THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 J 
 
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 ^i^ 
 
 THE MODERN REVOLUTION. 
 
 IDistotical JnDuctions. 
 
 NEW FOLKLORE RESEARCHES-GREEK FOLK-PROSE.
 
 ' TIlUg e doibh sgciii air Rig/i na Greige, agus mar a blia Aig/iean 
 an R'ig/i air a gleidJieadh 'sati Dim, 's nach robh aon air bitJi gii 
 AlLLIDH, Nigheaii R)g/i na Greige,f/iaotai/i/i ri p/iosad/i, ac/i aon 
 a bJicircadh a i/iac/i i Ic sdr g/iaisge.^ 
 
 Sgeul Chonuil Ghuilbnich.
 
 NEW FOLKLORE RESEARCHES. 
 
 GREEK FOLK POESY: 
 
 ANNOTATED TRANSLATIONS, 
 FROM THE WHOLE CYCLE OF ROMAIC 
 FOLK-VERSE AND FOLK-PROSE. 
 
 r.Y 
 
 LUCY M. J. GARNETT. 
 
 EDITED WITH ESSAYS ON 
 
 THE SCIENCE OF FOLKLORE, 
 
 GREEK FOLKSPEECH, and THE SURVIVAL 
 
 OF PAGANISM, 
 
 BY 
 
 J. S. STUART-GLENNIE, M.A. 
 
 And he told them the Tale of the King of Greece, and how his Daughter 
 was kept in the Dun, and that no one at all was to get Beauty, Daughter 
 of the Knig of Greece, to marry, but one who could bring her out by great 
 valour.' — Ca.mpuell: West H i^hland I'alcs, Vol. iii., p. 25S. 
 
 VOL. 11.— FOLR-PROSE. 
 
 GUILDFORD : 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHORS BY BILLING AND SONS ; 
 
 AND SOLD EY 
 
 DAVID NUTT, 270, STRAND, LONDON. 
 
 1896. 
 
 \_AU Rights Reserved.]
 
 CORRESPONDING CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 AND VOLUME II. 
 
 PA 
 
 Qrl 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 PREFACES. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 THE SCIENCE OF FOLK 
 
 LORE. 
 Preamble. 
 
 Section I.— The New Generalisa- 
 tions of Historical 
 Theory. 
 Note. —The Ethnology of the 
 
 White 1-laces. 
 Section- II. —The New Principles 
 of Method. 
 >» III- — The New Sugges- 
 tions of Historical 
 Deduction. 
 Summary. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS- 
 VERSE. 
 
 -FOLK- 
 
 CLASS I. -MYTHOLOGICAL 
 IDYLLS. 
 
 Section I.— Zoonist. 
 ,, II.— Magical. 
 ,, III. — -Supernalist. 
 
 CLASS II.— SOCIAL SONGS. 
 Section I.— Antenuptial. 
 ,, II. — Family. 
 ,, HI. — Communal. 
 
 CLASS III.-HTSTORICAL 
 BALLADS. 
 Section I.— Byzantine. 
 ,, II. — Ottoman. 
 ,, III.— Ilellenic. 
 
 ANNOTATIONS. 
 
 EXCURSUS. 
 
 GREEK FOLK-SPEECH. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS — FOLK 
 PROSE. 
 
 CLASS I.— MYTHOLOGICAL 
 
 TALES. 
 Section I. — Zoonist. 
 ,, II.— Magical. 
 ,, III. — Supernalist. 
 
 CLASS II.— SOCIAL STORIES. 
 
 Section I.— Antenuptial. 
 ,, II. — Family. 
 ,, HI. — Communal. 
 
 CLASS HI.— HISTORICAL 
 LEGENDS. 
 
 Section I. — Byzantine. 
 ,, II. — Ottoman. 
 ,, I II. -Hellenic. 
 
 ANNOTATIONS. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF PAGAN- 
 ISM. 
 Preamble. 
 
 Section I. — The Characteristic 
 Conceptions of Pagan- 
 ism. 
 „ II.— The Conflict of Folk- 
 and Culture-conceptions. 
 ,, HI. — The Conceptions of 
 Paganism Justified. 
 
 Summary. 
 
 ANALYTICAL 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 TABLE OF 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF GREEK 
 FOLK-LORE. 
 
 INDICES.
 
 GENERAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 VOLUME IL 
 
 TRANSLATIONS.— FOLK-PROSE. 
 
 CLASS L 
 
 MYTHOLOGICAL FOLK-TALES. 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF KOSMICAL IDEAS. 
 
 Section L — Tales Illustrative of Zoonist Ideas 
 
 ,, II.— Tales Illustrative of Magical Ideas 
 
 ,, III. — Tales Illustrative of Supernalist 
 
 Ideas - - - - . 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 3 
 46 
 
 171 
 
 CLASS II. 
 SOCIAL FOLK-STORIES. 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 Section I. — Stories Illustrative of Antenuptial 
 Life - . . . . 
 
 II. — -Stories Illustrative of Family Life 
 HI. — Stories Illustrative of CoiMmunal 
 
 
 Life 
 
 301 
 320 
 
 374
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 CLASS III. 
 HISTORICAL FOLK-LEGENDS. 
 
 IvEGENDvS ILLUvSTRATlVK OF HIvSTORICAl. 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 Section I. — Legends Illustrative of Byzantine 
 
 Memories . . . . 41-5 
 
 ,, II. — Legends Illustrative of Ottoman 
 
 Memories - - . . 420 
 
 „ III. — Legends Illustrative of Hellenic 
 
 Memories . . . . ^^25 
 
 ANNOTATIONS. 
 Historical, Comi'arative, and Explanatory - 437 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF PA(L\NISM. 
 
 Preamble - - - - - - 467 
 
 Section I. — The Characteristic Conceptions of 
 
 Paganism - - - - 472 
 
 „ II. — The Conflict of Folk- and Culture- 
 conceptions - - - - 513 
 
 ,, III. — The Conceptions OF Paganism Justified 513 
 
 Summary - - - - - ■ 513 
 
 '> 
 
 ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS - - 521 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF GREEK FOLK-POESY - 529 
 INDICES --.-.. 
 
 ^ ^ -* 
 
 5jo
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Mdrchen sind iviinaerliche Erzdhiungen, wie sie sich Miiiier 
 unci Wdrierifinen erdenken, um dajnit ate Kinder zu uttierhalteft, 
 und iti denen Feen taid Hexen, Riesen utid Zwerge, Utigeheuer 
 und sprechende Thiere ihren Spuk treiben. — VON Hahn. 
 
 La Thessalie possede encore ses enchanteresses si renomme'es dans 
 Vaniiquite. Uapres nos pay sans, elles peuvent a Paide d'une 
 baguette bdiir et detruire des palais^faire descendre et remonter les 
 astres. . . . Ces nouvelles Cassandres pronoticent quelques mots 
 inintelligibles, jettent du set, de la farine, des feuilles dessechees 
 de laurier sur les charbons ardents, et ainsi que la fameuse magi- 
 cienne de Theocrite, a la cla*-te lunaire . . . operent leurs enchante- 
 vients. — SOUTZO. 
 
 FOLK - PROSE, 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 CLASS I. 
 MYTHOLOGICAL FOLK-TALES: 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF KOSMICAL IDEAS ; 
 
 ZOONIST, MAGICAL, AND SUPERNALIST. 
 
 SECTION (I.) 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF ZOONIST IDEAS. 
 
 THE KING OF THE BIRDS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {Ae\Tiov, I., p. 337.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours l^ 
 
 There was once upon a time a King, and he had three 
 daughters. They were all three very beautiful. Word 
 came to him to go on a campaign, and he did not know 
 how he could leave his daughters alone. 
 
 ' Never mind, my father,' said the three daughters ; 
 ' go, and may you return successful.' 
 
 ' I must go, for I cannot do otherwise ; but what do 
 you wish me to bring for you ?' 
 
 ^ TTJs dtpevTias ( — avdevreias) aas, literally 'your authority.'
 
 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Said the eldest, ' I want you to bring me a pair of 
 diamond earrings.' 
 
 Said the next, ' I want you to bring me a diamond 
 necklace for my neck.' 
 
 Said he to the youngest daughter, ' And thou, what 
 dost thou wish me to bring thee ?' 
 
 * Let me think, papatsi, and I will tell you later.' She 
 goes to her chamber, and says to her grandmother, 
 ' Laid mine, my father is going away ; what shall I 
 charge him to bring me ?' 
 
 ' Tell him, my child, to bring you the Melodious 
 Napkin, and say that, if he forgets it, may his ship move 
 neither backwards nor forwards.' 
 
 The Princess went to her father and said to him, 
 ' Papa ! bring me the Melodious Napkin — if you don't 
 bring it, may your ship move neither backwards nor 
 forwards !' 
 
 The father arose, embraced them, and kissed them, 
 and went away. He came to the place, and fought and 
 conquered. He bought the earrings for the eldest, the 
 necklace for the second, and for the youngest a spray to 
 wear in her hair. He went on board the ship to return 
 to his kingdom, but neither forward, nor backward, 
 would it move. ' Bvc aman F^ They cast off, and set 
 the sails, but the ship remained in the same spot. There 
 was a merchant on board, and he said to the King, 
 
 ' My longlived King, perhaps someone has given you 
 a commission, and you have forgotten it.' 
 
 ' I don't remember, how do I know ? I don't re- 
 member being told anything.' 
 
 Said he, ' But try and recollect, my King, if someone 
 in your house did not happen to give you a charge, and 
 you have not fulfilled it ?' 
 
 " M7rp^=I say. Amdn, a Turkish expression of dismay.
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zolmist. 
 
 ' Bre, r said he, ' now I remember ! My youngest 
 daughter asked me to bring her the Melodious Napkin, 
 and said that if I didn't bring it, might my ship move 
 neither backwards nor forwards.' 
 
 Then said the merchant, ' If you Hke, my King, I will 
 go and buy it for you.' 
 
 The King gave him money ; the merchant got into a 
 boat, and went and bought it, and brought it. As soon 
 as the Melodious Napkin was on board — pi-i-i — the 
 ship flew like a bird. The King came to his own 
 country. His eldest daughter went up to him, and he 
 gave her the diamond earrings ; the second one went 
 and kissed his hand, and he gave her the diamond 
 necklace ; the youngest went and kissed his hand, and 
 he gave her a diamond spray and the Melodious 
 Napkin. She embraced her father, kissed him, and 
 thanked him, and took it to her chamber. Then she 
 called her grandmother and said to her, 
 
 ' My father has brought me the Melodious Napkin, 
 what shall I do with it ?' 
 
 In the Princess's chamber there was a high window. 
 The grandmother placed a table, and on the table a 
 chair, and she climbed up and broke with a key all the 
 glass of the window and took out the pieces one by one ; 
 then she fastened red velvet all round the window, and 
 in the middle she set a golden basin. Afterwards she 
 put rose-water in the basin, and said to the Princess, 
 
 ' When you wish him to come who is Prince of the 
 Birds, the Snakes, the Insects, and the rest — and he is 
 an Eagle, this Prince — dip the Melodious Napkin in the 
 basin and hang it to dry; and afterwards when he is 
 come into your room and flaps his wings, he will 
 become a Prince ; but don't be frightened, for he 
 will be your husband.'^ And her grandmother left her.
 
 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The Princess changed her dress, and tidied herself, 
 and then dipped the Napkin in the basin, and spread it 
 out to dry. She heard a noise, and then saw an Eagle 
 come in at the window, and he flapped his wings and 
 became a handsome Prince. 
 
 He said, ' What do you want, as 3^ou called me ?'* 
 
 And the Princess answered, ' I did not know that you 
 would come, it was my grandmother who told me to 
 spread out the Napkin.' 
 
 Then the Prince looked at her, and liked her very 
 much, and he said to her, ' I am the Prince of all the 
 Birds and the Creeping Things, and if you will, take me 
 for your husband.' 
 
 Then said the Princess, ' I love thee and desire thee, 
 but I have two sisters, and I must wait till they are 
 married, and then we will wed.'^" 
 
 Then every day she dipped the Napkin in the rose- 
 water in the basin, and spread it out, and the Prince 
 came, and they amused themselves. So much love was 
 there between them that they could not do without each 
 other. The Princess finally forgot that she had any 
 sisters, and was always hanging out the Napkin for the 
 Prince to come. The sisters began to wonder greatly. 
 One said to the other, 
 
 ' KaU ! can you tell me what has become of our 
 sister ? Since our father brought her the Melodious 
 Napkin she has disappeared from the sight of the 
 world.' 
 
 ' I wonder,' said the eldest. ' I will go and pay her 
 a visit.' 
 
 ' ril come too,' said the other. ' I will engage her in 
 
 a The Napkin seems to have emitted a sound audible to the Eagle. 
 ^ According to Greek custom an elder sister must be married 
 before a younger.
 
 /. MytJiological — (/.) Zoonist. 
 
 talk, and do you go into her chamber and see what is 
 going on, why we don't see her.' 
 
 So they went to see their sister. The one began to 
 speak to her, and talked of one thing and another ; 
 the other went into the chamber, as if to look at her- 
 self in the mirror. She looks on this side and on that, 
 but sees nothing. Only she did — so / and lifted her head 
 high and saw the window with the velvet and with the 
 golden basin. And then she understood that someone 
 came in that way. She said nothing, but went out 
 again to where the others were, and both reproached 
 their youngest sister because she did not love them, as 
 she never went to see them. 
 
 Said the youngest, 'Ail I have some work, I am 
 embroidering something ; you must excuse me, and I 
 will come another time.' 
 
 Then said her middle sister, ' We have come to invite 
 you to go with us to-morrow on an excursion ; if you 
 like, come with us, and we will enjoy ourselves.' 
 
 ' I will come,' said the youngest, for she could not do 
 otherwise. 
 
 They rose in the morning and all got ready. Then 
 said the eldest sister to the second, ' Won't you tell me 
 what you saw there ? What does our sister do that she 
 doesn't come here ?' 
 
 ' What shall I tell you ? I saw her high window, the 
 glass was taken out, and in front was placed a golden 
 basin. Who comes in there and washes I know not. 
 But now as we are going into the country, I will say 
 that I have forgotten my keys in my cupboard, and I 
 will turn back and go into my sister's room, and put 
 glass all round the high window.' 
 
 They sent word to their sister that all was ready, and 
 to come and set off on their excursion. When they
 
 S Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 were arrived in the country, and were sitting down, the 
 second sister said, 
 
 ' Po ! Po ! what have I done ! I have left the keys 
 of the cupboard in the lock, and now what shall I do, 
 for I have a lot of things of my father's in it ? Do you 
 stay here, and I will soon be back.' 
 
 She mounted her horse, and galloped back to the 
 palace. She went straight to her sister's chamber, she 
 broke up the glass which she had carried in her snuff- 
 box,* and nailed it all round the window, where the 
 velvet was. She came down and returned to her 
 sisters. They sat and ate, and drank, and sang ; then 
 they arose and came back to the palace, and went each 
 one to her chamber. 
 
 The youngest Princess went to her room. She 
 wetted her Napkin, and hung it out for the Eagle to 
 come. The Eagle came, tried to enter, drew back, 
 again rushed forward, drew back once more, and the 
 third time he flew away. The Princess could not think 
 what was the matter. She placed the table, and 
 climbed up to the window. What did she see ? The 
 basin full of blood ! She put her hand on the velvet, 
 and touched only glass. Then she understood. 
 
 ' Ach ! what have my sisters done to me ?' she cried. 
 She called her grandmother, and said to her, ' Laid 
 mine, what has befallen me ? This and that, and they 
 have wounded the Prince !' 
 
 Then said her grandmother, ' Thou must arise, if 
 thou canst, and go and find out where his palace is.' 
 
 She begged her grandmother to get her a Nun's 
 dress, and she would become a Nun. She put on the 
 Nun's dress, tied up her hair, and covered it with a 
 
 •■' Snuff-boxes in the East are elegant nicknacks, rather than 
 receptacles for snuff.
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 9 
 
 cowl, so that it might not be seen that she was young 
 and beautiful. She tied a rope round her waist, took a 
 crutched stick in her hand, took to the road, and went, 
 and went, and went. She grew weary. As she felt sad 
 and pensive, she sat down in a hollow tree. From 
 thence she saw at a distance a maimed snake coming 
 towards her. She hid herself in the hollow, where 
 there was a nest. Said her children, the little snakes, 
 
 * Where have you been, mother, for we are dying of 
 hunger to-day ?' 
 
 * Where have I been, my children ? I have been on 
 the tiles of the palace, and I heard the lamentation 
 and the wailing which is going on in the palace, because 
 our King loved a wicked skyla, and she has wounded 
 him.' 
 
 ' Ach I little mother !' said one of the children, ' if they 
 knew, they would kill one of us, and take out our fat, 
 and anoint him with it in the bath, and he would 
 become like a wounded snake.' 
 
 ' Hush, my child, or someone will hear, and kill thee,' 
 said his mother. * But now, stay in the nest, and I 
 will go on the tiles, and see what is happening in the 
 palace.' 
 
 When the snake -mother had gone away, the Nun 
 lost no time, but at once killed a little snake with her 
 crutch, skinned it, took out its fat, put it in her snuff- 
 box, covered it up with some cotton-wool, and arose 
 and left. She went further, and saw a pigeon come 
 flying along and hide in a tree. 
 
 ' Tsioii, tsiou /' said her little ones. ' Where have you 
 been, little mother, so long, and we dying of hunger ?' 
 
 ' Where have I been, my children ? I have been 
 over at our King's palace, and heard the lamentation 
 and wailing which rent my heart in pieces, because our
 
 lo Gi^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 King is dying ; he loved an accursed one, and she loves 
 him not, but has set people to stab him.' 
 
 ' Ach ! little mother, if they knew, and killed one of 
 us, and anointed him with our fat in the bath, he would 
 become a pigeon, and spread his wings.' 
 
 'Hush! never you mind,' said his mother; *go 
 inside, or someone will hear and kill thee, my child.' 
 And the pigeon flew away. 
 
 When the pigeon was gone, she [the Nun] took her 
 crutch, killed a pigeon and took out its fat. She put it 
 in cotton-wool, and placed it in her snuff-box, and went 
 on her way. She went on, and on, and on, and there 
 she saw an eagle coming at a distance and she disap- 
 peared into a leafy little tree. 
 
 ' Where have you been, little mother mine ?' said the 
 young eagles, ' to leave us to die of hunger ?' 
 
 ' A'i ! are you hungry when our King is dying?' 
 
 ' What ails our King ?' 
 
 ' He loved a faithless one, and she has wounded 
 him.' 
 
 ' Ach, little mother ! if they knew, and would kill one 
 of us and take our fat, and anoint him with our fat in 
 the bath, he would become an eagle and fly !' 
 
 ' Hush, my child, for fear someone might hear and 
 kill thee,' said the mother ; and she flew off hastily to 
 see how the King was. 
 
 When the eagle was gone, the Nun lost no time, but 
 killed one of the young eagles with her crutch, skinned 
 it, took out its fat, put it in cotton, put it too in her 
 snuff-box, and took the road which led to the palace. 
 When she came near, she began to call out, 
 
 ' A physician and physic for the wounded, for sores, 
 and every other pain !' 
 
 Up in the palace they were all weeping, because they
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. ii 
 
 [the physicians] had given the King up. Then a servant 
 heard her calhng, * A physician ! Physic !' and said to 
 the King's mother, 
 
 ' My Queen ! shall v^e call in that Nun, and see if 
 she knows of anything for the King ?' 
 
 ^ Ach, dear thing, the royal physicians have given 
 him up, and what should she know ?' 
 
 ^ Ai I who knows, my Queen? sometimes one finds 
 one's health from small things.' 
 
 They called her, and she came upstairs. When she 
 saw the King lying speechless and insensible on his bed, 
 she nearly lost her wits ; but she restrained herself. 
 
 Said she, ' What do the doctors say about the King ?* 
 
 ' They say there is no hope.' 
 
 ' Put your trust in me, and I will make him well,' 
 said the Nun. 
 
 ' Since the doctors have given him up, we leave him 
 with thee ; do as God shall enlighten thee.' 
 
 Then she bade them heat the bath, and when it was 
 warm to put the Prince in it ; and when she had bathed 
 him well, she rubbed him with a delicious soap-jelly, 
 and then took the snake's fat and anointed the King's 
 hands and all his body with it, wrapped him carefully 
 in a thick sheet, told them to carry him up to his bed, 
 and sat by his side, and watched him all night. Sleep 
 took him who for so many days and nights had not slept. 
 
 Then said the King's mother, ' Ach ! doctress dear, 
 if my son gets well, I will be thy slave.' 
 
 The Prince slept all night, and in the morning he 
 awoke and opened his eyes and saw his mother and the 
 Nun by his side. 
 
 ' How art thou, my son ?' said his mother. 
 
 ' Well, little mother, I feel like a maimed serpent— I 
 want to get up and crawl.'
 
 12 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Again the Nun told them to heat the bath. They 
 heated the bath, the Nun took him and put him in, 
 and again she washed him well with much soap and 
 rubbed over him the pigeon's fat. She wrapped him 
 in a linen sheet, and put him to bed again. He slept 
 all night, and when he awoke in the morning his mother 
 said to him : 
 
 ' How art thou, my son ?' 
 
 ' Like a pigeon, mother mine. I want to fly !' 
 
 They gave him food, and once more the Nun told 
 them to heat the bath. They took him again, and put 
 him in the bath. She washed him well and rubbed him 
 with the eagle's fat. She then wrapped him in a linen 
 sheet, put him to bed, and he slept. In the morning, 
 when he awoke, the Queen again said to him, 
 
 * How art thou, my son ?' 
 
 ' How am I ? An Eagle ! I want to fly too ! Thou ' 
 — he turned and said to the Nun — ' thou art my saviour 
 who has cured me ; what favour shall I do thee ?' 
 
 ' I want nothing. I heal people for pleasure, for I 
 have blessing and curse from my mother.^ One favour 
 only thou mayest do me. If thou hast anyone to 
 hang or to slay, and he says to thee, " Long life to 
 the doctress who healed thee and to the bloody shirt, 
 and harm me not !" then thou must give him his 
 life.' 
 
 The Prince hesitated a little, for he had intended 
 when he got up to go and kill the Princess. But then 
 he thought to himself, ' How should she ever know of 
 my oath and say this to me ?' 
 
 So he swore to her that he would do as she had said. 
 
 * And yet another [favour] ,' said she. ' Give me the 
 bloody shirt and thy ring.' 
 
 The Prince gave them to her. The Queen embraced
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 13 
 
 her, and kissed her, and thanked her, and she arose and 
 went away. 
 
 When she came home to the palace, she cleared the 
 window, took out the glass, fastened velvet all round, 
 put rose-water in the basin, dressed herself very beauti- 
 fully, put the Prince's ring on her finger, dipped the 
 Melodious Napkin in the rose-water and spread it out. 
 But she saw the Eagle coming in great anger with his 
 sword in his hand, and he said, 
 
 ' Art thou not yet satisfied, but callest me to kill 
 me?' 
 
 As he raised his sword to slay her she said, ' Long 
 life to the doctress who healed thee, and to the bloody 
 shirt, and don't harm me !' 
 
 ' Ach, skyla !' he cried, 'and hast thou learnt that 
 too?' 
 
 Then she told him that she had been the Nun who 
 had healed him ; she showed him also the ring, and said 
 that it was her sisters who had caused him that mis- 
 fortune, and that she could never have done it. So he 
 took her and went to her father, and asked if he might 
 have her for his wife. And her father rejoiced at his 
 daughter's good fortune, and they had music, and drums, 
 and great rejoicings. The wedding was held, and every- 
 one rejoiced, and her sisters burst.'^ And he became a 
 golden Eagle, and he took hold of her with his claws 
 and carried her away to his mother, and there were 
 more amusements and rejoicings and feastings. And 
 they lived happily. And we more happily still ! 
 
 ^ A common Greek invective is ' No, o-Kafi?? — May'st thou burst !' 
 This expression occurs frequently in folk-song and story.
 
 THRICE-NOBLE, OR THE THREE CITRONS. 
 
 Athens. 
 
 {AeXriov, L, p. 158.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a Queen and a King, and 
 they had no son. They prayed to God to give them a 
 child, and vowed that, if a child should be born to them, 
 a fountain should run three days with oil, three days 
 with honey, and three days with butter, that everybody 
 might go and take. It was a lucky hour, and God 
 heard their wish, and the Queen became with child. 
 Joy or grief, you may imagine which ! and at the end 
 of nine months the Queen was delivered, and bore 
 a male child. The boy grew up, and became a delight ; 
 but they forgot to fulfil their vow. And one night the 
 Queen saw in her sleep a Woman who came and said to 
 her, 
 
 ' I gave thee the child, but thou hast forgotten to 
 keep thy vow. Knowest thou not that I can take again 
 the child I gave thee ?' 
 
 The Queen arose in terror and said to her husband, 
 
 ' Po-po ! what a risk we have run ! We forgot to 
 perform that which we vowed to God — that a fountain 
 should run three days with oil, three days with honey, 
 and three days with butter !' 
 
 The King immediately gave orders for the fountain 
 to be made in the courtyard of the palace, and told his 
 people to carry to it honey, oil, and butter to put in the 
 fountain that it might run, and everybody come and 
 take and bless the Prince. When three days had
 
 /. MytJiological — (/.) Zoonist. 15 
 
 passed, and all the people had helped themselves, and 
 the fountain had ceased to flow, an Old Woman, very 
 old, heard of it, and she went, too, to get what butter 
 she could. She gathered it up with her fingers and put 
 it in her pot. The Prince up at the window saw her, 
 and laughed. When she had filled her pot, he threw a 
 stone and broke it, and spilt it all. Then she looked up 
 and saw the Prince. 
 
 ^ Ach, my Prince, what hast thou done to me? My 
 heart fails me to curse thee,' she said to him, ' I will 
 only say — may'st thou not escape from the hands of Thrice- 
 NobU: 
 
 When she had thus said, the Old Woman went away, 
 and was seen no more. Then the Prince pondered as 
 to who Thrice-Noble could be. One day he said to his 
 mother, 
 
 ' I am going, mother, to inquire and learn who is this 
 Thrice-Noble.' 
 
 ' Brc ! my boy ! my good boy ! my bad boy !' 
 
 So his mother strove to dissuade him, but in vain. 
 When his parents saw how determined their son was, they 
 let him go. He dressed himself, took money with him, 
 his sword and his cloak, and set out, and went, and 
 went, into the wilderness, asking here, and asking 
 there where Thrice-Noble lived, but could learn nothing. 
 As he journeyed in the wilderness, he saw a wide, high 
 gateway and went through it in hopes of learning some- 
 thing. He saw a Lamia swinging among the almond 
 leaves. He said to her, 
 
 * Good-day, mistress !' 
 
 ' Welcome, my boy ! Hadst thou not said " Good- 
 day " to me, I would have eaten thee !' 
 
 'And ii you had not said "Welcome, my boy!" I 
 would have killed you with my sword !'
 
 1 6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' What wantest thou here, and what seekest thou in 
 this wild spot ?' asked the Lamia. 
 
 ' What shall I tell you ? — An Old Woman laid me 
 under a curse, and said — "May yon not escape from the 
 hands of Thrice-Noble," and since then I have been very 
 uneasy and could not stay in the palace. So I beg you 
 to tell me, if you know, what is this Thrice-Noble, and 
 where does she live ?' 
 
 ' What shall I tell thee, my boy ? I know nothing 
 about it. Take that road to the right, and thou wilt 
 come to another big gateway like mine, which thou wilt 
 enter. My sister lives there, and thou must say to her, 
 " Good-day," and ask if perchance she knows ; and if 
 she does, she will tell thee, for she is good-natured. 
 Take, too, this silver comb, and tell her, with greetings, 
 that I sent thee.' 
 
 He thanked her, and arose, and left, and took the 
 road she showed him. He goes, and goes, and sees 
 from afar a door. He pushes it and goes in, and sees 
 a Lamia swinging among the walnut leaves. He says 
 to her, 
 
 'Good-day, mother!' 
 
 ' Welcome, my boy ! Hadst thou not said " Good- 
 day !" I should have eaten thee !' 
 
 'And I, ii you had not said "Welcome, my boy!" 
 should have killed you with my sword !' 
 
 ' What dost thou want, and who sent thee, and 
 whence comest thou ?' 
 
 ' Your sister sent me, and here is the comb, with her 
 compliments. And tell me, I beg you, if you know, 
 where Thrice-Noble lives, that I may go and find her.' 
 
 ' What shall I say, my boy ? — Thou seekest a hard 
 thing. I know nothing about it. But arise and go to 
 my other sister who lives among those rocks over
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. ly 
 
 yonder. Thou wilt see a hill smoking, and an old 
 tumbledown gate ; push it open and go in ; she will be 
 wiping out the oven with her breasts. Say no word to 
 her, but cut off a piece from thy clothes, wipe out the 
 oven, put in her loaves, and afterwards, when they are 
 baked, take them out. She will say, " What return shall 
 I make for the service thou hast done me ?" Then thou 
 must say, " [I bring] greetings from thy sisters," and 
 give her this iron comb and ask, " Where is the house of 
 Thrice-Noble ?" ' 
 
 The Prince thanked her too, and arose, and went 
 away. He took the road, and saw a hill smoking ; he 
 approached, and saw an iron door. Then he went in 
 and saw a tall wild-looking Lamia, with hair standing 
 on end, and she was wiping out the oven with her 
 breasts. When the youth saw her, he was afraid, but 
 kept silence. He lost no time, cut off a piece of his 
 cloak, dipped it in water and wiped out the oven for her 
 with a stick. He took the loaves and quickly put them 
 in ; they were baked ; he took them out, and placed 
 them in a row. Then said the Lamia to him, 
 
 ' What return shall I make thee for the favour thou 
 hast done me ?' 
 
 ' Your sisters have sent me. Here is this iron comb. 
 Their compliments, and will you tell me where is the 
 house of Thrice-Noble ?' 
 
 ' O, my boy, I pity thy youth ! At the house of 
 Thrice-Noble there are Nereids. It is a great palace, 
 and in the middle of the courtyard is a Citron-tree ; on 
 it are three Citrons, and in the Citrons are the Queens 
 of the Nereids, three sisters. For the outer door of the 
 palace I give thee some water which thou must sprinkle 
 on it and it will open. But at the root of the Citron- 
 tree are fastened two exceedingly fierce lions."* Thou 
 
 VOL. II. 2
 
 1 8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 must take care to have four carcasses. Before thou 
 cHmbest the Citron-tree throw two of them as far away 
 as thy hands can throw, that the Hons may run and eat 
 them and let thee alone ; then climb up the tree and 
 pluck the Citrons. When thou hast plucked them, hold 
 them safely in thy robe,^ and then throw the other two 
 carcasses for the lions to eat while you get down, that 
 they may not meddle with thee, and I will see to the 
 Nereids and bind them. But be careful when thou 
 hast plucked the Citrons to cut them open in plenty of 
 water, or they [the Queens] will come out dead.' 
 
