
 of the ways to grow rich. 
 
241 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT DANISH LEGENDS ITALIAN 
 
 STORIES PERSIAN LEGEND. 
 
 RICHARD WHITTINGTON was born in the year 1360. 
 He followed the business of a mercer in the City 
 of London, and acquired great opulence. Having 
 served the office of Sheriff with credit in the year 
 1394, he was chosen Lord Mayor, and filled that 
 office not less than three times 1 , namely, in the 
 years 1398, 1407, and 1420. He was knighted, 
 it is said, by King Henry V., to whom he lent 
 large sums of money for his wars in France ; and 
 he died full of honours, if not of years, in the 
 year 1425. 
 
 " This year," (1406,) says Grafton, "a worthy 
 citizen of London named Richard Whittington, 
 mercer, and alderman, was elected mayor of the 
 said city, and bore that office three times. This 
 worshipful man so bestowed his goods and sub- 
 stance to the honour of God, to the relief of the 
 poor, and to the benefit of the common-weal, that 
 he hath right well deserved to be registered in 
 the book of fame. First, he erected one house, or 
 
 1 Stow says four times. I find by the table of mayors and 
 sheriffs in Grafton, that Whittington was both sheriff and 
 mayor in 1420; and this may have caused Stow's mistake. 
 M 
 
242 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 church, in London, to be a house of prayer, and 
 named the same after his own name, \Vhittington 
 College, and so it remaineth to this day : and in 
 the said church, beside certain priests and clerks, 
 he placed a number of poor aged men and women, 
 and builded for them houses and lodgings, and 
 allowed unto them wood, coal, cloth, and weekly 
 money, to their great relief and comfort. This 
 man also, at his own cost, builded the gate of 
 London called Newgate 1 , in the year of our Lord 
 1422, which before was a most ugly and loath- 
 some prison. He also builded more than half of 
 St. Bartholomew's Hospital, in West Smithfield 
 in London. Also he builded, of hard stone, the 
 beautiful library in the Grey Friars in London, 
 now called Christ's Hospital, standing in the north 
 part of the cloister thereof, where in the wall his 
 arms is graven in stone. He also builded, for the 
 ease of the mayor of London and his brethren, 
 and of the worshipful citizens at the solemn 
 days of their assembly, a chapel adjoining to the 
 Guildhall ; to the intent they should ever, before 
 they entered into any of their affairs, first to go 
 into the chapel, and by prayer to call upon God 
 for his assistance. And in the end, joining on the 
 south side of the said chapel, he builded for the 
 City a library of stone, for the custody of their 
 
 1 The figure of Whittington, with his cat in his arms, 
 carved in stone, was over the archway of the old prison that 
 went across Newgate Street. It was taken down in the year 
 1780. 
 
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 243 
 
 records and other books. He also builded a 
 great part of the east end of Guildhall, beside 
 many other good works that I know not. But 
 among all other I will show unto you one very 
 notable, which I received credibly by a writing of 
 his own hand, which also he willed to be fixed as 
 a scedule to his last will and testament ; the con- 
 tents whereof was, that he willed and commanded 
 his executors, as they would answer before God 
 at the day of the resurrection of all flesh, that if 
 they found any debtor of his that ought to him 
 any money, that if he were not in their consciences 
 well worth three times as much, and also out of 
 the debt of other men, and well able to pay, that 
 then they should never demand it, for he clearly 
 forgave it, and that they should put no man in 
 suit for any debt due to him. Look upon this, 
 ye aldermen, for it is a glorious glass 1 1 " 
 
 Stow 2 informs us, that Richard Whittington re- 
 built the parish church of St. Michael in the Royal, 
 and made a college of St. Spirit and St. Mary, with 
 an almshouse called God's House or Hospital for 
 thirteen poor men, who were to pray for the good 
 estate of Richard Whittington, and of Alice his 
 wife, their founders ; and for Sir William Whit- 
 tington, Knt., and Dame Joan his wife ; and for 
 Hugh Fitz warren and Dame Malde his wife, the 
 
 1 Alas, good Master Grafton ! I fear it is a glass in which 
 but few aldermen have ever dressed themselves. 
 
 2 History of London. 
 
 M 2 
 
244 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 fathers and mothers of the said Richard Whitting- 
 ton and Alice his wife ; for King Richard II., and 
 Thomas of Woodstock, special lords and pro- 
 moters of the said Whittington, &c. 
 
 From this, I think, it very clearly follows that 
 Sir Richard Whittington never could have been a 
 poor bare-legged boy l ; for it is here plainly as- 
 serted that his father was a knight ; and honours, 
 we know, were not so lavishly and indiscriminately 
 bestowed in those days as they are in our own, 
 no great proof, by the way, of the * march of in- 
 tellect.' Yet in every account of Whittington that 
 I have seen, he is said to have been born in very 
 humble circumstances. This erroneous idea has 
 evidently been owing to the popular legend of him 
 and his cat ; and it shows how fiction will occa- 
 sionally drive truth out of her domain. 
 
 Such, then, is the real history of this renowned 
 Lord Mayor ; but tradition, we know, tells a very 
 different tale : of this I must now notice a few cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 I need not tell, what every one knows, or should 
 know, how Dick Whittington, a poor orphan boy, 
 came up to London from the country, and how a 
 rich merchant named Fitzwarren took compassion 
 on him, and put him in the kitchen under his cook ; 
 or of the cook's ill-treatment of him ; or of how 
 Miss Alice, his master's daughter, showed him 
 
 1 Yet Sir W. Whittington, or whoever was the founder of 
 the family, may have been such. 
 
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 245 
 
 much kindness ; or of the miserable life the rats 
 and mice that swarmed in the garret where he 
 slept led him, till with a penny he had gotten he 
 purchased a cat. This is all beside our present 
 purpose. But Dick's master, Mr. Fitzwarren, was 
 shortly afterwards sending a ship to sea, and he 
 gave all his servants permission to send out a 
 venture in her. Poor Dick had no property on 
 earth but his cat, and by his master's orders he 
 fetched her down from his garret, and committed 
 her to the captain with tears in his eyes ; for he 
 said he should now be kept awake all night by 
 the rats and the mice. All laughed at Dick's ven- 
 ture, but Miss Alice kindly gave him money to 
 purchase another cat. 
 
 The ship was driven to the coast of Barbary ; 
 and the captain having sent specimens of his cargo 
 to the king of the country, he and his chief mate 
 were invited to court, where they were royally 
 entertained ; but the moment the dishes were set 
 on the table, rats and mice ran from all sides and 
 devoured what was on them. The captain was 
 told that the king would give half his wealth to 
 be delivered of this torment ; and instantly recol- 
 lecting poor Dick's cat, he told the king that he 
 could destroy them. He went down to the ship 
 and fetched up puss under his arm. The tables 
 were covered once more, and the usual havoc be- 
 gan ; when the cat, jumping among the depreda- 
 tors, made a carnage of them, which amazed all 
 present, The king, out of gratitude, purchased 
 
246 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the whole ship's cargo, and gave, over and above, a 
 great quantity of gold for the cat, and the captain 
 set sail for England. 
 
 To whom is the subsequent history of Richard 
 Whittington unknown ? Who knows not how, du- 
 ring the absence of the ship, he ran away from the 
 ill-treatment of the cook, and had gotten as far as 
 Holloway, when he sat down on the stone which 
 at this very day is called Whittington's Stone, and 
 heard Bow bells ring out 
 
 " Turn again, Whittington, 
 Thrice Lord Mayor of London town ! " 
 
 And how he married good Miss Alice, and be- 
 came in reality Lord Mayor of this even then 
 great city ? 
 
 In the whole of this legendary history there 
 is, as we may see, not one single word of truth 
 further than this that the maiden name of Lady 
 Whittington was Fitzwarren. It is really deserv- 
 ing of attention, as an instance of the manner in 
 which tradition will falsify history ' ; and it would 
 be extremely interesting to ascertain the exact 
 
 1 Sir James Mackintosh (History of England, i. 56.), when 
 speaking of the story of King Edgar and the fair Elfrida, 
 says, " William of Malmsbury relates the incident on the 
 authority (not to he despised) of a Saxon song." I am loth 
 to dissent from such high authority ; but my historic expe- 
 rience assures me that in the great majority of cases the evi- 
 dence of the popular tale or ballad is to be despised, at least 
 to be received with very great caution. 
 
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 24-7 
 
 age of the legend. Neither Grafton, nor Holing- 
 shed who copies him, says anything of the legen- 
 dary history of Sir Richard Whittington ; but it 
 must have been current in the reign of Elizabeth, 
 for in the first scene of Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 Knight of the Burning Pestle (about A.D. 1613), 
 the Citizen says to the Prologue, " Why could not 
 you be contented as well as others with the Le- 
 gend of Whittington ? or the Life and Death of 
 Sir Thomas Gresham, with the Building of the 
 Royal Exchange ? or the story of Queen Eleanor, 
 with the Rearing of London Bridge upon Wool- 
 sacks ? " The word legend in this place would 
 seem to indicate the story of the Cat 1 ; and we 
 cannot therefore well assign it a later date than 
 the sixteenth century. 
 
 Cats, we know, fetched a high price in America 
 when it was first colonised by the Spaniards. Two 
 cats, we are told, were taken out on speculation 
 to Cuyaba, where there was a plague of rats, and 
 they were sold for a pound of gold. Their first 
 kittens fetched each thirty pieces of eight, the 
 next generation not more than twenty, and the 
 price gradually fell as the colony became stocked 
 with them. The elder Almagro is also said to 
 have given 600 pieces of eight to the person who 
 
 2 Indeed the following note of Weber's seems to prove it. 
 " This play was probably never printed, but entered on the 
 Stationers' books Feb. 8, 1604, with the following title : ' The 
 History of Richard Whittington, of his lowe Byrthe, his great 
 Fortune, as it was plaied by the Prynce's Servants'." 
 
248 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 presented him with the first cat which was brought 
 to South America 1 . 
 
 On reading this, one might feel disposed to 
 assign a historical foundation to the legend of 
 Whittington's Cat ; but, as I shall presently show, 
 a story of the kind was current in Europe long 
 before the discovery of the New World, which 
 may, after the usual fashion, have been transferred 
 to the Lord Mayor of London, though indeed I 
 see no reason for denying his legend to be an in- 
 dependent British fiction. 
 
 It is strange what a propensity the vulgar have 
 for assigning some other cause than industry, fru- 
 gality and skill, seconded by good fortune (the 
 usual and surest road, I believe, to wealth), to the 
 acquisition of riches. I hardly ever knew, in my 
 own country, an instance of the attainment to opu- 
 lence by a man who, as the phrase goes, had risen 
 from nothing, that there was not some extraordi- 
 nary mode of accounting for it circulating among 
 the vulgar. The simplest and most usual expla- 
 nation of the phaenomenon, was to assert that he 
 had gotten a treasure in some way or other. Thus, 
 for example, I once knew a man whose original 
 name had been Halfpenny (when he rose in the 
 world he refined it to Halpen), and w r ho had 
 grown rich from the humblest means. I was one 
 day, when a boy, speaking of him and his success 
 in the world to our gardener : " Sure, then, you are 
 
 1 See the Olio, vol. x. p. 208. 
 
WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT. 249 
 
 not such a gomaril (fool), Sir," said he, smiling at 
 ray simplicity, " as to believe it was by honest in- 
 dustry he made all his money ? I '11 tell you, Sir, 
 how ic raley was. You see, he sent one time to 
 the Castle for a keg of halfpence, and, by the 
 laws ! what did they send him in mistake but a 
 keg full of goulden guineas ! And Jemmy, you 
 see, was 'cute, and he kept his own secret, and by 
 degrees he thruv, as it might be, in the world, and 
 become the man he is. That 's the rale truth of it, 
 for you !" Here then, en passant, we have an in- 
 stance of the name giving occasion to the legend. 
 I have assigned this as one of the principal sources 
 of legends in my Mythology of Greece and Italy, 
 and abundant instances of it may be found in every 
 country. Another, given on the same good au- 
 thority, may not prove devoid of interest. 
 
 There was a family of the name of Wolfe living 
 in our neighbourhood, and I was often assured 
 that originally they had had long tails that reach- 
 ed the ground, but that with each generation they 
 had shortened. " The present man," said the sage 
 horticultor, "has no tail, at least that I ever could 
 see ; and I 've hard my father say that the ould 
 man had only a little short stump, that you 'd 
 hardly notice as he was walking ; and when he 
 was riding, it used to go through a hole in the 
 back of the saddle into a little case that he had 
 made to hould it in." 
 
 People in general have also a wonderful incli- 
 nation to discover a substratum of historical truth 
 M 5 
 
250 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 in popular legends ; hence so many tasteless un- 
 poetic systems of mythology. Whittington's Cat 
 has not escaped the rationalisers) for I find that 
 in some popular History of England the story has 
 been explained, as it is called ; and I have chanced 
 to take up two or three country newspapers, into 
 which the explanation had been copied with evi- 
 dent delight. Sir Richard Whittington was, it 
 seems, the owner of a ship named the Cat, by his 
 traffic in which he acquired the greater part of 
 his wealth. This is just like the old solution of 
 the tale of Europa and the Bull : the Bull was, 
 forsooth, a ship, whose sign was a bull ! I am 
 not, however, quite sure that our worthy mercer 
 was directly engaged in foreign traffic ; and the 
 above explanation seems to me to be connected 
 with that given by Sir Matthew Mite in his Ad- 
 dress to the Society of Antiquaries ! , the profun- 
 dity of which amazed that learned body : it per- 
 haps may have been derived from that of the sa- 
 pient knight. 
 
 " That Whittington lived," said the knight, " no 
 doubt can be made ; that he was Lord Mayor of 
 London, is equally true; but as to his Cat, that, 
 gentlemen, is the Gordian knot to untie. And 
 here, gentlemen, be it permitted me to define 
 what a cat is. A cat is a domestic whiskered 
 four-footed animal, whose employment is catch- 
 ing of mice : but let puss have been ever so subtle, 
 
 1 See Foote's comedy of The Nabob. 
 
DANISH LEGENDS. 251 
 
 let puss have been ever so successful, to what 
 could puss's captures amount? No tanner can 
 curry the skin of a mouse, no family make a meal 
 of the meat, consequently no cat could giveWhit- 
 tington his wealth. 
 
 " From whence, then, does this error proceed? 
 Be that my care to point out. The commerce 
 this worthy merchant carried on was confined to 
 our coasts : for this purpose he constructed a 
 vessel, which from its agility and lightness he 
 christened a Cat. Now to this our day, Gentle- 
 men, all our coals from Newcastle are imported 
 in nothing but cats; from hence it appears, that 
 it was not the whiskered, four-footed, mouse- 
 killing cat that was the source of the magistrate's 
 wealth, but the coasting, sailing, coal-carrying cat, 
 that, gentlemen, was Whittington's Cat." 
 
 M. Thiele, in his Danish Popular Traditions, 
 a work from which I derived such valuable as- 
 sistance in the composition of the Fairy Mytho- 
 logy, relates as follows : 
 
 " The house of Katholm (Cat-isle) near Gre- 
 naae in Jutland, got its name from the following 
 circumstance. There was a man in Jutland who 
 had made a good deal of money by improper 
 means. When he died, he left his property equally 
 among his three sons. The youngest, when he got 
 his share, thought to himself, ' What comes with 
 sin, goes with sorrow ;' and he resolved to submit 
 
22 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 his money to the water-ordeal, thinking that the 
 ill-got money would sink to the bottom, and what 
 was honestly acquired swim to the top. He ac- 
 cordingly cast all his money into the water, and 
 only one solitary halfpenny ' swam. With this he 
 bought a cat ; and he went to sea, and visited 
 foreign parts. At last he chanced to come to a 
 place where the people were sadly plagued by 
 an enormous number of rats and mice ; and as 
 his cat had had kittens by this time, he acquired 
 great wealth by selling them ; and he came home 
 to Jutland, and built himself a house, which he 
 called Katholm." 
 
 Again, M. Thiele tells this legend respecting the 
 Cathedral of Ribe in Jutland. 
 
 " There was one time a poor sailor out of Ribe, 
 who came to a foreign island, whose inhabitants 
 were grievously plagued with mice. By good 
 luck he had a cat of his own on board, and the 
 people of the island gave him so much gold for 
 it, that he went home as fast as he could to fetch 
 more cats ; and by this traffic he in a short time 
 grew so rich, that he had no need of any more. 
 Some time after, when he was on his death-bed, 
 he bequeathed a large sum of money for the build- 
 ing of Ribe Cathedral ; and a proof of this is still 
 to be seen in a carving over the east door of the 
 church, representing a cat and four mice. The 
 door is called Cat-head Door (Kathoved Z)or)." 
 
 1 HalvskilUng, more correctly a farthing, for the skilling 
 is of the size of our halfpenny. 
 
ITALIAN STORIES. 253 
 
 In both these cases we may see that it was the 
 name that gave occasion to the legend. In the 
 first case, some one wanted to explain why the 
 place was called Cat-isle. The second was an 
 attempt to account for the carving of the cat and 
 mice over the church-door, which was probably 
 nothing more than a whim of the architect 1 . 
 
 Count Lorenzo Magalotti, a Florentine noble- 
 man, who flourished in the latter half of the seven- 
 teenth century, and was equally distinguished for 
 his acquirements in science and in literature, wrote 
 one time as follows to his friend Ottavio Falco- 
 
 " You must know, that at the time our Amerigo 
 Vespucci discovered the New World, there was in 
 our city a merchant whose name was Messer An- 
 saldo degli Ormanni,who, though he was very rich, 
 being perhaps desirous of doubling his wealth, 
 freighted a large ship, and began to sell his mer- 
 chandize in the newly-discovered parts of the 
 West. And having made two or three good voy- 
 ages thither, and gained immensely in his dealings, 
 
 1 In the moulding of one of the old churches at Glendaloch, 
 in the county of Wicklow in Ireland, are to be discerned the 
 figures of a man and a serpent. The tourist is therefore told 
 a legend of a huge sarpint that used to come out of the lake 
 and annoy the workmen, till the Saint abated the nuisance. 
 
 2 The original will be found in the Lettere Farniliari, 
 edited by Nardini. 
 
254 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 he determined to return there for the fourth time. 
 But scarcely had he departed from Cadiz, when a 
 most furious tempest arose, and he ran for several 
 days without knowing whither he should go, For- 
 tune however was so kind to him, that she brought 
 him to an island named Canary. He had scarcely 
 anchored, when the king of the island hearing of the 
 arrival of a vessel, came down to the port with all 
 his barons ; and having given Messer Ansaldo a 
 most gracious reception, to let him see how agree- 
 able his arrival was to him, insisted on taking him 
 with him to the royal residence. Here, the tables 
 being spread in the most sumptuous manner, he 
 sat down along with Messer Ansaldo, who seeing 
 several of the young men who waited on the king 
 holding in their hands great long rods, like those 
 carried by the Penitents, wondered very much ; 
 but as soon as the dishes were brought up, he saw 
 at once what was the cause of this mode of attend- 
 ance ; for 
 
 ' Xerxes to Greece so many men ne'er led, 
 Nor were the Myrmidons so numerous, 
 As those that on them were discovered :' 
 
 and, in fact, the mice that came from all sides, and 
 attacked those delicate meats, were so large and 
 so numerous, that it was quite wonderful. The 
 young men then bestirred themselves, and used 
 their rods vigorously to defend from them the 
 dish off which the king and Messer Ansaldo were 
 eating. 
 
 " Ansaldo, when he had heard, and in some sort 
 
TALES 
 
 F0FHJLA3B FICTIONS. 
 
 Again the feast is spread the king 
 And i 
 
 1 qu< 
 
 1', 
 
 And on the viands fall : 
 But the cuts juuij) among them suddenly, 
 And a glorious slaughter is there to see. 
 
 DRAWN BY W. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENOIUVED ON WOOD BY G. BAXTER, 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITl'AKEK AND CO. 
 