 So he did all that the Lamia told him ; he took four 
 carcasses and followed the road she pointed out. He 
 went on ; he threw the water on the door ; the door 
 opened ; he went in, and saw the Citron-tree. But 
 when he was within, and the lions saw him, they began 
 to roar. He threw one carcass as far as he could, and 
 the other the same, and the lions rushed to eat them ; 
 and so he climbed up the tree. He drew his sword, cut 
 the three Citrons, tied them up securely in his robe, 
 threw the other two carcasses to the lions, came down, 
 and made off. On the road as he went, he said, 
 
 ' Perhaps there is nothing in the Citrons, and she has 
 cheated me.' 
 
 He broke open one of the Citrons and saw inside a 
 beautiful maiden, and she cried 'Water! Water!' and 
 died, because he had no water to throw her into. Then 
 he began to weep. He wept and wept, and then buried 
 her, took up the other two Citrons, and went on. As 
 he went and went, he saw a little stream of water. 
 
 ' Shall I cut the other and see if there is anything 
 inside?' he said. 
 
 ^ Literally ' apron '—the front of the long loose garment formerly 
 worn by all nationalities in the East.
 
 /. MytJiological — (/,) Zoonist. 19 
 
 Then he put it in the stream and cut it too, and 
 there leaped out a lovely maiden. She cried ' Water ! 
 Water!' and died, because there was not enough water 
 to throw her in. Again he wept much, and then dug 
 a grave and buried her too ; and he arose and went 
 towards the palace, and said, 
 
 ' Unless I find a great deal of water, I will not cut 
 open the other Citron.' 
 
 Then he came to a great cistern full of water. 
 
 ' Here,' said he, ' I will cut the other Citron, and see 
 if there is anything inside or not.' 
 
 Then he put it into the water and broke it. Im- 
 mediately there leaped out a beautiful maiden, more 
 lovely than the others, and she swam about in the 
 water, and cried, 
 
 ' How came I here ? Where are my sisters ?' 
 
 ' I brought no other Citron,' he said. ' I brought 
 one only, the others I left on the tree. I am a Prince, 
 and my Fate destined me to marry you, and you shall 
 be a Queen.' 
 
 He wrapped her in his cloak, took her up, and carried 
 her towards the city. There was a well there, and 
 close to the well grew a great cypress with large 
 branches. He placed her on the cypress, hid her 
 among the branches, and said, 
 
 ' Stay here ; don't feel at all dull ; and I will go to 
 the palace and bring you beautiful royal robes to wear, 
 and a coach to ride in, as befits a Oueen.' 
 
 So he climbed with her up into the tree, put her 
 among the branches to sit, and told her not to be the 
 least bit uneasy, for he would soon return. He set off 
 and came to the palace. When his parents saw him 
 the}- made great rejoicings, for they thought they had 
 lost him. He told them that he had brought Thrice-
 
 20 Gi^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Noble, and bade them get ready dresses and carriages 
 to bring her to the palace. 
 
 While these were being got ready, Thrice-Noble sat 
 lip in the tree. To the well below went a Negress to 
 fill her pitcher with a bucket. When she saw Thrice- 
 Noble's face reflected in the water, she drew up the 
 bucket and said, 
 
 ' Bd I Am I so beautiful ? I shall do no more work 
 now I know that I am so beautiful !' 
 
 She began to dance round and round the well, cry- 
 ing, ' So fair am I, and I knew it not ! So fair am I, 
 and I knew it not !'^ 
 
 But Thrice-Noble saw all this, and burst out laugh- 
 ing up in the cypress. The Negress looked up, and 
 saw Thrice-Noble. 
 
 'Ah! it is thou up there, who mockest me!' she 
 said. ' Come down at once !' 
 
 Said she, ' Let me alone, I cannot come down, 
 because the Prince has put me up here, and is coming 
 to take me to the palace.' 
 
 Then said the Negress, ' I don't care about that ; 
 whether you will or not, I will pull you down !' 
 
 So she climbs up into the cypress, seizes her, and 
 throws her into the well ; and the Negress undresses 
 and wraps herself in the cloak like Thrice-Noble, and 
 sits up in the cypress. In a little while there came the 
 King, the Queen, the Prince, and all the relations. The 
 Prince climbs up, and what does he see ? — a black Crow. 
 ' How did you become like this ?' he asks. 
 ' Nd ! from my grief,' she said, ' that thou wert so long 
 in coming, and I thought thou hadst abandoned me here ! 
 But what matter ? — I shall grow white again.' 
 
 ' Certainly, it is enough that thou love me and desire 
 me.'
 
 /. Mytholo(^ical — (/.) Zoonist. 21 
 
 Then the Prince was ashamed to show her to his 
 parents, and he covered her up and put her in a 
 carriage and went to the palace, and hid her in a 
 chamber, and ordered his food to be brought upstairs 
 to him to eat with her, and paid her great attentions in 
 order that she might grow white. But how could she 
 grow white ? And the Prince fell into great melancholy, 
 and said, 
 
 ' Have I hazarded my life and run such risks for a 
 Negress ? What shall I do if she does not grow 
 white?' 
 
 To the well into which Thrice- Noble had been 
 thrown went a maiden for water, and into her bucket 
 leaped a golden Eel. 
 
 ' Bd ! what a pretty Eel ! I will take it to the King 
 who is sad, and perhaps his sadness will pass away 
 when he amuses himself with this, for the Prince since 
 he came back with his wife is very low-spirited.' 
 
 So she took the Eel as it was in the bucket, and 
 carried it to the King, and left her pitcher at the well. 
 When she came to the palace, she asked to see the 
 Prince wherever he was. She had covered over the 
 bucket and the Eel was not visible. They told the 
 Prince that a maiden wanted to see him. Said the 
 Prince, 
 
 ' Very well, let her come in.' 
 
 When the girl came in, she said, ' My longlived 
 King, I found this Eel in the well there ; and I have 
 brought it to you because it is so beautiful that it may 
 amuse you.' 
 
 Then the Eel, when it saw the Prince, began to leap 
 and dance. It played many tricks, and began to nibble 
 his hand. The Prince thanked the girl very much, and 
 took a handful of sequins out of his pocket and gave
 
 2 2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 them to her, and she went away. When she had 
 taken them, the Prince remained all day shut up in his 
 room ; he petted the Eel, threw it sugar, and gave 
 orders for his meals to be brought to him there, so that 
 he might look at the Eel, so much did he love it. The 
 Negress did not see him at all, and she sent word to 
 him to go and see her. The Prince went upstairs to 
 see what she wanted ; she threw herself on his neck 
 and embraced him, and wept, and said that he was 
 very unkind, and now just as she was beginning to 
 grow white, she had become black again, because she 
 had heard that he was in love with an Eel. Then the 
 Prince said, 
 
 ' I did not come because I did not wish to disturb 
 3'ou. Do you become white, and you will see what 
 love I shall have for you. How should I love an Eel, 
 as if it were a human being ? I am only waiting for 
 you to become white to hold our wedding.' 
 
 With such words he quieted her ; but every day there 
 were fresh grumblings : 
 
 ' Kill the Eel for me to eat, and then I shall become 
 white ; if you will not, take me back to where you 
 found me.' 
 
 What could the Prince do, with the depths before 
 him and the torrents behind ? He decided to kill the 
 Eel for her to eat, but he did it with the heart-ache. 
 He ordered it to be killed, and cooked, and served for 
 them to eat. As they ate it, all the bones that fell to 
 her share she threw into the fire ; but he threw his 
 into the garden. They ate well, and the next day the 
 Prince felt sad, and went into his chamber and wept. 
 As he sat and wept, the gardener went to him and 
 said, 
 
 * My King, my longlived one, will you come down
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 2 
 
 into the garden and see a marvel ? A Lemon-tree has 
 grown up during the night, covered with lemons and 
 yet covered with blossoms. Will you come and see it, 
 and tell me what wonder is this ?' 
 
 The Prince went down to see the Lemon-tree. It 
 immediately raised its branches and threw its blossoms 
 all over him. Then the Prince called for a seat, and 
 sat down under the tree, and did not move thence, so 
 delighted with it was he. The Negress asked where 
 the Prince was. They told her thus and thus — ' There 
 is a Lemon-tree covered with lemons and blossoms, 
 and the King is fond of it, and sits beneath it.' Our 
 good Negress loses no time ; she goes down into the 
 garden ; but, as she approached the Prince, the 
 Lemon-tree threw itself upon her with its thorns and 
 scratched her face and her hands, and made her a 
 pitiable sight. Cries and I don't know what from the 
 Negress. 
 
 * Root up the Lemon-tree, and then I shall become 
 white ! — for I was nearly white when this happened to 
 me from the Lemon-tree, and now I have blackened 
 and become like a Negress — or I will go away and 
 bring the Nereids and they will turn your palace upside 
 down.' 
 
 ' Bre ! my good woman,' said the Prince, 'what 
 harm has the Lemon-tree done thee ? It is good ; 
 don't go near it, that is all.' 
 
 [He spoke] in vain. Said she, ' I will either root it 
 up, or something dreadful shall happen.' 
 
 Then the Prince went out of the garden and said to 
 her, ' Do what you will, I shall not meddle.' 
 
 When the Prince was gone, she lost no time, but 
 set the gardener to root up the Lemon-tree, cut the 
 branches in small pieces, and throw them out on the
 
 24 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 road so that people might take and burn them. The 
 stump remained ; that they threw in front of the 
 fountain. An old man came to draw water. Said he : 
 
 ' Won't you give me this stump that I may light a 
 fire in my house ?' 
 
 She flies to the window. 
 
 'Take it !' she said, 'take it and go !' 
 
 The old man took it and went home. He took up 
 his axe to chop it. Hardly had he struck it when he 
 heard a voice from inside the wood : 
 
 ' Strike above, and strike below, 
 In the middle strike no blow ; 
 It can feel, for 'tis a maid, 
 And thy blows make sore her head.' 
 
 When the old man heard this, he gave a jump, and 
 went into his house in a fright. His son comes to him 
 and says, 
 
 * Good day, Father !' 
 
 He made no reply, but trembled. 
 
 ' What ails you, Father, that you tremble ?' 
 
 'What ails me?' he replied. 'I went to the palace 
 — where I wish I had not gone — for water, and found a 
 stump and begged it ; and it is alive and talks !' 
 
 ' Bd ! How can it talk ? Can wood talk ? You are 
 not going crazy, Father?' 
 
 ' A''^', go near it, and take the axe and strike it gently, 
 gently, and you will see that it will talk.' 
 
 Then his son went and took the axe, and struck the 
 stump gently, and he heard it say, 
 
 ' Strike above, and strike below, 
 In the middle strike no blow ; 
 It can feel, for 'tis a maid, ; 
 And thy blows make sore her head.' 
 
 Then the youth struck as she told him, and saw a 
 beautiful maiden leap out from within, who said to him.
 
 /. MytJiological — (/.) Zoonist. 25 
 
 ' Don't be frightened, you are making your fortune 
 with me ; only give me clothes to cover me, for I am 
 naked, and buy a white kerchief and silk and gold 
 [thread] that I may embroider a kerchief for you to 
 take to the King, and he will give you many sequins.' 
 
 The youth went and bought a beautiful white ker- 
 chief, and gold and silk thread, and brought them to 
 her. She sat and embroidered on the kerchief all her 
 history, how she had become an Eel, how she had 
 become a Lemon-tree, and now that she was to be 
 found in that house, and that he must come and fetch 
 her. She folded the kerchief neatly and gave it to the 
 youth to take and give it into the hand of the Prince, 
 and come back and give her his answer. Then he went 
 with the gold [embroidered] kerchief to the palace and 
 asked, 
 
 ' Where is the Prince ? I want to see him.' 
 They showed him, and he went. He said to him, 
 ' My Prince, my longlived one, I have a kerchief to 
 give you.' 
 
 The Prince took it ; he opened it. What did he 
 see ? Letters ! He read all the story of Thrice- 
 Noble ! 
 
 * And where is now she who gave thee this kerchief?' 
 
 * At my house.' 
 
 He arose, lost no time, gave the youth a handful of 
 sequins, and said to him, 
 
 ' Come with me, and let us go !' 
 
 Then the Prince took the youth, and went to his 
 house, and saw Thrice-Noble. Rejoicings and tears ; 
 now they laughed, and now they wept. 
 
 Said she, ' Let us have no more of this, but bring me 
 clothes and a carriage, and let us go to the palace.' 
 
 Said he, ' I will send you dresses and a carriage, but
 
 26 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 remain here until I drive out that Negress, and then I 
 will come and fetch you.' 
 
 The Prince returned immediately to the palace and 
 went up straight to the Negress and began to pace up 
 and down the room. Said the Negress to him, 
 
 ' Are you again offended ? What ails you again ? 
 Alas ! No sooner do I begin to whiten a little than 
 again you get angry ! Now offended, now one thing, 
 now another ; and I see you, and become blacker than 
 ever !' 
 
 ' Never mind, for I shall now leave you in peace. But 
 I have still justice to do, and I came to consider and 
 see what punishment I shall give to that man.' 
 
 ' Tell me about it, and I will tell you, for my papa 
 was a King over the Nereids, and I shall know what 
 you should do.' 
 
 ' There was a couple of lovers,' said the Prince, ' and 
 he planned with another to separate them. What 
 punishment, therefore, shall I now give that man ? — 
 what ought he to suffer ?' 
 
 ' And my papa had once such a case. And we had 
 four wild mules, and we tied his two hands to two of 
 the mules and his two feet to the other two, and 
 whipped the four mules, and each mule took his own 
 road, taking a piece with him.' 
 
 ' Then prepare,' said he, ' to receive thy punish- 
 ment !' 
 
 ' What sayest thou ? Am I for ever to be frightened ? 
 You will make me blacken again, and I shall die of 
 grief!' 
 
 ' As to that, the game is played out ; only I shall not 
 bind thee to the mules, but strangle thee.' 
 
 And so he came out of the palace, and gave orders 
 that they should strangle her and throw her in the river.
 
 /. MytJiological — (/.) Zoonist. 27 
 
 And then he took a splendid gilt coach, and went to the \ 
 
 poor man's house, and took away Thrice-Noble when 
 
 he had given them much money and made them rich. 
 
 And her he took to the palace, and the next day he 
 
 ordered the ceremonies to begin because he was going 
 
 to celebrate his wedding. And then, music and drums 
 
 and great rejoicings. He took her for his wife, and 
 
 they lived happily. And we more happily still ! 
 
 "^,
 
 THE STORY OF THE BEARDLESS.^ 
 
 Peloponnesus. 
 
 {NeoeWrjviKa ' AvuXeKra, A. lO.) 
 
 Once upon a time and in olden days, there was a King. 
 This king wished to see the world, and he travelled 
 through many towns and countries. In course of time 
 he came to a village, and went and lodged in the house 
 of a widow woman. The widow of whom I speak was 
 young and very beautiful, so beautiful that the King 
 could not contain his love for her, and she had a son. 
 When he left, he gave one of his silver pistols to the 
 widow and said to her, 
 
 ' When our child is born and is grown up, send him 
 to me to such and such a city, where I am King.' And 
 when he had thus said, he went away. 
 
 Not long afterwards a male child was born. The 
 child grew up, but knew not his father. On a certain 
 day, however, he went to his mother, and asked her 
 who his father w^as. His mother, seeing that she could 
 not do otherwise, said to him, 
 
 ' My son, thy father is to be found in such and such 
 a city, where he is the King. Hie thee thither and take 
 with thee this pistol ; when thou showest it to him he 
 will know that thou art his child. Shouldst thou, how- 
 ever, meet on the road a Beardless One, turn thee 
 again at once.' 
 
 The boy received his mother's blessing, and off he 
 set for the city. Going along the road he met a Beard- 
 less One. Remembering what his mother had said to 
 him, he turned back again. Again he set out, and again 
 he met another Beardless One, and turned back. The
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 29 
 
 third time when he was only some three or four hour? 
 [journey] distant from the city, he met with a third 
 Beardless One, who was going in the same direction, 
 
 ' Eh well !' says he, ' I turned back the first and the 
 second times, I won't turn back a third time.' 
 
 The Beardless One, hearing these words, went up to 
 the boy and asked him where he was going. 
 
 ' Oh, I am going straight on to the city,' said he. 
 
 Then the Beardless One began in a wheedling tone 
 to inquire what he was going to do there, and why he 
 had said such words when he first saw him. The boy, 
 thinking that the Beardless One was a well-intentioned 
 man — like a simpleton as he was — sat down and told 
 him all his story, and that his father was the King of 
 that city, and that he was going to him. 
 
 'And has your father never seen you?' asked the 
 Beardless. 
 
 ' How should he have seen me when he returned to 
 his city before I was born ?' replied the boy. 
 
 The Beardless One, who was an evil-minded man, 
 took it into his head to kill the boy, and go himself to 
 the King and say that he was his son. Well, as they 
 went along the road, they were thirsty ; and a little way 
 off they saw a well. 
 
 'Now,' said the Beardless, 'we have found the well, 
 we have next to discover how to get at the water.' 
 
 ' Don't worry thyself,' replied the boy, ' I will go 
 down and get some.' 
 
 When he had reached the bottom of the well, the 
 Beardless One took a great slab and covered the mouth 
 of the well with it. The unlucky boy, when he saw 
 that he could not get out, remembered how that his 
 mother had told him if he saw a beardless man to turn 
 back, and he began to cry,
 
 30 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Byc, aman !^ Bre, have mercy ! Bre, let me 
 out!' 
 
 The Beardless One took no notice of his cries, but 
 prepared to set out on his way. The boy's cries and 
 tears, however, finally melted his heart, and he leaned 
 over the well and told him that he would take him out 
 if he would swear that only if he died and came to life 
 again would he declare himself to be the King's son. 
 They would then go together to the city, and he should 
 pass as the adopted son of the Beardless, and whatever 
 he might do the boy must hold his tongue. 
 
 The youth, seeing no alternative, swore that only if 
 lie died and came to life again would he reveal it. 
 
 Then the Beardless One took off the slab, and the 
 boy came out, pale and trembling. They went on, and 
 on, and at last they came to the city. The Beardless 
 One presented himself to the King as his own son, and 
 the boy he had brought with him as his adopted child. 
 I forgot to tell you, however, that he had not given the 
 pistol to the Beardless, but had kept it hidden in his 
 fustanella. The King had forgotten, too, all about the 
 pistol which he had left as a token to his child, and he 
 received the Beardless with joy and embraces, and gave 
 him a golden chamber to sleep in. 
 
 When he woke up in the morning, the King asked 
 him how he was, and how he liked the palace. The 
 Beardless One, who wished to destroy the boy lest he 
 should say something to the King, replied with evil 
 design, 
 
 ' My father and King, you have [almost] every treasure 
 in your palace ; three only are lacking.' 
 
 ' And what are those three ?' asked the King. 
 
 ' They are,' replied the Beardless, * the Ivory 
 
 " See p. 4, note *.
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 31 
 
 Chamber ; the Birdie Birdie Nightingale and Stone- 
 swallow; and the Five-Times Beautiful.' 
 
 ' But then,' asked the King, ' how am I to obtain 
 those treasures ?' 
 
 ' Take no thought about that, my King ; I have an 
 adopted son who can go and bring them.' 
 
 He goes at once to the boy and says to him, ' The 
 King commands thee to go and bring him twenty loads 
 of ivory to build the ivory chamber ; and if thou bring 
 them not, he will cut off thy head.' 
 
 The boy replied with tears in his eyes, ' But w^here 
 shall I go to get the ivory ? I know neither where it is 
 to be found, nor how to take it !' 
 
 The Beardless [cared] nothing, ^ [he thought only of 
 gaining] his end. So, at last, when the youth saw, and 
 understood that he could not do otherwise, he arose 
 and set off whither his fate would lead him. When he 
 had walked along the road for about half an hour or so, 
 his courage failed him, and he sat down by the wa\-side 
 and began to weep for his sad and unhappy fate. As he 
 thus wept despairfully, lo ! there appears an Old Woman 
 dressed in black, and she comes up and says to him, 
 
 ' What is the matter with you, poor boy, why do you 
 weep thus ?' 
 
 ' Eh ! matter enough, mother,' said he, ' matter 
 enough ; for the King has ordered me to go and bring 
 twenty loads of ivory, or, if I don't, he will cut off my 
 head. And I, foolish boy that I am, shall lose myself 
 in some strange place and become the prey of the wild 
 birds and beasts.' 
 
 * Hush thee, my boy,' replied the Old Woman, who 
 was his Fate, ' I will see that thou art not lost, and 
 that thou fulfil the command of the King.' 
 
 ^ Tiirora, to CKhiro rov.
 
 32 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Ah, if that could come to pass, dame,' he cried, ' I 
 would become your slave !' 
 
 ' Eh,' said then his Fate, ' go and ask the King to 
 give thee ten loads of bread and ten of wine ; then go 
 to the plain which is behind this mountain which thou 
 seest here, and thou must be mounted on a swift horse ; 
 and come to the plain about dinner-time. [In the plain] 
 there is a lake, throw all the loads of wine into it, and 
 place the bread all around, and hide thyself in some 
 place and remain there waiting. Then there will come 
 an innumerable troop of elephants which will eat the 
 bread and drink of the water of the lake. When they 
 have drunk of this water, they will fall down tipsy, and 
 will not be able to move. Then go thou and kill them 
 all with a sword, and take their tusks to the King.' 
 
 The youth set off joyfully to go to the King's palace 
 and ask for the ten loads of bread and ten of wine, and 
 a good horse and sword for himself. He took them, 
 and — not to make a long story of it — he set out and 
 came to the place of which his Fate had told him, and 
 did as she had bade him. But instead of hiding him- 
 self, he was so frightened that he climbed up a very 
 high tree, and looked around him. Soon there came 
 such a troop of elephants as made the earth quake ; 
 they ate the loaves and drank the water of the lake, 
 and then fell to the earth drunk with wine, as if they 
 were dead. The youth lost no time, but came down 
 from the tree and slew all the elephants; they trumpeted, 
 but could not move. He then skinned them, took out 
 their bones and their tusks, loaded the horses with them, 
 and went to the King. 
 
 When the Beardless One saw the boy return again 
 — what would you ? — he became like a mad dog ; he 
 hurried to the King and said to him,
 
 /. MytJiological — (/.) Zoonist. 
 
 ' Eh, my King, you see what a task my adopted son 
 has accompHshed for you ! He is clever enough to 
 bring you the Birdie Birdie Nightingale and Stone- 
 swallow !' 
 
 When the King saw the valour of the youth, he told 
 the Beardless to beg him to try to get also the Birdie. 
 That was just what the Beardless wanted, so he goes 
 to the youth and says to him, ' Thus and thus says the 
 King — thou art to go and bring him the Birdie Birdie 
 Nightingale and Stone-swallow, or he will cut off thy 
 head.' 
 
 What could the boy do ? He set out, and went to 
 the same place and wept, and wept. Again his Fate 
 appeared and asked why he cried. 
 
 ' For this and for that,' he replied. 
 
 Then said she, ' Ask the King to give thee a swift 
 horse which goes like the wind ; go to such and such 
 a forest where there is a tree on which is the Birdie 
 Birdie Nightingale and Stone-swallow, and forty Dhra- 
 kontas watch around it. Thou must go at night when 
 the Dhrakontas are asleep, dismount thy horse, climb 
 up the tree, but take care not to shake the branches 
 for fear of waking the Dhrakontas, for then thou wert 
 lost. Then seize the Birdie, mount thy horse, and 
 flee like the lightning!' 
 
 The youth did as his Fate bade him. He took the 
 horse, mounted it, and went to the forest. He climbed 
 the tree, seized the Birdie, and so that it might not 
 escape, he held its claws between his teeth. Wlien he 
 was about to mount his horse, the Dhrakontas scented 
 him and rushed upon him with such violence that the 
 mountains trembled and the trees were torn up. The 
 youth could hardly move for fright ; but with one bound 
 he bestrides his horse with the Birdie between his teeth, 
 
 VOL. II. 3
 
 Greek Folk Prose. 
 
 digs the spurs in, and disappears from the Dhrakontas' 
 sight. So he goes with the Birdie and presents it to the 
 King ; and he made great rejoicings and gave the youth 
 gifts a thousand and two. 
 
 How was the Beardless to get rid of this boy ? He 
 goes to the King and says, ' My father ' — for he cahed 
 him father — ' you see how clever is my adopted son ! 
 Now let us send him to bring the Five-times Beautiful, 
 so that the palace may lack nothing ; and if he again 
 returns we will load him with gifts and favours.' 
 
 The King commanded that this should be done. So 
 the Beardless goes and tells the boy. He goes to the 
 same place where he went on the first two occasions 
 and sits down and cries. Again his Fate appears, and 
 not to make a long story of it, she says, 
 
 ' This is what thou must do : Ask the King for ten 
 loads of meat, ten of barley, and another ten of honey. 
 Take them and go along such and such a road. On 
 this road as thou goest thou wilt come to a forest, and 
 in the forest are many Lions which will rush upon thee 
 to devour thee. Then lose no time ; before they fall 
 upon thee, throw them the ten loads of meat. If they 
 ask thee, "What do you want from us?" say, "Nothing!" 
 but take what they give thee. Further on thou wilt 
 meet multitudes of Ants which, if they swarm over thee, 
 will eat thee up before thou canst say, Kyrie elcison ! 
 Then throw to them the ten loads of corn. And the 
 same with the Ants ; if they ask thee dost thou want 
 anything say " I do not," but whatever they give thee, 
 leave it not behind. Afterwards thou wilt see a cloud 
 of Bees. Lose no time with them too, but empty the 
 ten loads of honey, and do the same if they tell thee to 
 ask what thou wilt. When thou art gone a little 
 further, thou wilt enter the castle where lives the Five-
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 35 
 
 times Beautiful. There they will set thee tasks which 
 thou wilt be able to perform with the help of the Beasts, 
 the Ants, and the Bees. Afterwards they will set thee 
 to pick the Beauty from among forty veiled women. 
 Thou must tell the Queen-Bee to go and settle on the 
 head of the Beauty, and she on whom the Bee settles 
 must thou seize and carry off.' 
 
 The youth did as his Fate counselled him. He took 
 the ten loads of meat, the other ten of corn, and the 
 ten of honey, and took the road his Fate pointed out. 
 When he got to the wood, before the Lions rushed upon 
 him, he threw to them the ten loads of meat. The 
 Lions fell upon the meat, and instantly devoured it. 
 Then they said to the boy, ' Ach / In return for the 
 service you have rendered us, what shall we do for 
 you?' 
 
 ' Don't mention it ; nothing,' replied the youth. 
 
 ' No !' said the King of the Lions, and he takes and 
 pulls out a hair from his mane. ' Here, take this hair, 
 and when you have need of us, let it touch the fire, and 
 we will be with thee instantl3\' 
 
 He goes a little further, and finds a multitude of 
 Ants. He throws to them the ten loads of corn, and 
 they carry it off before you could say your Creed. 
 Then they say to him like the Lions, ' What shall we 
 do for you in return for the service you have rendered 
 us?' 
 
 Says he, ' Nothing.' 
 
 'That must not be,' says they. ' Here is one of our 
 wings, and if you have need of us, let it touch the 
 fire, and we will immediately appear.' 
 
 The youth left them, and went on his way, and came 
 presently to the Bees, to whom he threw the ten loads 
 of honey. Not to make a long story of it, the Bees
 
 36 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 said the same thing to the boy ; he gave the same 
 reply ; and they gave him also one of their wings, 
 saying that they would come when it touched the 
 fire. 
 
 He went, and went, and went, and [at last] he came 
 to the castle which held the Five-times Beautiful, As 
 he was about to enter the gateway, those who guarded 
 it said to him, 
 
 ' Eh, I say ; where goest thou ?' 
 
 ' I have come to take the Five-times Beautiful,' he 
 replied without flinching. 
 
 'Eh, my boy?' said they, 'if Beauties were to be 
 taken like that, the world would be full of them. Turn 
 back, we tell thee, for thy good, or thou must fulfil all 
 the tasks that we set thee before thou canst take her, or 
 we shall cut off thy head ; and thou wilt not be able to 
 fulfil them, so turn thee back !' 
 
 But not he ! ' Unless you give me the Five-times 
 Beautiful, I will not budge hence !' 
 
 When they saw that he was determined, they told 
 him that he must perform three tasks before he could 
 take her. When he had promised to perform them, 
 they shut him up in a room, gave him forty cauldrons 
 full of boiled meat to eat before morning, and left him. 
 He sat down and began on them, but not even one 
 spoonful from all of them could he eat. What was to 
 be done ? He thought, and thought, and at last 
 bethought him of calling the Lions, who might perchance 
 eat up all the meat. He puts the Lion's hair to the fire, 
 and lo ! they all appear at once, and so quietly that no 
 one was aware of their coming, and the chamber and 
 the castle were full of them. 
 
 ' What dost thou want, master ?' they ask. 
 
 'See! ever so much!' he replies. 'All those forty
 
 /. Mythological— {^I.) Zoonist. 2)7 
 
 cauldrons of boiled meat, can you eat them before 
 
 mornincf ?' 
 
 ' Is that all ?' say they. ' Yes, even if they were a 
 thousand !' And they sit down, and in a moment they 
 clear them out and off they go ! 
 
 When they who had set him the task saw that he had 
 eaten the forty cauldrons full of meat, their blood ran 
 cold, and they told him he must perform the second 
 task. And they took him into a great storehouse full 
 of corn — wheat, and barley, and maize, and said to 
 him, 
 
 ' Thou seest this barn ? Thou must clear it out and 
 put in separate heaps the wheat, and the barley, and 
 the maize, that not a grain of one remains with the 
 other.' 
 
 How was this to be done ? The boy again stands 
 and thinks. ' Brc /' said he, ' I will invite the Ants and 
 see if they will help me.' 
 
 As soon as the wing touched the fire, lo ! there 
 came innumerable armies of Ants. 
 
 ' What do you want, master ?' they ask. 
 
 ' You see this storehouse ? They have set me to 
 clear it out, and I cannot ; and I have invited you in 
 the hope that you will be able to separate it.' 
 
 ' Bd /' say they, 'in a moment!' And they set to 
 work, and, grain by grain, they separated the corn into 
 three heaps in the storehouse and went off, saying, ' If 
 you need us again, master, burn the wing and we will 
 come.' 
 
 In the morning the guards saw again that all had 
 been well done, and that they could find no fault. 
 What was to be done ? They say to the youth, 
 
 * Eh ! Now we will see about the third task ; if thou 
 canst do that, thou shalt have the Five-times Beautiful.'
 
 38 Gi^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 They take him to where there were forty jars of 
 honey and say to him, ' We gave thee first fatiguing 
 tasks ; but now we set thee a pleasant one — sit down 
 now and eat the forty jarsful of honey, or we will cut 
 thy head off.' And they take and shut the doors of 
 the storehouse, and lock him in to eat the forty jars of 
 honey. He thought at once of the Bees, and opened a 
 little window of the storehouse, and touched his cigar- 
 ette with the bee's wing. Then — huz-z-z ! — a cloud 
 of Bees which turned day into night and covered the 
 sun ! Not to make a long story of it, the Bees sat 
 down, too, and ate and cleaned out the honey jars so 
 well that if anyone had licked them he would not have 
 known that they had held honey. Then the Bees went 
 away, but the boy kept their Queen to show him the 
 Five-times Beautiful the next morning. 
 
 So in the morning the guards came, and when they 
 saw that task performed too, ' Bravo F they said, ' come 
 and take the Beauty.' 
 
 They took him, and placed him in a courtyard where 
 there were forty maidens, all of the same height, and 
 dressed alike, so that you could not tell one from 
 another. 
 
 ' Come,' said they, ' choose and take the Beauty from 
 among these !' 
 
 Then the boy let go the Bee, and watched to see on 
 which she would alight, without the guards noticing 
 anything. When he saw her alight on the middle one, 
 he ran towards her and took hold of her. 
 
 ' See !' he cried, ' this is the one I want !' 
 
 ' Well done !' cried the guards, ' thou hast chosen the 
 Beauty!' 
 
 Then he mounts his horse, puts the Beauty behind 
 him on the saddle, and hastens to the city. The
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zooiiist. 39 
 
 Beardless — who was on the terrace of the palace, look- 
 ing out with a spyglass — when he saw him coming, 
 hastened downstairs, and at the moment he reached 
 the door and was dismounting, he said to him, angrily, 
 
 ' Brc ! give me the Beauty !' 
 
 The youth was about to give her up to him ; but she, 
 when she saw the Beardless, flew into a rage, and told 
 him to get out of her sight, for he who had brought her 
 was her husband. Then the Beardless One seized the 
 youth by his feet, and threw him from the breastwork 
 of the castle, and killed him. The Beauty hastened, 
 took up his body, and, by means of Water of Life,^ and 
 some magical words, she endeavoured to revive him 
 again. 
 
 ' AchP she cried, ' I have brought him to life again ! 
 Now let come what come may !' 
 
 ' But what ?'— asked the boy. ' Was I dead ?' 
 
 ' Yes,' she replied. ' The Beardless One killed thee, 
 and I brought thee to life again !' 
 
 Then at last the boy realized that he was freed from 
 his oath, for he had died and come to life again. And he 
 went to the King, and related everything to him, and 
 showed him the pistol. Then the King commanded 
 that they should bind the Beardless to four horses and 
 thus kill him. He [the King] afterwards married the 
 Five-tmies Beautiful to his son, and sent for his mother. 
 And they were all happ}-. And we happier !
 
 THE SLEEPING PRINCE, OR 
 THE KNIFE, THE CORD, AND THE STONE.^" 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 345.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once a King, and he had a very beautiful 
 daughter. He loved her very dearly, because when she 
 was born her mother had died, and so he had no one 
 in the world but this girl. Word came to him to go to 
 the wars, and he was much troubled and worried about 
 leaving her alone. 
 
 ' Go safely, my father, and come back safely. I will 
 stay with my grandmother, and wait for you. Only 
 return soon, for I have nobody else to see in the house.' 
 
 The father set out, and went to the wars, and she 
 put on her frame a kerchief to embroider in gold to 
 give to her father when he should come home from the 
 war. As she was working, there passed by the window 
 a Golden Eagle, and said to her, 
 
 ' Thou broiderest, thou broiderest, thou shalt wed a 
 dead husband !' 
 
 The Princess said nothing, she only gazed at him. 
 The next day the Eagle passed again, and said the 
 same to her. Then the Princess said to her grand- 
 mother, 
 
 ' As I sat here and worked, there passed by an Eagle 
 and said to me, " Thou broiderest, and broiderest, thou 
 shalt wed a dead husband !" ' 
 
 ' If he tells thee that again,' said her grandmother, 
 ' say to him, " Then take me to sec him !" '
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoomst. 41 
 
 The Eagle again passed and said tliis to her, and she 
 answered him, ' Then take me to see him !' 
 
 Then the Eagle lowered his wings and said to her, 
 ' Mount upon my wings, and I will take thee to see him.' 
 
 She got upon the Eagle's wings, and he took her, 
 and flew away. When they had gone some distance, 
 they came to where there was a well with a wide 
 mouth, and the Eagle swooped down [to the bottom 
 of the well], and left her there in the courtyard and 
 then flew off. In it there was a splendid palace. The 
 dogs were sleeping in the courtyard. She went further 
 and saw horses, and they were asleep. She went 
 upstairs into the palace and saw that all the servants, 
 too, were asleep. She entered a golden chamber, and 
 saw a handsome Prince, sleeping like the dead. On 
 the other side of the bed was a table and on the table 
 a paper, and the paper said, ' Whoever comes in here 
 and pities the Prince's youth, let her sit and watch 
 him for three months, three weeks, three days, three 
 hours, and three half hours without sleeping — for it is 
 necessary to say to him when he sneezes, " To thy 
 health,^ my longlived Prince ! I am she who has 
 watched thee three months, three weeks, three days, 
 three hours, and half-hours!" — then the Prince will 
 awake ; and whoever has had the patience to do this, 
 he will take her for his wife ; and together with the Prince 
 will awake all those who are asleep in his palace.' 
 
 The Princess was in a dilemma. Said she, ' What 
 shall I do ? I ought to stay and watch him now, and 
 if he sneezes say to him, " To thy health, my longlived 
 King ! I am she who has watched thee three months, 
 three weeks, three da3's, three hours, and three half- 
 hours." ' 
 
 a 7et^ aov — vyka. aov^ the Greek salutation to anyone sneezing.
 
 42 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 At night, when it grew dark, all the house was lighted 
 up without her seeing who lighted it. She saw a table 
 before her with various dishes, and ate, without seeing 
 who brought them. And so her life passed. She tried 
 not to sleep, so as to say to him, ' To thy health, my 
 longlived King !' The three months, three weeks, and 
 three days had passed, and as she sat there one day she 
 heard a cry, 
 
 ' Buy any slaves ?' 
 
 ' Stop !' she called out, ' stop ! I will buy a slave. 
 Let them all lean over the well that I may see their 
 faces, and buy one for company." 
 
 She saw one she liked, a young and pretty girl, and 
 said, ' Let down that little slave !' They let her down, 
 and to the same rope she tied a handkerchief with the 
 money in it, and they drew it up and went away. She 
 dressed the slave in handsome clothes, and told her she 
 was to keep her company. Then she said to her — the 
 poor Princess was sleepy — ' I will sleep here on thy 
 knees, and thou must wake me in half an hour, for I 
 must say to the King when he sneezes, " To thy 
 health," ' etc. 
 
 Said the slave, ' Lie down, my lady, on my knees, 
 and in half an hour I will awaken you.' 
 
 But as soon as the Princess had gone to sleep, the 
 Prince sneezed. Said the little slave to him, 
 
 ' To thy health, my longlived King,' etc. 
 
 Then the King awoke immediately, and embraced 
 her and said to her, ' Thou shalt be my Queen, and 
 thou wilt be the richest Queen in the world !' 
 
 Then he hastened and took water and sprinkled all 
 his people, his horses and his dogs, all he had. After- 
 wards he came back to his wife and saw a maiden l3'ing 
 asleep on the floor. Said he.
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 43 
 
 'But who is this?' 
 
 ' What shall I say, m\- King ? some slaves were pass- 
 ing by yesterday, and I told them to let me one down 
 the well. Now I will awaken her.' 
 
 ' No, leave the poor thing to sleep, and afterwards we 
 will send her to keep the geese,' 
 
 When the Princess awoke, she looked around, but 
 saw nothing, neither the Prince nor anything. Said 
 she, 
 
 * What has become of the Prince ? Where is he ?' 
 
 ' What shall I tell thee ? The Prince sneezed and 
 awoke, and saw both of us here, and he said that he 
 wanted me, and thou might go and tend the geese.' 
 
 When the King came back to the palace, he, too, 
 wanted to go to the war. Then he said to his wife, 
 
 ' What dost thou wish me to bring thee from the 
 journey on which I am going?' 
 
 ' Bring me a crown of diamonds,' said she. 
 
 Then he went down to the Princess, to her who kept 
 the geese, and said, ' W^hat shall I bring thee ?' 
 
 * Bring me, my King, the Stone of Patience, the Cord 
 of Hanging, and the Knife of Slaughter. If thou bring 
 not these which I ask thee, my King, may thy ship mo\e 
 neither forward nor backward.' 
 
 The King set off, he arrived, finished his business, 
 bought the crown for the Queen, and went on board his 
 ship to go to his own country. When they unmoored 
 the ship, neither forwards nor backwards would she 
 move. Then they were all puzzled, and pulled the 
 anchors this way and that, and wondered what was 
 the matter. Said one who was on board to him, an 
 old man, 
 
 ' My longlived King, perhaps they asked you to buy 
 something, and you have forgotten it ?'
 
 44 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Bre ! — that is true !' said the King. 'A girl I have 
 who tends my geese asked me to bring her the Stone of 
 Patience, the Cord of Hanging, and the Knife of 
 Slaughter.' 
 
 ' I will go, my King, and buy them for you,' said the 
 old man. ' But take care of that girl, for she has some 
 great sorrow, so pay attention, and see what she 
 will do.' 
 
 The old man bought them, and took them to the 
 King, and immediately the ship flew as if she had 
 wings. The King came at last to his palace, gave the 
 crown to his wife, and then went down and gave the 
 other things to the girl. In the evening the King went 
 down to the door of the room where she slept, and 
 heard her say, 
 
 ' I was a Princess, an only daughter ; my father went 
 to the wars. I was embroidering for him a golden 
 handkerchief, and an Eagle passed by my window and 
 said to me, '* Thou broiderest, thou broiderest, a dead 
 husband thou shalt wed !" I said, " Take me to see 
 him !" The Eagle took me on his wings and brought 
 me down the well, and to the palace. I watched with- 
 out sleeping three months and three weeks, and there 
 passed above slaves, and I bought a little slave for com- 
 pany. When it was time for the King to wake and 
 sneeze, the slave said — for I was asleep — " To thy 
 health, my longlived King," etc. Then, since I have 
 no one to whom to tell my woes, I have sent for you to 
 see what you will say. From a Princess to tend geese ! 
 Knife of Slaughter, what dost thou bid me do ?' 
 
 'Slay thyself!' 
 
 ' Cord of Hanging, what dost thou bid me do ?' 
 
 'Hang thyself!' 
 
 ' Stone of Patience, what dost thou bid me do ?'
 
 /. Mythological — (/.) Zoonist. 45 
 
 ' Be patient !' 
 
 ' How should I be patient ? Cord of Hanging, what 
 dost thou bid me do ?' 
 
 ' Hang thyself!' 
 
 The Prince looked through the keyhole to see what 
 was going on within. When he saw her get up to tie the 
 cord to hang herself, the King gave a kick to the door, 
 and went in and embraced her, and said, 
 
 ' Thou art my deliverer, and didst not say it, and I 
 cast thee to the geese ! Thou art my Queen, thou art 
 my wife, and I will hang her with the rope which thou 
 hast tied to hang thyself!' 
 
 Then said she, ' I do not wish our wedding to begin 
 with slaughter ; set her free only, and let her go her 
 way, for she has sorely wronged me, and I would not 
 mine eyes saw her again. We will go to my father at 
 our palace, and kiss his hand, and hold our wedding.' 
 
 They went to the palace. Five or six days afterwards 
 her father came back from the wars, and he (the Prince) 
 told him that he wished to make him his father. And 
 they had music and drums and great rejoicings. The 
 wedding took place, and they li\ed happily. And we 
 more happily still !
 
 SECTION (II.) 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF MAGICAL IDEAS. 
 
 THE ENCHANTED LAKE, 
 
 PRINCESS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 OR THE FROG 
 
 [AeXriov, I., p. 330.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King, and he had three 
 sons. They grew up, and came to a marriageable age. 
 The old King had three bows and three arrows. He 
 gave to each one of his sons a bow and an arrow, and 
 told them to go up to the highest point of the palace, 
 and shoot each one his arrow, and wherever, and in the 
 courtyard of whomsoever it might fall, the maiden [who 
 lived there] he must take to wife. 
 
 The eldest went up to the highest point of the palace, 
 let fly his arrow, and it fell into the courtyard of a 
 grand palace in which was a lovely maiden, and he took 
 her to wife. The second went up too, and let fly his 
 arrow into a handsome house in which also lived a 
 beautiful girl, and he married her. There remained 
 now the youngest. For the King, before giving them 
 the bows, had built three palaces separate from his own
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical. 47 
 
 and said to them, ' My sons, you must marry and live 
 in your palaces with your wives, and when I die which- 
 ever of you succeeds me on the throne must live in my 
 palace.' The Princes thanked him ; the eldest got 
 married ; the second got married ; and now we come 
 to the youngest. 
 
 The youngest kept putting it off — to-day he would 
 shoot his arrow, to-morrow he would shoot his arrow, 
 and so time went on. The Princes gave feasts, they 
 invited their father, their mother, and amused them- 
 selves. One day as they were feasting at the eldest 
 brother's house, the King says to his youngest son, 
 
 ' My boy, if thou wouldst have my blessing, do thou 
 too shoot thine arrow now, and marry, that I may see 
 thy wife and die content.' 
 
 Then said the Prince, ' I do not wish, my father, to 
 break your heart. To-morrow I, too, will shoot my 
 arrow, and wherever it falls I will take a wife.' 
 
 God dawned the day, and the Prince went up to the 
 highest point of the palace, shot his arrow, and saw it 
 fly far, far away, -and fall somewhere. He goes down, 
 looks on this side and that, but there was neither house 
 nor anything else where his arrow had fallen. He 
 searches to find out where his arrow is, and what does 
 he see ? A great lake, and in the ver}' middle of the 
 lake a Frog holding his arrow in her mouth, and swim- 
 ming to her nest. He loses no time, jumps into the 
 lake and seizes the Frog with his arrow. He takes it 
 and goes home. He puts the Frog in a room, with 
 grief and horror — what shall he say to his father ? He 
 sends away all his servants so that his sisters-in-law 
 may not hear of it, and laugh at him, and abandons 
 himself to hunting. One day he brought home some 
 very fine game, and hung it behind the door, and said.
 
 48 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' I will go and confess all to my father, but he must 
 not tell my brothers ; for this was my fate,' 
 
 He went to his father, and told him all that had 
 happened. His father pitied him very much, for he 
 considered the youngest his best child, and loved him 
 more than his two other sons. He said to him, 
 
 ' A'i ! my son! it was the will of God that thou 
 shouldst remain unmarried !' 
 
 While the Prince was with his father, the Frog was 
 setting the house in order. She came — my eyes ! out 
 of her skin, and was a beautiful Princess with such a 
 fine silk shift, and splendid clothes. She tucked up 
 her sleeves, lighted the fire, cooked the game, placed the 
 sofra,^ laid the dinner on it, and then went into her 
 skin again and sat in the corner. The Prince came 
 back, entered the house, and what did he see ? The 
 dinner laid, and cooked, and served ! 
 
 ' Bd,' said he, ' who has done this ?' 
 
 He looks this way and that, but sees no one. He 
 sat down, and ate, put on a plate some of the best food, 
 and placed it on the sofa. The Frog climbed up on the 
 sofa and ate. Whenever he came home he found the 
 house tidied, all the plates washed, but no human being 
 did he see. 
 
 'Ah, but,' he said, 'it isn't in here. To-morrow I 
 will go hunting, bring back game, hang it behind the 
 door again, and hide myself.' 
 
 The next day he arose, went a-hunting, killed a few 
 birds, hung them on the door, dressed, went down- 
 stairs, locked the palace door, and afterwards came in 
 by a little garden door and entered the palace. When 
 she saw the Prince go out and heard him lock the door 
 
 " The Turkish tray-stand, much used also by the lower orders 
 of Christians.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 49 
 
 outside, she came out of her skin and became a beautiful 
 Princess who might 
 
 ' Command the Sun, and he'd stand still, 
 The Morning Star, he'd twmkle.' 
 
 The Prince saw her, and lost his wits at her beauty. 
 She went to the window and clapped her hands. The 
 Prince saw a little Frog coming upstairs — pouf, pouf ! 
 When she came up to the [big] Frog, she threw off her 
 skin and began the work, for she too had become a 
 maiden. She set to and plucked the birds, cooked 
 them, lighted the fire, and the Princess helped her. 
 When the work was finished, the little Frog got into 
 her skin and went away ! Then the big Frog, too, got 
 into her skin, and sat in her corner. Then the Prince 
 went away softly, softly, as he had come, by the little 
 door, and came again to the great gate, unlocked it, 
 and came upstairs. He went into the room, saw the 
 table ready, sat down, and ate. Afterwards he walked 
 up and down the room, and then went to the Frog, 
 fondled her and said to her, 
 
 'At! thou wert my fate. Whatever thou art, I will 
 remain unmarried ; since thou didst take my arrow in 
 thy teeth, I shall not think of seeking a woman to 
 marry. Thou wilt at least speak to me to beguile the 
 time for me, and tell me who came and cooked me 
 those dishes.' 
 
 The Frog gazed long at him, but said nothing. 
 
 One way or another, I know not how, it was known 
 that his arrow had fallen into a lake, and that he had a 
 Frog in his house. One day his sisters-in-law say to 
 him, 
 
 ' Wilt not bring thy wife to us, that we may see 
 her?' 
 
 ' I have not married,' said the Prince to them, ' how 
 
 VOL. II. 4
 
 50 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 can I bring my wife for you to see ?' And grief took 
 hold upon him, and he went away. He went home, 
 found again the dinner ready, sat down, and ate. One 
 day he hid again, and as she was about to clap her 
 hands for the little Frog to come, the Prince ran and 
 caught up her frog's skin, and threw it into the fire. 
 
 The Frog ran and cried out, ' I am burning ! I am 
 burning !' and the Prince snatched the skin from the 
 fire and threw it into a golden basin full of water. 
 Then he fell at her feet, and besought her not to go 
 into the skin again, but to pity him, and he said to her, 
 
 ' Seest thou not what I suffer, not to be able to go 
 out into the world, to be mocked by my brothers, while 
 thou art far more beautiful than my two sisters-in- a-^" ?' 
 
 Then she said to him, ' I am of royal lineage, and 
 our God cursed us and flooded our kingdom.^^ But in 
 order that we might not die, he gave us these skins to 
 live in the lake ; and our goods are in the lake, and all our 
 wealth, all we have ; and a magician foretold to us that 
 if there should be found one to love me and not curse 
 the hour in which he found me, I, too, should become 
 human. I remained a Frog in order to prove thee. 
 Since I see that thou art so good a man, I will bring 
 thee good fortune, and we will let thy sisters-in-law mock 
 if they will.' 
 
 Then he rejoiced greatly at his good fortune. She 
 told him to throw her skin into the well so that it might 
 be always cool and fresh. He threw it in, and said to 
 her, 
 
 ' We will stay here together as long as you like, and 
 say nothing to anyone.' 
 
 One day it was the birthday of the old King ; the 
 eldest brother made a feast, and invited them all to go. 
 Then they mocked the youngest, and said to him.
 
 /. MytJiological — (//.) Magical. 51 
 
 ' Won't you bring your wife, too, that we may see 
 her, and talk together and amuse ourselves ?' 
 
 He left and went home, rather sad. His wife said to 
 him, 
 
 ' What ails thee, that thou art sad ?' 
 
 ' What should ail me ? They have made a feast at 
 my eldest brother's because it is my father's birthday, 
 and to make fun of me they tell me to go too with my 
 wife.' 
 
 ' Well,' said she, ' if you like, we will go ; and instead 
 of their laughing at us, we will laugh at them. Go 
 down to the lake where you found me, and call ' Kdi- 
 nd-nd ! Kdt-nd-nd /" and then you will hear " Pi-ki-ki ! 
 Pi-ki-ki I" You must say, " Your daughter, Anthoula, 
 has sent me to ask you for the Golden Wand which is in 
 the corner, and the Silver Wand, the Goose's Egg and 
 two Hen's Eggs, that I may take them back with me." ' 
 
 All that she told him the poor fellow did. He went 
 to the lake, and called as his wife had directed him. 
 They gave him the two Wands, and the three Eggs, and 
 he came home. Then she asked her husband when the 
 feast was, and he said, ' To-morrow morning.' 
 
 Then the next day she struck once with the Golden 
 Wand, and three slaves came out ; she struck twice, and 
 there came a slave with a chest full of clothes, women's 
 and men's, diamonds and jewels. She adorned herself, 
 and her husband adorned himself with a gold poniard, 
 a watch, with furs and gold embroidered clothes. Then 
 she gave the Silver Wand to the servants and they took 
 the Wand down to the pebbled pavement,^ and it 
 became a beautiful coach, all golden, with four horses, 
 
 a Qalderimi (a Turkish word), the tessellated pavement com- 
 posed of black and white pebbles set endwise in cement, so common 
 in the country.
 
 52 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 all white, and they waited in the courtyard. They 
 pawed with their hoofs on the pavement, and sparks 
 flew out. The sisters-in-law went in and out and 
 laughed, ' Ha I ha ! ha ! when will the croaker come ? 
 When will the croaker come ?' As they Ha ! ha ! ha'd, 
 and laughed, they saw a splendid coach with servants 
 dressed in gold, a coach with four horses, and it stopped 
 at their door. They looked with amazement to see 
 who would come out of it. They saw a servant get 
 down and take a beautiful lady by the hand and help 
 her out of the carriage. They looked at one another ! 
 And the Prince got out after her ! The two brothers 
 hasten, and bring the bride upstairs. She goes to kiss 
 the hand of her father-in-law, the father-in-law em- 
 braces her and kisses her. She gives the Goose's Egg 
 to her father-in-law, kisses the hand of one of her 
 husband's brothers, gives him one of the Hen's Eggs, 
 kisses the hand of the second and gives him the other 
 Egg.* Then they began to laugh. 
 
 ' Fz,^ here's a present ! she brings us eggs !' 
 
 She said nothing, but only smiled. Then she told 
 her father-in-law to break his Egg, and what did they 
 see ? A beautiful diadem, all of diamonds. She took 
 it up and placed it herself on her father-in-law's head. 
 They broke the other two Eggs and found in each of them 
 a watch with a diamond chain. Then said the couple, 
 
 ' Let this day be our wedding-day !' 
 
 They kept it with great ceremonies, and music and 
 drums and great rejoicings. The marriage took place 
 on the same day, and they brought from the lake all 
 Anthoula's dowry. And they lived happy. And we 
 happier ! 
 
 '^ A Greek bride at the betrothal ceremony kisses the hands of all 
 the bridegroom's relatives. 
 1' Bs^HjSor^ hallo !
 
 DULCETTA, OR THE KIDNAPPED PRINCE. ^'^ 
 
 A thcns. 
 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 138.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once upon a time a King, a good and just 
 man, and everyone loved him very much, but he had 
 one defect — far be it from the ears which hear it ! — he 
 was a leper. Of all the physicians who saw him, not 
 one could do anything to cure him. One day his 
 malady distressed him very much, and he called the 
 palace Physician and said to him, 
 
 ' Either thou must cure me, or I shall hang thee ; for 
 I can no longer support this life !' 
 
 The Physician begged him to give him forty days' 
 grace to read his prescriptions and see if he could not 
 find something to cure him. Night and day the 
 Physician sat and pondered what he should do — for the 
 disease which the King had cannot be cured. At the 
 end of the forty days he arose, and went to the King. 
 
 * My King, my longlived King, I have found the 
 remedy, but we must still wait for a year.' 
 
 ' Let me but be cured, and I will wait two,' said the 
 King. 
 
 ' You must,' said the Physician, ' send to find a Prince, 
 of royal blood, and this youth you must feed on honey 
 and pine-kernels in a chamber of the palace, and at the 
 end of a year we must kill him in such a way as will 
 make him bleed very much. We will put him in a 
 barrel covered inside with nails, and roll the barrel ;
 
 54 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and the blood which runs out }ou must take to the 
 bath and anoint yourself with it.' 
 
 The King then called all his trusty men, and asked 
 which of them was valiant enough to kidnap a Prince 
 and bring him to him. The Vizier, who was a travelled 
 man, said, 
 
 ' Set your mind at rest, my King, for I will go and do 
 your errand ; only give me the command of a ship, and 
 money.' 
 
 Then the King ordered them to give him whatever he 
 wanted. The Vizier took the ship, and his most 
 trusty servants, and went from place to place. He 
 anchored the ship, and went on shore. One day he 
 went on shore at a place where he saw many people, 
 and they were all hastening to one spot. He asked 
 why all the crowd was going that way, and they told 
 him that it was the Prince's birthday, and they were all 
 going to pray God that he might live long. He went 
 forward with the people and came to the place where 
 the service was to be held. He stood there, saw an 
 immense crowd, horses caparisoned with gold, and he 
 saw the King. He asked, 
 
 ' But where is the Prince ?' 
 
 They said, ' The Prince is young, to-day he com- 
 pletes his twelfth year, and he is in the palace with his 
 mother.' 
 
 He loses no time ; he observes what clothes the King's 
 people wear, goes on board the ship and dresses him- 
 self in the same livery ; sees that the sails are ready ; 
 remembers to ask what the Prince's name is, and learns 
 that it is Fiorentino ; goes to the palace and says, 
 
 ' The King — may God grant him many years ! — has 
 sent me to fetch Fiorentino to pray to God with him.' 
 
 When he saw a handsome boy come out dressed all
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 55 
 
 in gold, he embraced him, went down the steps of the 
 palace, mounted a horse, and took him on his knees. 
 Instead, however, of taking the road to the mosque, a- 
 he took that to the sea. The boy began to call out. 
 Then the Vizier said to him, 
 
 ' Hush, my boy, for it is here that your father told 
 me to bring you.' 
 
 The ship was ready, with the sails set, and they left 
 immediately. The King came home from the service, 
 and asked to see his son ; but they told him he had 
 been sent to the mosque, as he had sent a man to ask 
 for him. They searched, and ran here and there, but 
 could find him nowhere. Then they painted the palace 
 black,^^ and the great rejoicings became great mourning. 
 
 But let us leave them to weep, and beat their breasts, 
 and let us follow the ship. The King had told his Vizier 
 before he left, to put a white flag on the top-mast if he 
 had found a boy. But his joy and the cries of the 
 Prince made him forget to put up the white flag, as 
 the King had commanded him. When the Vizier left, 
 the King stationed a man to watch if the ship came 
 with the white flag. As soon as the watchman saw 
 the ship, he ran to the King, and said, 
 
 ' My King, my longlived King, the ship is coming, 
 but it has not a white flag !' 
 
 Then the King, in his despair, sank down to die. He 
 had a very beautiful daughter, called Dulcetta, but he 
 had no wife ; she had died when this maiden was born. 
 When the maiden heard that her father was ill, she 
 went to comfort him, when suddenly there arrives a 
 Tatar,^ and tells the King that the Vizier has come 
 
 -' The customs described in this story are characteristically 
 Turkish. 
 
 '' The couriers in Turkey are chiefly Tatars.
 
 56 Greek Folk-Prose, 
 
 and brought the boy he was expecting. From his joy 
 the King, when he heard it, became well, and told the 
 Ldla^ to take Dulcetta away to her room. Then they 
 brought in Fiorentino, and he bade him (the Leila) take 
 him to a room upstairs and give him nothing to eat but 
 honey and pine-kernels. The days passed, and they 
 gave him nothing but honey and pine-kernels, and he 
 ate them. 
 
 One day the Princess's Ldla saw her crying, and he 
 was much distressed, for he had brought her up from a 
 little child and loved her as his own. 
 
 ' What is the matter, my Dulcetta, that you cry ?' 
 
 ' I am crying because I think of that poor Prince 
 whom they are going to kill, and who is so handsome, 
 and of how sad his parents must be when they think 
 of him.' 
 
 ' Never mind, my Dulcetta, in a year's time he may 
 be set at liberty,' said the Ldla. 
 
 ' Ldla mine, couldn't you bring him here to play 
 with me ?' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, be patient, and I will bring him, and you 
 shall eat together, such are the Physician's orders,' said 
 Ordanis (for so Dulcetta's Ldla was called). And as 
 Ordanis had the key of the Prince's chamber, he 
 opened a hole in the ceiling under the Princess's bed, 
 and put the Prince through it into the Princess's room, 
 and they ate and played together. And thus the Princess 
 became very fond of him ; and she took rose-water and 
 washed him, and a silken shirt to change him, and the 
 Prince forgot his parents. And so the time passed. 
 But one day the Ldla came all in tears. As he saw 
 the children playing, he was full of pity for them and 
 said [to himself] that if Fiorentino were killed Dulcetta 
 
 •■^ A Turkish name for a Tutor, or male attendant on children.
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical. 57 
 
 would die of grief. Dulcetta noticed him, but said 
 nothing before Fiorentino. In the evening when Fio- 
 rentino went away to sleep, Dulcetta said, 
 
 ' Ldla mine, what is the matter that you are so sad ? 
 — won't you tell me T 
 
 He did not wish to tell her anything about it, but 
 her tears and caresses prevailed, and he said, 
 
 ' Wait and I will tell you what is the matter with me. 
 I saw them making a barrel with nails [inside] , and 
 when I saw it I could not restrain my grief, for the 
 time has come for Fiorentino to be killed.' 
 
 * Ldla mine, if thou lov'st me, take us and let us flee 
 away.' 
 
 So two days before that on which they had settled to 
 kill Fiorentino, the Negro took some money and took 
 the children and wrapped them in cloaks and withdrew 
 to a desert place to wait for a ship to pass and take 
 them to Fiorentino's country. 
 
 The King got up on the following day, and ordered 
 them to put Fiorentino in the barrel in order to bleed 
 him for his cure, and to get ready the bath for him to 
 bathe. So they got all ready, and then went to fetch 
 Fiorentino ; but not even Dulcetta or the Negro did 
 they find. They made inquiries, and learnt that the 
 Negro had taken a horse by night, and had fled. Then 
 he told them to fetch the Magician, and ask him where 
 the children and the Negro had gone. And the 
 Magician said that they were sailing on the sea. 
 
 Then the King said, ' Ach, Dulcetta, what hast thou 
 done to me ! I would curse thee, but my heart will 
 not let me. But one curse I will lay upon thee — there 
 where Fiorentino is gone, when his mother kisses him, may 
 he forget thee .'' 
 