ITALIAN STORIES. 255 
 
 also seen, that the multitude of these nasty animals 
 was numberless in that island, and that no way had 
 ever been discovered of destroying them, endea- 
 voured, by signs, to let the king know that he 
 would give him a remedy which would clear the 
 country completely of such animals. So he ran 
 down to his vessel, took two remarkably fine cats, 
 a male and a female, and bringing them to the 
 king, made the tables be covered once more. 
 Scarcely had the odour of the victuals begun to 
 diffuse itself, when the usual procession made its 
 appearance ; which when the cats saw, they began 
 to skirmish away so nobly, that in a very short time 
 they had made a glorious slaughter among them. 
 The king rejoiced beyond measure at what he saw ; 
 and wishing to recompense the courtesy of Messer 
 Ansaldo, ordered several nets of pearls, and abun- 
 dance of gold and silver and other precious stones, 
 to be brought to him, and he presented them to 
 Messer Ansaldo ; who, thinking that he had now 
 made sufficient profit of his merchandize, without 
 going to dispose of it in the West, spread his sails 
 to the wind, and returned home as rich as he need 
 be. 
 
 " He frequently related to his friends his adven- 
 ture with the king of Canary, which made one of 
 them, named Giocondo de' Fisanti, resolve to sail 
 to Canary, and try his fortune there too. Tn order 
 to do so, he sold a property that he had in Val 
 d' Elsa, and, with the money it brought him, pur- 
 chased several jewels, rings, and girdles of great 
 
256 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 value ; and giving out that he was going to the 
 Holy Land, lest some blame might come on him 
 for his project, he went to Cadiz, where he em- 
 barked ; and on his arrival at Canary, he pre- 
 sented his valuables to the king, making his ac- 
 count by the rule of ' So much gives so much'. ' If 
 he gave Messer Ansaldo such enormous presents 
 for a pair of cats, what will not be the gift that 
 will be a suitable return for mine ?' But the poer 
 man deceived himself; for the King of Canary, 
 highly estimating the present made him by Gio- 
 condo, thought he could in no way make so'ade- 
 quate a return as by the gift of a cat ; so having 
 had a very fine one brought him, the progeny of 
 those of Messer Ansaldo, he made him a present 
 of it. Giocondo, thinking it was done out of 
 mockery, departed, and returned to Florence in 
 great poverty, cursing the King of Canary, the 
 mice, and Messer Ansaldo and his cats ; but he 
 was wrong in doing so, for that worthy king, when 
 lie gave him the cut, presented him with what was 
 most highly prized in the island. 
 
 " But this is quite enough of the present tale. I 
 send you a little basket with about twenty lemons 
 in it, the best that my garden has produced this 
 year. I know that you will laugh at the smallness 
 of the gift, so little suited to the greatness of my 
 mind and of your merit ; but if you recollect Gio- 
 condo's cat, you will not have a word to say ; for 
 in giving you a single lemon, I would have you to 
 know that I give you that which I esteem above all 
 
ITALIAN STORIES. 257 
 
 other things ; and this is that delicious fruit which 
 I go seeking with such care on every branch : and 
 know, that I would sooner in the middle of July 
 drink without ice, than miss for one single day in 
 the year a lemon to squeeze over my wine." &c. 
 &c. &c. 
 
 Count Magalotti loved, like Horace, to tell a 
 pleasant story on a proper occasion ; and no one 
 can say that the present story is not well told, It 
 is, however, no invention of his own, neither is it 
 a transfer of our English tale, but an old legend, 
 many years current in Italy, and printed long be- 
 fore in his own town of Florence. 
 
 There was a celebrated character in Tuscany, 
 in the fifteenth century, who was called Parson 
 (77 Piovano) Arlotto, distinguished for the excel- 
 lence of his life and the richness of his humour. 
 After his death, a collection of his witty sayings 
 was made and printed ] . Among them is the fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 " A priest, who was somewhat akin to the par- 
 son, having gone in the Florentine galleys, and 
 finding in Flanders tennis-balls at a low price, 
 bought three great casks full of them, without 
 consulting the parson or any one else. He laid 
 out all the money he had ; and thinking he had 
 made a capital hit, told it with great glee to the 
 
 1 Facezie, Motti, Buffonerie et Burle del Piovano Arlotto. 
 In Firenze appresso, i Giunti, 1565. 
 
258 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 parson, who, being a prudent man, would not 
 blame the thing, since it was done, but told him, 
 1 that when they should be returned to Florence, 
 he would tell him the story of the cats of the Ge- 
 noese merchant. When the galleys returned to 
 the port of Pisa, the priest began to sell his balls 
 there ; and then he sold them at Florence, and with 
 less than half a cask he supplied all the shops for 
 several years ; and having no hope of getting them 
 ofFin five-and-twenty years, even though he should 
 sell them ever so cheap, he went to the parson 
 Arlotto, lamenting that he had not acted by his 
 advice. The parson then said to him, ' I will tell 
 you the story of the cats.' 
 
 " There was a lucky Genoese merchant, who, 
 as he was at sea, was carried by fortune to a very 
 distant island, where there had never been any 
 Christian ; and a great king reigned there, who, 
 when he heard of the ship, wondered much, and 
 having spoken with the owner one morning, in- 
 vited him to dinner : and when they sat down to 
 table, a wand was put into the hands of each, and 
 of the merchant among the rest, at which he won- 
 dered greatly ; and when the bread and the other 
 meats were set on the table, more than a thousand 
 mice presented themselves with great noise, so that 
 if they would defend the victuals, it was necessary 
 to employ the wands. 
 
 " The Genoese was astonished at all this, and 
 he asked whence this great multitude of mice 
 came. He was told that the whole island was full of 
 
ITALIAN STORIES. 259 
 
 them, and that if it were not for that curse, there 
 would not be a happier realm than it ; for all the 
 precious things of the world grew there, and were 
 found there, such as gold, silver, metals of every 
 kind, wheat, wine, corn of every sort, fruits, wax, 
 silk, and every good thing that the earth produces ; 
 but that these animals destroyed everything ; and 
 it was necessary to keep the bread, the clothes, 
 and all other things, hung in the air, from those 
 hooks in the roofs. Then said the merchant, * Your 
 Majesty has had me to dine with you this morn- 
 ing, and I will take the liberty to return of myself 
 tomorrow.' And going back to the ship, he put 
 next morning a cat in his sleeve, and returned to 
 the city : and when they sat down at the table 
 with those same wands in their hands, and the 
 bread and victuals came, the mice ran in hundreds 
 as usual ; and then the captain opened his sleeve, 
 and the cat in an instant jumped among the mice 
 with such dexterity and ferocity, that in a little 
 time she killed more than a hundred of them, and 
 all the rest fled away in terror. The agility and 
 ferocity of so small an animal appeared a wonder- 
 ful thing to the king and all the bystanders ; and 
 he asked particularly where she was bred, what 
 she fed on, and how long she lived. The captain 
 told him all, and added, ' Sire, I will present Your 
 Majesty with two pair of these cats, which, if they 
 are taken proper care of, will fill the whole king- 
 dom with cats in a few years.' He sent for them 
 to the ship, and gave them to the king, who thought 
 
260 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 this a gift which could not be compensated. So 
 having consulted with his barons, and reckoning 
 that he had brought the salvation of the whole 
 kingdom, he gave him, between gold, silver, and 
 jewels, the value of more than 200,000 ducats. 
 
 " The merchant, thus grown rich, returned to 
 Genoa, where in a few days the fame of his good- 
 fortune spread, and several thought of trying their 
 luck by going to that country, though it was such 
 a way off and the voyage dangerous, and taking 
 thither the same kind of animals. There was 
 among them one of a lofty mind, who resolved to 
 take thither other merchandize than cats, though 
 he was advised against it by the first ; and he 
 brought with him to present to the king garments 
 of brocade, of gold, of silver, furniture for beds, 
 for horses, and other things, and various sweet- 
 meats, and presents of great value, to the amount 
 of more than 10,000 crowns. 
 
 " The king joyfully accepted the rich present ; 
 and after several banquets and caresses, he con- 
 sulted with his wise men what he should give the 
 merchant in return. One said one thing, and one 
 another. The king thought everything else of 
 little worth ; and being liberal and great-minded, 
 he resolved to give him part of the most valuable 
 tilings he had ; and he presented him with one of 
 those cats, as a thing most precious. The un- 
 lucky merchant returned to Genoa in very ill- 
 humour. And so I say to you, that as you would 
 not act by my advice, you bought, out of thirst of 
 
ITALIAN STORIES. 261 
 
 gain, what you did not understand, and you never 
 will get back one half of your money." 
 
 We thus have the story of the cat in Italy about 
 the time of Whittington ; for Arlotto was born in 
 1396, and died in 1483 ; and as it is not likely 
 that he invented it, it was probably a common 
 story before Whittington was born. In fact, a 
 story of the kind is to be found a current legend 
 in the thirteenth century. 
 
 In the Chronicle of Albert, abbot of the convent 
 of St. Mary at Stade, written in that century, and 
 extending from the Creation to the year 1256, 
 we read as follows under the year 1175 l . 
 
 " At this time the Venetians had a dispute with 
 the Emperor. Now Venice is a city in the Adri- 
 atic Sea, an island, not indeed by nature, but 
 made by art ; and it thus began. King Attila, 
 besieging Aquilina, put its inhabitants to flight, 
 who coming to the place where Venice now is, 
 heaped up there an island, and named it Venice, 
 a venalitate vel venatione. There dwelt there in 
 the beginning two fellow-citizens, the one rich, the 
 other poor. The rich man went to trade, and he 
 asked his comrade for merchandize. ' I have no- 
 thing/ said the poor man, ( but two cats.' The 
 rich man took them with him, and he came by 
 chance to a land where the whole place was de- 
 
 1 Chronicon Albert! Abbatis Stadensis a condito orbe usque 
 ad auctoris setatem, &c. Helmsestadii, 1687. This was the 
 first, and I believe the only impression. 
 
262 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 vastated by mice. He sold the cats for a great 
 deal of money, and having purchased very many 
 things for his comrade, he brought them to him." 
 
 Thus we see that the story was apparently an 
 old one in Italy in the thirteenth century, and con- 
 nected with the tradition of the origin of Venice. 
 Further back I cannot trace it l . 
 
 The story however is, as we shall see, not pe- 
 culiar to Europe. It occupies a place in Persian 
 history and topography. 
 
 " This island, called Kais by the natives, makes 
 a considerable figure in Persian history, and is par- 
 ticularly mentioned in the Tarikh al Wasaf, a book 
 highly esteemed by the Persians. Its history, as 
 related to me by the Persian ambassador, is found- 
 ed on a tale which perhaps may remind us of Whit- 
 tington and his Cat ; for it is stated, that in the 
 700th year of the Hejira (A.D. 1300), in the town 
 of Siraf lived an old woman with her three sons, 
 who, turning out profligates, spent their own pa- 
 trimony and their mother's fortune, abandoned 
 her, and went to live at Kais. A little while after, 
 
 1 Were it not for the assistance which I have received from 
 Mr. Douce, this chapter would be far more imperfect than it 
 is. He furnished me with the references which enabled me 
 to obtain the two last legends ; and it was he who directed 
 my attention to the Knight of the Burning Pestle. See above, 
 p. 247. 
 
PERSIAN LEGEND. 263 
 
 a Siraf merchant undertook a trading voyage to 
 India, and freighted a ship. It was the custom of 
 those days, that when a man undertook a voyage 
 to a distant land, each of his friends entrusted to 
 his care some article of their property, and re- 
 ceived its produce on his return. The old woman, 
 who was a friend of the merchant, complained that 
 her sons had left her so destitute, that, except a 
 cat, she had nothing to send as an adventure, which 
 yet she requested him to take. 
 
 " On arriving in India, he waited upon the king 
 of the country, who, having granted him permis- 
 sion to trade with his subjects, also invited him to 
 dine. The merchant was surprised to see the 
 beards of the king and his courtiers encased in 
 golden tubes, and the more so when he observed 
 that every man had a stick in his hand. His sur- 
 prise still increased, when, upon the serving up of 
 the dishes, he saw swarms of mice sally out from 
 the wall, and make such an attack upon the vic- 
 tuals as to require the greatest vigilance of the 
 guests in keeping them off with their sticks. This 
 extraordinary scene brought the cat of the old 
 woman of Siraf into the merchant's mind. When 
 he dined a second time with the king, he put the 
 cat under his arm ; and no sooner did the mice 
 appear, than he let it go ; and to the delight of 
 the king and his courtiers, hundreds of mice were 
 laid dead about the floor. The king, of course, 
 longed to possess so valuable an animal, and the 
 merchant agreed to give it up, provided an ade- 
 
264 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 quate compensation were made to its real owner. 
 When the merchant was about his departure, he 
 was shown a ship finely equipped, laden with all 
 sorts of merchandize, and which he was told was 
 to be given to the old woman for her cat. She, of 
 course, could scarcely yield credit to his tale ; but 
 when she found that he was in earnest, and that 
 she was possessed of such vast wealth, she im- 
 parted her good fortune to her sons, who came 
 over to her, and after having made merry with the 
 ready money, embarked with their mother and the 
 rest of the property, and established themselves at 
 Kais. Here they traded with great success, until 
 their name became so famous, that twelve ships, 
 all at one time, were consigned to them. They 
 managed, by stratagem, to make away with the 
 owners of these ships, seized their property, and 
 commenced pirates. In this new character they 
 were again successful, and became so powerful 
 that they braved the king of the country, who 
 was too weak to destroy them. In the course of 
 time, indeed, their descendants became the kings 
 of Kais, and are known in Persian history under 
 the name of the Beni Kaiser. At length their 
 power was destroyed by Atta Beg, then king of 
 Pars ; and since then, their possessions have been 
 annexed to the Persian dominions V 
 
 This legend is also briefly narrated from the 
 1 Morier, Second Journey through Persia, &c.> p. 31. 
 
PERSIAN LEGEND. 265 
 
 Tarikh al Wasaf, by Sir William Ouseley '. Ac- 
 cording to him, one Keis 2 , the son of a poor 
 widow at Siraf, embarked for India with his sole 
 property a cat; and having, by means of her, ac- 
 quired great riches, as is above related, he went, 
 with his mother and his brothers, and settled on 
 the island which he called after his own name. 
 
 There are some further discrepancies between 
 these two accounts. Sir W. Ouseley, for instance, 
 says that the event occurred in the tenth, Mr. Mo- 
 rier, in the fourteenth century ; and according to 
 the former, the Tarikh al Wasaf was composed at 
 the end of the thirteenth or beginning of the four- 
 teenth century. I will further observe, that if, as 
 Mr. Morier states, the power of the Beni Kaiser 
 was destroyed by the Atta-beg 3 of Fars, the year 
 of the Hejira 700 cannot be that in which the cat 
 was taken to India ; for the power of all the Atta- 
 begs of Persia was destroyed by Hulagu Khan 
 about the middle of the preceding century. 
 
 These, however, are matters of little conse- 
 quence : what is of importance is, that we have 
 the legend in Persia before Whittington was born ; 
 and, as we have seen, its European date in one 
 
 1 Travels in various Countries of the East, &c., i. p. 170. 
 
 2 Kais and Keis are to be pronounced alike. They are 
 both attempts at expressing the long diphthongal sound of 
 our letter i. The usual and proper sound of these two di- 
 phthongs is as in rain, rein ; and it can be only conventionally 
 that they have the sound of i in mine. 
 
 3 Atta-beg is a title, not a proper name. See my Outlines 
 of History, p. 252. 
 
 N 
 
266 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 instance goes further back than even that of the 
 Persian legend. What, then, are we to say ? Did 
 the fiction come from the East? or did it go to the 
 East ? or was it invented in both the East and the 
 West ? Let every one judge for himself; my own 
 opinion is in favour of the last supposition. 
 
 I have now brought together more stories of 
 fortune-making cats than ever were, I believe, col- 
 lected before : whether they are of any value, or 
 not, is another question, and one into which I will 
 not enter. There are, however, persons who think 
 that time is not absolutely thrown away though 
 spent in tracing popular fictions to their source. 
 For such chiefly has this chapter been written. 
 I will now proceed to treat of higher matters. 
 
 " Per correr miglior acqua alza le vele 
 Omai la navicella del mio ingegno." 
 
267 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE EDDA SIGURD ANDBRYNHILDA VOLUND HELGI 
 
 HOLGER DANSKE OGIER LE DANOIS TOKO WILLIAM 
 
 TELL. 
 
 IN the Tunga Norraena (Northern Tongue), or an- 
 cient language of the North of Europe, are still ex- 
 isting two collections of mythological narratives of 
 the actions of the gods and heroes of the Gothic 
 tribes. These collections are named the Elder and 
 the Younger Edda. The former, which is in verse, 
 consists of poems collected in the latter half of the 
 eleventh century by a man named Saemund, who 
 was a Christian minister in Iceland, and was named 
 the Learned (Hm Frode), on account of his great 
 knowledge, knowledge which among his con- 
 temporaries and posterity brought him under the 
 suspicion of being at the least a white wizard. The 
 purity of his life and manners preserved him from 
 a worse appellation. 
 
 These poems, of whose genuineness there can- 
 not be the slightest reasonable suspicion, contain 
 the ideas and opinions of the Pagan Northmen, for 
 it was only in the beginning of the eleventh cen- 
 tury that Christianity was established by law in 
 Iceland. Saemund, who was born in 1054-57 and 
 who died at the age of seventy-seven, probably 
 N 2 
 
268 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 made his Collection towards the end of the cen- 
 tury, when many were living who knew the poems 
 by heart ; perhaps some had been already written 
 out, or the wooden tables on which the ancient 
 Northmen used to inscribe their poems in their 
 Runic characters were still in existence. At all 
 events, Saemund's Edda must be regarded as one 
 of the most curious monuments we possess, and 
 invaluable for the aid it affords us in ascertaining 
 the opinions and manners of our forefathers. 
 
 The principal personages in the heroic poems 
 of the Edda are Sigurd and Brynhilda, the artist 
 Volund, and the two heroes named Helgi. All of 
 these I am disposed to regard as belonging to the 
 original fabulous cycle of the North, and as being 
 to it what the Heroes of Greece and the Pahlu- 
 wans of Persia are to those of these countries. 
 
 In the case of Sigurd it is said, that as he is so 
 renowned in the romance of Germany under the 
 name of Siegfried l , the probability is that he has 
 been transferred from German to Scandinavian fa- 
 ble. That such may be the case I am far from 
 denying; but on the other hand, when I consi- 
 der the general independence of the Northern 
 mythology, and the decidedly Northern aspect of 
 several of the circumstances in the history of the 
 hero, such as his killing of Fafner under the form 
 of a dragon, and getting possession of his treasure, 
 
 1 Perhaps it is also the Anglo-Saxon Siward, the modern 
 Seward. 
 
SIGURD AND BRYNHILDA. 269 
 
 and his first meeting with Brynhilda in the castle 
 surrounded by fire, where she lay buried in slum- 
 ber, Odin having pierced her with his sleep-thorn 
 I am inclined to assert that the legend sprang 
 up on the soil of Scandinavia l . Possibly we might 
 go further, and, giving it a most remote antiquity, 
 pronounce it to be common to the whole Gotho- 
 Germanic race ! 
 
 I am led to believe it to be a most ancient le- 
 gend from the following circumstance. The name 
 Brynhilda is evidently the same with that of Bru- 
 nichilda, or Brunehault, the queen so celebrated 
 in the history of the Merovingian race in France. 
 Now it is remarkable enough, that Brunehault was 
 daughter to Athanagild, king of the West-Goths 
 in Spain ; and it is quite consonant to the general 
 usage to suppose that she may have been named 
 after a heroine of popular tradition. This would 
 make the story of Sigurd and Brynhilda to have 
 been familiarly known in the sixth century, or 
 rather to have been brought with them from their 
 Scandinavian abodes by the Goths at the time of 
 their migration southwards, and would thus tend 
 very much to confirm the opinion of its Northern 
 origin. It may certainly be said that the heroine 
 was named after the queen, or was given a name 
 
 1 Lachman, in an essay on the Lay of the Nibelungs, in a 
 late number of the Rhenisches Museum, gives an opinion the 
 same as that in the text. It has pleased me to find my own 
 opinion thus confirmed. Others may have expressed them- 
 selves to the same effect, but I am not aware of it 
 
270 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 which was in common use, and that the legend 
 may thus be a late fiction ; but to any one versed 
 in tradition and mythology, the preceding suppo- 
 sition will, I think, appear far more probable. 
 
 The history of Volund, the Daedalus of North- 
 ern mythology, loses itself in a similar manner in 
 the uncertainty of antiquity. In a dissertation on 
 this subject which has lately appeared J , it is shown 
 that not only is he the hero of one of the songs of 
 Saemund's Edda, and a distinguished character in 
 the Vilkina Saga, and that his memory still lives 
 in the North, but that his name and story are to 
 be found in Anglo-Saxon poetry, and that his skill 
 as an artist is celebrated in the German and French 
 romance of the Middle Ages 2 . If the date assigned 
 in this work to the Latin poem on Walter Prince 
 of Aquitaine be correct, the name of Volund was fa- 
 mous in France in the sixth century ; King Alfred 
 certainly spoke of him in the ninth, in such a man- 
 
 1 Veland le Forgeron, par G. B. Depping et F. Michel. 
 Paris, 1833. M. Michel, whom I have the pleasure of 
 knowing, though a very young man, has a surprisingly ex- 
 tensive acquaintance with the French MSS. of the Middle 
 Ages. His future labours will, I am convinced, be of the ut- 
 most importance. The chapter of the "Traditions Fran- 
 Daises" by him in the present work is of great value, and it 
 proves the wide range of his reading in this department. 
 
 2 His French name is Galans, Galant, or Galland ; his 
 German one, Wieland. It is curious enough that both of these 
 should be proper names at the present day. Perhaps the 
 English Wayland, Weyland and Welland, come from the 
 Weland of the Anglo-Saxons, 
 
VOLUND. 271 
 
 ner as shows that his name must have been long 
 familiar in England 1 . The legend therefore, if 
 peculiar to the North, must have left it as early 
 as that of Sigurd and Brynhilda ; but perhaps, as 
 I have hinted above, these tales were common to 
 the whole Gotho-Germanic race. The Germans 
 may not have been in quite so low a degree of 
 culture as Tacitus represents them ; but even sup- 
 posing they were, we have testimony to prove that 
 the people of the Scanic peninsula were much 
 further advanced in knowledge than we usually 
 imagine. Indeed their historian Jornandes asserts, 
 that the philosophy of the Goths fell little short 
 of that of the Greeks. He means, I think, their 
 mythic legends, which are perhaps more philoso- 
 phical than those of Greece. And here I must pro- 
 test against the assertion of Depping, that Vulcan 
 and Daedalus have been the originals of Volund. 
 
 1 Alfred, in his translation of Boethius' Consolation of 
 Philosophy, gives for the Ubinuncfidelis ossa Fabricii jacent 
 of the original, the following paraphrase : 
 
 Hwaer sint nu thaes wisan 
 
 Welandes ban, 
 
 Thaes goldsmithes 
 
 The waes geo maerest. 
 
 That is : ' Where are now the wise Weland's bones, the 
 goldsmith's who was the greatest?' Weland is also spoken of 
 in Beowulf, which is placed in the seventh or eighth century. 
 We find him again in the metrical romance of ' Horn childe 
 and maiden Rimnildt.' See Ritson's Ancient English Metrical 
 Romances, iii. p. 295. The legend of Wayland Smith in 
 White Horse Vale in Berkshire, is familiar to every reader of 
 Kenilworth. 
 
272 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 There is certainly a resemblance between him and 
 Daedalus, particularly in the circumstance of their 
 both escaping from the kings who detained them 
 by flying through the air, and I think the Volund 
 of the Vilkina Saga may have gotten some traits 
 of Daedalus, for that Saga, which was probably 
 written in the fifteenth, is by none placed higher 
 than the thirteenth century. In this Volund, like 
 Daedalus, makes himself wings, but in the song 
 of the Edda he, as being an Alf, seems to have 
 possessed the power of departing whenever he 
 pleased, and only to have staid to accomplish 
 his revenge. But I regard the resemblance be- 
 tween the artists of Grecian and Scandinavian 
 mythology as one of those casual ones of which I 
 have given so many instances l . If any legend is 
 decidedly Gotho-Germanic, I would say it is that 
 of Volund. 
 
 In the French romance called La Fleur des Ba- 
 
 1 The only resemblance which Mr. Depping points out 
 between Vulcan and Volund (why did not the similarity of 
 name strike him?) is, that they were both artists, and both 
 lame. He should have noticed what Pytheas of Marseilles, 
 the earliest voyager to the North, tells us of Lipara and 
 Strongyla. " Hephaestus," he says, " seems to dwell here, 
 for the roaring of fire is heard, and it was said of old that 
 whoever brought thither a price of unwrought iron, would, 
 on coming next day and laying down the price, get a sword, 
 or whatever else he wanted." Scholl. Apoll. Rhod. iv. 7G1. 
 Compare the legend of Wayland Smith in Berkshire. Those 
 who see transmission everywhere, should say that Pytheas 
 brought this from Thule, or that it came from Lipara to 
 Berks. 
 
VOLUND. 273 
 
 failles, Doolin de Mayence, the following circum- 
 stance occurs, which looks as if the knowledge of 
 Volund's superior nature had been preserved by 
 tradition. In the Edda, Volund is an Alf, and he is 
 married to a Valkyria : in the romance, we are told 
 of the hero's sword Merveilleuse, that it " had 
 been made in the forge of Galant, and a Fay 
 sharpened it without falsehood; but Galant did 
 not make it, for it was one of his apprentices. 
 And now it behoves us to speak of it : when Doo- 
 lin's sword was made and ground, and that Ga- 
 lent's mother had said her prayers over it, she 
 blessed and charmed it, as being one who was a 
 worker of enchantment 1 ." Ogier's sword Certain, 
 or Cortana, by the way, was made by Galant ; as 
 also were, according to the romances, Joiouse 
 the sword of Charlemagne, Durendal that of Ro- 
 land, and Floberge 12 (the Frusberta of the Italians,) 
 that of Renaud. Several other renowned weapons 
 came also from his workshop. 
 
 1 " . . . . laquelle avoit este faicte en la forge de Galant, et 
 1'afila une fee sans mentir ; mais Galant ne la fit pas, car ce fut 
 ling sien aprentis. Et ores maintenant en convient a parler. 
 Quant Tespee a Doolin fut forgee et esmoulue, et que la mere 
 a Galant eut dit ses oraisons dessus elle, la seigna et conjura 
 comme celle qui estoit ouvriere de faer." 
 
 2 It is remarkable enough, that the Fay tries the edge of 
 this sword pretty much in the same manner as Volund does 
 his in the Vilkina Saga. Volund held a sword in a stream, 
 and let a large piece of wood float down against it, which it 
 cut asunder ; the Fay placed the sword, edge downwards, on 
 a large tripod (trepied), and next morning she found the tri- 
 pod cut through. 
 
274 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 All that is to the present purpose in the history 
 of the first Helgi is, that his wife Svava was a 
 Valkyria, and that both he and she were born 
 again after their death. The story of the second, 
 named Hundingsbana, (Hunding's Slayer,} after a 
 king of that name whom he slew in battle, runs 
 thus : 
 
 Helgi was the son of King Sigmund and the 
 fair Borghilda. The night he was born the eagles 
 screamed, the waters of heaven descended, and 
 the thunder roared around his father's castle. The 
 Norns l came to appoint his future destiny. Amid 
 the pealing of the storm they span with vigour 
 the thread of fate, and bade him be the first among 
 princes, the best among kings. They unrolled 
 the golden band, and fastened it in the midst of 
 the Moon's hall (the sky) ; they stretched the 
 ends to the east and the west, to mark the bounds 
 of the king's dominion. One Norn cast a clue to- 
 wards the north, and bade him evermore to hold 
 thereby. Raven screamed to raven, as they sat 
 hungry on the lofty tree, exulting that the friend 
 of bird and beast of prey was born : the people 
 rejoiced at the prospect of happy times ; the king 
 himself left his wars, to bestow gifts on his son : 
 he named him Helgi, and gave him many lands, 
 and a sword richly adorned. 
 
 1 The Norns answer to the Mcerae, Parcae or Destinies of 
 Classic mythology. 
 
F0FULAB FITI 
 
 Mid the t:-m-,:lt of the fi-ht 
 
 And desi-emlins from the sky 
 (.'me the m-ii.l* of V*11i:ill hi-h, 
 Through tlie air their coursers ili 
 Beam-, of light around them fl-uli 
 
 \V. 11. BROOKE, P. S. A., IlMIiJ \vr.I) <)V \' 
 
 iM-Mi.isnr,!) )5Y w!iirr\Ki:u \M> co. 
 
HELGI. 275 
 
 When Helgi had attained his fifteenth year, he 
 became the leader of hosts. One of his earliest 
 actions was the slaying of King Hunding, whose 
 four sons, when they came to seek vengeance for 
 the death of their father, also fell by the hand of 
 the young hero, and the race of Hunding became 
 extinct. During the engagement, a splendid light 
 came over the field of battle, and amidst it a troop 
 of maidens (Valkyrias *) appeared, riding through 
 the air, their heads covered with helmets, their cors- 
 lets besprinkled with blood, and beams of light 
 streaming from the heads of their lances, The un- 
 daunted hero asked the goddesses to accompany 
 the warriors home ; but one of them, (a mortal 
 maiden named Sigrun, daughter of King Hogni,) 
 made answer and said, that they had other things 
 to employ them than drinking with the breakers 
 of armour. " My father," said she, " has pro- 
 mised his maiden to Hodbrodd, the grim son of 
 Granmar ; but I have answered the proud king as 
 he deserved. The chief will come in a few nights, 
 and he will take away the maid, unless you look 
 to arms." 
 
 Helgi sent forthwith his messengers every- 
 where to collect forces. Having assembled a fleet, 
 
 1 There is much obscurity about these beings : they waited 
 at table on the dwellers of Valhall, and it was also a part of 
 their office to conduct the souls of those who fell in battle to 
 that place of bliss. They are sometimes confounded with 
 the Norns; just as the Grecian Keres, whom they resemble, 
 are with the Erinnyes. 
 
276 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 he set sail to engage the men of Hodbrodd; but on 
 the voyage, Ran, the wife of ^Egir the sea-god, and 
 her daughters, assailed his ships, and attempted 
 to upset them ; but a light burst over the ships 
 amid the storm, his protecting Valkyria appeared 
 coming to his aid, and Sigrun delivered the ves- 
 sels from the hands of the sea-maidens. In the en- 
 gagement which ensues at Frekastein, Hodbrodd 
 and his brothers are slain. The helm-adorned 
 Valkyrias again descend from heaven, and Sigrun, 
 the high-flying maid, says 
 
 "Happily shall thou, O king! Well beseem 
 
 Over the people rule ! Gold-red wings 
 
 Branch of Yngva's stem! And the wealthy maid. 
 
 And in life be glad, Happy thou 
 
 Since thou hast felled Shalt possess 
 
 The flight-shunning Hogni's daughter 
 
 Prince, who desired And Ringsteda, 
 
 The warrior's death. Victory and lands. 
 
 Andthee, O king! Now the strife is over!" 
 
 Among the slain at Frekastein were Hogni, the 
 father of Sigrun, and her brother Braga : her other 
 brother Dag was dismissed, on his oath to main- 
 tain peace in future with the Ylfings. Helgi dried 
 the tears of Sigrun, by reminding her that none 
 could escape his fate ; and he made her his bride.* 
 She became the mother of sons, but the days of 
 Helgi were not many. Dag longed to avenge the 
 death of his father, and he offered a sacrifice to 
 Odin, who lent him his lance ; and the first time he 
 met his brother-in-law, he ran him through with 
 it. He then came to Seva-hill, the abode of Helgi, 
 
HELGI. 277 
 
 and informed his sister of her husband's death. 
 Sigrun, in her grief and despair, reproached him 
 with his perjury, and gave him her malediction ; 
 but Dag cast all the blame upon Odin, who had 
 set strife between kinsmen, and offered her one 
 half of the lands for herself and her sons. 
 
 A stately mound was raised over Helgi ; and 
 when he came to Valhall, Odin desired him to 
 rule over all like himself. 
 
 As Sigrun's maid was passing one evening by 
 Helgi's mound, she saw him riding to it with a 
 number of men in his company. In surprise she 
 cried out, 
 
 " Is it an illusion Whither your horses 
 
 I chance to see, Urge ye with spurs ? 
 
 Or the twilight of the gods ? Or have the heroes got 
 
 Do dead men ride ? Leave to come home ?" 
 
 Helgi's ghost replies, 
 
 " *T is not an illusion Though we our horses 
 
 Thou chancest to see, Urge on with spurs. 
 
 Or the twilight of the gods ; Nor have the heroes got 
 
 Though us thou behold, Leave to come home." 
 
 The maid then went home, and told Sigrun to 
 go forth if she would see the leader of the people, 
 for that his mound was open, and he was come 
 with his wounds all bleeding, and calling for her 
 to stop the blood. Sigrun instantly set out, and 
 entered Helgi's mound. She said, 
 
 " Now am I as glad When for them they know 
 
 At meeting thee Prepared is warm prey, 
 
 As the spoil-greedy Or dew-besprinkled 
 
 Hawks of Odin ; Day's brows (dawn) they behold. 
 
278 
 
 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 The lifeless king 
 Kiss I will, 
 Ere thou cast off 
 Thy bloody corslet. 
 Helgi ! thy hair is 
 Full of rime frost. 
 
 The hero's whole body 
 Dew of battle has bathed. 
 Hogni's friend hath 
 His hands water-cold 
 How shall I, king! 
 Free thee from this ?" 
 
 Helgi's ghost replies, 
 
 " Alone thou 'rt cause, Sigrun ! Well should we enjoy 
 Noblest drink 2 , 
 Although life and land 
 We have lost. 
 Let no man sing 
 
 From Seva-hill, 
 
 That Helgi's bathed 
 
 In sorrow's dew. 
 
 Thou weepest, Gold-decked ! 
 
 Songs of sorrow, 
 Although on my breast 
 Wounds he behold. 
 Now are concealed 
 Women in the mound, 
 Sisters of kings, 
 With us the dead." 
 
 Cruel tears, 
 
 Sun-bright South's daughter ! 
 
 Ere thou goest to sleep. 
 
 Each bloody tear 
 
 Falls on the king's breast, 
 
 Ice-cold, piercing, 
 
 Swoln with grief 1 , 
 
 Sigrun then makes a bed in the mound, and 
 says that she will sleep in the arms of her hero, 
 as she had done when he was alive. The ghost 
 replies, 
 
 Arms thou sleepest, 
 White in the mound, 
 Hogni's daughter ! 
 Though thyself art alive, 
 Thou king-begotten!" 
 
 " Now say I nothing 
 Will incredible be, 
 Early or late 
 At Seva-hill ! 
 Since in the dead man's 
 
 The ghost continues, 
 
 " 'T is time now to ride 
 To the reddening road, 
 
 To let my pale steed 
 Tread the air-path. 
 
 1 It was perhaps is the belief in the North, that the tears 
 of their relations caused in this manner pain to the departed. 
 
 2 That is, in Valhall. 
 
HOLDER DANSKE. 279 
 
 O'er the bridges of heaven 1 Ere the cock of the hall 
 The sky must T reach, Wake the heroes up. 
 
 The hero and his train rode away, and Sigrun 
 and her maid returned home. Next evening Si- 
 grun directed her maid to watch at the mound. 
 At the last glimmer of day -light she repaired thi- 
 ther herself. Full of impatience, she said, 
 
 " Sure now were come, Hope is decaying ; 
 
 If come he would, Since the eagles sit 
 
 Sigmund's son On the boughs of the ash, 
 
 From Odin's hall ; And to dreams' invitation 
 
 Of the hero's coming All the people assent." 
 
 The maid said, 
 
 " Be not so senseless All ghosts are 
 
 Alone to go, In the night-time 
 
 Skiolding's sister! Stronger, O woman! 
 
 To the abode of the dead. Than in bright day." 
 
 Sigrun died soon after of care and grief. It is 
 said, adds our author, that she and Helgi were 
 born over again, such being the belief of the old 
 times ; and that he was called Helgi Haddings- 
 bana, and she Kara, the daughter of Haldan, and 
 that she was a Valkyria. 
 
 The Danish peasantry of the present day relate 
 many wonderful things of an ancient hero whom 
 they name Holger Danske, i. e. Danish Holger, 
 and to whom they ascribe wonderful strength and 
 
 1 i. e. Bifrost, the Rainbow. 
 
280 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 dimensions, just as the Greeks described their 
 Hercules, the Persians their Roostem, the Irish 
 their Finn Mac Cool, as far exceeding their fellow 
 inhabitants of earth in these qualities. If, how- 
 ever, we except the classic Orion, no hero of po- 
 pular tradition could vie in size with him of Den- 
 mark, as the following anecdote will prove 1 . 
 
 Holger Danske came one time to a town named 
 Bagsvaer in the isle of Zealand, where being in want 
 of a new suit of clothes, he sent for twelve tai- 
 lors to make them. He was so tall that they were 
 obliged to set ladders to his back and shoulders 
 to take his measure 2 . They measured and mea- 
 sured away, but unluckily the man who was on 
 the top of one of the ladders happened, as he was 
 cutting a mark in the measure, to give Holger's 
 ear a clip with the scissors. Holger, without re- 
 flecting, thinking it was one of those little * beasts 
 familiar to man' that was biting him, put up his 
 hand, and crushed the unlucky tailor to death 
 between his fingers. 
 
 It is also said that a witch one time gave him a 
 pair of spectacles which would enable him to see 
 through the ground. He lay down at a place not far 
 from Copenhagen to make a trial of their powers ; 
 and as he put his face close to the ground, he left 
 in it the mark of his spectacles, which mark is to 
 
 1 For everything respecting Holger I am indebted to the 
 work of M. Thiele mentioned at p. 251. 
 
 This is plainly the well-known incident in the history of 
 Gulliver applied to Holger Danske. 
 
HOLGER DANSKE. 281 
 
 be seen at this very day ; and the size of it proves 
 what a goodly pair they must have been. 
 
 Tradition, I believe, does not say at what time 
 it was that this mighty hero honoured the isles of 
 the Baltic with his actual presence ; but in return, 
 it informs us that Holger, like so many other he- 
 roes of renown, 'is not dead, but sleepeth.' The 
 clang of arms, we are told, was frequently heard 
 under the castle of Cronberg; but in all Denmark 
 no one could be found hardy enough to penetrate 
 the subterranean recesses and ascertain the cause. 
 At length a slave, who had been condemned to 
 death, was offered his life and a pardon if he 
 would go down, proceed through the subterra- 
 nean passage as far as it went, and bring an ac- 
 count of what he should meet there, He accord- 
 ingly descended, and went along till he came to 
 a great iron door, which opened of itself the in- 
 stant he knocked at it, and he beheld before him 
 a deep vault. From the roof in the centre hung 
 a lamp, whose flame was nearly extinct ; and be- 
 neath was a huge great stone table, around which 
 sat steel-clad warriors, bowed down over it, each 
 with his head on his crossed arms. He who was 
 seated at the head of the board then raised him- 
 self up. This was Holger Danske. And when 
 he had lifted his head up from off his arms, the 
 stone table split throughout, for his beard was 
 grown into it. " Give me thy hand !" said he to 
 the intruder. But the slave feared to trust his 
 hand in the grasp of the ancient warrior, and he 
 
282 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 reached him the end of an iron bar which he had 
 brought with him. Holger squeezed it so hard, 
 that the mark of his hand remained in it. He let 
 it go at last, saying, " Well ! I am glad to find 
 that there are still men in Denmark." 
 
 According to another account, Holger said," Sa- 
 lute thy lord and king, and tell him that when it 
 is time we will come of ourselves." Others again 
 say that his words were, "Tell thy lord that we 
 shall come when there are no more men in Den- 
 mark than can stand round the hoop of a barrel." 
 These, however, are nothing more than the varia- 
 tions which every popular legend necessarily un- 
 dergoes, and will give no surprise to any one ac- 
 quainted with the nature of tradition. Such a 
 person, too, would expect more places than one 
 to be regarded as the resting-place of Holger and 
 his warriors ; and accordingly we find that an- 
 other tradition assigns a hill called the Havre- 
 bjerg, about half a mile from the town of Slagelse 
 in the same island, for his abode ; while a third 
 places him in a subterranean passage leading from 
 Sorv to the wood of Antoeor : all, however, are 
 in the isle of Zealand, to which Holger Danske 
 seems exclusively to belong. 
 