 When the vessel cast anchor, Dulcetta said to the
 
 58 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Negro, her Ldla, ' Ldla mine, won't you look and see 
 what my papa is doing ?' — for her Ldla was a Magician. 
 
 ' How shall I tell you, my Dulcetta. Your father has 
 laid on you the curse that when Fiorentino's mother kisses 
 him, he will forget you.'' 
 
 Then Fiorentino said, ' So thankless do you deem 
 me as to let my mother kiss me and forget you who 
 have saved my life at such sacrifices ? But wait here, 
 and I will go to my parents, and we will come and 
 fetch thee as befits a Princess.' 
 
 So they remained in the ship, and Fiorentino went 
 to the palace. He knocked at the door, but it was 
 shut, and the palace was all draped in black. A slave 
 looked out at a window. 
 
 ' Who is knocking at the door ? That door does not 
 open ; all the doors were nailed up, and we go out by 
 a little door at the back there, since the Prince died.' 
 
 ' Say that I will come in by this door ; say that I 
 have news to give you of the Prince.' 
 
 Then the Oueen asked, ' What is it, and who knocks 
 at the door ?' 
 
 Said she, ' It is a youth, and he wants the great door 
 opened for him to come in at it, because he has news 
 of Fiorentino to bring us.' 
 
 Then the Queen said, ' Very well, as he comes, from 
 our Fiorentino, open the door and let him in.' 
 
 They opened the door and saw that it was Fiorentino. 
 She threw herself on his neck to kiss him, but he 
 said, 
 
 ' Don't kiss me, mother mine, but send for music 
 and drums, for I have brought the woman who saved 
 mc, to make her my Queen.' 
 
 ' Lie down a little while, my child, while we make 
 ready, and take off the black and put golden [hangings]
 
 /. Mythological— {^11 .) Magical. 59 
 
 on the palace, and then we will go and fetch the 
 bride,' 
 
 All this was done, and his mother went to wake the 
 boy. When she raised the gold [embroidered] kerchief 
 to wake him and saw him so handsome and rosy, she 
 bent and kissed him. Then he awoke and she said to 
 him, 
 
 ' Get up, my Fiorentino, and we will go and bring 
 the bride of whom you told us.' 
 
 'What bride?' asked Fiorentino. 
 
 ' Didn't you tell us that you had brought a Princess 
 who had saved you, to make her your wife ?' 
 
 ' No, mother mine, I have brought neither bride, nor 
 anything else. I only said so from joy. Let the 
 people rejoice at my return, I have brought no 
 bride.' 
 
 When some time had passed, and all the people were 
 amusing themselves, but Fiorentino did not appear, 
 Dulcetta said to her Ldla with tears in her e3^es, 
 
 ' Look, Ldla mine, why Fiorentino does not come.' 
 
 Then the Ldla looked in his magic, and cried, 
 
 ' O misfortune ! his mother has kissed him, and he 
 has forgotten us ! Stay here in the ship, and I will go 
 out and see what we can do.' 
 
 Ordanis went on shore, and opposite the King's palace 
 was another beautiful little palace, quite small, and he 
 sought to hire it. Said they, 
 
 ' We want a very high rent for it, and that will not 
 suit you.' 
 
 ' You tell me, and never mind about that.' 
 
 ' We want fifty sequins a day.' 
 
 Said the Negro, ' Fifty ?' 
 
 ' Fifty.' 
 
 ' Here are two hundred sequins for four days.'
 
 6o Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 So then he took Dulcetta and brought her to the 
 Httle palace. The next day was a Friday, and they 
 [the people] went to the mosque to give God thanks 
 because the King's son had returned, and there was a 
 great ceremony. Then Dulcetta seated herself on the 
 little balcony with her sleeves tucked up, so that if the 
 Prince should see her, he might recognise her.^ The 
 Prince came out to go to the mosque to worship 
 together with the Vizier's son, and the Kehaya's^ son, 
 all three of them. Says the son of the Kehaya to the 
 son of the Vizier, 
 
 * Look what a beauty she is ! I shall send word to 
 her that if she likes, I will come and spend an evening 
 with her.' 
 
 ' All right, find out if she is willing, and we will tell 
 the Prince, so that he too may amuse himself after his 
 journey.' 
 
 After the ceremony, when they returned home, they 
 called an old woman and told her to go and say, ' The 
 Kehaya's son has seen thy beauty and has lost his wits, 
 and he would like to come this evening to keep thee 
 company.' 
 
 ' Certainly, let him come and welcome,' said Dulcetta 
 to the old woman, ' but I shall want a hundred sequins, 
 and you must bring them to me now beforehand. And 
 another condition — when they [the Gypsies] are playing 
 on their instruments^* he must be at my door, neither 
 sooner nor later will I receive him ; and if he does not 
 arrive and come in before they have finished playing, he 
 must forfeit the sequins and bear me no grudge.' 
 
 So the old woman went and told this to the 
 Kehaya's son. Then he tied up the sequins in a gold 
 
 * Being a Moslem, she was, of course, veiled. 
 
 '' The Lord High Steward. This office is now abolished.
 
 /. Mythological — (//•) Magical. 6i 
 
 [embroidered] kerchief, and gave it to her and said 
 that when they [the Gypsies] were playing he would be 
 at her door. 
 
 Then the Negro took ten gold pieces, and went to 
 the Gypsies who played the instruments, and told them 
 to play a quarter of an hour earlier, and he would give 
 them five sequins now, and five after playing. The 
 Kehaya's son went to the bath and bathed, and while 
 his eyes were still full of soapsuds he heard the music. 
 He looked at his watch, and what did he see ? He 
 threw the watch down on the floor and broke it. He 
 dressed as fast as he could and went to the Beauty's door. 
 
 ' I am the Kehaya's son !' 
 
 ' What dost thou want ?' 
 
 ' I am he who sent thee the hundred sequins and the 
 kerchief.' 
 
 ' Go away to the place you came from, for it is ever 
 so long since they finished playing, and my door does 
 not open.' 
 
 Then he went away, and went to sleep in his 
 chamber, and all night he pondered how he might be 
 revenged upon her. In the morning he was late in 
 awaking. The Vizier's son came when he awoke to 
 learn if he had gone to the Beauty, and how he had 
 fared. He kept his own counsel, but said that he had 
 gone and fared splendidly, that she was very beautiful 
 and witty, and that if he liked he would send the old 
 woman to announce to her that the Vizier's son was 
 coming. So the old woman was set to work. The 
 old woman went. 
 
 ' Och, my lady !' said she, ' what luck you have ! The 
 Vizier's son is coming this evening to pay you a visit, 
 if it pleases you !' 
 
 ' Certainly, but I want two hundred sequins and
 
 62 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 when they are playing on the instruments he must be 
 at my door ; neither sooner nor later will I receive 
 him ; and if he does not come I shall keep the sequins, 
 and he must bear me no grudge.' 
 
 The Vizier's son accepted, and sent her two hundred 
 sequins in a gold [embroidered] kerchief. Then the 
 Negro took twenty gold pieces, and went to the Gypsies ; 
 he gave them the ten in advance and promised the other 
 ten after, that they might play a quarter of an hour 
 earlier. The Vizier's son consequently heard the music 
 when he was still in the bath. He immediately washed 
 and dressed as fast as he could, and rose and went to 
 the Beauty's door. He knocks at the door, and she 
 looks out at the window and asks who is there. 
 
 ' I am the Vizier's son, and, if it please you, open the 
 door and let me in.' 
 
 ' Our agreement was that you were to be at my door 
 while they were playing, and it is an hour since they 
 finished, so go back whence you came.' 
 
 The Vizier's son went away and came to the palace, 
 where he finds his friend the Kehaya's son. 
 
 ' Bd, what do I see ?' 
 
 ' You don't know, my dear fellow,' said he, ' what has 
 happened to me. I was late in arriving, and she locked 
 the door against me, and there go the two hundred 
 sequins !' 
 
 ' And I, my dear fellow, fared the same ! But I 
 spoke as I did so that you might not laugh at me, but 
 might go and fare the same. Now we will send the 
 Prince, and afterwards have her brought to justice.' 
 
 So the pair of them went to the Prince, and said to 
 him, 'Just opposite us lives a Beauty. If you would 
 like to spend an evening with her, we will send an old 
 woman.'
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical. 6 
 
 o 
 
 So they sent the old woman again on the part of the 
 Prince. Said she, 
 
 ' Certainly I will receive him, but with one thousand 
 five hundred sequins ; and if he slips once on my stairs, 
 he must not come up, but go away without a grudge.' 
 
 The Prince accepted the conditions, and sent her 
 one thousand five hundred sequins. The Negro imme- 
 diately set to and washed the stairs with a great 
 deal of soap, and afterwards cut up a quantity of soap 
 into shavings and threw them on the staircase, and over 
 all he scattered millet and lentils ; and she adorned her- 
 self, and put on many diamonds, and stood at the top 
 of the staircase. He (the Prince) was wearing a new 
 pair of shoes. When he came in she said to him, 
 
 ' You are welcome, Prince !' 
 
 He, as she greeted him, was about to ascend, when 
 he fell on the stairs. 
 
 ' I hope you are not hurt anywhere ? As you are a 
 Prince, I will excuse you the first time, but take care 
 not to slip again, for then I shall not receive you.' 
 
 He then tried again to ascend, and again he fell. So 
 she wished him ' Good-night,' put out the hght, and 
 went in. And thus the Prince, too, was sent off. 
 Afterwards he went and found his friends, and told 
 them his story with much anger and grief. His friends 
 said to him, 
 
 ' We have fared the same, but we did not think that 
 you would be treated thus, as you are a Prince. To- 
 morrow your father will sit in judgment, so we will 
 seize her, and punish her for playing us this trick, 
 and take back our sequins.' 
 
 Then the Prince went to his father and said to him, 
 ' To-morrow when you sit in judgment I, too, have a 
 complaint to make to you.'
 
 64 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 The King promised him that his case should be 
 heard before the others. Then they sent a writ-server, 
 and he knocked at Dulcetta's door. The Negro came 
 out to see who was there. 
 
 ' To-day, Ordani, where art thou, for I have come to 
 
 seek thee, 
 Thy lady too, for I would know if she's a noble 
 
 maiden. 
 If she's a dainty Princess fair, a daughter of Venetia ?' 
 
 Said the Negro, ' What do you want with my lady ?' 
 
 and he replied as before. 
 Then she [Dulcetta] asked, ' Who is it ?' 
 Said the writ-server, 
 
 ' Here, at your orders, lady mine, stands Stathino 
 
 Daleras, 
 He's but another grandfather is Ordanios Davelas !' 
 
 Then said the Negro to her, 
 
 ' Here's at your orders, lady mine, your watchman, 
 
 tried and trusty ; 
 And every day I pray to God that many years He 
 
 grant you !' 
 
 Said she, ' Go, and I will come to the Court.' 
 
 She went into the inner room, the outer little 
 
 chamber. 
 And changed, and on her body small she put her queenly 
 
 raiment. 
 
 She took Ordani with her and went to the Court. 
 
 And when she came before the King, all present turned 
 towards her.
 
 /. Mythological—{II)\ Magical. 65 
 
 And rose before her, [as she stood like] lemon-tree 
 
 in blossom. 
 ' My King, on your commands I wait ; you called me, 
 
 and I hastened.' 
 Up sprang then the Kehaya's son, and to the King thus 
 
 spake he : 
 ' From me the hundred [coins] she took, from him she 
 
 took two hundred, 
 She took from your unlucky son [of sequins] fifteen 
 
 hundred !' 
 
 Dulcetta turns and says angrily to him, 
 
 ' Now may misfortune and ill-luck [be whips to] lash thy 
 
 body ! 
 May racking pains beset thy head, as in a mill it 
 
 ground were !' 
 
 Says the Prince, 
 
 ' Hold thou thy peace and say no more, few let thy 
 
 words now be ; 
 The youth whom thou before thee seest a ruler's son 
 
 is he.' 
 ' What ails thee, Fiorentino mine ? Thou feignest to 
 
 forget 
 The flasks of sweet rose-water which to wash thee with 
 
 I brought ? 
 What ails thee, Fiorentino mine ? Thou feignest 
 
 to forget 
 The shirts of silk I dressed thee in with finest broid'ry 
 
 wrought ?' 
 
 Then says the King to him, 
 
 ' Think, Fiorentino, this may be the maid of whom 
 didst speak ?' 
 VOL. II. *;
 
 66 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Says Dulcetta, 
 
 ' Go kiss thy mother, so perchance thy wits may come 
 again !' 
 
 The Prince went, kissed his mother hurriedly, and 
 remembered everything. He came running back to the 
 Court, and cried, 
 
 ' Dulcetta mine, thou art my Eyes ! my Light !^ I 
 
 know thee now ! 
 Thou my Dulcetta art, and she who saved my life 
 
 art thou ! 
 Give to this one his hundred [coins], that one two 
 
 hundred send. 
 Do thou upon thy wedding dress my fifteen hundred 
 
 spend !' 
 
 Then the old King took her and led her to the palace. 
 The Queen came down to the door to receive her : 
 
 ' Now welcome to my daughter dear, the fair, the 
 
 jewel gay. 
 Who enters in my palace here with honoured words 
 
 to-day !' 
 
 Then they sent out criers [to announce] that the 
 Prince was going to be married. The wedding took 
 place with much rejoicing, and they lived happily. 
 And we more happily still ! 
 
 ^ Mdrm ixov, 'I>a;s /xoi', two Common terms of endearment.
 
 THE TOWER OF THE FORTY DHRAKOS AND 
 THE KING OF THE GOLDEN APPLE. 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 (Sakellarios, II., p. 345.) 
 
 There was once an old woman and she had a son. 
 One day the old woman said to her son, 
 
 ' Take this money, and go to the butcher's and buy 
 a little meat for me to cook,' 
 
 Her son took the money, and dawdled about as he 
 went to the butcher's, and remained all day in town. 
 At sunset he remembered what he had come out for, 
 and went to the butcher and asked him if he had any 
 meat, and he said that he had sold it ail. He went 
 back to his mother and told her that he could not find 
 any meat, but if she liked he would take the money she 
 had given him and buy half an oka^ of caroub honey, 
 and a couple of loaves from the baker, for supper. When 
 his mother had scolded and abused him for a sluggard 
 and a dolt, she sent him to buy. As he was hungry, 
 he went to the chandler's and the baker's, and bought 
 honey and bread, and came home as fast as he 
 could. 
 
 When they had eaten the bread and honey, there 
 came a swarm of flies and bothered him. Then he 
 twisted his hand round, and with one blow he killed 
 fifty ; he twisted round the other and with one slap he 
 killed a hundred. _ 
 
 ' What a valiant fellow am I ! I didn't know how 
 strong I was! I'll ask my mother, as she is weary of 
 
 * About two pounds and three quarters.
 
 68 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 seeing me sit idle here, to buy me a horse, and make 
 me a suit of soldier's clothes, a tent, and the other 
 necessary arms, and I will go to the wars.' 
 
 So he thought, and so he said to his mother. The 
 old woman, in order to disburden herself of him, did 
 all he asked her. In a few days she had everything 
 ready, and then she said to her son, 
 
 ' All is ready, and may God and my blessing be thy 
 help.' 
 
 The youth kissed his mother's hand, mounted, and 
 bade her good-bye. At whatever place he stopped, when 
 he dismounted he tied up his horse, and pitched his 
 tent, and when he had supped or dined, he set off 
 again. After about three months' journeying he came 
 to a forest, on the borders of which was a castle. 
 When he came near the castle, he found a stone water- 
 course full of running water. The water in this channel 
 emptied itself into a cistern, and this cistern watered 
 a large garden. Close by was a great plane-tree. The 
 youth dismounted, tied up his horse and pitched his 
 tent. He dipped his biscuit in the running water and 
 ate it, together with a piece of cheese which he had 
 with him ; and when he had eaten, he lay down to 
 sleep. 
 
 The lords of the castle were forty Dhrakos, and they 
 had a sister. At noon they, too, came to the castle, 
 and when they saw the tent set up under the plane-tree, 
 they sent their youngest brother to see what stranger 
 had surprised them. In a little while the youngest 
 brother came back and said it was a youth, and he was 
 sleeping like one dead. 
 
 ' That's lucky,' said one of the forty, ' we shall sup 
 finely to-night !' 
 
 * Never ! 'cried another, ' it is not honourable to kill
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 69 
 
 him while he sleeps. We must first awaken him, and 
 fight him one by one.' 
 
 * No,' replied the eldest brother, 'that will not do 
 either, for one to fight against forty ; but we will kill 
 him if we beat him at feats.' 
 
 'Very well,' said all the brothers, and they agreed to 
 their brother's counsel. 
 
 When the youth awoke, he drank, saw to his horse, 
 and prepared to set off again. Then he saw coming 
 towards his tent a great number who, as they came 
 nearer, he found to be Dhrakos. Immediately, without 
 showing any fear, he girded on his sword and rolled up 
 the mattress on which he had been sleeping. When 
 the Dhrakos came up to the tent, they glanced at it 
 and saw written all round it — ' Fifty with the left hand, 
 and a hundred with the right, and woe if I arise !' 
 
 The Dhrakos exchanged looks, and bit their lips. 
 Then the eldest of them said to the youth, 
 
 ' Hero, thou hast come without our leave, and taken 
 up thy abode in our country, thou only knowest why. 
 We have come to tell thee that if thou canst play at ball 
 as we play, we will marry thee to our sister.' 
 
 ' I agree,' said the youth. 
 
 Then the youngest Dhrako threw the ball, and it 
 crossed the river ; the others threw, and it fell still 
 further away ; the eldest threw, and it went down five 
 hundred steps. 
 
 ' Now it is my turn !' cried the youth, and he threw 
 it with such force that it flew as far as the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 ' Our word is our word,' said the eldest Dhrako, ' the 
 wedding shall be held in three days ; but we must first 
 go out hunting in order to have game for the wedding 
 feast.'
 
 70 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 'Just as you please,' replied the youth. 
 
 The next day the Dhrakos invited the youth to go 
 out hunting with them. The road they took brought 
 them to a place at which forty-one roads met. The 
 hunters had been on all the forty, but on the other 
 nobody went ; for of those who had been bold enough to 
 go along that road not one had ever come back. So 
 the Dhrakos knew the place, and when they came to 
 where the roads met, they said, 
 
 ' Let us all put our rings under a stone, and let each 
 take a different road. As we come back from the 
 chase, let us go to the stone and take each his ring, 
 and go to the castle.' 
 
 They did so, and the Dhrakos took the accustomed 
 roads, and let the youth take the evil road. 
 
 Well, come along ! The youth went on till he came 
 to the edge of a reedswamp. There he heard a great 
 hissing which came from among the reeds, and as it 
 came nearer he saw an enormous three-headed serpent 
 coming towards him. The youth lixed an arrow in his 
 bow, shot at the serpent, and wounded it in the 
 stomach, and it began to writhe, and wriggle, and roar. 
 The youth immediately drew his sword, and cut off one 
 by one the three heads of the serpent. He then set 
 fire to the reedswamp and burnt it, together with the 
 serpent, and set off again back to the stone. 
 
 The Dhrakos had not yet returned, and he sat down 
 to wait for them. When they came back, he showed 
 them the heads of the serpent, and told them all the 
 story. When they had taken their rings from under 
 the stone, they returned to the castle. 
 
 The next morning, the Dhrakos told the bride- 
 groom that they must ask their King to the wedding, 
 for he would be offended if he heard from others
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. y i 
 
 that they had married their sister without inviting 
 him. 
 
 ' Very well,' said the youth, ' do as you think 
 proper.' 
 
 The eldest Dhrako went to bear the invitation on 
 the part of his brothers. The King received him well, 
 and asked him about the bridegroom, what kind of man 
 he was. 
 
 ' He is a valiant hero,' replied the Dhrako. ' When 
 he was in his own country he slew fifty with his left 
 hand and a hundred with his right ; and us forty 
 brothers he beat at throwing the ball ; and on the 
 road on which the people of these parts go and never 
 return, he went, and killed the three-headed serpent.' 
 
 'As you say he is such a hero,' said the King, 'he 
 is able to kill also the wild boar, Kalathas, which 
 ravages our country, and against which I have so often 
 sent my most valiant Dhrakos, but they could not 
 slay it.' 
 
 ' He is able,' replied the Dhrako, ' but not one of my 
 brothers is bold enough to accompany him for this 
 purpose.' 
 
 ' Never mind,' said the King, ' when the wedding is 
 over, I will write to you, threatening to slay you if you 
 do not my bidding ; and he will be obliged for the sake 
 of your sister, if he loves her, to help you.' 
 
 The King had heard that the Dhrakos' sister was 
 very beautiful, and he was jealous that he had not got 
 her in his own castle. So he gave the Dhrako some 
 presents for his brother-in-law and for his sister ; and 
 when the forty days of the wedding were passed, he 
 wrote to the Dhrakos that they must go and bring him 
 the wild boar, Kalathas, dead or alive. When the 
 Dhrakos heard this, they were much put out, and
 
 72 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 they told their sister. She promised them that when 
 her husband came home in the evening from the chase, 
 she would beg him to help them. The Dhrakos were 
 very pleased, and they went about their usual work in 
 the garden, one to water, another to dig, another 
 to prune, another to chop wood from the forest, another 
 to carry it to the castle, and the rest to do other work. 
 
 When evening came, and the youth returned from 
 hunting, his wife made him promise that he would help 
 her brothers to the best of his ability. The next day 
 he invited his brothers-in-law, and asked them to get 
 ready and go boar-hunting with him. So they took 
 each one his horse, his bow, plenty of arrows, and their 
 spears, and set out. 
 
 It was near noon when our hunters arrived on the 
 shore of a lake, and there they dismounted to stretch 
 themselves and rest themselves a little in the shade. 
 Presently they heard a crashing and a horrible noise 
 coming from among the bulrushes — it was the wild 
 boar. The youth fixed his arrow, shot it, and pierced 
 the wild boar in the eye. Kalathas, mad with pain, 
 roared at the hunters ; but as he came nearer, the 
 youth struck him with his spear on the forehead with 
 such force that Kalathas reeled and fell to the earth. 
 Then the youth fell upon him and cut off his head, 
 which he gave to his brothers-in-law that they might 
 give it to their King. 
 
 When the King of the Dhrakos received the head of 
 Kalathas, and learnt from them that their sister's 
 husband had killed it, he outwardly professed great love 
 for him, and sent him presents ; but he sent secretly an 
 old woman to inquire about his strength. The old 
 woman came to the Dhrakos' castle, and passing her- 
 self off as a nun, she found an opportunity to speak to
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 73 
 
 the young wife. From her she learnt that her husband 
 had boasted to her one night that if the earth had a 
 ring fixed to it and he somewhere else to stand upon, 
 he could lift the earth with all its weight. 
 
 ' Thy husband need not boast so much,' said the old 
 woman, ' for in our parts there is a great hero called 
 Yiaso, and this hero will be stronger than your 
 husband.' 
 
 At night when the youth came home from hunting, 
 his wife, as they talked together, repeated to him the 
 words of the old woman. When he heard them, he 
 thought to himself that it would be well to seek that 
 hero and make his acquaintance. 
 
 God dawned the day, and the youth, before going out 
 to hunt, buckled on his shield, said good-bye to his 
 wife, and told her that it would be a few days before he 
 returned, but that she must not be at all anxious. 
 When he had mounted, he set off. At whatever town 
 or village -he passed through, he asked if they knew 
 Yiaso the Hero. Not to make a long story of it, after 
 a month's journey he came to a town, and on inquiring 
 there he heard to his joy that Yiaso lived in that town. 
 
 ' Good !' said he. ' Now I shall see him,' and he 
 began at once to seek him. At last he found him in a 
 cookshop. 
 
 * Art thou Yiaso ?' said our hero to him. 
 
 ' Certainly,' replied Yiaso, ' but who art thou ?' 
 
 ' I am Phiaka,' said the youth, 'the brother-in-law of 
 the Forty Dhrakos, who has killed the three-headed 
 serpent.' 
 
 ' And Kalathas the wild boar ?' asked Yiaso. 
 
 ' Yes,' replied the youth. 
 
 ' Then, my friend Phiaka, if thou art he, let us make 
 trial of each other's prowess.'
 
 74 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Whenever you like,' said he. 
 
 'My trials are these,' said Yiaso — 'if thou raise my 
 strength-test higher than I, and if, with the first blow 
 on the shoulder thou drive me the deeper in the earth, 
 thou shalt be my master, otherwise I shall be thine.' 
 
 ' Very well,' replied the youth. 
 
 Then Yiaso took him to his house and took hold of 
 the strength-test, and raised it as high as his knee. 
 Afterwards he gave his friend a blow on the shoulder 
 and drove him up to his knees in the earth. Then the 
 youth took up the strength-test, which was a barrel as 
 big as a hogshead, full of lead, and he raised it as high 
 as his chest ; he gave Yiaso a blow on the shoulder, 
 and he sank into the earth up to his armpits. 
 
 'Well done, my Phiaka!' cried Yiaso. 'From this 
 time forward thou art my master ! Bid me do what 
 thou wilt, and I will obey thee.' 
 
 ' Then follow me,' said the youth. 
 
 ' With pleasure,' replied Yiaso, and they rode together 
 and came to the castle of the Forty Dhrakos. They 
 were all together at home when he arrived ; and the 
 Dhrakos, when they saw their brother-in-law, made 
 great rejoicing. 
 
 At night his wife told him that, five or six days 
 previously, the King of the Dhrakos had sent word to 
 her brothers to tell their brother-in-law to go and fetch 
 for him a bottle of the W^ater of Life.*^ When the youth 
 heard these words, he was much distressed ; and on the 
 following morning he repeated them to Yiaso. Yiaso 
 said that in his country there was a man called Ear of 
 the Earth.^** ' And he will know how to advise us about 
 what thou hast told me,' said he. * If thou wilt, give 
 me a horse, I will go and bring him ; he is my friend, 
 and I think he will do me the favour to come.'
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical. 75 
 
 The youth gave Yiaso permission to go, and they got 
 ready for him a splendid horse, one of the swiftest ; and 
 at break of day Yiaso set out. After forty days Yiaso 
 returned to the Dhrakos' Castle with Ear of the Earth. 
 He was a very outlandish man with donkey's ears, but 
 he had the power of hearing what men were talking 
 about in every part of the world, and whoever wanted 
 to know anything, he could tell them. And he told the 
 youth that the Well of the Water of Life was away in 
 the farthest East, and that it was between two moun- 
 tains which opened and shut, and that there was a 
 Dhrako who guarded the place when the mountains 
 were open, and that he must take a skin of Koumantar- 
 kan wine'' to treat him with, so that he might not only 
 leave them free entrance, but might also hold the 
 mountains apart with his two hands until they came 
 back from the Well. 
 
 When the youth had listened to this man's words, 
 he begged him to go with them for good or for evil. 
 So they made ready for the journey, and in five days' 
 time they took the road. The youth bade farewell to 
 his wife and to the Dhrakos, whom he charged to take 
 care of their sister, and keep her from all harm ; and 
 then he went off with the others. Their horses were 
 very swift. 
 
 Well, as they went, they passed through many 
 countries. One night Ear of the Earth said to his 
 companions, 
 
 ' I hear the Dhrako who guards the Well of the Water 
 of Life snoring ; he must be asleep.' 
 
 Some days passed, and Ear of the Earth again said 
 to his companions, 
 
 ' I hear the Dhrako complain that since the time 
 
 ■' The choicest wine of Cyprus, made in the south of the island.
 
 76 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 when King Alexander came for the Water of Life, he 
 has not tasted wine. I hope that in a few days more 
 we shall arrive there, and present him with some.' 
 
 The land through which they were passing had no 
 inhabitants, but was a wilderness. Said Ear of the 
 Earth to them, 
 
 ' We are coming near ; the snoring of the Dhrako 
 sounds in my ears ; and I believe the mountain in front 
 of us is that which opens and shuts.' 
 
 At last they arrived, and found the Dhrako sitting 
 under a plane-tree. When he saw the strangers, he 
 asked them what they wanted. 
 
 ' A little water,' replied the youth, ' from the Well 
 of Life.' 
 
 ' But, my pallikar,'' said the Dhrako, ' this mountain 
 where the Well of Life is opens and shuts. I don't 
 believe thou wilt be able to fill thy bottle in time, and 
 thou wilt be shut in. Thy companions are not, so 
 far as I can see, able to hold open the mountain 
 while thou fillest it.' 
 
 ' But the great Dhrako, your Honour — if he is so 
 disposed to do us the favour — can't he hold it open ?' 
 asked the youth. 
 
 ' I am strong when I drink,' replied the Dhrako. 
 
 ' But I see you have plenty of water here ?' said the 
 youth. 
 
 ' But my thirst is not quenched with water,' replied 
 the Dhrako, ' it is something else which gives me 
 strength.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you want wine ?" said the youth. 
 
 ' Thou hast guessed it,' replied the Dhrako. 
 
 ' Well, we have with us a skin of wine,' said the 
 youth. 
 
 The Dhrako's eyes sparkled with pleasure. When
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. yj 
 
 he had drunk of the choice Cypriot, he said, ' Wait a 
 Httle.' And when the mountain opened, the Dhrako 
 placed his hands and kept the two sides apart until 
 Phiaka had filled his bottle at the Well. The youth 
 and his companions then thanked the Dhrako, told him 
 that all the wine in the skin was his, bade him farewell, 
 and set off. The Dhrako was so pleased at receiving 
 the wine, that he took three horse-tail hairs, and said 
 to him, 
 
 ' Shouldst thou ever be in danger, strike these three 
 hairs lightly, the black, the white, and the red, and 
 immediately the three brothers — I who guard the Well 
 of Life, my brother who guards the Red Apple Tree 
 with the Golden Apples, and my third brother who 
 keeps the Souls at the mouth of Hades, will come to 
 thy aid.' 
 
 The youth again thanked the Dhrako, took the three 
 hairs, and hastened to return to the castle. 
 
 One day Ear of the Earth said to Phiaka, ' Master, 
 thy castle is surrounded by three hundred Dhrakos ; 
 thy brothers-in-law are fighting against them from 
 within the castle.' 
 
 The youth changed colour at this news. When they 
 were still two days' journey from the castle. Ear of the 
 Earth said to Phiaka, 
 
 ' Master, ten of thy brothers-in-law are killed and five 
 wounded !' 
 
 The youth sighed, and made still more haste to 
 arrive. At last they saw the castle from afar. The 
 youth prepared to strike the hairs which the Dhrako 
 had given him to ask his aid, when they heard shouts 
 from the castle and from those who were outside, who 
 ran and fled. When they came to the castle, they 
 learnt that the shouts they had heard from within were
 
 78 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 shouts of joy from his brothers-in-law because they saw 
 him coming, and that when those who were besieging 
 them learnt that the brother-in-law of the Dhrakos was 
 coming, they fled. Then the youth sprinkled his dead 
 and wounded brothers-in-law with the bottle of water 
 from the Well of Life, and made them whole, and that 
 day they remained together and feasted in the castle 
 garden. 
 