 Who then, it may now be asked, is Holger 
 Danske ? In my opinion he is no other than the 
 Helgi of the Edda. The names hardly differ, 
 and the Scandinavians are conspicuous above all 
 people for retaining in the popular tradition the 
 
OGIER LE DANOIS. 283 
 
 legends of their forefathers. In fact, there are, 
 or were, tales of gods and heroes preserved by 
 tradition in the North, whose origin goes back to 
 a time which we should vainly attempt to assign. 
 For my part, I see not the impossibility of the 
 Eddaic and traditional tales of Odin and Thor, 
 and Frey, and of the heroes and heroines Helgi, 
 Sigurd, Volund, Brynhilda, and others, being to 
 the full as ancient as the legends of Grecian my- 
 thology. But the latter, as I have already ob- 
 served, were fixed in their present form nearly 
 2000 years ago ; while the former remained sub- 
 ject to all the influence of the variation of reli- 
 gious faith, and of manners and ideas. And, in- 
 deed, the changes which some of them have un- 
 dergone are amusing enough l . 
 
 But there is another renowned hero besides the 
 Danish Holger, whom I fancy I can identify with 
 the Helgi of the Northmen. This is the celebrated 
 Ogier le Danois of French and Italian romance. 
 His name, we see at once, corresponds with that of 
 the Danish champion 2 ; and if any one will main- 
 
 1 See the story of Thor going as a bride to the Giant instead 
 of Freya, given in the article on Scandinavian Mythology in 
 the Foreign Quarterly Review. 
 
 2 We should recollect how apt the French are to reject 
 the /; thus offol they make/ow; Montalbano is Montauban, 
 Malagigi is Maugis : from the German Alberich, or Elberich, 
 they made Oberon. Helgi might thus easily become Ogier. 
 In the Spanish ballad El Marques de Mantua, Ogier is called 
 Danes Urgel, a name not far from Helgi and Holger, when 
 
284 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 tain that the hero of romance has been appropri- 
 ated to themselves by the people of the country 
 of which he was made a native, I am not pre- 
 pared to say him nay in very decided terms, for 
 there are perhaps examples of such a process. 
 Still, I think, that if I can make it probable that 
 the Northmen brought with them to their new 
 seats in Neustria the legends of their ancient hero 
 Helgi, and that he was adopted into the Carolian 
 cycle of fable, it will remain at least possible that 
 Holger Danske and Ogier le Danois are the re- 
 sult of the same tradition differently modified, and 
 are to a certain extent independent of each other. 
 
 On opening the old French romance of Ogier 
 le Dannoys *, we read, 
 
 " And that night that the child was born, the 
 damsels of the castle put him in a chamber apart ; 
 and at the hour of midnight came to the said 
 chamber where the child was, six fair ladies richly 
 dressed, which are called Fays ; and they stripped 
 the child, and one of them, named Glorianda, took 
 him in her arms ; and when she saw him so large 
 and so well formed in his limbs, she kissed him 
 out of great love, saying, * My child, I give thee 
 a gift in the name of God, to wit, that as long as 
 
 we call to mind how I and r take one another's place. I how- 
 ever lay no stress on this resemblance. 
 
 1 Adenez (see above, p. 40.) wrote a poem called Les En- 
 fauces d' Ogier ; it is in the Harleian Library, No. 4404: the 
 following circumstances are not in it. There is a longer poem 
 on Ogier by an older poet, which I have not seen. 
 
OGIER LE DANOIS. 285 
 
 thou livest thou shalt be the most hardy knight of 
 thy time.' * Dame," said another named Pales- 
 tina, ' the gift thou hast given him is not little ; 
 and I give him, that as long as he is in life, war 
 or battle shall fail him not.' Then answered an- 
 other named Pharamonda, ' Dame, this gift that 
 thou hast given him is very perilous ; wherefore 
 I give him, that he shall never be vanquished in 
 battle.' f And I give him,' said another named 
 Melior, * that as long as he lives, he shall be fair, 
 mild and gracious, beyond any other.' The fifth, 
 named Presina, said, ' I give him, that he shall be 
 always loved of the ladies, and that he shall be 
 always happy in love.' And the sixth, named 
 Morgue (Morgana), said, *I have heard well the 
 gifts that ye have given to this child, and I will 
 that he shall never die till he hath been my friend 
 par amours, and till I keep him at the castle of 
 Avallon, which is the fairest castle in the world.' 
 And then the lady kissed him out of great love ; 
 and then they left the child, and went away ; no 
 one knew what became of them, and the child re- 
 mained crying with a loud voice. 
 
 The subsequent adventures of Ogier, which are 
 mostly all military achievements, are not to our 
 present purpose ; but towards the close of the 
 romance we are told 1 , that Morgue la Faye re- 
 solved to remove him to the joys of Avallon, 
 which was not far from the terrestrial paradise 
 
 1 The reader will find this part of the romance given at 
 length in the Fairy Mythology, vol. i. p. 75. et seq. 
 
286 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 to which Enoch and Elias were carried. Accord- 
 ingly, as he is returning from Jerusalem, a storm 
 drives his ship towards the castle of Avallon, 
 winch was of loadstone, and consequently caused 
 all the vessels which approached it to be wrecked. 
 Ogier's bark shares the general fate. The hero 
 himself however escapes, and, directed by an 
 angel, enters the castle, where he finds Morgue 
 la Faye, who tells him who she is, places a ring 
 on his finger, which restores the hero, who was 
 now a centenarian, to the beauty and vigour of 
 thirty; and, leading him into the castle, intro- 
 duces him to its lord, her brother Arthur. She 
 moreover sets on his head a crown, which causes 
 him to forget his former life ; and his days roll away 
 in endless bliss, amid the songs and dances of the 
 Fay ladies. To oblige Arthur, Ogier undertakes 
 to engage Capalus, king of the Luitons (lutms, 
 mischievous spirits), who constantly annoys the 
 inmates of Avallon. 
 
 Two hundred years had passed away, when 
 France being endangered by the Paynims, Morgue 
 resolved to send Ogier to the defence of the Faith. 
 She took the Lethaean crown off his head, and he 
 instantly felt a longing to return home. Morgue 
 gave him a brand *, which he was to preserve with 
 care, for his life should last as long as it remained 
 
 1 This brand is not, I believe, mentioned any more. The 
 author of the prose romance had evidently the classic story 
 of Meleager in his mind, which the coming of the Fay ladies 
 in the beginning probably suggested to him. 
 
OGIER LE DANOIS. 287 
 
 unconsumed by fire. She added to her gift a 
 companion for him, named Benoist, and the cele- 
 brated steed of Faerie named Papillon. A cloud 
 then enveloped Ogier and Benoist, and raising 
 them, carried them away, and set them down at 
 a fountain near Montpellier l . 
 
 Here, then, we have parallels to all the circum- 
 stances of the Eddaic poems noticed above. The 
 Norns are at the birth of Helgi, the Fays at that 
 of Ogier ; Sigrun was a Valkyria, Morgue a Fay ; 
 Helgi was honoured by Odin, Ogier by Arthur ; 
 Helgi returned to this world, Ogier did the same. 
 To this we may add, that Helgi came from Val- 
 hall on horseback, attended by a train of warriors, 
 and that Ogier came through the air from Faerie 
 on the steed Papillon (Butterfly), accompanied by 
 Benoist. There are martial exercises in Valhall ; 
 and Ogier has to take the field in Avallon against 
 Capalus : and finally, the Fay ladies of Avallon 
 are not unlike the Valkyrias of Valhall. 
 
 Am I not, then, justified in asserting the possi- 
 bility of the Normans having brought the story of 
 
 1 According to the romance, Morgue took Ogier back to 
 Avallon. In the Morgan te Maggiore (c. xxviii. st. 36.) an- 
 other account seems to be alluded to : 
 
 " E del Danese, che ancor vivo sia, 
 Perche tutto pud far chi fe' Natura, 
 Dicono alcun, ma non 1' istoria mia ; 
 E che si truova in certa grotta oscura, 
 E spesso armato a caval par che stia, 
 Sicche chi il vede, gli mette paura." 
 
288 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Helgi with them to France in the tenth century, 
 and of its having been incorporated into the Ca- 
 rolian cycle of romance, with such alterations as 
 a change of faith and a change of country made 
 requisite ? And does not this open a very curious 
 field of speculation ? 
 
 In the learned and ingenious essay which Mr. 
 Panizzi has prefixed to his beautiful edition of 
 Bojardo's Orlando Innamorato 1 , will be found 
 some interesting speculations relative to the Ca^ 
 rolian cycle of heroes. Of Ogier Mr. Panizzi 
 tells us, that he was called Le Dannoys, according 
 to some, because he was a native of Denmark ; 
 according to others, because he conquered that 
 country ; while a third party said that he was a 
 Saracen who turned Christian ; and as his family 
 wrote to him saying Tu es damne, for his change 
 of faith, the French barons called him in jest Ogier 
 Damne ; and he himself, to prove his sincerity, 
 insisted on being named so at his baptism. From 
 the monk of St. Gall * he informs us that Oggerus, 
 
 1 Every lover of Italian literature must feel obliged to 
 Mr. Panizzi for this re-publication of the actual poem which 
 Ariosto read and continued. It must sooner or later form a 
 part of every Italian library. When I add that it is published 
 by Pickering, every one will know that its external form must 
 be elegant. 
 
 1 The monk of St. Gall (who tells us himself that he had 
 never been in France,) wrote his work "De Rebus Bellicis 
 Caroli Magni," in the latter end of the ninth century. His au- 
 thority was an old soldier named Adalbert, who, as he says, 
 forced, his information on him when a child. Panizzi, ut supra, 
 p. 123. 
 
OGIER LE DANOIS. 289 
 
 one of the chiefs at the court of Charlemagne, 
 having incurred that monarch's heavy displeasure, 
 fled to Desiderius king of Lombardy ; and in the 
 romance we certainly find that the hero did seek 
 refuge with that prince, who gave him a castle 
 named Chasteaufort, in which he singly defended 
 himself for seven long years against the Emperor 
 and his powers. Finally, we are told that the 
 Northmen, who in the years 851 852 ravaged 
 France, were commanded by Oger le Danois. 
 From all this Mr. Panizzi concludes, that " there 
 were two Ogiers, or that the name of the Norman 
 Ogier, who filled France with terror, was given to 
 one of those lords who retired into Lombardy, and 
 were declared rebels by Charlemagne." This is 
 perhaps not very far from the truth. I think that 
 we have no reason for doubting the narrative of 
 the monk of St. Gall, that a nobleman named Og- 
 gerus fled to Lombardy, though we may not as- 
 sent to the truth of the assertion, that the inva- 
 ders of France were actually commanded by Oger 
 le Danois. We thus have two heroes, one a real 
 historic character, the other a mythic personage, 
 whose names nearly correspond, united to form a 
 hero of romance. I think it not unlikely that the 
 name Oggerus, i. e. Oger, may have been derived 
 from Helgi, whose legend, like that of Brynhilda, 
 may have been brought into France by the Goths 
 or some other of the Gotho-Germanic tribes. 
 
 I am inclined to think that the same has been 
 the case with another of the Paladins, no less a 
 o 
 
290 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 person than the famous Roland, or Orlando, the 
 nephew of Charlemagne. Eginhart l tells us, that 
 at the defeat of the rear guard of this monarch's 
 army by the Gascons at Roncesvalles, A.D. 778, 
 " there were slain, Eghart the seneschal, Ans- 
 helm count of the palace, and Rutlandus 2 warden 
 of the British march 3 ." In Charlemagne's Prcecep- 
 tum E 'vindicator ium of the year 776, he reckons 
 Rothlandus among his counts. The inscription 
 on the tomb of Roland at Blaye, in Saintonge, it 
 is said, styled him Count Palatine. The lying hi- 
 story of Archbishop Turpin is not to be brought 
 in evidence ; and the celebrated Breche de Roland, 
 in the Pyrenees, is only an instance of the princi- 
 ple of ascribing the works of nature to the super- 
 human vigour of ancient heroes. On the whole, 
 however, I think we have little reason to doubt, 
 that in the time of Charles the Great there was a 
 person of some note whose latinised name was 
 Rutlandus or Rothlandus 4 . 
 
 On the other side I would observe, that in the 
 time of Harald Fair-hair, king of Norway, a chief 
 named Rognavald was Yarl (earl) of the Orkneys, 
 
 1 De Vita Carol! Magni. Ultraject. 1711. edit. Schminck. 
 
 2 Rotlandus and Hrodlandus are various readings. 
 
 3 Limitis is the reading of the best MSS. ; the common 
 reading is littoris. 
 
 4 Orderic Vitalis, as quoted by Panizzi, p. 114, tells us that 
 a Rotlandus fell in battle against the Normans in the time of 
 Charles the Bald. The leader of the Dacians (Normans) 
 was Rollo, according to this historian. Orderic wrote in the 
 latter half of the eleventh century. 
 
OGIER LE DANOIS. 291 
 
 and that from his name was formed Ronald, a 
 name still used in the Western Isles. On the 
 death of this Rognavald, one of his sons named 
 Hrolf, having gotten no share of his father's pos- 
 sessions, turned pirate ; and it was to this Hrolf, 
 Rollo or Rou, as he is variously called, that Charles 
 the Bald ceded, in the year 912, the province of 
 Neustria. It is by no means unlikely that the 
 Normans formed from Rognavald, Roland ; and, 
 uniting the actions of him and his son, made one 
 hero of the two, on whom, according to the cus- 
 tom of their country, they composed popular bal- 
 lads, one of which it may have been that Taillefer 
 chanted at the battle of Hastings l . I must, at 
 the same time, confess, that Eginhart's placing his 
 Rutlandus in the very country occupied by the 
 Normans, looks a little suspicious ; and I could al- 
 most fancy an interpolation to give some sanction 
 
 1 William of Malmsbury, Alberic Trium Pentium, and 
 Ralph Higden, when speaking of the battle, merely say, 
 Cantilena Rollandi inchoata. M. Michel thinks that Wace, 
 who had read Turpin's romance, added of himself in his 
 Rou the well-known lines 
 
 " De Karlemaine e de Rollant 
 Et d'Oliver e des vassals 
 Ki moururent en Renchevals." 
 
 He adds: "There would be a want of common sense, me- 
 thinks, in singing, to excite the courage of an army going into 
 battle, the defeat of such a hero as Charlemagne." Examen 
 critique du Roman de Berte aux grands pieds. Paris 1832. 
 Mr. Douce has long been of opinion that it was a song of 
 Rollo that was sung. This last objection had occurred to 
 him also. 
 
292 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. ' 
 
 to the narrative of Turpin, and to flatter the va- 
 nity of the Norman princes. On the whole, I am 
 disposed to consider Rutlandus to owe his fame, 
 like Oggerus, to the resemblance between his 
 name and that of a hero of the victorious Normans. 
 His name may also have originally come from 
 Rognavald. 
 
 But we have this very name Rognavald again 
 as Rainaldus, Reginald, Regnault, Renaud, Ri- 
 naldo; a name which occurs in French history long 
 before the Normans settled in France. This, how- 
 ever, presents no difficulty ; Rognavald, or some 
 name like it, may have been brought in by one of 
 the ante-Norman tribes, and retained in nearly an 
 unaltered form. It would be curious enough if 
 Orlando and Rinaldo were but two forms of the 
 same name. 
 
 I think, by the way, that Mr. Panizzi is wrong in 
 supposing the present Montauban, situated near 
 the confluence of the Tarn and the Garonne, to be 
 the Montauban or Montalbano of the romances, the 
 abode of Renaud and his family. In the Quatre 
 Filz Aymon 1 we are told that Regnault and his 
 brothers built their castle on a hill or rock, close 
 to the Gironde ; and I know that the ruins of a 
 castle at the confluence of the Garonne and Dor- 
 dogne 2 are, by the tradition of the country, said 
 
 1 That is, the prose romance. The metrical one was written 
 in the thirteenth century by Huon de Villeneuve. 
 
 2 In the romance, Aymon is called Duke of Dordogne, 
 which is evidently regarded as a town or territory. Ariosto 
 
TOKO. 293 
 
 to be those of their strong-hold. Their suzerain 
 and great friend, we may observe, was Yon king 
 of Bordeaux, and it is a long way thence to the 
 present Montauban. 
 
 Ere I take my leave of the North, I will notice 
 what I regard as an instance of the transference 
 of a real or fictitious incident from the history of 
 one country to that of another. 
 
 In the tenth book of the History of Denmark, 
 by Saxo Grammaticus, written in the twelfth cen- 
 tury, we meet the following narrative, under the 
 reign of King Harald Bluetooth (Blaatand\ at 
 the end of the tenth century. 
 
 " Nor should what follows be enveloped in si- 
 ience. Toko, who had been for some time in the 
 service of the king, had, by the deeds in which he 
 surpassed his fellow- soldiers, made several ene- 
 mies of his virtues. One day, when he had drunk 
 rather much, he boasted to those who were at table 
 with him, that his skill in archery was such that 
 he could hit, with the first shot of an arrow, ever 
 so small an apple set on the top of a wand at a 
 considerable distance. His detractors hearing 
 these words, lost no time in conveying them to the 
 
 calls Bradamante la Donna di Dordona. His Montalbano 
 (See Orland. Fur. c. xxxii. st. 50.) is the present Montauban. 
 Chiaramonte is Clerraont. 
 
294 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 ears of the king. But the wickedness of the prince 
 speedily transferred the confidence of the father to 
 the peril of the son, ordering the sweetest pledge 
 of his life to stand instead of the wand, from whom, 
 if the utterer of the boast did not strike down the 
 apple which was placed on him at the first shot of 
 his arrow, he should with his own head pay the 
 penalty of his idle boast. The command of the 
 king urged the soldier to do more than he had 
 promised, the detracting artifices of others ta- 
 king advantage of the words he had uttered when 
 hardly sober. 
 
 "When the youth was led forth, Toko care- 
 fully admonished him to receive the whiz of the 
 coming arrow as steadily as possible, with atten- 
 tive ears, and without moving his head, lest by a 
 slight motion of his body he should frustrate the 
 experience of his well-tried skill. He made him 
 also, as a means of diminishing his apprehension, 
 stand with his back to him, lest he should be ter- 
 rified at the sight of the arrow. He then drew 
 three arrows from his quiver, and the first he shot 
 struck the proposed mark. 
 
 Toko then being asked by the king why he had 
 taken so many arrows out of his quiver, when he 
 was to make but one trial with the bow, " That 
 I might avenge on thee," said he, " the error of 
 the first by the points of the others, lest my inno- 
 cence might hap to be afflicted and thy injustice 
 to go unpunished!" By which bold expression, 
 he showed that the praise of fortitude was due 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 295 
 
 to himself, and that the command of the king was 
 deserving of punishment l ," 
 
 The historian further informs us, that when 
 Harald's son Sveno rebelled against him, Toko 
 joined the prince; and that one day when Harald, 
 during the negotiations for peace, had gone on 
 some private business into a wood, he was shot 
 with an arrow by Toko, who was lying in ambush 
 for him, and he died of the wound. 
 
 In the year 1307, among the mountains of Hel- 
 vetia, an action similar to this of Toko is said to 
 have been performed; and it has given immor- 
 tality to the name of William Tell. 
 
 Gessler, the insolent Vogt (bailiff or governor) 
 of the Emperor Albert, of Habsburg in Switzer- 
 land, set a hat up on a pole, as the symbol of the 
 Imperial power, and every one who passed was 
 commanded to uncover his head before it. A 
 peasant named William Tell dared to leave the 
 hat unsaluted. By Gessler's command, he was 
 seized and brought before him ; and as Tell was 
 known to be a celebrated archer, he was, by way 
 of punishment, ordered to shoot an apple on the 
 head of his own son. Finding remonstrance vain, 
 he submitted ; the apple was placed on the head 
 of the child, Tell bent his bow, the arrow flew, 
 and apple and arrow fell together to the ground. 
 