 After a few days Ear of the Earth said to the 
 youth, 
 
 ' Many soldiers are coming towards our castle. The 
 King of the Dhrakos wants to take away your wife from 
 you ; what shall we do ?' 
 
 'Are you quite sure of what you say?' asked the 
 youth, 
 
 ' Quite sure,' replied Ear of the Earth. 
 
 ' Then I must strike the hairs,' said the youth, ' when 
 the soldiers appear before the castle.' 
 
 Three days afterwards the castle fields were full of 
 soldiers. One body set up their tents in the direction 
 of the garden, another towards the forest, and another 
 out by the river in the corn-fields. The youth struck 
 the horses' hairs and awaited succour. Twenty-four 
 hours had not passed after he struck the hairs when 
 a white cloud appeared in the East, and a warrior 
 mounted on a Fish-horse^'' descended on the castle, 
 holding in his hand a bottle. When he had dis- 
 mounted, there appeared a red cloud from the West, 
 and a warrior mounted on a red horse alighted on the 
 tower, and he bore in a box a Golden Apple. It was 
 the Dhrako-guardian of the Red Apple Tree. When 
 he, too, had dismounted, there appeared a black cloud 
 from the South, and a warrior mounted on a black 
 steed descended on the castle, and he held a sword
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 79 
 
 like a sickle — it was the Dhrako- guardian of Hades. 
 When all three were arrived and had rested, they re- 
 solved to begin the battle. The Dhrako of the Well 
 of Life undertook to fight with the body by the river ; 
 the Dhrako of the Red Apple Tree with the body in 
 the forest ; and the Dhrako of Hades with the bod}' 
 in the garden, where the King of the Dhrakos was. 
 
 In the evening, then, when it grew dark, one Dhrako 
 turned the river into the fields where the soldiers were, 
 and some of them were drowned, and some he made 
 to flee. The second Dhrako did the same ; he set the 
 forest on fire near where the soldiers were, and some 
 were burnt, and all the rest fled. The other Dhrako 
 fell upon the soldiers who were in the garden, and 
 before day broke he had killed most of them. With 
 the dawn came other Dhrakos, and those who were in 
 the castle cut them to pieces, and the King and his 
 captains too were slain. Then the three Dhrakos 
 made the youth King of the Dhrakos, they gave him 
 the Golden Apple, and all the slain Dhrakos they raised 
 to life by sprinkling them with the water in the bottle 
 which the youth had brought from the Well of Life. 
 Eight days they rejoiced and made merry. And I left 
 them well, and came here and found you better !
 
 THE FAMOUS DHRAKO, OR THE QUEST OF 
 THE GOLDEN WAND. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXrlov, I., p. 147.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King, and he had a 
 very lovely daughter whose beauty had no equal. She 
 was indeed so beautiful that, if 
 
 ' She bade the Sun, he would stand still, 
 The morning Star, he'd twinkle !' 
 
 All the Princes were mad about her, and each one 
 hastened to be the first to marry her. But she did not 
 wish to marry, and found a thousand reasons for not 
 taking any of them. Among all the Princes who 
 sought her was one, very handsome, and he had 
 touched her heart a little when she saw him, but still 
 she could not make up her mind to take him. Besides, 
 she wished first to prove if he were valiant, and if he 
 loved her well enough to do her bidding. 
 
 One day she said that she would take him for her 
 husband who should bring her the Wand of the 
 Famous Dhrako, which he leaned against doors and 
 they opened. As many Princes as heard of it shook 
 with terror, for they knew very well that if they were 
 to do what was asked of them, they would perish, 
 because the Famous Dhrako was the most savage 
 and the strongest of all the Dhrakos. He had one 
 eye in his forehead which always remained open, 
 both when he was awake and when he was asleep, so
 
 /. Mythological— i^I I.) Magical. 8i 
 
 that no one could approach him without being eaten by 
 him. 
 
 But the handsome Prince loved her so much that he 
 made up his mind either to bring her the Golden Wand 
 or to perish. So he took the long road without saying 
 anything to anyone, to try his luck. Day and night he 
 walked without knowing where he was going. He went 
 through the valleys, up and down, through the wilder- 
 nesses, and on, and on. There where he was walking 
 he got tired and sat down under a tree, and sleep over- 
 took him. When he woke up he saw at a distance an 
 Old Woman sifting flour into a great baking-pan. But 
 the flour did not fall into the pan, but on the ground. 
 When he came nearer to the Old Woman, he saw that 
 she was blind. Then the Prince said to her, 
 
 ' Wait, mother, don't sift the flour, for it is falling on 
 the ground.' 
 
 ' But I can't see, my laddie,' said the Old Woman. 
 
 ' Give it to me, mother, and I will sift for you,' said 
 the Prince. 
 
 So he set to and sifted the flour, and put it in a sack 
 which lay near, and said to her, ' Where are you going 
 to carry it ? Let me help you, mother.' 
 
 The Old Woman was very much pleased with the 
 Prince, and said to him, 
 
 ' My boy [in return] for the favour thou hast done me, 
 what shall I do for you ?' 
 
 Said the Prince to her, * Mother, give me your bless- 
 ing, for you cannot help me in what I am seeking.' 
 
 * And what is it thou seekest ?' asked the Old 
 Woman. * Wilt not tell me, that I may hear, and 
 see if I cannot perhaps help thee ?' 
 
 ' I, mother, am a Prince, an only son, and I heard 
 them tell of a Princess who is very beautiful, and 
 
 VOL. II. 6
 
 82 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 that many princes go to ask her [in marriage] ; but she 
 finds no husband to her Hking, Then I took my mother's 
 blessing, ^^ and went only to see her and return home 
 again ; but what would you ? When I saw her I was 
 driven crazy by her beauty and by the sweetness of her 
 face. One day her father told her that she must really 
 marry. Then she said that she would take for her 
 husband the one who should bring her the Golden 
 Wand of the Famous Dhrako which he leans against 
 doors and they open.' 
 
 ' Listen, my son,' said the Old Woman, ' thou hast 
 undertaken a hard task, but thy parents' blessing and 
 mine will give thee courage. Go straight along this 
 road to a place where there is much grass, for no man 
 has ever trodden upon it. Take this road ; then, be- 
 yond the rising ground to which it leads thou wilt see 
 mountains and ravines, and thence thou wilt see afar 
 off a great cavern ; go near, and if thou hear sounds of 
 snoring coming out, it will mean that the Dhrako is 
 within and asleep. Then remain at a distance till the 
 door of the cavern opens, for he has his flocks inside 
 and puts in front a great rock which no one can move. 
 Thou must wait till the Dhrako opens to drive out his 
 flock, and then find means to hide thyself in the 
 cavern ; and when he comes back to sleep, and folds 
 his flocks, and closes the cavern again with the rock, 
 then do thou listen, and from the snoring thou wilt 
 know that he is asleep. Then come down from thy 
 hiding-place, and go [near him] ; tied to his beard is a 
 golden key, and with these scissors thou must cut the 
 key together with his beard, and when he opens the 
 cavern do thou go out too. When thou hast succeeded 
 in getting out, my son, then take again the grass-grown 
 road. There thou wilt see a great palace. When thou
 
 /. Alythological — (//.) Magical. 85 
 
 leanest the key against the door of the palace, it will 
 open. Fear nothing, but take that road and go up to 
 the palace. There thou wilt see upstairs in a great 
 chamber a Horse and a Dog ; and before the Horse are 
 bones for him to eat, and, before the Dog, is straw. Then 
 do thou, without a word, change them, and give the 
 bones to the Dog, and the rest thou wilt learn later 
 from the Horse.' 
 
 Then the Prince thanked the Old Woman, gave her 
 some sequins, took the scissors which she gave him, 
 and set off. He took the long road, and saw the great 
 cavern. He went near, but heard no snoring. He 
 peeped in, and there was no one in the cavern. There 
 was a great cauldron full of milk, and a bannock as big as 
 a millstone. Then the Prince bethought him that it was 
 many days since he had eaten. He cut a piece of the 
 bannock and dipped it in the milk, and he ate, and ate, 
 until he was satisfied. Afterwards he looked about, 
 and saw a hollow high up in the rock, and he climbed 
 up and got in. After a little while he heard the sheep 
 bells, and concluded that the flocks were returning and 
 the Dhrako with them. Then he drew back in his 
 hiding-place, and prayed God to help him. As soon as 
 the Dhrako had entered the cave, he drew-to the rock 
 and shut up the opening of the cave, and sat down to 
 eat. When he had eaten, he found that he was not 
 satisfied, and said, ' What an amazing appetite I 
 have to-day — neither the milk nor the bannock satisfies 
 me!' 
 
 But I quite forgot to tell you that the Old Woman 
 had given him a powder to throw into the raki^ jar, so 
 that when the Dhrako had drunk it he might sleep 
 
 " A kind of spirit made from grapes and flavoured with aniseed 
 much used in the East.
 
 84 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 heavily. So when the Dhrako had eaten, he stirred the 
 fire, and went to sleep. 
 
 Then when he (the Prince) heard the snoring, and 
 understood that the Dhrako was asleep, he came down 
 softly, softly, cut the hairs, took the little key from his 
 beard, and climbed up again into his hiding-place. But 
 afterwards it occurred to him that when the Dhrako 
 awoke, and saw that the key was missing from his 
 beard, he would look about to find it. So he got down, 
 and took a long pole, sharpened it, put it in the fire, 
 and when it was red-hot he stuck it into the eye of the 
 Dhrako and blinded him. Then he began to roar, and 
 the noise brought everybody to their feet. The other 
 Dhrakos, when they heard his roaring, ran to see what 
 was the matter with their chief. But they could not 
 enter, because the rock was in front and they could not 
 remove it, and when they heard his cries they con- 
 cluded that he was drunk, and they left him, and arose 
 and went away. Then the Dhrako pushed away the 
 stone, and opened the cave, and sat at the mouth and 
 began to fondle and let out his sheep one by one. 
 There was one big and woolly ram, and the Prince 
 placed himself on his stomach under his wool, and 
 managed while the Dhrako was fondling him to get out 
 of the cave.^^ 
 
 Let us leave the Dhrako to find out who blinded 
 him, and come to the Prince. The Prince took the 
 long road which the Old Woman had described to him, 
 and when he had gone some way he saw the palace 
 from afar. Then he came nearer, and placed the key 
 in the lock and opened the door. He went up into 
 the palace and saw a splendid Horse fastened with 
 chains, and he had before him a heap of bones ; and 
 a splendid big Dog, and he had before him a heap of
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 85 
 
 straw. He tried to loosen the Horse, but could not. 
 Then he put the straw before the Horse, and the bones 
 before the Dog. When the Horse and the Dog had 
 eaten they began to talk and said to him, 
 
 ' How didst thou get here, my boy ? The Famous 
 Dhrako will eat thee !' 
 
 Then the youth told them how he had blinded the 
 Dhrako, and that he had come here seeking a Golden 
 ^^^and. Then said the Horse, 
 
 ' Who advised thee to come hither ?' 
 
 Then the youth told him about the Old Woman, and 
 that what she had advised him to do, he had done. 
 Said the Dog, 
 
 ' She, my boy, was the Good Fate, and the other 
 Fates have blinded her because she had never done 
 evil to anyone, and they fated her never to recover her 
 sight until she found somebody to love and pity her. 
 And now, my boy, go this way ' (they pointed out where 
 he was to go) ' and go into that chamber. There you 
 will see two captive Princesses, and you must set them 
 free.' 
 
 So the youth took the way which led to the chamber, 
 and saw there two beautiful Princesses who wondered 
 at seeing him. They asked him how he came there. 
 He told his story, and how he had come to seek the 
 Golden Wand. Then they said, 
 
 ' We will give it to thee if thou wilt set us free.' 
 
 They gave him the Wand, and he went and leant it 
 against the Horse, and the Horse was loosed ; he leant 
 it on the Dog, and the Dog was loosed. Then he took 
 the Princesses, led them downstairs, placed them on 
 the Horse, and took the Dog too. But they said, 
 
 ' Before we leave we have another good deed to do ; 
 look out of the window and see. Those animals are
 
 S6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 all men, and Princes besides ; they were all out hunt- 
 ing, and as they found the door open they came in, but 
 — to their misfortune! — the Dhrako saw them and 
 sprinkled them with a liquid and turned them into 
 various animals. Now be quick and strike them lightly 
 on their backs with the Wand, and they will become as 
 they were before.' 
 
 Then the Prince went down with the Wand, touched 
 them one by one, and immediately they began to turn 
 into men, handsome youths, and began to embrace and 
 kiss the Prince. Then the Prince bethought him, and 
 he locked up the palace with the key when they had all 
 come out, and took away the key with him. Then 
 they all set out, and the Princes took the road that 
 led to their own palaces, and the Prince with the Horse 
 and the Dog set out to restore the Princesses to their 
 parents. When their parents saw them, you may 
 imagine the rejoicings they made ; and they said to 
 him that he might take for his wife whichever he 
 pleased of the two, and they would make him heir to 
 the throne. But the Prince replied that his troth was 
 plighted, and that to please his betrothed he had 
 come to seek the Golden Wand. The King marvelled 
 when he saw the Horse and the Dog become men. 
 Then the two Princes confessed and said, 
 
 ' If you are willing, my longlived King, make us 
 bridegrooms. For indeed the Dhrako stole the Prin- 
 cesses we loved, and we went to deliver them, and he 
 made a Horse of me,' said the one, ' and of my friend 
 a Dog.' 
 
 The King embraced them both, and said that he 
 would make them his sons-in-law. Then our hand- 
 some Prince set out to go to the beautiful Princess. 
 But he did not go on foot, for the King gave him many
 
 /. Mythological— {II) Magical. 87 
 
 carriages and gifts, and accompanied him to the door 
 of the beautiful Princess. And the Princesses wept for 
 joy that they were free, and for grief at the going away 
 of their dehverer. 
 
 Let us leave them, and come to the Princess. When 
 the Princess heard that the handsome Prince had gone 
 away, and she saw him no more, she lay down to die 
 of grief. Doctors and doctresses came to cure her, but 
 could do nothing. Her father was in despair, for he 
 had no other child. When the Prince arrived at the 
 palace, all the doors were shut because there was great 
 sorrowing for the Princess, who grew worse every day. 
 The Prince lost no time. He took the Golden Wand 
 in his hand, leant it against one door after another, 
 and they all opened, and he found himself before the 
 Princess. When the Princess saw him, she rose at 
 once, and embraced him, and said, 
 
 ' Thee will I take, and I have awaited thee so long 
 that I was ready to die of grief because thou wert gone 
 away.' 
 
 The Prince related all the hardships that he had 
 undergone, and gave her the Golden Wand. Then 
 music, drums, and great rejoicings. They held the 
 wedding, and he took her, and went home to his 
 parents, and there they had double rejoicings. And 
 they lived happy. And we happier !
 
 THE DHRAKO^'' 
 
 Athens. 
 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 699.) 
 
 There was once upon a time a King and a Queen, and 
 they had a very beautiful daughter. Well, they wanted 
 to marry their daughter, for they had no son, and to 
 leave the throne to the bridegroom. But in that 
 country there was a Dhrako, and he would allow no 
 Prince to go and marry the Princess. They came from 
 all the kingdoms where her beauty had been heard of ; 
 but the Dhrako came out when they drew near, and 
 some he ate, and others he drove away, so that none of 
 them had married the Princess. For the Dhrako in- 
 tended to get the Princess for himself, and at the King's 
 death to rule over the kingdom. He did all kinds 
 of injury to the King, burnt his vineyards before the 
 grapes were gathered, and was near setting fire to the 
 palace, and this Dhrako became at last a perfect tyrant 
 to the King. Then the King sent out a crier [to pro- 
 claim], 
 
 * Whoever will destroy the Dhrako, I will give him 
 my daughter to wife, and make him King thencefor- 
 ward ! ' 
 
 So all the Princes heard this, but how could the}^ 
 attempt it, for they were afraid of the Dhrako who had 
 destroyed so many Princes. There was one very hand- 
 some Prince, a native of a far-distant country. Said 
 he, 
 
 ' I am resolved to go. What ! shall we allow a 
 Dhrako to lord it over our kingdoms, and do us such 
 wrong and such evil ?'
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical 89 
 
 So he set out, and they told the King that 
 ' Fiorentino, the son of such and such a King, has come 
 to destroy the Dhrako and to dehver the King.' But 
 the Dhrako, too, heard of it, and he determined to do 
 all he could to prevent Fiorentino's passing and entering 
 the kingdom. 
 
 Fiorentino arrived ; but when he saw the Dhrako on 
 guard, he could not come near. So he went to a 
 shepherd and gave him money, and bought a suit of 
 clothes from the shepherd and put them on ; and he 
 took a crooked stick and a pot of yiaourti (sour curds), 
 and passed in front of the Dhrako and came to the 
 King. When he was come in, and saw the King, he 
 said to him, 
 
 ' My King, I am a Prince, and I have come that you 
 may give me your daughter to wife.' 
 
 He threw off his shepherd's dress, and stood in his 
 fine clothes. Said the King to him, 
 
 * Very good, my boy, but thou must go and bring me 
 the Dhrako's Spectacles. For whoever wears these 
 Spectacles can see from one kingdom to another when 
 war is going to be declared.' 
 
 ' Very good,' replied Fiorentino. He went out, and 
 here and there he learnt that the Dhrako was awake for 
 six months, and the other six he was asleep ; but no one 
 could tell whether he were asleep or awake, because his 
 eyes were always open. He had, some time before, 
 seized a Princess, and had turned her into a Partridge, 
 and she took care of the house, and if anyone went into 
 the Dhrako's house, she spoke. When Fiorentino 
 learnt that the Dhrako was asleep, he determined to go 
 and take the Spectacles. 
 
 He opened the door and went into the courtyard. 
 The Partridge cried,
 
 90 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Ba-ha-ka — he-has-o-pened-the-door /' 
 
 * Speak, speak, my Partridge !' said the Dhrako [in 
 his sleep]. 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — he-is-coni-ing-iip-stairs /' 
 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — he-is-tak-mg-thy-spec-ta-cles /' 
 
 * Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 * Ba-ba-ka — he-has-ta-ken-them-and-gone /' 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 Fiorentino took the spectacles to the King. Said the 
 King, 
 
 'You must go and bring me the Dhrako's Horse.' 
 For the Dhrako had a Horse which went like the wind. 
 
 So Fiorentino goes again. He entered the Dhrako's 
 courtyard. When he opened the door, the Partridge 
 began again, 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — a-stran-ger-has-come-in-to-the-Jiouse /' 
 
 'Speak, speak, my Partridge!' 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — he-has-gone-to-the-sta-ble /' 
 
 'Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — hc-has-taken-your-horse-and-gone /' 
 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 So he took the Horse and brought it to the King. 
 
 ' My King,' he said, ' I have brought you the Horse.' 
 
 ' Well, now,' he replied, ' you must go and bring me 
 the Partridge.' 
 
 So Fiorentino goes again, opens the door, and again 
 the Partridge begins, 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — he-has-o-pencd-the-door /' 
 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 ' Ba-ba-ka — a-stran-ger-has-come-in P 
 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 * Ba-ba-ka — he-is-com-ing-upstairs /' 
 
 * Speak, speak, my Partridge !'
 
 /. MytJiological — (//.) Magical. 91 
 
 ■ Ba-ba-ka — he-has-ta-ken-me-and-gone /' 
 
 ' Speak, speak, my Partridge !' 
 
 So Fiorentino took her and came to the King, and 
 said, 
 
 * My longhved King, I have brought you the 
 Partridge.' 
 
 ' Well, my boy, in order that we may be at peace in 
 the kingdom, you must go again and bring the Dhrako 
 himself to the palace.' 
 
 Then Fiorentino pondered what he should do. Then 
 he bethought him of a trick by which he might get him 
 into a barrel. Just then it was the Dhrako's time to 
 awaken. He awoke, and what did he see ? His house 
 deserted ! He looked about for his Spectacles to see 
 what was going on in the world ; but where were his 
 Spectacles? He waited for the Partridge to speak ; but 
 where was the Partridge ? He went downstairs to the 
 stable to see his Horse, and to mount him and find what 
 was going on ; but Horse there was none ! Then he 
 understood that it was Fiorentino's doing, and he 
 cried, 
 
 ' Ach, Fiorentino ! Thou hast taken my Spectacles — 
 my eyes ; the Horse — my feet ; the Partridge — my 
 tongue ! Ah, Fiorentino ! if I get hold of thee !' And 
 the Dhrako came out and wandered about here and 
 there on the mountains to refresh himself and find 
 some means of outwitting Fiorentino. But Fiorentino 
 had changed himself into an old man ; he put on a 
 white beard and hair, a hump, and some old clothes, 
 and he took some hoops, and wood and straps and an 
 axe, and went to the mountain where the Dhrako was, 
 and began to make a barrel. He made the barrel, and 
 then began to beat it — turn, turn, turn ! and nailed the 
 hoops ; and the staves he did not close, but left a little
 
 92 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 space between them. The Dhrako saw afar off a man 
 at work, and he came nearer to look, and saw an old 
 man making barrels. 
 
 ' Good day, pappou !'^ said the Dhrako to the old 
 man. 
 
 * We-el-co-ome, my son,' replied Fiorentino. 
 
 * What are you making here ?' 
 
 * It's little I can make — a barrel to put a little must 
 in to make some wine.' 
 
 ' But how can this barrel hold wine, old man ? I 
 could pass myself through the holes, and will your must 
 stay in ?' 
 
 ' But where arc the holes, I say ?' 
 ' There, put thy hand in, and thou wilt see.' 
 ' Po-po ! I will get some tow and caulk them.' 
 ' Look now, there's a big hole at the bottom of the 
 barrel!' 
 
 ' But where ? I don't see it,' said Fiorentino. 
 'See! — down there!' replied the Dhrako; 'give me 
 thy hand, and I will show thee.' 
 
 Fiorentino pretended that he couldn't reach. ' I 
 neither see it,' he said, ' nor yet do I feel it. Wilt 
 not do me the favour to get inside and caulk it thyself ? 
 Do — so mayest thou be happy, and may God give thee 
 good luck.' And many other things he said to persuade 
 him to get into the barrel. When he was in the barrel 
 he gave him a wedge, and everything else he asked for, 
 and he went in to caulk it. But once the Dhrako was 
 well in, he lost no time, but — taka ! taka ! he nails him 
 firmly in ; and, as Fiorentino hammered, the Dhrako 
 cried, 
 
 'A'i! what art doing? Open, for I am inside! 
 open, and let me out !' 
 
 ■* Grandfather.
 
 /. MytJiological — (//.) Magical. 93 
 
 ' Indeed ! I have seen and suffered too much to get 
 thee into the barrel, to let thee out now.' 
 
 Then he threw off his wigs and orra-duddies^, and 
 stood up as Fiorentino in his golden clothes. And he 
 began to roll the barrel, and say, 
 
 ' Roll, roll, little barrel, and let us go to the King's 
 palace, that I ma}' marry his daughter.' 
 
 Then the Dhrako understood that it was Fiorentino. 
 
 ' Ah, Fiorentino !' said the Dhrako, 'thou hast taken 
 from me the Spectacles — my eyes ; the Horse — my feet ; 
 the Partridge — my tongue ; and Me thou hast put in the 
 barrel ! Ach, Fiorentino, if I could lay hands on thee !' 
 
 ' Roll, roll, little barrel,' said Fiorentino, ' and let us 
 go to the King's palace, and marry his daughter.' 
 
 He took the Dhrako to the palace, and the King said 
 to him, ' Thou hast burnt my property, and I will burn 
 thee.' 
 
 So he burnt the Dhrako, and there was an end of 
 him. Then he raised Fiorentino to the throne, and 
 made him King as he had promised. And they had 
 music and drums and great rejoicings ; he married the 
 King's daughter, and instead of the Dhrako taking the 
 King's lands and goods, the King took the lands and 
 goods of the Dhrako. And Fiorentino lived with his 
 wife happily and contentedly. 
 
 2 IIaX576/)oi'xa. Compare 
 
 ' Syne he took oot his Hule knife, 
 Loot a' his duddies fa', 
 And he was the brawest gentleman 
 That was amang them a' 1' 
 
 James V. : The Jolly Beggar.
 
 THE MAN OF THE MANY CHICKPEAS:-^ 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeXXijvtKCL 'AvdXeKra, B., l6.) 
 
 ' Now a tale I'll tell to you, 
 Of a bean and chickpea too.' 
 
 Once upon a time there was a lazy fellow, and when 
 he was asked to go and do a day's work, he would work 
 for an hour or so, and then leave it and go home, and 
 so he never had enough bread to eat. Once again they 
 said to him, ' Come, my good fellow, and dig in one of 
 my gardens. There will be many others, and you will 
 earn a piastre and buy your fill of bread.' 
 
 Says he, ' Very well.' 
 
 So he goes the next morning, and digs for an hour or 
 so ; and as he was digging he finds a chickpea. In 
 great joy he says to himself, 
 
 ' If I plant this chickpea, I shall have next year a 
 hundred chickpeas ; if I plant the hundred chickpeas, 
 in another year I shall have ten thousand chickpeas ; 
 if I plant the ten thousand, in the following year they 
 will make a measure full ; in the next I shall have a 
 hundred measures of chickpeas, the next ten thousand, 
 and the next again a million measures ; and in some 
 ten years or so I shall have no room for them — where 
 shall I stow them ? I must go to the King and ask 
 him to let them open for me the royal granaries, and 
 stow them there.' 
 
 The thrifty maiden grows wealthy awake ; the idle wench 
 when she is asleep /"■ He never thought for a moment 
 
 " A Greek j^roveib.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 95 
 
 that he had nowhere to plant thcni ! He at once puts 
 the pea in his girdle and goes to the King, all ragged 
 as he was, asking his way of no matter who, and finding 
 it. The guards, when they saw his raggedness, were 
 unwilling to let him go up into the palace. But when 
 the King heard the dispute, and how the man insisted 
 on coming up, he said, 
 
 ' Let him come up !' 
 
 So he goes in to the King and doffs his cap, 
 
 ' My longlived King, I have many chickpeas, and 
 have nowhere to bestow them. Only give the order 
 that they open to me your storehouses, that I may 
 stow them there.' (And he had them all in his girdle !) 
 
 The King said to himself, ' This must be a rich man, 
 he would do well for my daughter.' So he says grandly, 
 ' I will do what thou askest, and thou shalt marry my 
 daughter; but if thou hast not the chickpeas, I shall 
 slay thee !' 
 
 'At your orders, my King!' he replies. 
 
 He sees the Princess, and remains ten days or so at 
 the palace, after which the King says to him, ' It is 
 time for thee to go and bring the chickpeas.' 
 
 Says he, ' Very good, but give me some ten thousand 
 piastres.' 
 
 He was the King's son already, so wh}' shouldn't 
 they give him the money ? He takes it and sets off on 
 horseback with a retinue, and the Princess followed him 
 at a distance with cavalry. Wherever he passed the 
 people paid him reverence, and said, 
 
 'The Prince is passing, the King's son is passing!' 
 
 Our man goes on, and on, and seeing a beekeeper 
 [he says to him], ' Here are a thousand piastres for 
 thee, and when thou seest by-and-by the Princess pass 
 with the royal escort, set out a hundred honeycombs
 
 96 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 for them to eat ; and when they ask thee to whom they 
 belong, say, " To the Man of the many Chickpeas." ' 
 
 ' At your orders.' 
 
 He goes further and finds a baker, gives him a thou- 
 sand piastres, and says, 
 
 ' Presently there will pass by the Princess with her 
 retinue. Set out bread for them that they may sit and 
 eat ; and if they ask thee to whom it belongs, say, ' To 
 the Man of the many Chickpeas." ' 
 
 ' At your orders, Effendi /' 
 
 He goes further and finds a shepherd, gives him a 
 thousand piastres, and says, 
 
 ' Presently there will pass the Princess with her 
 cavalcade. You will roast a few sheep for them to eat ; 
 and if they ask thee to whom they belong, say, "To 
 the Man of the many Chickpeas." ' 
 
 Then he went on, and on, till he found himself be- 
 neath a tower where lived a Dhrako who gave twelve 
 riddles to guess to everyone who passed by, and if he 
 could not guess them, he devoured him. 
 
 When the Dhrako saw our man, he called to him 
 from the window, 
 
 ' What does 07ie stand for ?' 
 
 The newly-made Prince immediately replied, 
 
 ' God is One.' 
 
 ' What does Two stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is One, two-horned is the Devil,'^^ replied the 
 Prince. 
 
 ' What does Three stand for ?' 
 
 * God is one, two-horned is the Devil, three-legged is 
 the table.' 
 
 ' What does Foii,y stand for V 
 
 ' God is one, two-horned is the Devil, three-legged is 
 the table, four-teated is the cow.'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 97 
 
 ' What does Five stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, two-horned is the Devil, three-legged is 
 the table, four-teated is the cow, five-fingered is the 
 hand.' 
 
 ' What does Six stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., six-starred (szc) is the Poiilia '-^ 
 (the Pleiads). 
 
 ' What does Seven stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., seven maidens dance the /zom.' 
 
 ' What does Eight stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., eight windings has the 
 Archipelago.'^ 
 
 ' What does Nine stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., a nine monthling is the child.' 
 
 ' What does Ten stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., a ten monthling is the calf.' 
 
 ' What does Eleven stand for ?' 
 
 ' God is one, etc., etc., an eleven monthling is the 
 mare's foal.' 
 
 ' What does Twelve stand for ?' 
 
 * God is one, etc., etc., a twelve monthling is the 
 mule's foal.' 
 
 As he said this the Dhrako tumbled out of the window, 
 and burst. The new-made Prince went upstairs, and 
 found a palace and better, all of gold. There were 
 silver trays and services, fine stuffs and carpets, and 
 all around were fields of different grains — barley, and 
 corn, and chickpeas, which he was so fond of, and all 
 kinds of things. 
 
 The Princess, meanwhile, as she passed along the 
 road, had been accosted by the beekeeper, the baker, 
 and the shepherd, who had given her to cat with all 
 
 ^ The yEgean has, in fact, eight gulfs at least on its Asiatic and 
 European shores. 
 
 VOL. II. 7
 
 98 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 her people honeycombs, bread and mutton ; and when 
 she asked, 'To whom do these belong ?' they all replied, 
 'To the Man of the many Chickpeas.' He comes down 
 from the tower as if it were his palace, receives the 
 Princess, and leads her upstairs. And they lived and 
 grew old together with joy and laughter, for his was a 
 lucky Kismet if they let him alone.
 