 1 The shooting of an apple on the head of his son is also 
 told of Egill, the brother of Volund, in the Vilkina Saiga. It 
 was probably taken from Saxo. 
 
296 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 But the Vogt had observed that Tell, ere he shot, 
 had stuck an arrow in his belt, and he asked the 
 reason. Tell replied, that such was the custom of 
 archers. This did not content the Vogt ; he urged 
 him further, still assuring him of his life in any 
 case : " Know then," said Tell, " that it was for 
 thee, in case I had shot my child, and of a surety 
 I had not missed my mark a second time." 
 
 Gessler, terrified and enraged, resolved to con- 
 fine him in a distant prison. He entered a boat 
 with Tell and his guards, and embarked on the 
 lake of the Forest Cantons ( Waldstatten). They 
 had just passed the celebrated mead of Riitli, (the 
 Runnymede, may we term it, of Helvetia?) when 
 the furious wind named the Fohn rushed, howling, 
 down the ravines of Mount Gothard, and falling 
 on the lake, tossed its waters up from the very 
 bottom. The Vogt, in this imminent danger, or- 
 dered them to take off the fetters of Tell, whose 
 skill was well known, and commit the helm to his 
 hand. Tell guided the boat 'till they came close 
 to the mountain named Axenberg : here, grasping 
 his bow, he sprang on a ledge of rock, since called 
 Tell's Ledge, (Tellens Blatteri), and clambered 
 up the mountain, leaving the Vogt to his fate. 
 Gessler, however, escaped the storm, and he land- 
 ed at Kiissnach ; but as he was going through a 
 narrow pass, Tell, who was lying in wait in the 
 thicket, shot him dead with an arrow. 
 
 There is, as every one mav see, a very strong 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 29? 
 
 resemblance in the two narratives. The celebrated 
 historian J. von Miiller, whom I have chiefly fol- 
 lowed in what precedes l , says, " It shows little 
 experience in history to deny one of two events, 
 because there was another like it in another land 
 and century. The Danish Toko was unknown to 
 the Swiss. If ever they came to the Alps, it was 
 long before his time the second half of the tenth 
 century. There is no trace of any knowledge of 
 Northern history : Saxo was first printed at Paris 
 in 1480." He then proceeds to prove that such a 
 man as William Tell really lived at that time and 
 place, and concludes triumphantly, " Of a surety 
 this hero lived in the year 1307, and performed 
 at the places where God is thanked for the suc- 
 cess of his deeds, those exploits against the op- 
 pressors of the Forest Cantons, through which ad- 
 vantage accrued to his native land, so that he has 
 merited the grateful remembrance of posterity." 
 
 That William Tell really lived, is what I would 
 hardly venture to deny : he was probably active 
 in the cause of liberty, and Gessler may have 
 fallen by his hand. It is the shooting of the ap- 
 ple of which I doubt. We have no contemporary 
 evidence of this exploit ; the oldest testimony with 
 respect to TelPs very existence, are the 114 per- 
 sons who in the Diet at Uri, in the year 1388, tes- 
 tified that they had known him. It does not appear 
 
 1 He says nothing, however, of Tell's sticking the arrow in 
 his belt, or of his answer to the Vogt. Meyer von Knonau 
 omits the whole tale : Zschokke of course relates it. 
 o 5 
 
298 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 that they knew anything of his shooting the apple. 
 On the other hand, though reading was far more 
 rare in the Middle Ages than it is now, those who 
 did read, read more than we generally imagine ; 
 and I see no reason why some Swiss monk, for 
 example, may not have read the story of Toko 
 in Saxo Grammaticus, and have transferred it to 
 William Tell, just as the Romans did with the le- 
 gends in Herodotus. He knows little of simple un- 
 educated patriots who supposes that they would 
 minutely examine into the truth of a legend which 
 tended to cast glory on the memory of a national 
 hero. 
 
 I am therefore inclined to regard the Danish 
 legend, be it true or false, as the original. I ob- 
 serve that in it, the action is motive, as the French 
 term it. Toko boasted that he could hit with an ar- 
 row an epple on the top of a wand, and the king 
 then ordered him to hit it on the head of his son : 
 but what was to put it into Gessler's thoughts 
 to make Tell perform the same feat ? Perhaps 
 it may be said, there was an apple-tree before him 
 laden with fruit. It would, however, appear that 
 the affair occurred in the winter. It was on the 
 night of the Wednesday before Martinmas, in the 
 November of 1307, that the three-and-thirty brave 
 men (one of whom William Tell is said to have 
 been,) met on the mead of Riitli, and swore to 
 maintain the liberty transmitted to them by their 
 fathers. According to the historian, Tell's ex- 
 ploit was performed before the end of that year, 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 so that the Vogt must have sent to a storehouse 
 for an apple ; and I think even this little circum- 
 stance militates somewhat against the truth of the 
 legend 1 . At all events, the just fame of Tell, as 
 an intrepid patriot, need fear no decay, and is in- 
 dependent of the apple ; and I am not the one to 
 condemn the man who, in the absence of positive 
 law, appealed to that of nature against the tyrant, 
 and sent from his bow 
 
 " the arrow sure as fate 
 That ascertained the sacred rights of man.' 1 
 
 Day after day the critical and enquiring spirit 
 of the present times is depriving History of her 
 heroes and their exploits. Those of the early or 
 mythic ages of Greece are gradually losing their 
 substance, and dwindling to shadows : the Romu- 
 lus and Numa of Rome have melted into thin air at 
 the touch of the potent wand of Niebuhr, and the 
 same magician has dispelled many a romantic tale 
 in the early annals of the Eternal City. Nor have 
 the heroes of later times come off quite scathe- 
 less ; a writer, for example, of no common learn- 
 
 1 It is curious enough that both Tell and Toko are become 
 heroes of the drama. His 'Wilhelm Tell' is one of the hap- 
 piest efforts of the greatest dramatic poet of Germany ; and the 
 Palna-Toke of the Danish poet Oelenschlager is a piece of no 
 ordinary merit. I know not that Tell's spirit is ever seen 
 chamois-hunting among the Alps ; but Toko, under the name 
 of Palne-Jager, is the Wild Huntsman of popular tradition in 
 the Isle of Funen, his former abode. See Thiele, i. p. 110. 
 Fairy Legends of the South of Ireland, ii. p. 111. 
 
300 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 ing, sagacity and judgement 1 , has lately deprived 
 of fame, and nearly of existence, the renowned 
 Cid Ruy Diaz El Campeador of Spain. Even our 
 own history has had to surrender much of its ro- 
 mance. The tale of Richard I. and the minstrel 
 Blondel, though so firmly rooted that even Sir 
 James Mackintosh relates it for truth, is, I fear, 
 a baseless fiction ; and the tragic fate of the fair 
 Rosamond Clifford, and some other traditions, 
 seem to rest on no securer foundation. What ha- 
 vock might not sceptical criticism make among 
 the deeds of the Wallace and the Bruce of ' auld 
 Scotland! 1 
 
 Is this effect then, which cannot be prevented, 
 to be deplored ? 1 say no. History ceases to be 
 useful, and becomes merely entertaining, when 
 it presents itself in such a romantic form. While 
 we believe, for instance, that Rome arose in the 
 manner described by Livy, we can derive no in- 
 struction, for it is out of the ordinary course of 
 things : but let us view its origin as deduced by 
 Niebuhr, from analogy and its institutions and 
 monuments, and we receive at once an accession 
 to our knowledge of ancient times, and, what is 
 always the result of enquiries of this nature, a 
 further proof that man is at all times and places 
 
 1 The author of the excellent History of Spain and Por- 
 tugal, which forms a part of the Cabinet Cyclopaedia. We 
 had previously, I may say, no history of the Peninsula in our 
 language ; we now possess, if not the very best, one of the 
 best in Europe. 
 
WILLIAM TELL. 301 
 
 the same being, actuated by the same passions, 
 wants, and motives. 
 
 Far, however, be from me the wish to see these 
 national legends banished from history ! I would 
 not write the history of Rome and leave out the 
 combat of the Horatii and Curiatii, the valour of 
 Codes, the flight of Cloelia, and the romantic ge- 
 nerosity of Porsenna : and were I to be the histo- 
 rian of Helvetia, Tell still should shoot the apple 
 in my pages. But I would impress on them the 
 stamp of legendary, and state the degree of credit 
 to which they are entitled. 
 
303 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 PERUONTO PETER THE FOOL EMELYAN THE FOOL. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 IT is interesting to observe the different forms 
 which the same story will take in different coun- 
 tries ; how it will be affected by national character 
 and institutions, and modes of thinking, and those 
 various circumstances which cause one people to 
 differ from another. We have already had an op- 
 portunity of observing something of this kind in 
 the case of Oriental tales transmitted to Europe ; 
 but to exhibit the contrast more strongly, I will 
 relate a tale from the Pentamerone of the lively 
 and witty Neapolitans, and then give the same 
 story in the garb in which it has been attired by 
 the duller and more homely genius of the slaves, 
 who crouch beneath the sway of the Northern Au- 
 tocrat and his subordinate despots. 
 
 PERUONTO. 
 
 A poor woman at Fasoria 1 named Ceccarella 
 (Fanny) had a son called Peruonto, who was the 
 
 1 Mr. Rossetti thinks it should be Casoria, as there is a 
 village of that name near Naples. 
 
 When, as I have told in the Fairy Mythology, (ii. p. 244.) 
 I had in some measure mastered the difficulties of the dialect, 
 
304 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 most hideous figure, the greatest fool and the most 
 doltish idiot that Nature had ever created. So 
 that the heart of his unhappy mother was blacker 
 than a dish-clout; and a thousand times a day did 
 she give her hearty curse to all who had a hand 
 in bringing into the world such a dunderhead, who 
 was not worth a dog's mess. For the poor wo- 
 man might scream at him till she burst her throat, 
 and yet the moon-calf would not stir to do the 
 slightest hand's turn for her 1 . 
 
 At last, after a thousand dinnings at his brain, 
 and a thousand splittings of his head, and a thou- 
 sand *I tell you' and *I told you', bawling today 
 and yelling tomorrow, she got him to go to the 
 wood for a faggot, saying, " Come now, it is time 
 for us to get a morsel to eat ; run away for some 
 sticks, don't lose yourself on the way, and come 
 back as quick as you can, and we will boil ourselves 
 some cabbage to keep the life in us." 
 
 Away went Peruonto, the blockhead, and he 
 went just like one that was going to the gallows 2 : 
 
 I had an idea of translating the work, and did in fact trans- 
 late a few of the stories, among the rest, The Serpent. I 
 found Peruonto too difficult ; but, luckily, Mr. Rossetti is well 
 acquainted with the Neapolitan dialect, and he has most 
 kindly given me all the aid I required. The notes which 
 follow are to be regarded as his. 
 
 1 No marditto servitio, literally, ' a cursed service'. The 
 vulgar Irish have a similar way of speaking ; they would say, 
 'Bad luck to the pin's worth he 'd do for her! ' 
 
 2 Comme va chillo che sta mezzo a li confrati : that is, ' among 
 the friars who attend criminals to the gallows'. 
 
PERUONTO. 305 
 
 away he went, and he moved as if he was treading 
 on eggs, with the gait of a jackdaw, and counting 
 his steps, going fair and softly, at a snail's gallop, 
 and making all sorts of zig-zags and circumben- 
 dibuses on his way to the wood, to come there 
 after the fashion of the raven. And when he 
 got to the middle of a plain, through which a 
 river ran growling and murmuring at the want of 
 manners in the stones that were stopping his way, 
 he came upon three lasses, who had made them- 
 selves a bed of the grass, and a pillow of a flint 
 stone, and were lying dead-asleep under the blaze 
 of the Sun, who was shooting his rays down point 
 blank. When Peruonto saw these poor creatures, 
 who were made a fountain of water in the midst of 
 a furnace of fire, he felt pity for them, and with 
 the axe which he had in his hand he cut some 
 oak- branches, and made a handsome arbour over 
 them. In the mean time, the young persons, who 
 were the daughters of a fairy, awoke, and seeing 
 the kindness and courtesy of Peruonto, they gave 
 him a charm, that everything he asked for should 
 be done. 
 
 Peruonto, having performed this good action, 
 went his ways towards the wood, where he made 
 up such an enormous faggot that it would require 
 an engine to drag it ; and seeing that it was all 
 nonsense for him to think of carrying it on his 
 back, he got astride on it, and cried, "Oh ! what a 
 lucky fellow I should be if this faggot would carry 
 me riding a horseback ! " and the word was hardly 
 
306 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 out of his mouth, when the faggot began to trot 
 and to gallop like a Bisignanian horse l ; and when 
 it came in front of the king's palace, it pranced 
 and capered and curveted in a way that would 
 amaze you. The ladies, who were standing at 
 one of the windows, on seeing such a wonderful 
 sight, ran to call Vastolla, the daughter of the 
 king ; who, going to the window and observing the 
 caracoles of a faggot and the bounds of a bundle 
 of wood, burst out a-laughing, a thing, owing to 
 a natural melancholy, she never remembered to 
 have done before. Peruonto raised his head, and 
 seeing that it was at him they were laughing, said, 
 " O Vastolla! I wish you were with child! " and so 
 saying, he struck his heels into the flanks of his 
 faggot, and in a dashing faggotty gallop he was at 
 home before many minutes, with such a train of 
 little boys at his heels, bawling and shouting after 
 him, that if his mother had not been quick to shut 
 the door, they would have killed him with rotten 
 fruit and vegetables. 
 
 Meanwhile Vastolla began to feel qualms of the 
 stomach and a palpitation of the heart, and other 
 
 1 The prince of Bisignano (in Apulia, I believe) had a fa- 
 mous breed of horses. The Poileis or Apulian horses were 
 celebrated in the Middle Ages. Of the 'hors of brass' Chaucer 
 says, 
 
 "Therewith so horsly and so quik of eye, 
 As it a gentil Poileis courser were ; 
 For certes fro his tayl unto his ere 
 Nature ne art ne coud him not amend 
 In no degree, as all the peple wend." 
 
TERUONTO. 307 
 
 symptoms which convinced her that she was in the 
 family way. She did all in her power to keep her 
 condition concealed ; but at length the matter could 
 no longer be a secret. The king, when he disco- 
 vered it, was like a bedlamite l ; and he summoned 
 his council, and said, " Ye know by this time that 
 the moon of my honour has got horns: ye know 
 by this time that my daughter has provided me 
 with matter for having chronicles, or rather cor- 
 nicles, of my shame written ; so now speak, and 
 advise me. My own opinion would be, to make 
 her bring forth her soul before she brought forth 
 an ill breed. I should be disposed to make her 
 feel the pangs of death before she felt the pains of 
 labour ; it would be my humour to put her out of 
 the world before she sowed any seed." 
 
 The councillors, who had in their time consumed 
 more oil than wine 2 , said, "Of a truth she deserves 
 to be severely punished ; and the haft of the knife 
 which should take away her life ought to be made 
 of the horns that she has placed on your brows. 
 Nevertheless, if we put her to death now that she 
 is with child, that audacious scoundrel who, to put 
 you into a battle of annoyances, has armed both 
 your left and your right wing 3 ; who, to teach you 
 
 1 Facenno cosa delV autro munno, * doing things of the 
 other world.' 
 
 2 That is, had studied much and drunk little. 
 
 3 Lo cuorno diritto e lo manco. In the military language 
 of the Romans, as is well known, the wings were called 
 cornua. 
 
308 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the policy of Tiberius ! , has set a Cornelius Tacitus 
 before you ; who, to represent to you a true dream 
 of infamy, has made you come out through the 
 gate of horn 2 ; he, we say, will escape through the 
 broken meshes of the net. Let us wait, then, till 
 it comes to light, and we learn what was the root 
 of this disgrace, and then we will think over it, and 
 resolve with a grain of salt 3 what were best to be 
 done." This counsel pleased the king; for he saw 
 that they spoke like sensible prudent men : so he 
 held his hand, and said, " Let us wait and see the 
 end of this business." 
 
 But, as Heaven would have it, the hour of the 
 birth came ; and with two or three slight twitches 
 of pain, that she hardly felt, she brought into 
 the world two little boys, like two golden ap- 
 ples. The king, who was also full of pains, sum- 
 moned his councillors to advise with him; and 
 he said, " Well, now my daughter is brought to 
 bed, it is time for us now to follow up the business 
 by knocking out her brains." " No," said those 
 wise old men, (and it was all to give Time time,) 
 let us wait till the little ones grow big enough to 
 enable us to discover the features of the father." 
 The king, as he never wrote without having the 
 ruled-lines of his council, to keep him from writing 
 crooked, shrugged up his shoulders, but had pa- 
 
 1 That is, 'to teach you cruelty.' Observe the allusion to 
 horns in Cornelius. 
 
 2 Alluding to the conclusion of the sixth book of the JSneis. 
 
 3 That is, with judgement. 
 
PERUONTO. 309 
 
 tience, and waited till the children were seven years 
 old. He then urged his councillors anew to make 
 an end of the business; and one of them said, 
 " Since you have not been able to sift your daugh- 
 ter, and find out who the false coiner is that has 
 altered the crown on your image, we will now hunt 
 out the stain. Order, then, a great banquet to be 
 prepared, and let every titled man and every gen- 
 tleman in this city come to it, and let us be on the 
 watch, and, with our eyes on the pantry, see 1 to 
 whom the little children shall turn most willingly, 
 moved thereto by nature ; for beyond doubt that 
 will be the father, and we will instantly lay hold 
 on him and secure him." 
 
 The king was pleased with this counsel, and he 
 ordered the banquet to be got ready ; and he in- 
 vited all the people of rank, and of note, and of 
 consideration in the place. He made them all be 
 placed in a row, and pass before the children ; but 
 they took no more notice of them than Alexander's 
 bull-dog did of the rabbits ; so that the king was 
 outrageous, and bit his lips, and though he did not 
 want for shoes, yet this pump of grief was so tight 
 for him, that he stamped with his feet on the 
 ground. But his councillors said to him, " Softly, 
 softly, Your Majesty ! correct this mistake. Let 
 us make another banquet tomorrow, but not for 
 people of condition, but an inferior sort ; maybe, 
 
 1 AW erta e coW uocchie sopra lo tagliero. The tagliero is 
 the chopping-block ; to keep one's eyes upon it, is to watch 
 the cats, that they run away with nothing. 
 
310 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 as a woman always attaches herself to the worst, 
 we shall find among the cutlers, and bead-makers, 
 and comb-sellers, the seed of your anger, which 
 we have not discovered among the cavaliers." 
 
 This reasoning jumped with the humour of the 
 king, and he ordered a second banquet to be pre- 
 pared ; to which, on proclamation being made, came 
 all the riffraff and tag-rag-and-bobtail of the city, 
 such as scavengers, tinkers, pedlars, penny-boys, 
 sweeps, beggars, and such-like rabble, who were 
 all in high glee ; and taking their seats, like noble- 
 men, at a great long table, they began to gobble 
 away. Now when Ceccarella heard this proclama- 
 tion, she began to urge Peruonto to go there too, 
 and she at last got him to set out for the feeding- 
 place ; and scarcely had he arrived there, when 
 those pretty little children got round him, and be- 
 gan to caress him, and to fawn upon him beyond 
 the beyonds. The king, who saw this, tore his 
 beard, seeing that the bean of this cake J , the prize 
 in this lottery, had fallen to an ugly beast, the very 
 sight of whom was enough to turn one's stomach ; 
 who, besides having a velvet head 2 , owls' eyes, 
 a parrot's nose, a deer's mouth, was bandy- and 
 bare-legged ; so that, without reading Fioravanti 3 , 
 you might see at once what he was. So giving a 
 
 1 It is the custom in Italy to make a cake on the Epiphany, 
 in which a bean is put ; the cake is broken and divided, and 
 the person who gets the bean is king for the evening. This 
 is something like our custom of putting the ring in pancakes. 
 
 2 Like a blackamoor. 
 
 3 A writer on physiognomy, 
 
TAILIES 
 
 AND 
 
 FFHJ3LAIB 
 
 Ah, cruel king! how could 'st thou in 
 A cask shut up tbjr daughter, 
 
 And her two pretty babes, and cast 
 Them out npon the water ! 
 