 THE THRICE-ACCURSED, OR THE SEVEN 
 
 CHAMPIONS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {Aekriov, L, p. 296.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once upon a time a King and a Queen, 
 and they had three daughters, so beautiful, that Princes 
 came from everywhere to ask them in marriage ; but 
 they did not wish to marry, so that they might not be 
 separated. Then the Devil took it into his head to 
 come and take the eldest to wife. So he bethought 
 him, like the Devil he was, to become a handsome 
 Prince ; and he fitted out a ship with different jewels 
 and other gifts, and appeared at the palace. He pre- 
 sented them to the King, and said to him, 
 
 ' I am such and such a Prince, and I heard everyone 
 praising your daughter. I want only to see her, and 
 not to ask her for my wife, because so many others 
 more handsome and more wealthy than I have come, 
 and she would not have them.' 
 
 Then the King bade his daughter to come that he 
 [the Prince] might see her. When she heard her 
 father's command, she was sorry, but what could she 
 do ? She took her mother with her, and went to her 
 father, who had called her. As soon as the Devil saw 
 her, he kneeled down before the King, and said to him, 
 
 ' I will never leave thy palace without thy daughter, 
 and if she will not have me for her husband, she had 
 better kill me !'
 
 loo Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Then the King and the Queen told her to consent to 
 take him for her husband, for they were tired of seeing 
 the Princes coming and going. So, willy nilly, the 
 Princess consented. Then music and drums and great 
 rejoicings. The wedding took place ; he took her for 
 his wife, and it was settled that she was to go to his 
 parents. He did not, however, take her plenishings, 
 only a few things, and said, 
 
 ' I will go to my parents that they may see her, and 
 we will come back to see her sisters, and then we will 
 take the gear.' 
 
 Then they went on board the ship ; he made a great 
 feast for them ; and then they separated with much 
 sorrow and many tears. 
 
 They sailed, and sailed, and arrived at a lonely place, 
 and there the ship struck on a rock ; and after it had 
 struck it fell to pieces, and they came on shore, and 
 immediately mounted on mules, and rode, and rode, 
 and rode, and still they rode. There the Princess 
 saw a great big cave, with a hole for doorway. Said 
 she, 
 
 ' Why are we going in here ?' 
 
 ' Nd I since the ship is wrecked, we will go into the 
 cave and sleep, and in the morning we will see if a ship 
 will pass into which we may enter and go to my 
 parents.' 
 
 But as soon as she had entered the hole, she heard a 
 noise, a dreadful uproar which was going on in the cave. 
 There were all the devils, and they were awaiting their 
 chief, Versevoulin," to tell him what they had done. 
 Then she was frightened, and said, 
 
 * What is it ? What is it ?' 
 
 Then he shook himself once, and became a Thrice- 
 Accursed, with such horns and such teeth ! His two
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. loi 
 
 front teeth, indeed, were as long as his horns ! He 
 said, 
 
 ' Eh ! bide here now. I am the King of the Devils, 
 and you are the Queen !' 
 
 Then he clapped his hands, and all the devils came 
 into the cave. Up jumped one, and said, 
 
 * To-day, Versevoulin, I blinded a man because we 
 were in a whirlwind, and he threw away the stone of an 
 olive which he was eating, and it hit me on the nose, 
 and I gave him a blow and blinded him.' 
 
 Then the others were beginning to tell their doings, 
 but Versevoulin stopped them, saying, 
 
 ' To-day I have got married, and am merry ! Go all 
 and amuse yourselves till to-morrow, and she whom 
 you see is my Queen, so pay her homage.' 
 
 Then all the devils saluted her, wished her joy, and 
 went away. Then he, when he was left alone, took 
 her into another cave, and showed her another wife 
 whom he had hung up, and whose breast he had cut 
 open, and said to her, 
 
 ' She was a Princess ; but when I gave her a human 
 heart to eat, and she did not eat it, I killed her and 
 hung her up. Now, if thou wilt eat her heart, I will 
 make thee my Queen and wife ; but if thou wilt not eat 
 it either, I will do the same to thee.' 
 
 Then she was afraid, and said, ' I will eat it, give it 
 to me, and I will eat it.' 
 
 Then he took out the woman's heart for her, and 
 said, 
 
 ' I am going out hunting, and you must eat it.' 
 ' Very good,' said she. But when he was gone she 
 dug with her nails a hole under a stone, and put it in. 
 When he came back, he said to her, 
 ' Hast thou eaten the heart ?'
 
 I02 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' I have eaten it.' 
 
 Then he took down his sword, laid it across his 
 knees, and said, 
 
 ' My httle heart ! my httle heart ! where art 
 thou ?' 
 
 * My lady has put me under a stone !' 
 Then he lost no time, but tore her open, and hung 
 her up where the other was. And he arose, and took a 
 ship, and went again to his father-in-law. When they 
 saw him, there were great rejoicings. | ' The bride- 
 groom !' [they cried], and ran to embrace him. 
 
 ' Where is she ? Why haven't you brought the 
 Princess with you ?' 
 
 ' Eh ! what shall I tell you ? She is so beloved there by 
 my parents, that they wouldn't let her come ; but I 
 have come to fetch one of her sisters to stay a short 
 time, and later on, she shall return with her.' 
 
 Then they looked at one another, and the youngest 
 said, 
 
 ' Let her go, and I will stay with you.' 
 Then the other said, ' But what shall I do ? How 
 can I leave you alone ?' 
 
 ' Eh !' said the Queen, ' one of you must go ; do thou 
 go who art the elder.' 
 
 Then they got ready the elder sister, and she took 
 her brother-in-law and went away. As they went, they 
 again moored in the same place, came on land, mounted 
 the mules, and rode, and rode, till they came to the 
 rocks. Then said the Princess, 
 
 ' Where are we going ? This is a desert. Is the 
 palace here ?' 
 
 ' Eh ! it is here ; thou wilt see how splendid it is. 
 The road is rather bad, but thou wilt see how splendid 
 is the palace !'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 103 
 
 But when they came close to the mountain, she saw 
 a hole, and they went in at the hole, and she saw a 
 great cave. Then she asked, 
 
 ' What is this ?' 
 
 He immediately shook himself, and became a Devil 
 with horns. Then she began to utter screams and 
 cries, but he said to her, 
 
 'Hush thee, for I shall do to thee as I did to thy 
 sister!' 
 
 ' And where is my sister ?' 
 
 'There!' 
 
 She went in and saw her hanging up. She ran to 
 embrace her, she kissed her, she wept, she fainted 
 away. Said he to her, 
 
 ' Hush thee, whatever thou mayest do now, thou art 
 mine, and must obey me, or else I shall do to thee as 
 I did to her.' 
 
 Then he lost no time, but took out her sister's heart, 
 and said, 
 
 ' There ! eat it, and when thou hast eaten it, I will 
 make thee Queen and bring thee birds' milk.'-* And 
 he gave the heart into her hand, and rose and left, and 
 went with his companions, the devils, a-hunting. 
 
 Then she, poor thing, was left alone, and she wept, 
 and cried, and looked this way and that, but nobody 
 saw her, or heard her. Then she made up her mind, 
 and took the heart and cut it up into little bits, and 
 threw them on the roof. When he came back from 
 hunting, he asked her, 
 
 ' Hast thou eaten it ?' 
 
 ' I have eaten it.' 
 
 Then he at once took down his sword, laid it across 
 his knees, and said, 
 
 ' My little heart ! my little heart ! where art thou ?"
 
 I04 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 * My lady has thrown me on the roof!' 
 
 Then he lost no time, but immediately tore her open, 
 and hung her up with the other. 
 
 When he had hung her up, he arose, and took a ship, 
 and went again to his father-in-law. When they saw 
 him there were great rejoicings. 
 
 ' Why have you come ?' 
 
 ' Brc I how shall I tell you ? — the women have driven 
 me ! — they give me no peace ! " Go and bring our 
 other sister !" So, if it please you, let her come, and 
 we will return all together.' 
 
 The youngest daughter did not wish to go ; she 
 screamed, ' I won't go anywhere!' and shut herself up 
 in her room. Her mother went to her and said, 
 
 ' My daughter, this is a shame ! The bridegroom has 
 set out and made this journey, and thou wilt not go ?' 
 
 ' I will go, but I must take my pigeon and my kitten 
 with me !' 
 
 ' Eh ! very well, but put them in thy pocket, for it 
 would be a shame for the bridegroom to see them !' 
 
 So she got ready, she dressed herself, put the pigeon 
 and the kitten the one in one pocket and the other in 
 another, and set out. There where the ship moored 
 again, they went on shore, mounted the mules, and 
 rode, and rode, and rode. When they were opposite 
 the mountain, she asked him, 
 
 ' What is that ? Are we going there ?' 
 
 ' Yes, my palace is there.' 
 
 They went into the cave, and she began to scream 
 and cry. Then he shook himself, and became a great 
 Devil, and he said, 
 
 ' Hush thee ! for I shall do to thee as I have done to 
 thy sisters !' 
 
 ' And where are my sisters ?'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 105 
 
 ' There they are, hanging up !' 
 
 Then she, too, uttered screams, but he said, 
 
 * Hush thee ! thy cries are useless now ; thou must do 
 as I bid thee !' and he took out her sister's heart and 
 said, 
 
 * Here, eat this heart, and when thou hast eaten it, 
 I will make thee Queen, and bring thee birds' milk ; 
 but if thou deceive me, I shall do to thee as I have 
 done to them.' So said, he gave her the heart, and 
 arose, and went away. 
 
 Then she thought to herself. What should she do ? 
 what should she do ? — and she thought of the kitten 
 which she had in her pocket. She cut the heart up 
 into little tiny bits, and gave it to the kitten, and she 
 ate it. Then she sat down and wrote a letter to her 
 parents that he whom they had made their son-in-law 
 was a Devil ; that he had killed her two sisters, and 
 many other things ; and she folded the paper tightly 
 and tied it to the pigeon's neck, and told it to fly very 
 high up so as not to be killed, kissed it, threw it up, 
 and it flew away. Then the poor girl wept day and 
 night, and waited for her deliverance. The Thrice- 
 Accursed came and asked, 
 
 ' Hast thou eaten the heart ?' 
 
 ' I have eaten it,' said she. 
 
 Then he took his sword and laid it across his knees, 
 and said, * Now we shall see if thou hast eaten it or 
 not,' and he called out, 
 
 * My little heart ! my little heart ! where art thou ?' 
 It replied, ' My lady has put me in a warm, warm, 
 
 little stomach !' 
 
 Then he said to her, 'Thou art my wife!' and he 
 embraced her. ' Now all thy commands shall be 
 obeyed !'
 
 io6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Let us now leave them, and let us go to her parents. 
 The pigeon flew swiftly, swiftly, and came to the 
 palace. When they saw it, what rejoicings there 
 were ! 
 
 * Our lady's pigeon ! our lady's pigeon !' 
 
 They caught it, and saw that it had a string round 
 its neck ; they untied it — what did they see ? — a little 
 letter. They read it, and what did they see ? They 
 cried, and wept, and cudgelled their brains to think 
 how they could rescue her. 
 
 A neighbour heard the weeping and the cries in the 
 palace, and went to see what had happened. Said 
 she, 
 
 ' What is the matter here ? Why are you weeping ? 
 Why are you screaming?' 
 
 Then the Queen said, ' Nd, so and so and so, but 
 what shall we do to rescue her from the Devil's 
 den ?' 
 
 Then said the woman, ' My Queen, I have seven 
 sons, and what trade they follow I don't know ; they 
 have to do with "The Outside Ones.'"^^ Only give me 
 some silk and gold thread, and a beautifully fine, rose 
 coloured handkerchief, to embroider, and they will ask 
 me, " What is that, mother ?" and I shall say to them, 
 " I shall give it him who knows the best trade," and 
 in that way I shall learn what trade each knows.' 
 
 So she took the gold thread, and sat and embroidered 
 on the threshold of the door. Then came the eldest, 
 and said to her, 
 
 * Good-evening, mother !' 
 
 * Welcome, my son !' 
 
 ' What wilt thou do with this kerchief thou art 
 broidering?' 
 
 ' I shall give it to my most worthy son.'
 
 /. Mythological— {II.) Magical. 107 
 
 ' And is any more worthy than I ?' 
 ' But do I know what is thy calHng ?' 
 ' I put my ear to the ground, and hear everything 
 that happens in the habitable earth. '^^ 
 
 * Oh, thine is a fine trade !" 
 The second came. 
 
 ' Good-evening, mother !' 
 ' Welcome, my son ! ' 
 ' What art thou broidering there ?' 
 *A golden handkerchief.' 
 ' And to whom wilt thou give it ?' 
 ' To my most worthy son.' 
 ' And is there another more worthy than I ?' 
 ' Do I know ? What trade dost thou follow ?' 
 ' I can make storms like the clouds, and run like 
 a chariot.' 
 
 * Oh, thine is a good trade !' 
 Then came the third. 
 
 * Good-evening, mother.' 
 ' Welcome, my son.' 
 
 ' What art thou broidering there ?' and so on, not 
 to make a long story of it. 
 
 ' What trade dost thou follow ?' 
 
 * I can go to the Devil's den, and throw his one shoe to 
 the West, and the other to the East !' The fourth— 
 * I can take a child from its mother's breast without her 
 knowledge.' The fifth — ' I can strike my staff on the 
 ground, and mountains and cliffs arise which not even 
 the Thrice-Accursed can pass over.' The sixth — ' I can 
 strike with my staff and a glass tower will spring up 
 with all of us on the top of it.' The seventh — ' I can 
 shoot and strike the eagle and take the partridge out of 
 its claws.' 
 
 ' Well, my sons, take my blessing, and come with me
 
 io8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 to the King, for the Devil has taken all the Princesses, 
 and the two he has killed, but the one he keeps alive ; 
 but let us go and try to save her.' 
 
 Then she went and told the King, and told him that 
 each of her sons could do such and such business. 
 Said the King, 
 
 * Let them come here.' 
 
 She took her sons and led them to the King. The 
 King and Queen said to them, 
 
 ' My sons, do you see and rescue the Princess, and 
 all my goods are yours.' 
 
 Then they took some money, and set off immediately, 
 because there was no time to lose ; and they promised 
 that they would either come back with the Princess, or 
 not at all. Then they went out of the city, and went 
 beyond it some way, and when they were come into the 
 fields, they said, 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who puttest thine ear 
 to the ground and hearest all that happens in the 
 habitable world ?' 
 
 ' Here I am,' said he. 
 
 * Put down thine ear, and let us see where is the voice 
 of the Devil.' 
 
 He puts down his ear, and says, ' Towards the 
 north I hear a sound, and there must be the Devil's 
 cavern.' 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who blowest like a 
 tempest, and fliest like a chariot ?' 
 
 ' Here I am !' He threw himself down, and all the 
 others fell upon him, and they flew to the place whence 
 the sound came. When they were arrived near the 
 spot, they said, 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who puttest thine ear to 
 the ground, and hearest what is happening ?'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 109 
 
 ' Nd, here is the cave, but we must go softly, softly, 
 to see if he is asleep.' 
 
 Then said he who threw the shoes to the East and 
 the West, ' Let me go and see if he is asleep, and I will 
 throw his shoes away, and then he cannot walk.' 
 
 He went into the cave and saw him sleeping ; he 
 seized his shoes and threw them the one to the East 
 and the other to the West. The Princess was sleep- 
 ing by his side, and he had the nipple of her breast 
 in his mouth, so that she might not run away. Then 
 said he, 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who takest the child 
 from its mother's breast, and she knows nothing of it ?' 
 
 Said he, ' Here I am !' He had some cotton, and he 
 made it like the nipple of a breast, and put it into the 
 Devil's mouth, and seized the Princess, and said, 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who blowest like a 
 tempest and fleest like a chariot ?' 
 
 Said he, ' Here I am !' 
 
 They all fell upon him, and he flew like a chariot. 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who puttest thine ear to 
 the ground and hearest all that is going on ?' 
 
 Said he, ' Here I am !' 
 
 ' Put thine ear down, and listen if perchance thou 
 hear a sound.' 
 
 * The Devil has found it out, and is after us !' said he. 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who strikest with thy staff 
 and mountains and cliffs and torrents come forth ?' 
 
 ' Here I am !' said he. 
 
 'Strike with thy staff!' 
 
 He struck with his staff, and there came out moun- 
 tains and cliffs and torrents. And the Devil would 
 have caught them, but while he went to fetch his shoes 
 and returned they made some headway ; but again he
 
 1 1 o Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 was overtaking them. When they looked and saw him, 
 they said, 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who strikest with thy 
 stick and a glass tower arises ?' 
 
 ' Here I am !' said he. Tap, he strikes with his staff, 
 and they find themselves high up, and the Devil below 
 raged, and cried to the Princess, 
 
 ' Come out to the little window, and let me see thee 
 once more, and I will go away !' 
 
 She leant out once to spit at him, but he became an 
 eagle, and seized her, and flew off. 
 
 ' Where art thou, O brother, who shootest and killest 
 the eagle, and takest the partridge from his claws ?' 
 
 ' Here I am,' says he, and without losing time he 
 immediately lets fly his arrow, and kills the eagle and 
 takes the Princess from him. 
 
 When they had taken her, they led her to her parents. 
 When they saw her they began at once to weep and to 
 wail. When they were quieted a little, the King said to 
 the youths, 
 
 ' What do you wish me to give you in return for the 
 favour which you have done me ?' 
 
 Said one, ' I wish you to give me the Princess to 
 wife, because I found out the place [where she was].' 
 
 * But if I had not flown like a chariot, how would you 
 have gone to the cave ?' said another. 
 
 * But if I had not taken her out of the Devil's mouth, 
 how should we have carried her off?' said another. 
 
 ' But if I had not struck with my stick and brought 
 up mountains and cliffs, the Devil would have caught 
 us again !' 
 
 'And with all that, if I had not,' said another, ' struck 
 with my staff, and brought up a glass tower, again the 
 Devil would have caught us and killed us !'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. iii 
 
 The youngest jumps up and says, 'All that is done 
 with, but if I had not killed the eagle which stole the 
 partridge, how should we have the Princess here ?' 
 
 Then up jumped the King, and said, ' The youngest 
 is right.' 
 
 Then they began to quarrel among themselves. Then 
 said the King, 
 
 ' But thus I lost her ! and having her I lose her ! 
 Cut her then into seven pieces, and take each one 
 a piece !' 
 
 Then the youngest turned and said, 
 
 ' No, my King, we will none of us wed her, but may 
 you live long and be happy, and we will go about our 
 business !' 
 
 Then the Queen gave them each a ring in remem- 
 brance ; the King gave them much money, so that they 
 might live contentedly all their hves ; and the Princess 
 kissed them all on their foreheads. So the King and 
 the Queen and the Princess lived happily. And we more 
 happily still !
 
 THE STORY OF CINDERELLA. ^-'^ 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 (Sakellarios, II., p. 309.) 
 
 Once upon a time, my lady, there was an old woman 
 who had three daughters. Well [the two eldest], be- 
 cause the mother loved the youngest best, were jealous, 
 and sought some pretext for killing their mother. They 
 agreed to go up on a high terrace with their mother, 
 and take their spindles, and that whoever should first 
 let her thread break they would eat. Of course the 
 mother being old and feeble, her thread would be sure 
 to break. So they took their spindles and went up to 
 the terrace. The poor old woman, her hands were 
 weak, and she broke her thread once. 
 
 ' Ah, dear mother mine,' said they, ' we will eat 
 thee!' 
 
 Then says she to them, 'At, my daughters, forgive 
 me this time, and if it breaks again, eat me.' 
 
 Then they began again, and let down their spindles, 
 and again her thread broke. 
 
 ' Ah, dear mother mine,' they cry, ' we will eat thee !' 
 
 ' A'i, my^daughters, forgive me also this time, and if 
 it breaks aUhird time, then eat me !' 
 
 So they began again, and let down their spindles, 
 and again hers broke. 
 
 'At, we can't let you off again, we shall eat you!' 
 And they took their poor mother and began to make 
 ready to kill her. When she saw that they were really 
 going to kill^her, she called her youngest daughter, and 
 said to her, 
 
 * Come, my daughter, and let me counsel thee ! Take
 
 /, AIyiholoo^ical—[II.) Magical. i i 
 
 my blessing,' she said, ' for they are about to kill and 
 eat me ; all the bones that fall do thou gather and put 
 them in a jar, and keep them with care. Watch them 
 and smoke them [with incense]^ for forty days and 
 nights and go not forth from the chamber where they 
 are ; and on the fortieth day,' she said, ' open it [the 
 jar], and see what they have become.' 
 
 ' Gladly,' she replied, and began to weep for her 
 mother. 
 
 ' Don't weep, my daughter,' said she, ' for what can 
 you do now that your sisters are determined ?' 
 
 They seized and slew their mother, and set to and 
 cooked her, and began to eat. 
 
 ' Come, girl, and eat thou too ; thou wilt see what 
 good food it is — our mother.' 
 
 * No, my girl, God does not permit me to eat of my 
 mother!' and she gathered up the bones wherever she 
 found them, and placed them in a jar without being 
 observed. When they had finished eating and were 
 satisfied, they rose. What did she do now ? She took 
 and lighted a great fire and sat day and night to watch 
 them, and smoked them day and night. 
 
 Then her sisters began to say to her, ' Get up, 
 Cinderella, put on your clothes, and let us go out !' 
 
 ' No — (O my mother !) — you have eaten our mother, 
 and I have no wish to go out, do you go.' So they 
 busked themselves, and went out ; but she did not go, 
 but sat close to the fire to watch the bones. 
 
 When the forty days and forty nights were fulfilled 
 that she smoked them, she let them [her sisters] go out 
 one day, and opened the jar. She looked in, and what did 
 she see ? — the bones had become all gold and diamonds ! 
 
 ^ Legrand translates this: ' Tu les fera secher a la fumee.' 
 Comparison with the following story and with other Greek variants 
 seems to show that fumigating with incense is meant. 
 
 VOL. II. 8
 
 114 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 There was a wedding being held, and they invited 
 her sisters to go, and they began [to call] ' Get up, you 
 Cinderella, and let us goto a wedding!' 
 
 ' No — (O mother dear !) — I will not go ; if you will 
 go, go ; I will not go to the wedding.' 
 
 So they went to the wedding. When they were gone, 
 she opened the jar, and she made her choice, and took 
 out the best of the silks and the gold and the diamonds, 
 and adorned herself. Then she too went out to the 
 wedding. When they saw her at the wedding, they 
 were at a loss to know who she was or where to find a 
 [fitting] seat for her. When she found that it was 
 time to go home, she rose, took leave, and returned. 
 A Prince seeing her so splendidly dressed, ran after 
 her. So as not to be recognised, she began to run, 
 and as she was running, one of the boots she wore 
 came off, and she did not stop to look for it. The 
 Prince stooped and picked it up. Then, my lady, he 
 sent for a pedlar-woman^ and gave it to her so that she 
 might go round about with it, and let the King know 
 whom it fitted. She went round to all the houses but 
 found no one whom it fitted. At last she comes to hers 
 [Cinderalla's]. Her sisters try it on ; it does not fit 
 them ; Cinderella tries it on, and it fits her — neither 
 too large nor too small. Then she [the pedlar-woman] 
 went and told the King, and he began to make prepara- 
 tions for marrying her. Well, when he had married 
 her, she took two or three persons from the palace 
 and went [to her old] home, opened the jar and began 
 to empty it. When her sisters saw that, they were 
 struck dumb. Where could she have found such 
 
 a lIoi'XdTpai' = 7roiiXT5rpa = 7rw\^Tpia, a woman who goes from house 
 to house with small articles for sale on commission, a female broker. 
 M. Legrand has, however, rendered this word servanie.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 115 
 
 treasures as there were in the jar ? When they asked 
 
 her where she found them, she repHed, 
 
 ' They are my mother's bones with her blessing !' 
 Well, then she gave what they wanted to the one 
 
 and to the other, and took the rest back with her to 
 
 the palace, and lived happily. And we left them there, 
 
 and came here.
 
 SADDLESLUT. 
 
 Zagora. 
 i'EXXvv- ^i^- Sv''^- Vol. XIV., p. 256.) 
 
 There was once a mother with three daughters, and 
 they went to spin on the terrace, and the mother's 
 spindle fell twice, and they said, ' We will excuse her.' 
 It fell again, and they made a cow of her and slew her. 
 And when they were killing her, she said to Kalo, the 
 youngest, 
 
 * Don't you eat, but bury my bones in the barn, and 
 burn incense over them every evening ; and at Easter 
 uncover them.' 
 
 The other two, Stamato and Maro, put her under 
 the packsaddle, and called her ' Saddleslut.' When 
 Easter came round, the two went to church, and 
 Saddleslut unburied the bones and found a thousand 
 and two treasures. Then she also adorned herself and 
 went to church, and threw down coins, and fled, and 
 went and sat on the packsaddle. The others came 
 home, and said to her, 
 
 ' A lady came and scattered gold, and you, to your 
 loss, were not there.' 
 
 They rang the bells again on Easter Monday, and 
 the two others went. She, too, adorned herself, put 
 on her gown, and threw money, and the people picked 
 it up. As she was running away, she dropped her 
 slipper, and the Prince found it and said, 
 
 ' Whosoever it is, her will I take to wife.' 
 
 So they all went, and for one it was too long, and 
 for another too wide. 
 
 Tiring the Saddleslut too,' said the Prince,
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 117 
 
 They looked, and it was exactly the measure of her 
 foot, and he took her for his wife. She swaddled her 
 baby, and the Prince went away. The others became 
 deaconesses, and they went to the house and said to her, 
 
 ' Open, lady, and give us alms !' 
 
 And she said to them, ' My mother-in-law is not at 
 home, she has gone to the mill.' 
 
 ' Open, noble lady !' 
 
 So she opened to them. And as soon as they saw 
 her they said ' Oui ! how lousy your head is !' 
 
 And she said, ' My mother-in-law loused it for me.' 
 
 ' Oui ! my child ! bend and let us louse it for you !' 
 
 And they stuck a sacking-needle into her head, and 
 buried her under the sweepings, and Maro sat in her 
 place. Her mother-in-law came from the mill and called 
 her. 
 
 ' Come, my daughter, and let us unload ! Why are 
 you thus ?' asked her mother-in-law. 
 
 ' On account of my illness, and such a bad baby as 
 it is!' 
 
 A bird came out from the sweepings and perched in 
 the stable, and sang, ' Kirliou, liou, liou ! Sweetly sleeps 
 my lord, sweetly my mother-in-law, and my child more 
 sweetly still, and the skyla, my sister, may she never 
 have her fill of sleep.' 
 
 ' Kill it — the horrid thing, kill the wretch !' 
 
 ' What harm has it done thee then, my dear, hear 
 you not how it sings ?' 
 
 Presently the husband comes home with his gun, he 
 fires at and kills it ; and it falls down in a corner of the 
 stable. But three drops of blood fell in the courtyard, 
 and there sprang up an apple-tree, and in a year's time 
 it bore apples. The husband and the mother-in-law 
 went near and it bent down to them. The child went.
 
 1 1 8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and it bent down to the ground. Her sister went, and 
 it raised itself higher and higher. 
 
 ' Cut down the wretched thing !' 
 
 ' What has it done to thee, my girl ?' 
 
 As the Prince cut it down there passed by an old 
 woman and said to him, ' Give me an apple for myself.' 
 And he gave her one, and inside it was his wife, the 
 Saddleslut.-^ The old woman took it and put it in her 
 box. She came out of it, and swept and did all the 
 household work for the old woman. The old woman 
 came home and wondered who had done her work. 
 One day she finds the Prince and says to him, 
 
 ' Come, and I will give you a sweetmeat, and a good 
 apple from your apple-tree.' 
 
 ' Have you still, mother, the apple which I gave 
 you?' 
 
 ' I have, my son.' 
 
 The Prince went. The old woman went to open [the 
 box], and was taken by surprise. ' How did you come 
 here ?' she asked, and she [the girl] told her all the story. 
 The old woman set filberts before the Prince. ' The 
 apple,' she said, ' I found all rotten and worthless.' 
 The old woman took Kalo's ring and showed it to 
 him. 
 
 ' Where did you get that betrothal ring, mother ?' 
 asked the Prince. 
 
 ' Come, and I will show you, my son.' 
 
 * How did you come here, I say ?' asked the Prince. 
 She told him all the story. ' So and so did that skyla, 
 my sister.' 
 
 The Prince took her by the hand, and they go to 
 Maro, ' What is this, I say, then ?' The Prince seizes 
 her and makes a thousand pieces of her and sends them 
 to the mill.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical, 119 
 
 * Grind, grind for me, my mill, grind now this wicked 
 
 woman's head. 
 And make of it the tine flour black, make it the meal so 
 
 red ; 
 That come here may the scribes, and they it for their 
 
 ink may take; 
 That come here may the beauties all rouge for their 
 
 cheeks to make.'
 
 THE SUGAR-MAN.^"* 
 
 A thens. 
 
 (AeXrlov, I., p. 289.) 
 
 There was once a King and a Queen, and they had a 
 very beautiful daughter ; but she did not wish to marry, 
 she only wanted to make with her own hands a husband 
 of sugar. So she bought sugar, and sat by herself, and 
 pounded and sifted it, and would let no one else touch 
 it. She kneaded it well, and fashioned a very hand- 
 some man to suit her fancy, locked herself up in her 
 room, and began to pray to God and burn tapers that 
 He would give it speech and a soul, and make it a 
 man. Forty days and nights she prayed to God, and 
 at the end of the forty days it began to take the colour 
 of a man and to speak. The maiden then ran to her 
 parents and told them that the Sugar- Man was alive, 
 and [asked them] to send out the invitations that the 
 wedding might take place. As soon as people learnt 
 that the Sugar-Man spoke and that the wedding was to 
 be held, they all hastened to see him, because he was a 
 very handsome and sweet man. Then music, and drums, 
 and great rejoicings, the wedding took place, and they 
 lived happily. 
 
 Through all the kingdoms it was known that a Sugar 
 Image had become human, and alive, and that he had 
 taken such and such a Princess to wife. Another 
 Princess heard all about it, and fell in love with him 
 without having seen him, and was like to die. She 
 said, ' Either I must have him for my husband, or I 
 must die !' 
 