 DRAWN BY W. H. BROOKE, F. S. A., ENGRAVED ON WOOD BY O. BAXTER, 
 PUBLISHED BY WHITTAKER AND CO. 
 
PERUONTO. 311 
 
 deep sigh, he said, " What can that dirty jade of 
 a daughter of mine have seen to make her take a 
 fancy to this sea-ogre ? What can she have seen 
 to make her kick up a dance with this hairy-foot ? 
 Ah, vile false creature ! what metamorphosis is 
 this ? to make yourself a cow, that you might 
 make a ram of me ? But what do I wait for ? Is 
 it till she repents ? Let her suffer what she de- 
 serves : let her undergo the penalty that will be 
 decreed by you ; and take her from before my 
 eyes, for I cannot endure the sight of her." 
 
 The councillors then consulted together, and 
 they resolved that she, as well as the malefactor 
 and the children, should be shut up in a cask, and 
 thrown into the sea, so that, without the king's 
 dirtying his hands with his own blood, they might 
 all come to an end. They had scarcely given their 
 sentence, when the cask was brought, and all four 
 were put into it ; but before they coopered it up, 
 some of Vastolla's ladies, crying ready to break 
 their hearts, put into it a parcel of raisins and 
 dried figs, that she might have wherewithal to 
 live on for some little time ; and the cask was 
 then closed up, and carried and flung into the 
 open sea, along which it went floating as the wind 
 drove it. 
 
 Meanwhile Vastolla, weeping and making two 
 rivers of her eyes, said to Peruonto, " What a sad 
 misfortune is this of ours, to have the cradle of 
 Bacchus for our coffin ! Oh, if I but knew who 
 it was that changed my body, to have me caged 
 
312 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 in this dungeon ! Alas, alas ! to find myself a 
 mother without knowing how ! Tell me, tell me, 
 O cruel man, what incantation was it you made, 
 and what wand did you employ, to enclose me 
 thus within the circle of this cask ?" Peruonto, 
 who had been for some time lending her a chap- 
 man's ear, at last said, " If you want me to tell 
 you, do you give me some figs and raisins." Vas- 
 tolla, to draw something out of him, put into him 
 a handful both of the one and the other ; and as 
 soon as he had his gullet full, he told her accu- 
 rately all that had befallen him with the three 
 maidens, and then with the faggot, and then with 
 herself at the window ; which when the poor lady 
 heard, she took heart, and said to Peruonto, " Bro- 
 ther of mine! shall we then let our lives run 
 out in this cask? Why don't you make this vessel 
 become a fine ship, and go to some good port to 
 escape this danger?" Peruonto replied, "Give 
 me raisins and figs if you want me to say it for 
 you." And Vastolla, to make him open his 
 throat like a Cornacala gurnet, instantly filled 
 his throat with figs and raisins, so that at last she 
 fished the words out of him ; and, lo ! as soon as 
 Peruonto had said what she desired, the cask was 
 turned into a ship, with all the rigging necessary 
 for sailing, and with all the sailors required for 
 working the vessel ; and then you might see one 
 pulling at a sheet, another mending the rigging ; 
 one taking the helm, another setting the sails, an- 
 other mounting to the round-top ; one crying ' Lar- 
 
PERUONTO. 313 
 
 board ! ' and another * Starboard ! ' one sounding the 
 trumpet, another firing the guns ; one doing one 
 thing, and one another ; so that Vastolla was in 
 the ship, and was swimming in a sea of delight. 
 
 It being now the hour when the Moon would 
 play at see-saw with the Sun J , Vastolla said to 
 Peruonto, " My fine lad, now make the ship be- 
 come an elegant palace, for we shall then be more 
 secure. You know it is a common saying, ' Praise 
 the sea, but keep to the land'." Peruonto replied, 
 " If you want me to say it for you, do you give 
 me figs and raisins :" and Vastolla instantly re- 
 peated the operation; and Peruonto, swallowing 
 them down, asked what was her pleasure ; and the 
 ship immediately came to the land, and became a 
 most beautiful palace, fitted up in the most com- 
 plete manner, and so full of furniture, and cur- 
 tains, and hangings, that there was nothing to de- 
 sire ; so that Vastolla, who a little before would have 
 given her life for a farthing s , would not change 
 now with the greatest lady in the world, seeing 
 herself served and treated like a queen. She then, 
 to put the seal to all her good fortune, besought 
 
 1 A histe e veniste e lo luoco te perdisse. This is the name 
 of a popular game at Naples. It is played by two, one of 
 whom goes up, and the other down, alternately. Another 
 name for it is Scarica a barile. 
 
 9 Pe tre cavalle, literally * for three horses'. The Horse is 
 the arms of Naples, and is impressed on a small piece of money, 
 worth about one thirtieth of an English penny. The lowest 
 coin now used at Naples is the piece of sei cavalli', but Mr. Ros- 
 setti says, that in his youth there were pieces of tre cavalli. 
 P 
 
314 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 Peruonto to obtain grace to become handsome 
 and elegant in his manners, that they might live 
 happy together; for though the proverb says, 
 t Better is a swinish husband than a royal keeper/ 
 still, if his countenance was changed, she would 
 consider it the most fortunate thing in the world. 
 Peruonto replied as usual, " Give me figs and rai- 
 sins if you want me to say it." Vastolla quickly 
 removed the stoppage of his speech ; and scarcely 
 had he spoken the word, when from a dunce he 
 became a man of sense ; from an ogre, a Narcis- 
 sus ; from a hideous caricature of humanity, an 
 elegant gentleman. Vastolla, seeing such a trans- 
 formation, was near going wild with joy; and 
 clasping him in her arms, and kissing him, she 
 sucked the juice of happiness. 
 
 Meantime, the king, who from the day that this 
 calamity befell him had been full up to the very 
 throat with 'Let-me-alone', was, for amusement, 
 brought out to hunt by his courtiers ; and night 
 overtaking them, and seeing a light in the window 
 of that palace, he sent a servant to see if they 
 would entertain him ; and he was answered, that 
 he might not merely break a glass, but even smash 
 a jug there. So the king went there ; and going 
 up the stairs, and running through the chambers, 
 he saw no living being but two little children, who 
 came about him, crying, " Grandpapa ! grandpapa ! " 
 The king, amazed, surprised, and astonished, stood 
 like one that was enchanted ; and sitting down to 
 rest himself near a table, to his amazement he saw 
 
PERUONTO. 315 
 
 invisibly spread on it a Flanders table-cloth, with 
 various dishes full of roast and boiled meats ; so 
 that he ate and he drank in reality like a king, 
 waited on by those beautiful children : and while 
 he sat at table, a concert of lutes and tambourins 
 never ceased, the harmony of which penetrated to 
 the very tips of his fingers and toes. When he 
 had done eating, a bed appeared, all adorned with 
 gold ; and having his boots taken off, he went to 
 rest in it, and all his courtiers did the same, after 
 having eaten heartily at a hundred other tables, 
 which were laid out in the other rooms. 
 
 When morning came, and the king was about to 
 depart, he wished to take with him the two little 
 children. But Vastolla now made her appearance 
 with her husband, and casting herself at his feet, 
 asked his pardon, and told him her whole story. 
 The king, seeing that he had gotten two grand- 
 sons that were two jewels, and a son-in-law that 
 was a fay ! , embraced both the one and the other, 
 and most joyfully carried them with him to the 
 city ; and he made a great feast, that lasted for 
 many days, on account of this good luck, confess- 
 ing, at the top of his voice, that 
 " Man proposes, 
 But God disposes." 
 
 This story is also to be found in Straparola. 
 The following is an abridgement of his narrative. 
 
 1 Nofato. See above, p. 194. Fairy Mythology, ii. 237, note. 
 p 2 
 
316 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 PETER THE FOOL. 
 
 In the isle of Caprara, in the Ligurian Sea, there 
 was a poor woman who had a son that was a fool, 
 and who was named Peter. She lived opposite the 
 king's palace, and every day Peter went to fish, 
 and though he never caught anything, he used to 
 cry, as he came back to his mother, that he was 
 laden with fish. The king's daughter Luciana, 
 who was only ten years old, used to look out of 
 the window, and laugh at him till she was tired, 
 and the fool would then curse and abuse her. At 
 length, one day Peter was so lucky as to catch a 
 tunny-fish, and he was in great rapture, thinking 
 of the good meal he should have ; but the fish 
 begged and prayed of him to let him go. He long 
 besought in vain : at last he promised him as 
 much fish as he could carry, and also to grant 
 him anything he asked. The fool's heart was 
 melted, and he let him go, and the tunny then 
 bade him get into his boat, and incline it to one 
 side, that the water might run in. Peter did so ; 
 and with the water came in so many fishes, that 
 the boat was near sinking. He took as many as he 
 could carry, and went home shouting as before. 
 
 Luciana laughed at him as usual, and Peter in 
 a rage ran down to the sea, and called the tunny. 
 The fish came, and asked what he wanted : he said 
 that the king's daughter should be with child. It 
 was done as he desired ; and nothing could equal 
 
PETER THE FOOL. 317 
 
 the amazement of the queen when she found her 
 young daughter in that state. The king, when he 
 heard it, was going to have her secretly put to 
 death ; but the queen turned him from it, at least 
 till the child should be born. The child proved 
 to be a fine boy, and the king had not the heart 
 to injure either him or his mother. When the child 
 was a year old, the king summoned all above four- 
 teen years of age to the palace. Peter came with 
 the rest, and was discovered like Peruonto; and 
 by the advice of the queen, he and the princess 
 and the child were put into a barrel, with some 
 bread, wine and figs, and thrown into the sea. 
 
 The poor princess, when she could see neither 
 sun nor moon, was in great affliction ; the child 
 was crying, and, as she had no milk, she fed it 
 with the figs. As for Peter, he was laughing, and 
 eating the bread and wine. When she remon- 
 strated with him for his indifference, he told her 
 of the tunny, and at her desire called him, and 
 bade him do all she wished. She then desired 
 him to cast the barrel on one of the most agree- 
 able and safest rocks in her father's kingdom ; to 
 make Peter the handsomest and wisest man in the 
 world; and, finally, to build a most splendid palace 
 on the rock. All was done to her wish. The king 
 and queen happening to come there shortly after- 
 wards, as they were going on a voyage of plea- 
 sure to divert their melancholy, Peter and Luciana 
 received them as they landed ; but the king and 
 queen did not know them, they were so altered. 
 
318 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 They were taken into the garden, where there 
 were three golden apples growing on one of the 
 trees, and one of these was secretly put into the 
 king's bosom. The keeper of the garden missing 
 the apple, informed Luciana, who directed that 
 every one should be searched. Still the apple was 
 not found ; and she then required the king to let 
 himself be examined also ; and as soon as he 
 opened his bosom the apple fell out. Luciana 
 began to reproach him for his conduct ; but at 
 length she told him who she was, and all ended 
 happily ; for the king brought them home with 
 him, and in due time Peter became his successor 
 on the throne. 
 
 A small volume of Russian Popular Tales has 
 lately appeared in Germany *. The translator says 
 that he has rendered them faithfully from the 
 broad-sheets and other forms in which they are 
 to be found on sale in Moscow for the use of the 
 people. Dr. Jacob Grimm, who (after the German 
 custom of chaperoning a young author,) has writ- 
 ten a preface to the volume, describes it, I think 
 justly, as being in every point of view a valuable 
 addition to the department of literature to which 
 it belongs. 
 
 What chiefly gives value to these tales is, in my 
 opinion, their genuine Sclavonic air and manner. 
 Modes of thought and expression which seem pe- 
 1 RussiscTie Volksmarchen, Leipzig, 1831. 
 
RUSSIAN POPULAR TALES. 319 
 
 culiar to that portion of the human family conti- 
 nually occur ; and some remarkable coincidences 
 with the ancient legends of Persia may be ob- 
 served. Whether these last were derived from that 
 country, or only indicate a similarity of thought 
 and idiom between the two neighbouring peoples, 
 it is not easy to say. Many of the tales appear to 
 be derived from foreign sources ; but they are as 
 completely naturalised as those in the Pentame- 
 rone. The following one, which I regard as being 
 Italian in its origin, will serve as an example. 
 None is more thoroughly Russian than that of the 
 Golden Egg, which Dr. Grimm regards as one of 
 the best in the collection, and yet it strongly re- 
 sembles some German stories, and is to be found 
 entire in Count Caylus's Fairy Tales. The most 
 curious instance is that of Bova Korolevitch and 
 the Fair Drushnevna, our own Bevis of Hampton, 
 the Beuves de Hantone of the French, the Buovo 
 d'Antona of the Italian romance named 'I Reali 
 (Kings) di Francia ' ;' from which last I am very 
 certain it w r as taken : and very curious indeed are 
 the changes which it has undergone at the hands 
 of its Muscovite re-maker ! 
 
 The following is the Russian mode of narrating 
 the tale of a fool grown wise and rich. 
 
 1 It is rather strange that Mr. Ellis should not have known 
 that Bevis of Hampton and Buovo d'Antona were the same. 
 According to G. Villani (Panizzi, i. p. 156.), the story of 
 Buovo was a popular one in Italy in the fourteenth century. 
 It continues to be so still ; for the ' Reali di Francia' has, I 
 find, been reprinted in the present century. 
 
320 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 EMELYAN THE FOOL. 
 
 In a certain village lived one time a peasant who 
 had three sons, of whom two were sensible, but 
 the third was a fool, and his name was Emelyan, 
 And when the peasant had lived for a long time, 
 and was grown very old, he called his three sons 
 to him, and said to them, " My dear children, I 
 feel that I have not very long to live, so I give 
 you the house and cattle, which you will divide, 
 share and share alike, among you. I also leave 
 you in money a hundred roubles a-piece." Soon 
 after the old man died, and the sons, after they 
 had buried him, lived on happy and contented. 
 
 Some time after, Emelyan's brothers took it into 
 their heads to remove to the city, and carry on 
 trade with the three hundred roubles which their 
 father had left them. So they said to Emelyan, 
 " Hark ye, fool ! we are going to the city, and we 
 will take your hundred roubles with us, and if we 
 prosper in trade we will buy you a red coat, red 
 boots, and a red cap. But do you stay at home 
 here, and when your sisters-in-law (for they were 
 married) desire you to do anything, do as they 
 bid you." The fool, who had a great longing for 
 a red coat, a red cap, and red boots, answered at 
 once that he would do whatever his sisters-in-law 
 bid him. So his brothers went off to the city, and 
 Emelyan stayed at home with his two sisters-in- 
 law, 
 
 One day, when the winter was come, and the 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 321 
 
 cold was great, his sisters-in-law told him to go 
 out and fetch in water ; but Emelyan remained 
 lying on the stove, and said, " Aye, and who then 
 are you ?" The sisters-in-law began to scold him, 
 and said, " How now, fool ! We are what you see. 
 You see how cold it is, and that it is a man's bu- 
 siness to go." But he said, " I am lazy." They 
 again cried out, " How ! you are lazy ? You will 
 want to eat, and if we have no water we cannot 
 cook." They then added, " Very well, we will 
 only tell our husbands not to give him anything, 
 when they have bought the fine red coat and all 
 for him ! " The fool heard what they said ; and 
 as he was very desirous to get the red coat and 
 cap, he saw that he must go : so he got down 
 from off the stove, and began to put on his shoes 
 and stockings, and to dress himself. When he 
 was drest, he took the buckets and the axe, and 
 went down to the river, for their village was by 
 a river. When he came to the river, he began to 
 cut a hole in the ice, and he cut a huge large one. 
 He then drew water in the buckets, and setting 
 them on the ice, he stood by the hole, looking 
 into the water. And as he was looking, he saw a 
 large pike swimming about in the open water. 
 Great a fool as Emelyan was, he felt a wish to 
 catch this pike : so he stole on cautiously and 
 softly to the edge of the hole, and making a sud- 
 den grasp at the pike, he caught him, and pulled 
 him out of the water; then putting him in his 
 bosom, he was hurrying home with him, when the 
 r 5 
 
322 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 pike cried out, " Ho, fool ! why have you caught 
 me?" He made answer, "To bring you home, 
 and get my sisters-in-law to dress you." " No, 
 fool ! do not bring me home, but let me go again 
 into the water, and I will make a rich man of you." 
 But the fool would not consent, and was going on 
 towards home. When the pike saw that the fool 
 was not for letting him go, he said to him, " Hark 
 ye, fool ! let me go, and I will do for you every- 
 thing that you do not like to do yourself; you 
 will only have to wish, and it shall be done." 
 When the fool heard this, he was rejoiced beyond 
 measure ; for as he was uncommonly lazy, he 
 thought to himself, " If the pike does everything 
 that I have no mind to do, all will be done with- 
 out my having any occasion to work." So he said 
 to the pike, " I will let you go in the water if you 
 do all you promise." The pike said, " Let me go 
 first, and then I will keep my promise." But 
 the fool answered, that he must first perform his 
 promise, and then he would let him go. When the 
 pike saw that he would not put him into the water, 
 he said, " If you wish, as I told you, that I should 
 do all you desire, you must tell me now what 
 your desire is." " I wish," said the fool, " that my 
 buckets should go of themselves from the river 
 up the hill, (for the village was on a hill,) and 
 that without spilling any of the water." Then said 
 the pike, " Remember the words which I now say 
 unto you, and listen to what they are : At the 
 pike's command, and at my request, go, buckets ! 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 323 
 
 of yourselves up the hill." The fool repeated after 
 him, " At the pike's command, and at my request, 
 go, buckets ! of yourselves up the hill." And in- 
 stantly, with the speed of thought, the buckets ran 
 up the hill. When Emelyan saw this, he was 
 amazed beyond expression; and he said to the 
 pike, " But will it always be so ? " " Everything 
 you desire will be done," replied the pike ; " but 
 forget not, forget not I say, the words I have 
 taught you." Emelyan then put the pike into the 
 water, and followed his buckets home. 
 
 The neighbours were all amazed, and said to 
 one another, " This fool makes the buckets come 
 of themselves up from the river, and he follows 
 them himself at his leisure." But Emelyan took 
 no notice of them, and went on home. The buckets 
 were by this time in the house, and standing in 
 their place on the foot-bench, and Emelyan him- 
 self got up and lay on the stove. 
 