 Her parents said to her, ' How can you have him
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 121 
 
 now that he is married?' She would not listen to 
 them, but shut herself up in her chamber without 
 eating, or drinking, or sleeping ; they doubted if she 
 would live to take a husband. The doctors gave her 
 up. You may imagine the grief of her parents, for 
 they were old, and had no other child. The King then 
 resolved to call a Council, and he summoned all the 
 grandees of his kingdom to see what could be done, as 
 there was evidently no hope from the doctors. One of 
 the councillors of the King advised him to take a ship 
 and travel, and take with him rich gifts, and go to the 
 Sugar- Man and invite him to a feast on board the ship, 
 and as they were eating, to weigh the anchor and take 
 him and sail away. They all approved of his advice. 
 No time was lost ; the next day the ship was fitted out ; 
 they took the presents and left, and went to seek the 
 Sugar-Man. At last they arrived there, the ship was 
 anchored, the messengers disembarked with the pre- 
 sents, and went to the palace. They presented the 
 gifts to the Sugar-Man, and they also invited both the 
 royalties to a feast on the ship, so that they might 
 suspect nothing. Then the old King replied and said, 
 ' I am an old man, but let my son-in-law come.' 
 
 The Sugar-Man went and asked his wife if she would 
 allow him to go to the ship to dine. She did not wish 
 him to go. She hung on his neck, and said, ' I will not 
 let thee go !' 
 
 But her parents said, ' This will not do ; as they have 
 brought so many gifts he must go and dine, and come 
 back again.' And so he was allowed to go, but not to 
 stay long. So he went. But when he had gone on 
 board the ship, and they were eating, they weighed 
 anchor, and sailed swiftly away. At table they began 
 to tell various stories, and the Sugar- Man hstened to
 
 122 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 them with great pleasure. Finally when the feast and 
 the stories were ended, he rose to return to the palace, 
 and was taking leave, when they said to him, 
 
 ' It is impossible for you to go, my Prince ; we will 
 take you to see our King, and bring you back again 
 immediately,' 
 
 He began to scream, and to weep, and wanted to 
 throw himself into the sea. They said to him, 
 
 * Have a little patience, and don't make yourself ill, 
 and to-morrow we will bring you back.' 
 
 At last the ship arrived, and anchored, and they 
 came and announced to the King that they had brought 
 the Sugar-Man. I leave you to imagine the joy of the 
 Princess when she heard that they had brought the 
 Sugar- Man ! But he fell ill with grief, and the Princess 
 comforted him, 
 
 ' Get well, and I myself will take you back to your 
 wife!' 
 
 One way and another she beguiled him, and pacified 
 him, and he began to like her, and after a short time 
 took her for his wife. 
 
 Let us leave them now to enjoy themselves, and let 
 us go to the Sugar-Man's wife. She, poor thing, stood 
 at the window watching for his return, when all at once 
 she saw the ship sail away. Then she began her cries 
 and tears, and said to her parents, 
 
 ' I will go and seek him, it is impossible for me to 
 live without him !' 
 
 Her parents tried to comfort her, and said, ' Bve, my 
 good girl, stay here, and we will send people to find 
 him.' 
 
 But she would listen to no one. She took with her 
 some money, and three suits of golden clothes ; one was 
 the sky with the stars, the second the fields with their
 
 /. Mythological — (//. ) Magical. i 2 
 
 o 
 
 flowers, the third the sea with its golden fishes. She 
 dressed herself hke a Nun, gathered up her hair, and 
 threw over her head a cowl ; took up her wallet with 
 the dresses in it, her bundle, and her staff, and told her 
 parents not to grieve, for she would in a very short 
 time return with the Sugar-Man. One favour only she 
 would ask of them — to give her a ship at her orders. 
 Then they gave her a ship, she embraced her parents, 
 kissed them, wept, and so went away. She began to 
 sail from place to place, came on shore, and was asking 
 here and there to learn about her husband, when all at 
 once at a certain place, she saw a great many people 
 gathered together, and asked, 
 
 ' What is all this crowd about, what is happening ?' 
 ' We have here,' they replied, ' the Sugar-Man for 
 King, and it is a year to-day since he married our 
 Princess, and they are going to the church to pray God 
 that they may live happily.' 
 
 Then she went and stood in a place where she could 
 see him pass by with his other wife. Then without 
 loss of time she hurried back to the ship, and took the 
 dress with the sky and the stars, put it in her wallet, 
 and bade them have everything in readiness to depart 
 if necessary, and went on shore. She went to the 
 palace, and begged them to take her in, as she had 
 nowhere to stay, and she would do any work they gave 
 her, because she was a stranger and knew no one in 
 that place. They said, 
 
 ' Wait till the Queen comes, we have no authority ; 
 she may take you in, but we cannot.' 
 
 While they spoke, they saw them all returning to the 
 palace, because the ceremony was over. Then she 
 stood in a corner in the palace and saw the Queen. 
 When the Queen saw her, she said,
 
 124 Greek Folk- Pilose. 
 
 ' What do you want here ?' 
 
 ' I came here, because I am a stranger, a Nun, that 
 you might take me in, and any work you give me I 
 will do.' 
 
 Said she, ' We have no place for you, but since you 
 are a stranger, I will take you in, and give you some 
 work.' 
 
 So she set her to tend the geese. Some time passed, 
 and one evening she took out and put on a dress, the 
 sky with the stars. A servant saw her. 
 
 ' What dress is that ?— is it yours ?' 
 
 ' Bd I mine it is.' 
 
 ' What would you like the Queen to give you for it ?' 
 
 ' I don't want anything ; but if the King is so hand- 
 some, let her allow me to sleep one night [with him] 
 and I will give it to her.' 
 
 Then the servant went upstairs to the Queen, and 
 said to her, 
 
 ' Ach ! Queen! The Nun we took in has a lovely 
 dress — the sky with the stars ! — and if she will give it 
 to you to wear you will be so beautiful that the King 
 will love you much more than he does now.' 
 
 ' And what dress is that which will make me so 
 beautiful ?' 
 
 ' But it is one thing for me to speak of it, and another 
 to see it ! You have no such gown as that !' 
 
 ' Eh ! go and ask her if she will sell it, and I will buy 
 it for what she wants.' 
 
 ' I did ask her, but she doesn't want to sell it ; she 
 said, " I am going to the convent and don't want 
 money." ' 
 
 ' Eh then, what does she want me to give her, if she 
 doesn't want money ? What can she do with it, as she 
 is a Nun ?'
 
 /. Mythological— {^IL) Magical. 125 
 
 ' Do you know what she wants ? She said " to sleep 
 one night in the King's chamber, because he is so hand- 
 some." ' 
 
 ' Bd I how can that be ? I will go and ask my nurse 
 and see what she will say, and whatever she tells me I 
 will do.' 
 
 She went to her nurse and said, 
 
 ' It is this — there is a Nun and she has a costly dress, 
 and will not let me have it. I offered her money, but 
 she doesn't want it, but wants to sleep a night with the 
 King who is so handsome.' 
 
 ^Bdl what kind of Nun is she to want to sleep a 
 night with the King! Nun, indeed!' Then her nurse 
 said, * We will put a potion in the King's wine, and put 
 him to bed, and when he is asleep we will tell her to go 
 and watch him, and sit near him all night.' 
 
 So it happened that at the end of supper she put in 
 the potion, and he fell asleep immediately. Then she 
 bade the slaves carry him to bed, and they called the 
 Nun, and said to her, 
 
 ' Go up to the King's chamber !' 
 
 When she was left alone with the Sugar Alan, she 
 began to tell him all her sorrows, she raised him up, 
 and said again and again, 
 
 * Don't you remember how I made thee a man, and 
 gave thee life, and now I am like to die for thee, I who 
 came here and am become a servant only to see thee ?' 
 He said nothing, and made no reply, because they 
 had given him the potion and he heard nothing, like a 
 dead man. God brought the dawn of day, and she 
 went down and gave the dress to the Queen. The 
 next day she put on the golden dress, the field with its 
 flowers. The same little slave saw her again, and said, 
 ' Bd ! what dress is this, it is more beautiful than the
 
 1 2 6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 first ; wilt thou give this too to the Queen ? What 
 canst thou do with it ?' 
 
 ' Bd I I will give it to her, if she will let me sleep 
 again with the King, I will give it to her !' 
 
 Then she went to the Queen and said to her, 
 
 ' You have no idea, my Queen, what a magnificent 
 dress that Nun is wearing again ! I told her to give it 
 to you, and she said, " Let her allow me to sleep once 
 more with the King, and I will give it to her." ' 
 
 The Queen laughed. ' Let her come again in the 
 evening and I will give him to her !' 
 
 Then again at table, she threw a potion into his last 
 cup ; he slept again ; the slaves carried him to bed ; 
 they told her to go ; then she wept more bitterly and 
 said, 
 
 ' Wilt thou not arise whom I made a man from sugar, 
 and wilt thou not arise when I tell thee my sorrows ?' 
 And many things she said to him, and beat her breast 
 until morning, but he made no answer. Then she in 
 despair went downstairs to her chamber, and gave her 
 second dress. There remained to her no other hope 
 than [the dress with] the sea and the golden fishes in 
 which the fishes' eyes were all of diamond-stones. 
 
 The King was very fond of the Vizier's son, and he 
 slept in a room which was near the King's, and heard 
 all the cries which she uttered, and her weeping. In 
 the morning when he got up, he said to the King, 
 
 ' My King, my longlived one, I have something to 
 tell you, but let us go out to a distance, for here we 
 may be overheard.' 
 
 So he took him, and they went out, and away to a 
 distance, and he said, 
 
 ' Two days ago there came a maiden — for her voice 
 is very sweet — and said to you, " Wilt thou not awake,
 
 /. MytJwlogical — (//.) Magical. 127 
 
 my Sugar- Man ? hearest thou me not ? dost thou not 
 pity me who have suffered so much for thy sake before 
 I made thee a man, and now I beat the seas and the 
 dr}^ land only to see thee ; and now that I have found 
 thee thou wilt not speak to me — dost thou not pity me ?"' 
 and a great deal more she said, and wept. So sad was 
 her voice that I too wept in my chamber !' 
 
 Then the King, astonished, said, ' How did I not 
 hear it ? — was I dead ?' 
 
 ' No, my King, only they throw into your wine a 
 potion, and you sleep heavily, and don't hear. But do 
 you know what you must do ? Don't drink wine at 
 table, but place a sponge on your chest, and spill it, 
 and don't drink it, and at the end of dinner pretend to 
 sleep and don't move at all, and feign not to hear any- 
 thing.' 
 
 The King thanked him and said, ' Henceforward 
 thou shalt be my brother, and not Vizier.' 
 
 Then they went away each one to his chamber. 
 
 The Nun put on her other dress, the sea with the 
 fishes, and again the slave saw her. 
 
 ' Bd r said she, ' what is this dress again ? Ah ! 
 ah ! ah ! This is a beauty !' 
 
 ' I have no more. If the Queen will give me the 
 King to sleep with once more, I will give her this too.' 
 
 Then the slave went to the Queen, and said, ' Ah ! 
 ah ! ah ! you have no idea, my Queen, how beautiful a 
 dress the Nun is wearing! that gown has the sea with 
 the little golden fishes, and the fishes' eyes are all 
 diamonds !' 
 
 * Bd ! where in the world did she get them ?' 
 
 ' They were her mother's, and she said that she has 
 no more to give. If she sleeps to-night with the King, 
 afterwards she will give it to you, and go away.'
 
 128 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 • Then said the Queen, ' Well, tell her to come in the 
 evening ; she must be foolish, or she would understand 
 that he sleeps.' 
 
 Then she went to the Nun, and told her to get ready 
 in the evening to sleep with the King, and give them 
 the gown, and good luck go with her. Then, as his 
 custom was, he went to dine, and they put a potion in 
 the wine. He pretended to drink, but poured it into 
 his bosom where the sponge was, and afterwards he 
 feigned to want [to sleep] and fell down. Then said 
 the Queen, 
 
 ' Take him now and carry him up to his chamber, 
 and tell the Nun to go and gaze upon him.' 
 
 The King heard all, but said nothing. So in a little 
 time she went upstairs, and began saying that it was 
 the last evening that she would see him, and that she 
 must lose sight of him and go, and how that her 
 sorrowing parents awaited her, and that she would 
 throw herself into the sea because she could not live 
 without him. And much more she said, so that he began 
 to weep and started up, and said to her, 
 
 * Who canst thou be but my wife, my beloved one !' 
 
 They began to tell their sorrows to each other, and 
 agreed to flee away on the following day. The Princess 
 said to him, ' I have a ship on the sea with a yellow 
 sail ; I will go on board, and you must find means to 
 come, and we will flee away.' 
 
 Then she told him to pretend to be asleep, and she 
 would go down to her chamber. She arose in the 
 morning, went down to her chamber, put on her rags, 
 gave the sea with the golden fishes, and arose and went 
 on board the ship, and unfurled the yellow sail, and 
 waited for him. The King got up in the morning and took 
 care to see his friend, the Vizier's son, and said to him,
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 129 
 
 ' She who beat herself and wept was my wife who 
 formed me from sugar, and prayed to God and He 
 made me a man, and gave me life and speech ; and I 
 shall now find means to flee, and, if thou wilt, thou 
 shalt come with me.' 
 
 Said he, ' I cannot come now, for there is my father, 
 and they would slay him ; but in time I may be able to 
 come and join thee.' 
 
 Then he bade him farewell, and told him where his 
 kingdom was, and arose and went away. Before the 
 Queen was up in the morning, he went and found his 
 wife in the ship, which had the sails ready set, and the 
 sailed away. 
 
 Let us now leave the Princess to weep and to seek 
 everywhere for him, and let us come to the Sugar- Man 
 and his wife. The ship arrived at their country. They 
 saw the palace draped with black, because the Princess 
 had been six months away, and they thought she was 
 lost. I leave you to imagine the joy which her return 
 caused throughout all the kingdom ! There was again 
 a great ceremony, and the old King arose and said 
 to him, 
 
 ' My son, thou shalt rule over the kingdom, for I am 
 grown old, and I want to be quiet, I cannot rule any 
 longer.' 
 
 And so they made the Sugar-Man King ; and he sat 
 on the throne and ruled the kingdom with great wisdom 
 and justice. And they lived happily. And we more 
 happily still ! 
 
 VOL. II.
 
 THE STORY OF THE SOOTHSAYER; OR, THE 
 CUP, THE KNIFE, AND THE FLUTE. 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 (Sakellarios, II., p. 340.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was an old woman, and she 
 had a son who was a Soothsayer, and he could also 
 play a little on the fiddle. One day he was asked to go to 
 play at a wedding, but he was unwilling. His mother 
 advised him to go, as he might earn some five or six 
 rydlia to buy flour with. Still he did not want to go. 
 But after a time he consented, and told his mother to 
 make him seven cakes and put them in his wallet. 
 His mother thought seven too many, and she said, 
 ' Seven cakes must I make thee, my son ?' 
 
 ' Yes, seven cakes,' he replied. 
 
 The old woman made the cakes her son asked for. 
 He saddled his donkey, hung the saddle-bags with the 
 cakes inside over the saddle, mounted, took his fiddle, 
 and set off to attend the wedding at the village where 
 he had been asked to go. 
 
 Well, as he was going, he felt hungry, and ate one of 
 the cakes ; when he had gone a little further, he ate 
 another ; and, one by one, he ate the six and only one 
 was left. 
 
 ' I'll see,' said he, * if the village is in sight, and, if it 
 is, I'll eat the other.' 
 
 He shaded his eyes with his hands, and fancied he 
 saw a village. So he threw himself off his donkey, sat 
 down cross-legged, and ate the other cake. Then he 
 slowly mounted again, and took the road to the village.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 131 
 
 He came to a place where two roads met, and there, 
 look you, he lost his own way and took another. 
 Presently he came to a big cave and there dismounted. 
 This cave was the den of a great Dhrako. Inside was 
 a table, and a carpet spread on the table. ' We have 
 found our ease,' said the Soothsayer as he sat down. 
 ' If I had but some bread, how well off I should be,' he 
 added, and he searched for some. God brought the 
 night, and after a little while he hears a sound like a 
 roaring. 
 
 ' Holy Virgin mine, what mischief is this ?' said the 
 Soothsayer, and hid himself quickly under the table. 
 The Dhrako came into the cave, and he was dead-beat. 
 He sat a little while, and then took hold of his Cup and 
 said, 
 
 ' My Cup, my silver Cup, bring me fifty kinds of food 
 to eat, for I am hungry.' 
 
 The Cup brought forth dishes, and its master ate. 
 
 ' Bring me water besides,' and the Cup brought, and 
 he drank who was thirsty. When the Dhrako had 
 eaten, he put the Cup in a corner, and lay down, and 
 went to sleep. In the morning the Dhrako got up, and 
 was lost in the distance. The Soothsayer, who had 
 not slept all night from fright, comes out from under 
 the table and seizes the Cup. 
 
 ' This is a good business,' says he, and orders the 
 Cup to produce food to eat. When he had eaten and 
 was satisfied, he asked for water. * I'll go back now,' 
 then said the Soothsayer, ' for my fortune is made.' 
 
 On the road he met a Dervish, and hailed him. 
 
 ' Good day, Father Dervish !' 
 
 The Dervish begged a bit of bread. 
 
 ' Sit down, Father Dervish,' said the Soothsayer, 
 ' and let us eat what God will let fall.'
 
 132 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 The Dervish sat down cross-legged, and the Sooth- 
 sayer took out the Cup from his bosom and said, ' My 
 Cup, my silver Cup, bring food that I may eat with 
 my friend the Dervish !' 
 
 The Cup brought forth food, and the Soothsayer 
 and the Dervish ate. When they had eaten, he asked 
 for water, and the Cup brought forth water, and they 
 drank. 
 
 * That's a fine thing,' said the Dervish to himself, 
 and he proposed to the Soothsayer to swop it against 
 his Jack-knife.^*^ 
 
 ' And what good will your Jack-knife be to me ?' said 
 the Soothsayer to the Dervish. 
 
 'Whenever you bid it, it goes and kills,' said the 
 Dervish. * If you like, try it on that herd.' 
 
 * Let us see,' said the Soothsayer. 
 
 Then the Dervish said, ' Jack-knife mine, kill all that 
 herd which I see.' 
 
 The Jack-knife immediately, with one above and one 
 below, killed all the herd. The Soothsayer took a 
 fancy to the Knife, and swopped with the Dervish, and 
 gave him his Cup. When he had gone some distance 
 along the road with the Dervish, the Soothsayer got 
 hungry. 
 
 * Give us some food with your Cup,' said he to the 
 Dervish. 
 
 * What do I owe thee ?' asked the Dervish. * If thou 
 wantest food, give me back my Jack-knife, and I will 
 give thee to eat.' 
 
 * Dost thou owe me nought ?' said the Soothsayer to 
 him, and then he bids his Jack-knife kill the Dervish. 
 The Jack-knife immediately kills the Dervish, and the 
 Soothsayer seized his Cup, and went off. 
 
 On the road as he was going, he met another Dervish.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 133 
 
 ' Good-day, Father Dervish !' said the Soothsayer to 
 him. 
 
 * Welcome, my friend,' replied the Dervish, ' have 
 you a bit of bread to give me ?' 
 
 ' Sit down, Father Dervish, for God has.' 
 The Dervish sat down, and the Soothsayer got off 
 his donkey, and took the Cup out of his bosom. 
 
 * Cup, silver Cup of mine, bring forth fifty kinds of 
 food, that I may eat with my friend the Dervish,' said 
 the Soothsayer ; and the Cup brought forth food. 
 When they had well eaten, they asked for water ; and 
 the Cup brought forth water, and they drank. 
 
 * That's a fine thing,' said the Dervish to himself, and 
 he proposed to the Soothsayer to exchange it for his 
 Turban. 
 
 * And of what use is your Turban ?' asked the Sooth- 
 sayer of the Dervish. 
 
 ' Whoever wears it becomes invisible,' said the 
 Dervish, and immediately he had put it on he became 
 invisible. The Soothsayer took a fancy to the Turban, 
 and he swopped with the Dervish ; he took the Turban, 
 and gave the Cup. 
 
 When they had gone some distance, the Soothsayer 
 got hungry. 
 
 ' Tell your Cup to bring forth food to eat,' said he to 
 the Dervish. 
 
 ' What do I owe thee ?' asked the Dervish. ' If thou 
 wantest food, give me the Turban, and I will give thee 
 to eat.' 
 
 ' Owest thou me nothing ?' said the Soothsayer, and 
 with that he took out the Jack-knife. 
 
 'Jack-knife mine. Jack-knife mine, kill the Dervish !' 
 
 The Jack-knife immediately killed the Dervish, and 
 the Soothsayer took his Cup and went on his way.
 
 I ^4. Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 o 
 
 After going a little distance he met another Dervish. 
 
 ' Good-day, Father Dervish,' said he. 
 
 'Welcome, my friend,' replied the Dervish, 'have 
 you a bit of bread to give me ?' 
 
 ' Sit down, Father Dervish,' said the Soothsayer, 
 ' for God has !' 
 
 The Dervish sat down cross-legged, and the Sooth- 
 sayer took out his Cup from his bosom. 
 
 ' Cup, my silver Cup,' said he, ' bring forth thirty- 
 kinds of food for me to eat with my friend the Dervish !' 
 
 The Cup brought forth food, and they ate. When 
 they had eaten, the Soothsayer asked for water, and 
 the Cup brought it forth and they drank. 
 
 'That's a fine thing!' said the Dervish to himself, 
 and he proposed to the Soothsayer to exchange it 
 against his Reed-flute. 
 
 ' And of what use is your Reed-flute ?' asked the 
 Soothsayer. 
 
 ' When it is played the dead come to life,' said the 
 Dervish, ' and, if you like, we will make proof of it on 
 the donkey.' 
 
 The Soothsayer slew the donkey, the Dervish played 
 on the Flute, and the ass came to life again. The 
 Soothsayer took a fancy to the Flute, and swopped with 
 the Dervish. When he had gone some little way with 
 the Dervish, the Soothsayer got hungry, and said to 
 his friend, ' Tell your Cup to bring forth food that we 
 may eat.' 
 
 ' And what do I owe thee ?' asked the Dervish. 
 ' Give me my Flute, and I will give thee to eat.' 
 
 ' Owest thou me nought ?' replied the Soothsayer 
 angrily, and takes out his Jack-knife. ' Jack-knife 
 mine, Jack-knife mine, kill the Dervish!' said he, and 
 the Dervish became immediately a headless body ; the
 
 /, Mythological— i^I I) Magical. 135 
 
 Jack-knife had killed him. The Soothsayer seized the 
 Cup and made off. 
 
 Not to make a long story of it, the Soothsayer reached 
 home. The sun had set. When the Soothsayer's 
 mother saw him dismount, 'Welcome!' cried she. 
 ' Hast thou taken a little money at the wedding ?' 
 
 ' I did not go to the wedding,' replied the Sooth - 
 sa3^er. 
 
 'Take my curse!' cried his mother. 'To-night we 
 must go supperless to bed.' 
 
 ' Have no anxiety about that,' says he, ' for our 
 supper is ready.' 
 
 His mother was astonished to hear him talk thus, 
 and feared that her son's mind was giving way. When 
 the Soothsayer was a little rested after his journey, he 
 called his mother and placed her by his side, and then 
 took out the Cup from his bosom, and said, ' Cup, 
 silver Cup of mine, bring forth fifty kinds of food, that 
 I may eat with my mother !' 
 
 The Cup did as its master bade it, and he ate and 
 drank with his mother. This happened every day, and 
 the old woman found herself at ease. 
 
 After a very little time, the fame of the Cup reached 
 the ears of the King, and he commanded the Sooth- 
 sayer to come to his palace. When his mother heard 
 of it, she forbade him to take the Cup. ' They will 
 take it from thee,' she said, ' and we shall lose our 
 bread !' 
 
 He paid no attention, but took the Cup with him. 
 The King received the Soothsayer well, and asked him 
 about the Cup. He did not deny that he had such a 
 thing, and showed it to him. Then the King com- 
 manded them to bring a table, and set the Soothsayer 
 down to eat and drink. When he had eaten and drunk,
 
 136 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 the Soothsayer got tipsy, and felt sleepy. When the 
 King saw that he was tipsy, he went and said to him, 
 
 * Let us exchange thy Cup against my wooden 
 mug ?' 
 
 * I will not exchange,' replied the Soothsayer, though 
 he was tipsy. Afterwards he went to sleep where he 
 sat, and the King commanded his slaves, and they took 
 the Soothsayer home on a horse, and kept his Cup and 
 gave him another. 
 
 In the morning the Soothsayer got up still a little the 
 worse for liquor. He took a fancy to drink a glass of 
 lemonade, and said to the Cup, * Cup, silver Cup of 
 mine, give me a glass of lemonade to drink !' 
 
 The Cup [did] nothing. 
 
 ' Bring me a cup of coffee !' 
 
 The Cup [did] nothing. 
 
 Then his mother cries, * Did I not tell thee not to 
 take the Cup to the King, or he would take it from 
 thee ? — and thou would'st not heed me. Alas, he has 
 taken it !' 
 
 ' Never mind, mother,' said he, ' for I will go and 
 bring it back 1' 
 
 So the Soothsayer set out, and went to the King, to 
 ask him for the Cup. The King's servants and the 
 guards who kept the palace drove him away. Then he 
 took out his Jack-knife and said to it, ' My Jack-knife, 
 my Jack-knife, kill all these [men],' The Jack-knife, 
 one up and the other down, slew the guards and the 
 servants. Then he went before the King, and said, 
 
 * Give me my Cup, or I will tell the Jack-knife to kill 
 you too !' 
 
 Then the King was frightened, and he showed the 
 Soothsayer the cupboard where his Cup was, and the 
 Soothsayer took it. Then he said to the King, ' What
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 137 
 
 will you give me if I bring all these dead men to life 
 again !' 
 
 ' I will give thee a million ry cilia,' replied the King. 
 
 Then the Soothsayer played the Flute in the ears of 
 one of them, and he got up. 
 
 ' Bring me the money,' said the Soothsayer, ' and I 
 will raise them all !' 
 
 ' What dost thou want with money,' asked the King, 
 * when thou art so clever ? I will give thee my daughter, 
 and thou shalt be my son-in-law.' 
 
 The Soothsayer received the King's offer with joy ; 
 and he married the King's daughter, and they made a 
 wedding [feast] of forty days and nights. And I left 
 them there, and arrived here safely ! "^ 
 
 ^ An incident in which the Turban of Invisibility figures has 
 evidently been omitted by the narrator.
 
 THE wand:^^ 
 
 Syr a. 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeX. Tlapafivdia, p. 230.) 
 
 Long ago, in the olden time, each of the islands [of the 
 Archipelago] formed a separate kingdom. The King of 
 Naxos had an only daughter, the like of whom for 
 beauty was not to be found anywhere. Well, all the 
 Kings wanted to marry her, and so her father reflected 
 and said, ' If I give her to the King of Paros, the Kings 
 of Tinos, of los, of Mykonos, and all the other Kings 
 will make war against me.' 
 
 So he called the Twelve to give him their counsel. 
 And the Twelve counselled that the Princess should 
 pretend to be dumb, and that the pallikar who could 
 make her speak in three days should have her to wife ; 
 but, if he failed, he should lose his head at the end of 
 the three days. 
 
 Well, there went the sons of Kings, and the sons of 
 Princes, and every three days the King took one of 
 their heads, until at last he built three towers, and 
 filled them with the heads oi pallikar s. 
 
 Let us now leave these folks and come to Syra, where 
 there lived an old woman who had an orphan grandson, 
 and she tramped, and went out to work, and begged 
 even, in order to bring him up. And when he was 
 grown he came to her and said, ' Laid, I will go and 
 make the Princess speak.' 
 
 ' Bre I my dear child, knowest thou not that there 
 have gone the sons of Kings and of Princes, and none 
 of them has been able to make her speak ; and wilt
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 139 
 
 thou go and lose thy Hfe ? — thou who I thought would 
 soon begin to earn some bread for me ?' 
 Still the boy wished to go all the same. 
 Then the old woman said, ' Go and say good-bye to 
 thy great-aunt, my sister, for she is a wise woman, and 
 doubtless she will advise thee well.' 
 
 Then he goes to his great-aunt, and says, ' Yiayia, 
 give me thy hand that I may kiss it, for I am going [to 
 try] to make the Princess speak, and perhaps she will 
 not, and the King will take my head.' 
 
 Then began the great-aunt to say, 'Bre, my dear child, 
 why not stay at home where thou art my sister's only 
 care!' But when she saw that her words had no 
 weight with him, she said, ' Here, take this Switch, and 
 when thou hast propped it up, speak to it, and it will 
 answer thee.' 
 
 Then he took ship and went to Naxos, and presented 
 himself, as we say, to the police, and asked permission 
 to make the Princess speak. Then said the chief man 
 among them, or as we say, the police officer, ' Seest 
 thou those towers ? Those towers are filled with the 
 heads of Kings' sons and Princes' sons ; one only is 
 lacking for them to be full.' 
 
 'Let mine be that head !' cried the youth in reply, 
 and they gave him permission. 
 
 When the sun had set, he entered the palace, and 
 the guards watched outside. Then he began to say, 
 
 'Good evening, my Princess!' But this time she 
 didn't even turn to look at him! ' Ach, my Princess, 
 is it not a pity for me who have a widow for mother, 
 and have abandoned her for your sake alone, and yet 
 you will not even turn to look at me !' And with many 
 words he passed the night, but without making her 
 speak to him. Then the morning dawned, and they 
 opened the doors, and he went away.
 
 140 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 On the following evening he goes, and begins, * Good 
 evening, my Princess ! — 'Mi a deaf door knock as long as 
 you will!" ' and then he began to pray, and to sigh — 
 ' Ach, my Princess, will you not have pity on my comeli- 
 ness ? Will you not pity my case ?' 
 
 He went on in this way till midnight was past, and 
 day dawned. They opened the doors and the youth 
 went away. 
 
 The third evening he went in great despair, and 
 began to cry still louder, 
 
 ' Achoti ! my Princess, I don't want you to speak to 
 me, but only to turn and look at me. I have left my 
 kindred, my life is ebbing away for your sake !' 
 
 Then he suddenly recollected the advice of his great- 
 aunt. So he took hold of the Switch that she had 
 given him, and going to the door, propped it up, and 
 said, ' Eh, door, the Princess won't speak to me, per- 
 haps you will ?' 
 
 ' What can I tell you ? I who was a tree on the 
 mountain, and they cut me down and sawed me asunder 
 and made me into planks ; they took me to the carpenter 
 who planed me, and made me into a door — " Shut " ! 
 *' Open " ! that they may see the Princess, and so they 
 eat my life away !' 
 
 * O Princess, even thy door speaks to me, and thou 
 wilt not !' 
 
 Then he goes towards the great candlestick, and 
 leans the Switch against it. 
 
 * Candlestick, the Princess will not speak to me. 
 Wilt thou speak to me ?' 
 