 After some time his sisters-in-law said to him 
 again, " Emelyan, what are you loitering there for ? 
 Get up, and go cut wood." But the fool said, "Aye! 
 and you, who are you then ? " " You see," cried 
 they, " it is now winter, and if you do not go cut 
 wood you will be frozen." " I am lazy," said the 
 fool. " What ! you are lazy ? " said the sisters-in- 
 law. "If you do not go and cleave wood, we will 
 tell our husbands not to give you the red coat, 
 or the red cap, or the fine red boots!" The fool, 
 who longed for the red cap, coat, and boots, saw 
 that he must cleave the wood ; but as it was bitter 
 
324- TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 cold, and he did not like to come down from off 
 the stove, he repeated under his breath, as he lay, 
 the words, " At the pike's command, and at my 
 request, up, axe ! and hew wood ; and do you, logs ! 
 come of yourselves into the house, and lay your- 
 selves in the stove." The axe instantly jumped 
 up, ran out into the yard, and began to cut up the 
 wood ; and the wood came of itself into the house, 
 and went and laid itself in the stove. When the 
 sisters-in-law saw this, they wondered exceedingly 
 at the ingenuity of the fool ; and as the axe did 
 of itself the work whenever Emelyan was wanted 
 to cut up wood, he lived for some time in great 
 tranquillity with them. At length the wood was 
 out, and they said to him, " Emelyan, we have no 
 more wood ; so you must go to the forest and cut 
 some.*' The fool said, " Aye ! and you, who are 
 you then ? " The sisters-in-law said, " The wood 
 is far off, and it is winter, and too cold for us to 
 go." But the fool said, " I am lazy." " How ! 
 you are lazy ? " said they : " you will be frozen 
 then ; and besides, we will make our husbands, 
 when they come home, not give you the red coat, 
 cap, and boots ! " As the fool longed for the red 
 clothes, he found that he must go and cut the 
 wood ; so he got up off the stove, began to put 
 on his shoes and stockings, and to dress himself; 
 and when he was drest, he went out into the yard, 
 pulled the sledge out of the shed, took a rope and 
 the axe with him, mounted the sledge, and called 
 out to his sisters-in-law, " Open the gate ! " 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 325 
 
 When the sisters-in-law saw that he was for 
 going off in the sledge without any horses, (for 
 the fool had not put the horses to it,) they cried 
 out, " Why, Emelyan ! you have got on the sledge 
 without yoking the horses ! " But he answered, 
 that he did not want any horses, only for them to 
 open the gate. The sisters-in-law threw open the 
 gate, and the fool, as he sat in the sledge, said, " At 
 the pike's command, and at my request, away, 
 sledge! go to the wood." At these words the 
 sledge galloped out of the yard at such a rate that 
 the people of the village, when they saw it, were 
 filled with amazement at Emelyan's riding in the 
 sledge without horses ; and that with such speed, 
 that if a pair of horses had been yoked to it, it 
 would be impossible for them to draw it at any- 
 thing like the same rate. And as it was neces- 
 sary for the fool to go through the town in his 
 way to the wood, he came at full speed to the 
 town ; but not knowing that he should cry out 
 " Make way ! " in order that he might not run over 
 any one, he gave no notice, but rode on. So he 
 ran over a great number of people ; and though 
 they ran after him, no one was able to overtake 
 him and bring him back. Emelyan, having got 
 clear of the town, came to the wood, and stopped 
 his sledge. He then got down from the sledge, 
 and said, " At the pike's command, and at my re- 
 quest, up, axe ! hew wood ; and you, logs ! lay your- 
 selves on the sledge, and tie yourselves together." 
 The fool had scarcely uttered these words, when 
 
326 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 the axe began to cut wood, the logs to lay them- 
 selves in the sledge, and the rope to tie them 
 down. When the axe had cut wood enough, he 
 desired it to cut him a good cudgel ; and when the 
 axe had done this, he mounted the sledge, and 
 said, " Up, and away ! At the pike's command, 
 and at my request, go home, sledge ! " Away, then, 
 went the sledge at the top of its speed ; and when 
 he came to the town, where he had hurt so many 
 people, he found a crowd waiting to catch him ; 
 and as soon as he got into the town, they laid 
 hold on him, and began to drag him off his sledge, 
 and to beat him. When the fool saw how they 
 were treating him, he said under his breath, " At 
 the pike's command, and at my request, up, cud- 
 gel ! and break their legs and arms." Instantly 
 the cudgel began to lay about it in all directions ; 
 and when the people were all driven away, he 
 made his escape, and came to his own village. 
 The cudgel, having thrashed them all soundly, 
 rolled to the house after him ; and Emelyan, as 
 usual, when he got home, mounted up and lay on 
 the stove. 
 
 After Emelyan had left the town, the people 
 began everywhere to talk, not so much of the num- 
 ber of persons whom he had injured, as to ex- 
 press their amazement at his riding in the sledge 
 without horses ; and from one to another the news 
 spread till it reached the court, and came even to 
 the ears of the king. And when the king heard 
 of it, he felt an extreme desire to see him. So 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 327 
 
 he despatched an officer with a party of soldiers 
 in search of him. The officer whom the king sent 
 lost no time in leaving the town, and he took the 
 road that the fool had taken ; and when he came 
 to the village where Emelyan lived, he summoned 
 before him the Starosta (i. e. Head-rnan) of the 
 village, and said to him, " I am sent by the king 
 to take a certain fool, and bring him before his 
 majesty." The Starosta instantly showed him the 
 house where Emelyan lived, and the officer went 
 into it, and asked where the fool was. Emelyan, 
 who was lying on the stove, made answer and 
 said, " What is it you want with me? " " How ! 
 What do I want with you ? Get up this instant 
 and dress yourself: I must take you to the king." 
 But Emelyan said, " What to do ? " The officer 
 became so enraged at the rudeness of his replies, 
 that he gave him a blow on the cheek. " At the 
 pike's command, and at my request," said the fool 
 under his breath, " up, cudgel ! and thrash their 
 legs and arms." At the word, up sprang the cud- 
 gel, and began to lay about it on all sides, on offi- 
 cer and men alike. The officer was forced to go 
 back to the town as fast as he could ; and when 
 he came before the king, and told him how the 
 fool had cudgelled them all round, the king mar- 
 velled greatly, and would not believe that he had 
 been able to cudgel them all. 
 
 The king then selected a wise man, whom he 
 directed to bring him the fool by craft, if no- 
 thing else would do ; and the envoy left the king, 
 
328 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 and went to the village where Emelyan dwelt. He 
 called the Starosta before him, and said, " I am 
 sent by the king to take your fool. So do you 
 send for those with whom he lives." The Sta- 
 rosta then ran and fetched the sisters-in-law. The 
 king's messenger asked them what it was the 
 fool liked, and they answered, " Noble sir, if any 
 one entreats our fool earnestly to do anything, 
 he flatly refuses the first and the second time ; 
 but the third time he does not refuse, but does 
 what one wants ; for he does not like to be roughly 
 handled." The king's messenger then dismissed 
 them, charging them not to tell Emelyan that he 
 had summoned them before him. He then bought 
 raisins, baked plums, and grapes, and went to the 
 fool. When he came into the room, he went up 
 to the stove, and said, " Emelyan, why are you 
 lying on the stove ? " and with that he gave him 
 the raisins, the baked plums, and the grapes, and 
 said, "Emelyan, we will go together to the king: 
 I will take you with me." But the fool replied, 
 " I am very warm here ;" for there was nothing 
 he was so fond of as heat. The messenger then 
 began to entreat him. " Be so good, Emelyan ! 
 let us go, you will like the court vastly." "Aye," 
 said the fool, "I am lazy." The messenger be- 
 gan once more to entreat him. "Be so good, 
 come with me, and the king will get you made a 
 fine red coat, a red cap, and a pair of red boots." 
 When the fool heard talk of the red coat, he said, 
 " Go on before, I will follow you." The mes- 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 329 
 
 senger then pressed him no further, but went out 
 and asked the sisters-in-law if there was any dan- 
 ger of the fool's deceiving him. They assured him 
 that there was not, and he went away. The fool, 
 who still remained lying on the stove, then said 
 to himself, "How I hate this going to the king!'* 
 Then, after a few minutes' thought, "At the 
 pike's command, and at my request," said he, 
 " up, stove ! and away to the town." Instantly the 
 wall of the room opened, and the stove moved 
 out ; and when it had got clear of the yard, it 
 went at such a rate that there was no overtaking 
 it ; and it came up with the king's messenger, and 
 went after him and entered the palace along with 
 him. When the king saw that the fool was come, 
 he went forth with all his ministers to see him ; 
 and when he saw that Emelyan was come, riding 
 on the stove, he was greatly amazed. But Eme- 
 lyan still lay where he was, and said nothing. 
 Then the king asked him why he had killed so 
 many people when he was going to the wood. 
 " It was their own fault," said the fool, " why did 
 they not get out of the way ?" 
 
 Just at that moment the king's daughter came 
 to the window, and looked at the fool ; and Eme- 
 lyan happening suddenly to look up at the win- 
 dow where she stood observing him, and seeing 
 that she was very handsome, he said quite softly 
 to himself, "At the pike's command, and at my 
 request, away! let this lovely maiden fall in love 
 with me!" And scarcely had he spoken the words, 
 
330 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 when the king's daughter was desperately in love 
 with him. He then said, " At the pike's com- 
 mand, and at my request, up, and away, stove ! 
 go home!" Immediately the stove left the palace, 
 went through the town, got home, and set itself 
 in its old place. And Emelyan lived there for 
 some time, comfortable and happy. 
 
 But it was quite different in the town ; for, at 
 the word of Emelyan, the king's daughter had 
 fallen in love ; and she began to implore her father 
 to give her the fool for a husband. The king was 
 in a great rage, both with her and the fool ; but 
 he knew not how he could lay hold on him. His 
 minister however suggested, that he should, by 
 way of punishment, for not having succeeded on 
 the former occasion, send the officer whom he had 
 sent before, to take him. This advice pleased the 
 king well, and he had the officer called to him ; 
 and when he came, the king said, "Hark ye, 
 friend! I sent you before for the fool, and you 
 came without him. To punish you, I now send 
 you for him a second time. If you bring him, you 
 shall be rewarded ; if you do not bring him, you 
 shall be punished." 
 
 When the officer heard this, he left the king, 
 and lost no time in going in quest of the fool ; and 
 when he came to the village, he called for the Sta- 
 rosta, and said to him, " Here is money for you ; 
 buy everything necessary for a good dinner to- 
 morrow. Invite Emelyan, and when he comes, 
 make him drink till he falls fast asleep." The 
 
EMEI/tfAN THE FOOL. 331 
 
 Starosta, knowing that he came from the king, 
 felt obliged to obey him ; so he bought everything 
 that was required, and invited the fool. When 
 Emelyan said he would come, the officer was 
 greatly rejoiced. So next day the fool came to 
 dinner, and the Starosta plied him so well with 
 liquor that he fell fast asleep. As soon as the of- 
 ficer saw that he was asleep, he laid hold on him, 
 and ordered the kibitke (a sort of carriage) to be 
 brought up ; and when it came, they put the fool 
 into it, and the officer, getting in himself, drove off 
 to the town, and so to the palace. The minister 
 informed the king that the officer was come ; and 
 as soon as he heard it, he ordered a large cask 
 to be provided without delay, and to be hooped 
 with strong iron hoops. When the cask was 
 brought to the king, and he saw that everything 
 was done as he desired, he ordered his daughter 
 and the fool to be put into it, and the cask to be 
 well pitched. When all this was done, the king 
 ordered the cask to be thrown into the sea, and left 
 to the mercy of the waves. The king then re- 
 turned to his palace, and the cask floated along 
 for some time on the sea. All this time the fool 
 was fast asleep ; and when he awoke, and saw that 
 it was quite dark, he said to himself, "Where am 
 I?" for he thought he was all alone. But the 
 princess said, " You are in a cask, Emelyan ! and I 
 am shut up with you in it." " But who are you?" 
 said the clown. " I am the king's daughter," said 
 she. And then she told him why she had been 
 
332 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 shut up there with him. She then besought him 
 to deliver himself and her out of the cask ; but the 
 fool said, "I am very warm here, too." " Grant 
 me the favour, said the princess ; have pity on my 
 tears, and deliver me out of this cask." Why 
 not?" said Emelyan, "I am lazy." The princess 
 began once more to entreat him ; "Grant me the 
 favour, Emelyan ! deliver me out of this cask, 
 and let me not die !" The fool was moved by her 
 tears and her entreaties, and he said, "Well, I 
 will do this for you." He then said, softly, "At 
 the pike's command, and at my request, cast us, 
 O sea! on the shore, where we may dwell on a 
 dry place, only let us be near our own country ; 
 and do thou, cask ! fall to pieces of thyself on the 
 dry place." 
 
 Scarcely had the fool spoken the words, when 
 the waves began to roll, and the cask was thrown 
 up on a dry place and fell to pieces of itself. Eme- 
 lyan got up, and went with the princess about 
 the place where they were cast. And the fool 
 saw that they were in a very handsome island, 
 where there was a great abundance of trees, with 
 all kinds of fruit upon them. When the princess 
 saw all this, she was greatly rejoiced at their being 
 on such an island, and she said, " But, Emelyan ! 
 where shall we live ? There is not even a nook 
 here." "You want too much," said the fool. 
 " Grant me the favour," said the princess, " let 
 there be, if nothing more, a little cottage, in which 
 we may shelter us from the rain;" for the princess 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 333 
 
 knew he could do everything he wished. But the 
 fool said, " I am lazy." She began again to urge 
 him, and Emelyan overcome by her entreaties was 
 obliged to do as she desired. 
 
 He went away from her, and said, "At the 
 pike's command, and at my request, let me have, 
 in the middle of this island, a finer castle than 
 the king's, and let a crystal bridge lead from my 
 castle to the royal palace ; and let there be people 
 of all conditions in the court!" The words were 
 scarcely spoken, when there appeared a splen- 
 did castle, with a crystal bridge. The fool went 
 with the princess into the castle, and saw that the 
 apartments were all magnificently furnished, and 
 that there was a number of men there, such as 
 footmen, and all kinds of officers, who waited for 
 the fool's commands. When he saw that all these 
 men were like meja, and that he alone was ugly 
 and stupid, he wished to be better. So he said, 
 " At the pike's command, and at my request, 
 away ! let me become such a youth that I shall 
 have no equal, and let me be extremely wise !" 
 He scarce had spoken, when he became so hand- 
 some and so wise that all were amazed. 
 
 Emelyan then sent one of his servants to the 
 king, to invite him and all his ministers. The 
 servant went along the crystal bridge which the 
 fool had made ; and when he came to the court, 
 the ministers brought him before the king, and 
 Emelyan's messenger said, " Please your majesty, 
 I am sent by my master to ask you to dinner." 
 
334 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 The king asked him who his master was ; but he 
 answered, " Please your majesty, I can tell you 
 nothing about my master, (for the fool had or- 
 dered him not to tell who he was), but if you come 
 to dine with him he will inform you himself." 
 The king, who was curious to know who it was 
 that had sent to invite him, told the messenger 
 that he would go without fail. 
 
 The servant went away ; and when he got home, 
 the king and his ministers set out along the cry- 
 stal bridge to visit the fool ; and when they ar- 
 rived at the castle, Emelyan came forth to meet 
 the king, took him by the white hands, kissed him 
 on the sugar- mouth 1 , led him into his castle, and 
 made him sit behind the oak-tables with fine dia- 
 pered table-cloths, at sugar-meats and honey- 
 drinks. The king and his ministers ate and drank 
 and made themselves merry. When they got up 
 from table and retired, the fool said to the king, 
 " Does your majesty know who I am? " As Eme- 
 lyan was now drest in fine clothes, and was very 
 handsome in the face, it was not possible to re- 
 cognise him. So the king said that he did not 
 know him. Then, said the fool, "Does not your 
 majesty recollect how a fool came on a stove to 
 your court, and how you fastened him up in a 
 pitched cask with your daughter, and cast them 
 into the sea ? Know me then now, for I am that 
 Emelyan." When the king saw him thus before 
 him, he was greatly terrified, and knew not what 
 
 1 These expressions are peculiar to the Sclavonic dialects. 
 
EMELYAN THE FOOL. 335 
 
 to do. But the fool went to the king's daughter 
 and brought her out to him ; and when the king 
 saw his daughter, he was greatly rejoiced, and said, 
 " I have been very unjust towards you ; so I give 
 you my daughter to wife." The fool hearing this, 
 humbly thanked the king ; and when Emelyan had 
 prepared everything for the wedding, it was cele- 
 brated with great magnificence, and the following 
 day the fool gave a feast to the ministers and the 
 common people. There were barrels of wine set 
 forth ; and when all these festivities were at an 
 end, the king wanted to give up his kingdom to 
 him, but he had no mind to take it. So the king 
 went back to his kingdom, and the fool remained 
 in his castle and lived happily. 
 
 I leave to the reader the task of comparing 
 these three forms of the very same tale, and of 
 observing the resemblances and the differences 
 which they present. My labours have now reached 
 the limit assigned them, else I might go on point- 
 ing out likenesses, either accidental or copied, to 
 be found in the literature and legends of various 
 countries. Thus, for example, I could show that 
 the amusing Taming -of- the-Shrew story of Sadek 
 Beg, so well told in the Sketches of Persia, is to 
 be found in El Conde Lucanor, a Spanish work 
 written early in the fourteenth century ; and, cu- 
 rious enough, the actors in this last are Moors! 
 I might then proceed to inquire whether this story 
 came originally from the East to Spain, or was in- 
 
336 TALES AND POPULAR FICTIONS. 
 
 vented in the West, and then conveyed via Syria 
 to Persia. But I must stop, lest weariness should 
 creep over my readers, and they should begin to 
 think my prattle tedious. 
 
 Courteous reader! We are now about to part : 
 after having been companions for some time, along 
 the same road. To beguile the tediousness of the 
 way, I have been giving you, as it were, a Per- 
 sonal Narrative of a voyage which I once made to 
 the land of Fiction, and of the discoveries I chanced 
 to make while there. I have, therefore, had oc- 
 casion to speak now and then of my own impres- 
 sions and adventures, and if they have not amused, 
 I hope they have not displeased you. We are ar- 
 rived, I find, at the point where my road separates 
 from yours : you will, probably, continue on the 
 present one, and I trust will soon fall in with some 
 more agreeable companion than I have been: that 
 to the right, which I own looks rather thorny and 
 rugged, is mine. Adieu ! I wish you a most plea- 
 sant journey. 
 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
APPENDIX. 
 
 THE popular legends of Germany, and some other 
 countries, having been collected and published 
 within the present century, a rich harvest of le- 
 gendary lore lay ready. I had the good fortune to 
 be the first to gather it ] ; and my Fairy Mythology 
 will therefore probably remain for some time a 
 kind of text-book on the subject. As the present 
 may be said to be a companion to that Work, I 
 venture here to make some additions to it ; but I 
 put them in such a form as to be independent. 
 
 Tt was only by degrees that I arrived at what 
 I believe to be the true origin of the word Fairy, 
 and my notions of it are scattered through the 
 Fairy Mythology. I will, therefore, now give my 
 perfect theory. 
 
 There can be no doubt that our word Fairy is 
 the French J "eerie, which originally signified illu- 
 sion, and is derived from fee. I therefore reject, 
 
 1 A selection of stories from the Kinder- und Hausmarcheq 
 of MM. Grimm, with illustrative, critical, and antiquarian 
 notes, appeared in 1825, under the title of German Popular 
 Stories. The translator was, I believe, Mr. Edgar Taylor. 
 There is a wide difference, I must observe, between popular 
 legends, and stories ; the former are objects of actual belief, 
 the latter are only regarded as sources of amusement. 
 
340 APPENDIX. 
 
 with full conviction, all the etymons (such as that 
 from Peri) which go on the supposition of fairy 
 being the original name. The Italian fata, Proven- 
 cal /acto, French fae,faee,fee, are, beyond ques- 
 tion, the words first used to designate the being 
 whom we call Fairy. Of these words, I regard the 
 Latin fatum as the root. In a coin of Diocletian 
 the Destinies are, I know, named Fatce, and this 
 might seem to give a ready origin of the Italian 
 and Provei^al names ; but there is so little re- 
 semblance between the Parcae and the Fairies of 
 romance, that I cannot adopt it. My opinion is, 
 that, as from the Latin gratus came the Italian 
 verb aggradare, and the French agreer, so from 
 fatum came affatare, fatare, (Ital.) andfaer,feer, 
 (Fr.), signifying to enchant ; and that fato, fata, 
 fae, faee, fee, are participles of these verbs. I 
 believe there is not a single passage in the old 
 French romances, in which these last words occur, 
 where they may not be taken participially ; such 
 are, les chevaliers faes, les dames faees, and the 
 continually recurring phrase elle sembloit (or res- 
 sembloit) fee. La fee is, therefore, lafemmefee, 
 and unefee is une femme fee. 
 
 The Italian/ato is, in the romantic poems, al- 
 ways employed as a substantive ; but it is well 
 known that a number of substantives in all lan- 
 guages are in reality adjectives or participles, and 
 in the Pentamerone/ata andfatata are evidently 
 employed as equivalents. I therefore regard fata 
 as nothing more than/atata, contracted after the 
 
APPENDIX. 341 
 
 usual rule of the Italian language 1 , and esteem 
 una fata to signify merely una donna fatata. I 
 will now show what was understood by unefemme 
 fee and una donna fatata. 
 
 In the romance of Lancelot du Lac we are told, 
 that " all those (women) were called Fays (fees) 
 who had to do with enchantments and charms, and 
 knew the power and the virtue of words, of stones, 
 and of herbs ; by which they were kept in youth 
 and in beauty, and in great riches." This defi- 
 nition will, I think, include all the Fees, without 
 exception, that we meet in the old French ro- 
 mances. It will also, I apprehend, apply to the 
 Italian Fata. In the Pentamerone, Fata and Maga 
 are synonymous, and fata is also equivalent to 
 
 1 I cannot help suspecting that this rule of the Italian 
 language, (i. e. throwing the syllable at out of participles of 
 verbs in -are ; e.g. from adornato making adorno, from guas- 
 tato, guasto) has ben derived from the Latin. I think the 
 following words have the appearance of having lost at or sim- 
 ple a. In the verb poto -are the participle is potus (potatus?) ; 
 aptus is rather, I think, a contraction of aptatus than the 
 participle ofapo, obs. We have paratus and.partus,juvatus and 
 jutus, fricatus andfrictus, secatus and sectus, inseratus and 
 insertus (Virg. Mn. iii. 152.), necatus and nectus, crematus 
 and cremus, creatus and cretus, truncatus and truncus, pul- 
 satus and pulsus, quassatus and quassus, lavatus lautus and 
 lotus, viduatus and viduus, orbatus and orbus ; to which per- 
 haps may be added, cavatua and cavus, nudatus and nudus. 
 Some of these may be explained on other principles, but I 
 think my theory (and I have not met it anywhere else) is 
 not altogether devoid of some show of vraisemblance. 
 
343 APPENDIX. 
 
 fatata ; in Ariosto we cannot easily distinguish 
 between the Fata Alcina and the Maga Melissa. 
 This poet says of Medea 1 , 
 
 E perche per virtu d'erbe e d'incanti 
 Delle Fate una, ed immortal fatt' era ; 
 
 which exactly agrees with the above definition of 
 a Fee. She renewed her youth, he says, by means 
 of a bath, which she had made by enchantment; 
 and every eighth day she was turned into a ser- 
 pent, a transformation to which, according to the 
 same poet, all the Fate were subject. In another 
 place 2 he makes a Fata say, 
 
 Nascemmo ad un punto che d' ogn' altro male 
 Siamo capaci fuor che della morte : 
 
 which looks as if he regarded them as a distinct 
 species, like the Peris of the East ; and he else- 
 where 3 says, 
 
 Queste ch'or Fate, e dagli antichi foro 
 Gia dette Ninfe, e Dee con piu bel nome. 
 
 Bojardo 4 also calls the Naides Fate. From all 
 this, however, I would only infer, that the ideas 
 of these poets on the subject were a little con- 
 fused. T am inclined to think that the Italians 
 
 1 I Cinque Canti, c. ii. st. 106. 
 
 2 Orl. Fur. c. xliii. st. 98. 3 I Cinque Canti, c. i. st. 9. 
 4 Orl. Innam. lib. iii. c. vii. st. 7. Under the word Fata, in 
 
 the Vocabolario della Crusca, I find the following passage 
 from an Italian translation of Guido dalle Colonne's History 
 of the Trojan War, which was probably made in the fifteenth 
 century : Costei fu Iddea, o figliola di Dea, ovvero una di 
 fjuelle che la gente cliiamafate. 
 
APPENDIX. 343 
 
 derived their knowledge of these beings from the 
 French romances, and that therefore the descrip- 
 tion given in these romances is the true one, and 
 the fata or fee was only a woman skilled in magic. 
 There is some difficulty about the Provencal 
 Fada. I am not sufficiently versed in this dialect 
 to be able to say, whether it contracts its partici- 
 ples like the Italian, or not ; and Gervase of Til- 
 bury would seem to make the Fadas a distinct 
 species l . He classes them with Pans and Silvans, 
 i. e. wood-spirits, and calls them phantoms or 
 evil spirits (larvae). He says, that those who en- 
 joyed their love, died if they married other wo- 
 men, or even if they withdrew themselves from 
 their embraces or revealed the secret. This is like 
 what is told of the classic Nymphs ; but nearly 
 the same ill effects were the result of desertion of 
 the Fees. I therefore leave my readers to think 
 as they please of the Fada, 
 
 The following account of the Fay Oriande, in 
 the romance of ' Maugis d'Aygremont et de Vi- 
 vian son Frere,' may be added to those in the 
 Fairy Mythology, and will also serve to confirm 
 the preceding hypothesis respecting the Fees. 
 
 When, in this romance, Tapinel and the female 
 slave had stolen the two children of Duke Bevis 
 of Aygremont, the former sold the child which he 
 had taken to the wife of Sorgalant, whose name 
 
 1 Apud Leibnitz, Scriptores Rerum Brunsvicarum, i. 989. 
 
344 APPENDIX. 
 
 was Esclarmonde, and who was about fifteen years 
 of age, and was plus belle et plus blanche qu'une 
 fee 1 . The slave having laid herself to rest under 
 a white-thorn (aubespine), was devoured by a lion 
 and a leopard, who killed one another in their 
 dispute for the infant. " And the babe lay under 
 the thorn, and cried loudly, during which it came 
 it came to pass that Oriande la Fee, who abode at 
 Rosefleur with four other fays, came straight to 
 this thorn ; for every time she passed by there she 
 used to repose under that white- thorn. She got 
 down . . . and hearing the child cry, she came that 
 way and looked at him, and said, ' By the God in 
 whom we believe, this child here is lying badly 
 (mal gist), and this shall be his name * ; and from 
 that time he was always called Maugis." 
 
 Oriande la Fee brought the child home with her 
 and her damsels ; and having examined him, and 
 found, by a precious ring that was in his ear, that 
 he was of noble lineage, " she prayed our Lord 
 that he would be pleased of his grace to make 
 known his origin (nation)" When she had finished 
 her prayer, she sent for her nephew Espiet, "who 
 was a dwarf, and was not more than three feet 
 high, and had his hair yellow as fine gold, and 
 looked like a child of seven years; but he was 
 more than a hundred: and he was one of the 
 falsest knaves in the world, and knew every kind 
 of enchantment." Espiet informed her whose 
 child he was ; and Oriande, having prayed to our 
 
 1 That is, than unefemmefee. See above, p. 340. 
 
APPENDIX. 34-0 
 
 Lord to preserve the child, took him with her to 
 her castle of Rosefleur, where she had him bap- 
 tized and named Maugis. She and her damsels 
 reared him with great tenderness ; and when he 
 was old enough she put him under the care of her 
 brother Baudris, "who knew all the arts of magic 
 and necromancy, and was of the age of a hundred 
 years;" and he taught what he knew to Maugis. 
 
 When Maugis was grown a man, the Fay Ori- 
 ande clad him in arms, and he became her ami ; 
 and she loved him de si grand amour qu'elle doute 
 fort qu'il ne se departe d'avecques elle. 
 
 Maugis shortly afterwards achieved the adven- 
 ture of gaining the enchanted horse Bayard, in 
 the isle of Boucaut. Of Bayard it is said, when 
 Maugis spoke to him, Bayard estoitfeye, si en* 
 tendoit aussi bien Maugis comme s'il (Bayard) 
 eust parle. On his return from the island, Mau- 
 gis conquers and slays the Saracen Admiral An- 
 thenor, who had come to win the lands and castle 
 of Oriande, and gains the sword Flamberge, (Flo- 
 berge) which, together with Bayard, he afterwards 
 gave to his cousin Renaud. 
 
 Everything here, we may perceive, tends strong- 
 ly to confirm my theory. Oriande is only a woman ; 
 her brother and nephew are enchanters, and she 
 may therefore be fairly regarded as such herself. 
 
 No character is more prominent in Fairy lore 
 Q5 
 
346 APPENDIX. 
 
 than the little king Oberon, who figures so in the 
 romance of Huon de Bordeaux. I think I have 
 proved Oberon to be the Elberich of German ro- 
 mance : I have now a word or two to say of Sir 
 Huon himself. 
 
 There are two romances, both said to be written 
 by Huon de Villeneuve, in the thirteenth century ; 
 the one is the well-known * Quatre Filz Aymon', 
 the other, 'Hullin de Bordeaux/ The hero of 
 this last is, in the poetic romance, also called Hue 
 and Huon, and he is duke or prince of Bordeaux or 
 Guienne. In the former, we meet with Yon, king 
 of Bordeaux ; and it appears to me that they may 
 both be only forms of the same name : at all 
 events, t feel quite sure that one or other of them 
 is one of the heroes of Bojarclo and Ariosto. His 
 Italian name is Ivone \ and he makes no great 
 figure in their poems* 
 
 In the metrical romance of Sir Launfal, it is 
 said of Dame Tryamour, that she was " the kinges 
 daughter of Oliroun," (Olyron,) and that 
 
 " Her father was king of Faerie, 
 Of occient far and nigh, 
 A man of mickle might." 
 
 I have supposed ( occient' to be equivalent to * Oc- 
 cident,' and to denote the West. When I was in 
 
 1 That Ivone was duke of Guienne is clear, from I Cinque 
 Canti, c. v. st. 42. Bojardo (lib. i. canto iv. st. 46.) calls him 
 ' Lo He Ivone', which is precisely the 'Roi Yon' of the Quatre 
 Filz Aytiion. 
 
APPENDIX. 347 
 
 the neighbourhood of Bayonne, in the year 1831, 
 a woman, pointing to the Bay of Biscay, told me 
 it was called la Mer d'Occient ; but whether oc- 
 cient be Occident or ocean, I could not ascertain. 
 It is worthy of notice, that an English poet should 
 use a Gascon appellation, which did not occur in 
 the French poems he was imitating. 
 
 The examples of the identification of the Fairies 
 with the Nymphs, given in the Fairy Mythology, 
 are not quite conclusive : the following, however, 
 will be found to be so. 
 
 Ovid (Met. iv. 304.) says of Salmacis, 
 
 " Solaque Na'iadum celeri non nota Dianae :" 
 which Golding (in 1567) renders thus, 
 
 " Of all the water-fairies she alonely was unknown 
 To swift Diana." 
 
 Again (Met. ix. 337. ), he says of Dryope, that 
 she came to the lake 
 
 " Nymphis latura coronas." 
 
 " The cause of coming there 
 Was to the fairies of the lake fresh garlands for to bear." 
 
 It thus is clear that in the sixteenth century Fairy 
 and Nymph were equivalent. 
 
 Golding also employs Elfe for Nymph. Thus 
 Ovid (Met. iii. 364.) says of the nymph Echo, 
 " Ilia deam longo prudens sermone tenebat." 
 
 This is rendered by, 
 
 " This elfe would with her tattling talk detain her by the way." 
 
348 APPENDIX. 
 
 Of Envy, (ii. 772.) Golding says, " Anon the 
 elfe arose." 
 
 The definition of a Fay, given above from Lan- 
 celot du Lac, belongs to the Lady of the Lake. 
 Drayton makes her also an elfe, and a denizen of 
 Faerie : for, speaking of Merlin, (Poly-Olbion, 
 song iv.) he says, 
 
 " For while it was in hand, by loving of an elf, 
 For all his wondrous skill was cozened of himself: 
 For walking with his Fay, her to the rock he brought, 
 In which he oft before his nigromancy wrought. 
 And going in thereat, his magics to have shown, 
 She stopt the cavern's mouth with an enchanted stone, 
 Whose cunning strongly crossed, amazed while he did 
 
 stand, 
 She captive him conveyed unto the Fairy-land." 
 
 A few lines before he had said of Arthur, 
 
 " The feasts that underground the Faery did him make, 
 And there how he enjoyed the Lady of the Lake." 
 
 Sufficient instances have, I think, now been 
 given of the confusion of the Elves and Fays in 
 the sixteenth century. 
 
 In the derivation which I have given of the Per- 
 sian Peri, from Feroher, I find I have been anti- 
 cipated by some Continental scholars. I am, how- 
 ever, not by any means certain of its correctness; 
 for the name Parysatis, i. e. Parizade, (Pari-born,) 
 was in use at the time that the worship of Ormuzd 
 
APPENDIX. 349 
 
 was in full vigour ; and there are, I believe, some 
 reasons for supposing, that in the Light religion 
 the Peris were distinct from the Ferohers. 
 
 The Peris are very rarely spoken of in the Shah- 
 Nameh ; they merely occur with the birds and 
 beasts among the subjects of the first Iranian 
 monarchs. The fullest account of them and the 
 Deevs will be found in that wildest of all romances, 
 The Adventures of Hatim Tai, translated from 
 the Persian by Mr. Duncan Forbes. I regret that 
 the translator should have employed the terms Fai- 
 ries and Demons, instead of Peris and Deevs, as 
 it is productive of some little confusion. This, 
 however, is a mere trifle ; and the inquirer after 
 the opinions of the modern Persians respecting 
 Deevs and Peris will here meet all he can desire. 
 
 Mr. Forbes gives, in a note, the proper idea of 
 the Mountain Kaf, the fabulous abode of these 
 beings. The Persians, like the Greeks and Scan- 
 dinavians, believed the earth to be flat and circu- 
 lar, and surrounded by water. Round the edge 
 of the disk, answering, we may say, to the bul- 
 warks of a ship, ran a mountainous circle 2000 
 English miles high, according to one authority ; 
 and this is Kaf, the abode of Deevs and Peris. Its 
 base is washed by the sea, and some say that it is 
 formed of emeralds. As Hatim made more than 
 one visit to Kaf, a very accurate knowledge of it 
 may be derived from the narrative of his adven- 
 tures. 
 
350 APPENDIX. 
 
 The following are curious instances of English 
 superstition in the twelfth century. 
 
 " Another wonderful thing," says Ralph of 
 Coggeshall 1 9 " happened in Suffolk, at St. Mary's 
 of the Wolf-pits. A boy and his sister were found 
 by the inhabitants of that place near the mouth of 
 a pit which is there, who had the form of all their 
 limbs like to those of other men, but they dif- 
 fered in the colour of their skin from all the people 
 of our habitable world ; for the whole surface of 
 their skin was tinged of a green colour. No one 
 could understand their speech. When they were 
 brought as curiosities to the house of a certain 
 knight, Sir Richard de Calne, at Wikes, they wept 
 bitterly. Bread and other victuals were set be- 
 fore them, but they would touch none of them, 
 though they were tormented by great hunger, as 
 the girl afterwards acknowledged. At length, 
 when some beans just cut, with their stalks, were 
 brought into the house, they made signs, with 
 great avidity, that they should be given to them. 
 When they were brought, they opened the stalks 
 instead of the pods, thinking the beans were in the 
 hollow of them. But not finding them there, they 
 began to weep anew. When those who were pre- 
 sent saw this, they opened the pods, and showed 
 
 1 As quoted by Picart in his Notes on William of Newbury. 
 I could not find it in the Collection of Histories, &c. by Mar- 
 tene and Durand, the only place where, to my knowledge, 
 this chronicler's works are printed. 
 
APPENDIX* Sol 
 
 them the naked beans. They fed on these with 
 great delight, and for a long time tasted no other 
 food. The boy, however, was always languid and 
 depressed, and he died within a short time. The 
 girl enjoyed continual good health; and becoming 
 accustomed to various kinds of food, lost com- 
 pletely that green colour, and gradually recovered 
 the sanguine habit of her entire body. She was af- 
 terwards regenerated by the laver of holy baptism, 
 and lived for many years in the service of that 
 knight, (as I have frequently heard from him and 
 his family,) and was rather loose and wanton in 
 her conduct. Being frequently asked about the 
 people of her country, she asserted that the inha- 
 bitants, and all they had in that country, were of 
 a green colour ; and that they saw no sun, but en- 
 joyed a degree of light like what is after sun-set. 
 Being asked how she came into this country with 
 the aforesaid boy, she replied, that as they were 
 following their flocks, they came to a certain ca- 
 vern, on entering which they heard a delightful 
 sound of bells ; ravished by whose sweetness, they 
 went for a long time wandering on through the 
 cavern, until they came to its mouth. When they 
 came out of it, they were struck senseless by the 
 excessive light of the sun, and the unusual tem- 
 perature of the air ; and they thus lay for a long 
 time. Being terrified by the noise of those who 
 came on them, they wished to fly, but they could 
 not find the entrance of the cavern before they 
 were caught." 
 
352 APPENDIX. 
 
 This story is also told by William of Newbury ', 
 who places it in the reign of King Stephen. He 
 says he long hesitated to believe it, but was at 
 length overcome by the weight of evidence. Ac- 
 cording to him, the place where the children ap- 
 peared was about four or five miles from Bury 
 St. Edmund's ; they came in harvest-time out of 
 the Wolf- pits ; they both lost their green hue, and 
 were baptized, and learned English. The boy, 
 who was the younger, died ; but the girl married a 
 man at Lenna, and lived many years. They said 
 their country was called St. Martin's land, as that 
 Saint was chiefly worshiped there ; that the peo- 
 ple were Christians, and had churches ; that the 
 sun did not rise there, but that there was a bright 
 country which could be seen from theirs, being 
 divided from it by a very broad river. 
 
 In the next chapter of his history, William of 
 Newbury relates as follows : 
 
 " In the province of the Deiri( Yorkshire), not far 
 from my birth-place, a wonderful thing occurred, 
 which I have known from my boyhood. There 
 is a town a few miles distant from the Eastern Sea, 
 near which are those celebrated waters commonly 
 called Gipse .... A peasant of this town went once 
 to see a friend who lived in the next town, and it 
 was late at night when he was coming back, not 
 very sober; when lo ! from the adjoining barrow, 
 
 1 Guilielmi Neubrigensis Historia sive Chronica Rerum 
 Anglicarum. Oxon. 1719, lib. i. c. 27. 
 
APPENDIX. 353 
 
 which I have often seen, and which is not much 
 over a quarter of a mile from the town, he heard 
 the voices of people singing, and, as it were, joy- 
 fully feasting. He wondered who they could be 
 that were breaking in that place, by their merri- 
 ment, the silence of the dead night, and he wished 
 to examine into the matter more closely. Seeing 
 a door open in the side of the barrow, he went up 
 to it, and looked in; and there he beheld a large 
 and luminous house, full of people, women as well 
 as men, who were reclining as at a solemn ban- 
 quet. One of the attendants, seeing him standing 
 at the door, offered him a cup. He took it, but 
 would not drink ; and pouring out the contents, 
 kept the vessel. A great tumult arose at the ban- 
 quet on account of his taking away the cup, and 
 all the guests pursued him ; but he escaped by 
 the fleetness of the beast he rode, and got into 
 the town with his booty. Finally, this vessel of 
 unknown material, of unusual colour, and of ex- 
 traordinary form, was presented to Henry the El- 
 der l , king of the English, as a valuable gift, and 
 was then given to the queen's brother David, king 
 of the Scots, and was kept for several years in the 
 treasury of Scotland ; and a few years ago (as I 
 have heard from good authority) it was given by 
 William king of the Scots to Henry II., who 
 wished to see it." 
 
 1 A cup obtained in a similar way was, according to Ger- 
 rase of Tilbury, presented to this prince by the Earl of Glou- 
 cester. See Fairy Mythology, vol. ii. p. 106. 
 
354 APPENDIX. 
 
 The scene of this legend is the very country 
 in which the Danes settled; and it is exactly the 
 same as some of the legends current at the pre- 
 sent day among the Danish peasantry. It is really 
 extraordinary to observe the manner in which po- 
 pular traditions and superstitions will thus exist 
 for centuries. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Printed by RICHARD TAYLOR, Red Lion Court, Fleet Street. 
 
WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 In Two Volumes Foolscap Octavo, with 12 Plates and 32 Wood-Cuts 
 by W. H. Brooke, F.A.S., Price 15s. handsomely half-bound, 
 
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 COUNTRIES. 
 
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 THE MYTHOLOGY OF ANCIENT GREECE 
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 SITIES AND THE HIGHER CLASSES IN SCHOOLS. 
 
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 freed as it is from all that can defile and degrade the youthful mind, ought already 
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 to us the origin of a thousand fables which amused our infancy, and still beguile 
 our attention." British Magazine. 
 
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 piled with great care, clearly arranged, and very far superior to anything of the 
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 neral reader." Metropolitan Magazine. 
 
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 In ISmo, with a Plate and Wood-Cuts by W.H. Brooke, F.A. 
 Price 4s. bound, 
 
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 AND ITALY, 
 
 ABRIDGED FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS. 
 
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 "This Abridgement presents the information of the large work to the young 
 mind, without its learning or its disquisitions ; and we can cordially recommend 
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 student a clue to much that is valuable in the stores of ancient and modern 
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