 * But what can I tell thee ? — I who was earth in the 
 mountain, and they made me silver, and took me to the 
 smith. Now it is rub, rub, to make me shine, and so 
 my life wears away !'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 141 
 
 The early dawn was now come, and the youth began 
 to be frightened. He went on tiptoe up to the Princess, 
 and leaned the Switch against her head without her 
 being aware of it. Then said he to the Princess, ' O 
 my Princess, thy door and thy candlestick have 
 spoken to me, and wilt thou not speak ?' 
 
 Then the Princess turns towards him and says, 
 ' Enough ! Art thou not weary of talking ?'* 
 
 Then he said to the Princess, ' I will say that 
 thou hast not spoken to me, for thy father is able 
 to destroy both me and thee, for, seest thou, many 
 Kings' sons and Princes' sons were destroyed unjustly 
 because thou wouldst speak to none of them.' 
 
 Then he left her, and the day broke. The guards 
 went and questioned him, and he told them that she 
 had not spoken, and immediately they laid hold of him 
 and led him to the King. The King sent and called 
 the Twelve, and the youth thus addressed them : 
 
 ' Archontes ! In my native place there happened an 
 incident. A Parson, a Tailor, and a Carpenter, set out 
 on a journey together. In the desert where darkness 
 overtook them was a dwelling. They went to pass the 
 night in it, and said that they would keep watch in 
 turn for four hours each. The first watch fell to the 
 Carpenter. What does he do to frighten the Tailor ? 
 He took and made a wooden man, put him opposite 
 the house, woke the Tailor, and lay down himself. 
 After a little time had passed, the Tailor saw the man, 
 and going up to him, he understood that the Carpenter 
 had done it to frighten him. So he took and put a fez 
 on him, and breeches and a jacket ; and he left him 
 
 * A passage is evidently here omitted. The Wand leant against 
 the Princess's head speaks, and she thinks she has herself spoken 
 unawares. {See A?iHo/aiions, No. 31.)
 
 142 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 and went in and wakened the Parson. The Fapa hghted 
 his candle, and took his papers and began to read. As 
 he was reading, he passed the door, saw the man, and 
 was terribly frightened. He fell on his knees to the 
 Deity and prayed fervently. Then God commanded 
 the wooden image and made it speak, and it became a 
 man like ourselves, and they took him and brought him 
 to the town. Then they went to the Judge, and the 
 Carpenter asked that he might have him because he had 
 made him ; and the Tailor because he had dressed him ; 
 and the Parson because he had made him speak. Then 
 I left without hearing the decision. And so I pray you 
 to tell me to whom should he belong ? — to the Carpenter 
 who made him, or to the Tailor who clothed him, or to 
 the Parson who made him speak ?' 
 
 Then the Twelve with the King decided that the 
 Carpenter should be paid for his trouble, and the Tailor 
 for his clothes, and that the Parson should have the 
 man. When the Twelve and the King had thus ruled, 
 the youth said, ' Then the Princess belongs to me — (he 
 was poor, but he was cheeky !) — who have made her 
 speak !' 
 
 Then there was an end to the King's decree, and 
 they could not kill him. And they brought out the 
 Princess and crowned'^ her. And then there were 
 wedding feasts and carousals and great rejoicings ! 
 And they fetched his grandmother ; and, instead of 
 the beans she used to eat, she now ate partridges. 
 
 ■' /.t'., married.
 
 THE NEGRO; OR, THE RED WATER. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 321.) 
 
 There was once a poor woman, and she had a very 
 idle son. She told him to go and do some work to 
 help her, but not he. One day she was going to bake, 
 and sweep the house, and she wanted wood to heat the 
 oven. She said to him, 
 
 ' Won't you go, my boy, and bring me a stick or two, 
 instead of my going to the mountain who am ready to 
 drop ?' 
 
 * I won't go.' 
 
 ' But how am I to heat the oven ?' 
 
 ' Don't heat the oven.' 
 
 ' But what shall we do with the loaves ?' 
 
 * We will eat them unbaked.' 
 
 The unfortunate woman saw that it was useless, so 
 she took the rope and went to the mountain for wood. 
 She got her wood on the mountain, threw it over her 
 shoulder, and came back. As she was coming back, 
 she was weary ; she saw a well with a high parapet round 
 it. She rested her burden on the parapet, and said, 
 
 ' Ach! AUr^ 
 
 Then she saw a Negro jump out of the well. His 
 one lip touched the earth, and his other the heavens. 
 He said to her, 
 
 ' What wantest thou, mother, that thou callest me ?' 
 
 ' I did not call you, Affendi /' 
 
 '' An expression of dismay or sorrow. See vol. i., Atinotations, 
 No. 23,
 
 144 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' How, thou didst not call me ! Thou saidst " All !" 
 and my name is All !' 
 
 ' Ai ! may you live long ! I knew not that you were 
 in the well.' 
 
 ' Where art thou going now, mother?' 
 
 ' Home, Affendi.' 
 
 ' Dost live alone at home, mother ?' 
 
 * No, Affendi, I have a son.' 
 
 ' What work does thy son do ?' 
 
 ' None, Affe7idi, he is a do-nothing. I did all I could 
 to make him go for wood, and he wouldn't go.' 
 
 ' Wilt bring him here, mother, and I will teach him 
 trades, and give as much money as thou wilt ?' 
 
 ' But I am afraid to bring him here for fear you might 
 eat him !' 
 
 ' I swear to thee, mother, that I don't eat men.' 
 
 He goes down, takes a handful of sequins and gives 
 them to her, and says to her, 
 
 * Take these sequins, mother, and go home and bring 
 me thy son here, and whenever thou wantest him come 
 to the well and call " All !" and he will jump out and 
 thou wilt see him. Go now home and bring him to me. 
 Don't fail to bring him, for I can destroy both thee and 
 thy son ; and when thou bringest him, I will give thee 
 more money.' 
 
 Then the poor woman took the sticks and went with 
 a sad heart and weeping to her home. Her son saw 
 her and said, 
 
 ' What is the matter, mother, why art crying ?' 
 
 ' What is the matter, my boy ? A misfortune befell 
 me by the way. Let me now heat the oven, and bake 
 the bread, and afterwards I will tell thee about it.' 
 
 She heated the oven, baked the bread, and took it 
 out. But before she had time to tell him anything.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 145 
 
 there came an earthquake and shook all the house. 
 Then she remembered the words the Negro had spoken, 
 that he could destroy both her and her son, if her son 
 did not come. She said to her boy, 
 
 * It is true ! Just now as I came back with the wood 
 I saw a Negro, and he said that if I had a son, and I 
 was willing, to take him there, and he need do no 
 work, only sit and take care of the house. If you like, 
 my boy, you can go there, and get money.' 
 
 * I will go,' he said, ' why shouldn't I ?' 
 
 She took her son and went hastily to the well, and 
 called, 
 
 'Ali!' 
 
 ' Houp /' The Negro jumped out. ' Is this your son, 
 mother ?' 
 
 * This is he, Affendi.'' 
 
 He patted him, and said, ' Stay, and come with me 
 to my house ; thou wilt be all alone, I shall be away all 
 day.' 
 
 He gave more money to his mother, and she rose 
 and went away. 
 
 The Negro took the lad, and they went below. 
 There was a fine palace with a courtyard, very splendid. 
 He said, 
 
 'At! here thou wilt sit all day, and eat and drink, 
 and take care of the house.' Then the Negro said, 
 ' Thou must remain in the courtyard, and not go into 
 the garden, for the flowers will tell me of it, and I shall 
 drive thee out.' 
 
 'Very well,' said the boy; but when the Negro was 
 gone he began to walk about all over the palace. 
 
 As he was passing through the garden there looked 
 out a beautiful maiden. She called to him, 
 
 * Gather thy clothes about thee that the Negro may 
 VOL. II. 10
 
 146 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 not see [the traces of] them, and know of it ; and come 
 here and I will speak to thee.' 
 
 The boy came under the window. 
 
 * How came you here, my boy ? The Negro does 
 not eat men, but if he does not find food, and comes 
 home hungry, he will sprinkle some Water over thee and 
 tell thee to shake thyself and become a hare. Thou 
 must pretend not to know how to shake thyself, sway 
 thy hands and shoulders about, but do not shake thyself. 
 He will give thee other Water, and say, " Shake thyself 
 and become a lamb !" but don't shake thyself. He will 
 give thee many kinds of Water ; but still do not shake 
 thyself. Then the Negro will come to me, and I will 
 tell him to give thee the best Water there is here. That 
 Water has the power to make thee become what thou 
 wilt — bird, or fly, or canary-bird, whatever thou takest 
 into thy head. He will say, " Drink it, and become a 
 kid!" But do thou say within thyself, " I shake myself 
 and become a pigeon!" When thou hast become a 
 pigeon, fly ; and when thou art come up out of the 
 well, do as God may enlighten thee. Go now and mop, 
 and sweep, and when he comes, don't tell him that thou 
 hast been here. And if God grant that thou escape, 
 think of me, and deliver me too, whom the Negro took 
 away from my parents.' 
 
 Some little time passed, and when he had finished 
 his work, he lay down in the shade. Nd ! there comes 
 the Negro, weary and fasting. 
 
 ' What art thou doing ?' asked the Negro. 
 
 ' What should I be doing ? I have swept the house 
 and am sitting.' 
 
 'Get up!' said he. 'Drink this Water, and shake 
 thyself and become a hare ; I will teach thee many 
 tricks.'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 147 
 
 He swung himself about, and pretended that he 
 couldn't shake himself. 
 
 * Bve ! curse thee ! There, drink this, and become a 
 lamb!' 
 
 The same thing happened again. He gave him two 
 other kinds of Water, but he did not shake himself. 
 The Negro sweated with impatience. He rose and 
 went to the Princess, who lived in the other house in 
 the garden. 
 
 * Ba ! Welcome !' said the Princess ; ' you are some- 
 what put out, what is the matter ?' 
 
 * What is the matter ? I have been a long way and 
 am come back hungry, and I told him to become a 
 hare, and he doesn't know how ; to shake himself, and 
 he doesn't know how.' 
 
 ' A'i! why don't you give him Water to become 
 something else ?' 
 
 * I gave him of all, but to no purpose !' 
 
 * Give him some of the Water which we have here, 
 the Red, which if he drinks and shakes himself, he will 
 become something to eat.' 
 
 ' But if he drinks of this Water, he will know more 
 than I !' 
 
 * Pooh ! How should he know anything ? He will 
 become anything you tell him !' 
 
 ' Ai' ! let me give it to him.' 
 
 He takes a little glass and puts in it some of the 
 Red Water, and goes and gives it to him. He says to 
 him, 
 
 * Here, drink this, and become a deer !' 
 
 The lad drinks it, but says within himself, ' I will 
 become a pigeon.' He shakes himself, and off he goes 
 out of the well. The Negro loses no time, he shakes 
 himself and becomes an eagle and pursues the pigeon.
 
 148 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 In front the pigeon, behind the eagle — he has nearly 
 caught it. As he was about to seize it, it flies into a 
 bath. It shakes itself, and from a pigeon becomes a 
 fly, and hides in the key in the bosom of the bath- 
 keeper. The eagle shakes himself and becomes a fine 
 gentleman in his fur pelisse, and says, 
 'Will you sell this bath?' 
 
 ' A'i ! if we get much money for it, we will sell it.' 
 They struck a bargain, and he asked for the keys of 
 the bath. As the bath-keeper took out the keys, the 
 fly flew out — buzz ! and went here and there. The 
 gentleman lost no time in becoming a flycatcher-bird 
 and pursued the fly. In front, the fly; behind, the fly- 
 catcher — he had nearly caught it. When it saw itself 
 closely pressed, the fly looked this way and that, and 
 saw a Princess sitting at a window. The fly shook 
 itself, and became a beautiful carnation, and fell on the 
 Princess's frame as she was embroidering. The Princess 
 took the carnation and put it in her bosom. The Negro 
 shook himself and became a venerable old Turk in his 
 fur pehsse, and he went into the palace to find the 
 King. Said he, 
 
 * Your Mightiness, my mother gave me a carnation, 
 and as I had it before me and was looking at it, a golden 
 magpie passed by and took it and threw it on the 
 Princess's embroidery frame. So I pray you to com- 
 mand that it be given to me.' 
 
 Then he among the carnation-leaves changed himself 
 into a handsome youth, and said to the Princess, 
 
 ' For God's sake, don't give me to him who will ask 
 for me, for I am a Prince, and he is my enemy, and 
 because we both are learned in magic he seeks to 
 devour me so that he alone may be left.' And he 
 shook himself and became a carnation again. Just as
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 149 
 
 he had become a carnation, they began to knock at the 
 Princess's door. 
 
 ' Who is there ?' said she. 
 
 'It is I,' said one of the servants; 'your papa has 
 sent me that you may give me the carnation which fell 
 on your lap while you embroidered.' 
 
 * Bd /' said she, ' there are carnations outside, give 
 him a bunch.' 
 
 The servant plucked a few and took them downstairs. 
 The Agha took and smelt one, smelt another, and 
 another. 
 
 ' What shall I say, my long-lived King ? not one of 
 these which you have brought me smells like my carna- 
 tion. For it had with it my mother's blessing, and 
 smelt different. '''I 
 
 Then the King was angry, and said, ' Tell the Princess 
 to give it at once, or I will come myself upstairs and 
 give it to the stranger.' 
 
 Then the nursemaid ran up to the Princess and said 
 to her, ' Po-po ! my Princess, the King is angry ! Give 
 me the carnation at once, for he says he will come him- 
 self and take it !' 
 
 Then the Princess tearfully took out the carnation 
 and gave it to her maid. The Princess's maid took it 
 and brought it to the King. As he was about to give 
 it to the Agha, the carnation gave itself a shake and 
 became millet spilt on the ground. The Agha lost no 
 time, but became a hen and chickens, and began to eat 
 the grain. The millet gave itself a shake, and became 
 
 » Compare — 
 
 ' And thou thereon didst only breathe, 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows and smells, I swear, 
 Not of itself, but thee.' 
 
 Ben Jonson, To Celia.
 
 150 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 a fox, and ate the hen and chickens. The King gave 
 himself a shake, and jumped on his sofa, and shouted 
 'Allah! Allah! Allah! H ALLAH T The fox gave him- 
 self a shake, and became a handsome Prince, and said, 
 
 * My long-hved King, don't start, don't be frightened ! 
 I am a Prince, and my mother was a Nereid, and taught 
 me many magical tricks. The man you saw was my 
 servant and stole my Book of Enchantment,^^ and 
 sought to destroy me and take my possessions ; but 
 you see how he who would harm another does himself 
 harm !' 
 
 Then said the King to him, ' I rejoice greatly, my 
 boy, that thou hast slain thine enemy ; if thou art 
 willing, I will make thee my son.' 
 
 But he said, ' I have some business to finish ; if you 
 will give me eight days' grace I will give you my 
 answer.' 
 
 Then he shook himself and became a pigeon, and as 
 he flew he saw from afar his mother at the well. He 
 gave himself a shake and became a man as he was at 
 first, and said to her, 
 
 ' Mother ! What are you doing here ?' 
 
 ' Nd ! my son, I have brought back the sequins to 
 the Negro to take thee again, my boy, for I cannot 
 do without thee.' 
 
 ' Now, mother, Negro there is none. We have 
 become rich ! But go home now and have no anxiety 
 about me, and I will come and tell you all about it 
 presently.' 
 
 The mother went away ; he became an eagle and 
 descended the well, and went to the Princess and told 
 her all he had gone through, and said that he would 
 take her home to her parents, or marry her, as she 
 pleased.
 
 /. MytJiological — (//.) Magical. 151 
 
 She begged him to take her home to her parents, as 
 she was betrothed. He gave her some diamonds ; she 
 also drank some of the Red Water and became a pigeon, 
 and he conducted her to her parents. Afterwards he 
 went to the King, and said that he would take his 
 daughter to wife. The King was very glad to have 
 such a son-in-law. And they had music, and drums, 
 and great rejoicings; the palace was illuminated, and so 
 was all the city. He took the Princess for his wife, and 
 became the richest King there was in any country. And 
 they lived happily. And we more happily still !
 
 THE PRINCE WHO WAS CHANGED INTO A 
 
 SNAKE. 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 (Sakellarios, II., No. 7.) 
 
 Scarlet thread, spun with the wheel, 
 Wound on twirhng, giddy reel, 
 Like the dancers turn and spin,* 
 And let me my tale begin ; 
 But first, my worthy Company, 
 I wish you all good e'en ! 
 
 This is the beginning of the story — good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a merchant, and he 
 traded all the way to Pagtatin, as the saying is. He 
 had twelve ships in which he sailed about, and he had 
 three daughters. When this merchant's wife died, and 
 his daughters were left orphans, year by year he grew 
 poorer and poorer ; he lost his ships, and the unfortu- 
 nate man fell so low that he had hardly bread to eat, 
 and was so needy that he was obliged to sell all his 
 property, and nothing remained to him but his big farm. 
 Then the poor merchant made up his mind to tell his 
 daughters that they must live on the farm and look 
 after it. Two of his daughters, the eldest and the 
 second one, refused to go ; but the youngest, who was 
 good-natured and would not displease him, said, 
 
 ' Papa mine, I will go and live there !' 
 
 So the youngest daughter bestirred herself, and dug 
 
 A game played by children in Cyprus is here alluded to.
 
 /. Mythological— (11.) Magical. 153 
 
 and raked like a gardener, and got up early in the 
 morning, and gathered the produce, and her father 
 took it every morning to the market to sell it. (This is 
 a story, so I will be brief.) Thus they continued 
 every morning to gather the produce and sell it until 
 twelve years had passed away. 
 
 In the twelfth year there returned three of his 
 ships. Then his daughters, the eldest and the middle 
 one, begged their father to bring them a gown each. 
 The father, pleased with the youngest, asked her what 
 she would like. She answered her father, 
 
 ' I want nothing, papa, but to see you released from 
 your poverty.' 
 
 When her father pressed her to say what she would 
 like, she replied, 
 
 ' I want nothing, papa, but a rose. They sell them 
 now in sievesful, and I want you to bring me a choice 
 rose.' 
 
 Well, at last the merchant mounted his horse, and 
 went and landed his goods. In twelve days, from the 
 time his poverty had come to an end, he had finished ; 
 but he had found no rose. Again he mounted his 
 horse and set off to his farm. As he went, God com- 
 manded such a rain to fall as had never been known 
 before. What was the poor man to do ? He pulled 
 his cape up over his head and crouched down on his 
 horse's saddle ; and presently the beast came to a door- 
 way and stood out of the rain. The man raised his 
 cape, saw the doorway, and praised God that he had 
 found a shelter from the downpour. Then he went 
 and found a manger, to which he tied his beast, and 
 afterwards he went in and found a chamber and 
 sat down on the divan, and coffee came, and sweets, 
 and a chibouk, without his seeing anyone. Then the
 
 154 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 rain stopped, and the merchant arose, and went from 
 chamber to chamber to seek the host, and thank him. 
 When he could find no one, he was going to fetch his 
 beast to go home, when he saw a rose-bush which had 
 three blossoms on one branch, and he stretched out his 
 hand and plucked them. Immediately there appeared 
 before him a Snake, who said to him, 
 
 ' Ah ! thankless man, after the kindness I have shown 
 thee in saving thee from death ! Canst thou not see 
 a rose or two without desiring and plucking them ?' 
 
 The merchant answered and said, ' I looked through 
 the chambers to find the host, and say a " Thank you " 
 to him, but could not find him.' 
 
 * Listen to me,' said the Snake. ' Thou hast three 
 daughters, thou must bring me the youngest. Think 
 not to thyself that I am only a Snake, and shall not 
 come and find thee.' 
 
 The merchant asked how long he would wait — what 
 could the poor man say ? — and he gave him forty days. 
 The merchant mounted his horse and went about his 
 business. 
 
 When at last he got to his house, his daughters 
 gathered around him and got their gowns, but his 
 youngest daughter stood sadly by. Her father said to 
 her, ' Come here, my girl, here are the roses thou didst 
 ask of me,' and he began to weep. 
 
 When his daughter saw him weep, she asked, * What 
 is the matter, papa, that thou weepest ?' 
 
 Then her father began and told her all about it. 
 Her sisters began to reproach her and to point their 
 fingers at her,^ * Wretch, thou must have a rose, thou 
 wantedst no gowns, so that the Snake might come and 
 eat us !' 
 
 * The ancient gesture of contempt, still called, as in classic times, 
 the <pix(jKtKov.
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 155 
 
 Then the maiden, who was sensible, went to her 
 father, and asked how many days' grace had been given. 
 Her father repHed, ' He said forty days, my girl.' 
 Then she went to her chamber and took paper and 
 ink, and wrote down the day ; but the maiden troubled 
 herself nothing at all about it, [though] her sisters re- 
 proached her night and day. Afterwards she went 
 and opened the paper, and saw that there were but 
 two days left. So she said to her father, ' Go and saddle 
 the horse that we may go where I have been invited.' 
 
 * Shall I take thee, my daughter, to thy Charon, 
 where the Snake will eat thee ?' 
 
 'Arise,' she said, 'and let us go, for the Snake will 
 not eat me if I do his bidding; what ill-will has he 
 against me ?' 
 
 Then the maiden arose and said ' Farewell ' to her 
 sisters, and went away. They came to the house ; her 
 father tied up his beast at the manger ; they went into 
 the chamber and sat on the divan ; their coffee came 
 and their sweets, without anyone being seen. In a very 
 little while the Snake appeared before them, and asked, 
 
 * Hast thou done my bidding, and brought her ?' 
 Then the merchant answered and said, * I have 
 
 brought her.' 
 
 Then the merchant arose and mounted, and went 
 home, and the maiden stayed behind with the Snake. 
 Her father fell ill with regret and grief, and took to his 
 bed. 
 
 It became the Snake's custom, when the girl was 
 eating bread, to lie down in her lap and ask her, 
 
 ' Wilt thou take me for thy husband ?' 
 
 The maiden said to him, ' I am afraid of thee !' And 
 she was very sad because her father was long in coming 
 to see her. When she was sitting with the table before
 
 156 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 her, the table opened, and she saw a mirror, in which 
 all the world was reflected, and she saw her father ill, 
 and began to weep and to tear her hair. Then the 
 Snake, who was in the garden, heard her cries and her 
 breast-beatings, and he rushed to her and asked, 
 
 ' What ails thee, my Rose ?' 
 
 * See in the mirror,' she said to the Snake, ' how my 
 father lies nigh unto death!' 
 
 Then the Snake said, ' Open the drawer of the table, 
 and thou wilt find a ring. Put it on thy finger, and tell 
 me,' he said, ' how many days thou wilt be absent.' 
 
 She replied, ' [I will come] as soon as my father 
 recovers.' 
 
 ' I give thee thirty-one days' leave. If thou comest 
 one day later, thou wilt find me dead upon some 
 mound.' 
 
 The girl replied, ' Do thyself no harm — when my 
 leave has expired, I will come to thee.' 
 
 Then the Snake said, ' Let supper be served, and do 
 thou sup and I will counsel thee.' When the girl had 
 eaten her supper, he said to her, 
 
 ' Put the ring on thy tongue and thou wilt find thy- 
 self on the bed in thy chamber.' 
 
 The girl lay down on the mattress, and put the ring 
 on her tongue, and she was in her own chamber. Her 
 servants, in passing, heard her breathing, and went and 
 told her sisters, ' Our mistress is in her chamber.' 
 
 The sisters hastened in and found her asleep, and 
 they awoke her, and she got up. Then the maiden 
 praised God when she found that she had come home 
 to her father. When her father saw her, he began to 
 ask her how it had happened, and what had become of 
 the Snake. And she began to tell him what the Snake 
 had said to her when she was eating bread, how he had
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 157 
 
 sat on her knees and said, ' Wilt thou take me for thy 
 husband ?' and how she had said, ' I am afraid of thee!' 
 Then her father answered and said to her, ' My daughter, 
 tell him that thou wilt take him, and we shall see.' 
 Then the maiden resolved that she would say that. 
 But her sisters advised her not to go back, so that he 
 might die. The girl replied, ' How could I leave my 
 Beast to die, who have received such help from him ?' 
 
 She remained with her father for as many days as 
 she had leave, and then she rose, saluted her sisters 
 and her father, laid down on her bed, put the ring in 
 her mouth, and went back to the Snake. When the 
 Snake saw her, he said, ' Hast thou come, my Rose ?' 
 
 When the coffee came for her to drink, the Snake 
 lay down in her lap, and when he said, ' Wilt thou take 
 me for thy husband ?' the girl replied, ' I will take thee !' 
 
 His skin fell off, and he became a Prince, and the 
 earth opened, and the whole world was seen within. 
 Then the maiden began to ask him what manner of 
 man he was, and how he had become a Snake. Then 
 the Prince told her that he had loved an orphan, and 
 she had laid him under a curse to become a Snake and 
 never cast his skin until he should find a woman who 
 would consent to marry him. Then he wrote a letter 
 to tell his father-in-law and her sisters that she was 
 going to be married. So her father came with her 
 two sisters. But, as they dismounted in the porch, he 
 turned them into two pillars. When their father and 
 their sister saw it, they wept. But the Prince bade 
 them not to weep, for, as they had deserved, so it had 
 befallen them. 
 
 Then they were married, and he made his father-in- 
 law his Vizier. And we will leave them well, and return 
 and find them better — God be praised !
 
 THE HALF -MAN.'''' 
 
 Epeiros. 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeX. IJapa/u., p. 21.) 
 
 There was once a woman who had no children, and 
 one day she prayed to God — ' O my God, give me a 
 child, even if it be but half a one !' 
 
 Then God gave her half a child, with half a head, 
 one foot, one hand, half a trunk, and half a nose. 
 And as the boy was thus, she kept him in the house 
 and did not send him either to school, or to do any 
 work. 
 
 One day he said to her, ' Mdna, why don't you give 
 me an axe, and a mule, to go and cut wood ?' 
 
 His mother replied, ' What canst thou do, my child, 
 Half-man that thou art, how canst thou cut wood?' 
 But as he begged her very hard, she finally gave him 
 an axe and a mule, and he went to cut wood and 
 brought it home. 
 
 One day as he was going to the forest, he passed by 
 the palace of the Princess. He was standing erect on 
 his one leg on the mule, and when the Princess saw 
 him, she laughed and called to her servants, ' Come 
 and look at the Half-man !' And when they saw him 
 they split their sides with laughing. 
 
 As he passed, he let his axe fall to the ground, and 
 he stopped and asked himself, * Shall I get down and 
 pick it up, or not ?' Finally he decided not to get 
 down, but to leave the axe where it was. 
 
 Then the Princess said to her servants, * Look at the 
 Half-man ! His axe fell down, and he won't dismount 
 to pick it up !'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 159 
 
 He goes on a little further, and then lets his cord 
 fall, and again he says to himself, ' Shall I get down 
 and pick up the cord, or shall I not ?' He was un- 
 willing to dismount, so he left the cord too. 
 
 Again the Princess said to her servants, * Look at the 
 Half-man ! His cord has fallen, and he won't pick 
 it up !' 
 
 So he came to the place where he was in the habit of 
 cutting wood, and stood thinking how he should cut it 
 without an axe. Close by was a lake, and as he stood 
 thinking about the axe, he saw a Fish floating about in 
 the lake ; and he threw in a bait and caught it. When 
 he drew it out, the Fish said to him, ' Let me go, and 
 I will teach thee a trick which will give thee every- 
 thing thou mayest wish for.' 
 
 [Then said the Half-man] , ' Load the mule with 
 wood, that I may know if thou sayest true.' 
 
 ' The first 'cjurd of God and the second word of the Fish 
 — may the mule be loaded with wood /' said the Fish.^^ 
 
 Then the mule found itself laden with wood. 
 
 When the Half-man saw this, he asked the Fish to 
 teach him that trick, and he would release it. Then 
 said the Fish, ' Thou must say * ' The first word of God 
 and the second word of the Fish," and whatever thou 
 wilt shall happen, will happen.' 
 
 Then the Half-man let the Fish go, and took by the 
 halter the mule laden with wood, and set off. And again 
 he passed under the palace of the Princess. When the 
 Princess saw him, she called to her maidens, 
 
 ' Come quickly, and look at the Half-man who is 
 coming back with his mule laden with wood though he 
 had no axe !' 
 
 Then they laughed, and when the Half-man saw that 
 they were laughing at him, he said to himself,
 
 i6o Greek Folk-P^^ose. 
 
 * The first word of God and the second word of the Fish 
 — may the Princess become pregnant.'' And that very 
 minute the Princess became pregnant. When the time 
 came a child was born without anyone knowing from 
 whom she had it. Her father took and questioned her, 
 and she answered, 
 
 ' I know not, for no one has come near me. How 
 this has come to me, I know not.' 
 
 When the child was grown, the King assembled 
 together all the men of that city ; and when they were 
 come he gave the boy an apple, and said to him, 
 
 ' Take this apple and go give it to thy father.' 
 
 As he sauntered about and played with the apple, it 
 fell and rolled away. He ran after it and caught it in 
 a corner. As he picked it up, he raised his head, and 
 seeing the Half-man, said to him, ' Here, take this apple !' 
 
 When they heard the boy say this, they seized the 
 Half-man, and led him before the King. 
 
 And the King said, ' As it is he who has done this 
 thing, we must slay them all, the Half-man, the 
 Princess, and the child.' 
 
 The medjliss^ replied, 'What thou sayest is just, for 
 the Princess is thy daughter. Only thou must make 
 an iron barrel and put inside it the Half-man, the 
 Princess, and the child, and give them but a chaplet^ of 
 figs for the child, that he may not die at once.' 
 
 These words pleased the King, and he gave orders 
 for the barrel to be made ; and they put all three of 
 them into the barrel, and threw it into the sea. 
 
 As they were there in the barrel, the Princess said to 
 the Half-man, 
 
 ' I have never set eyes on thee ! — Why have they 
 thrown this shovel at us ?'^* 
 
 * Micro-XTjo-t ^^ vicdjliss^ Council (Turkish), 
 '' Dried figs threaded on a rush or straw.
 
 /, Jl/ytAo logical — (//•) Magical. i6r 
 
 Then said the Half-man, ' Give me a fig, and I will 
 tell thee.' 
 
 The Princess gave him one of the figs v^hich the}' 
 had given to the boy, and the Half-man said, 
 
 ' Don't you remember when I passed by your serai, 
 one day, and 3-ou saw me and laughed because my axe 
 and cord fell down ?' 
 
 ' I do remember,' replied the Princess, 
 
 ' Then,' continued the Half-man, ' I know a word 
 which I say, and whatever I will happens ; and I said 
 that word and thou didst become pregnant.' 
 
 Then said the Princess, ' If' thou knowest such a 
 word, and what thou wiliest happens, say now this 
 word, that we come out of the barrel on the dry land.' 
 
 Said the Half-man, ' Give me a fig, and I will say it.' 
 
 Then the Princess gave him a fig, and the Half-man 
 said to himself, ' The first word of God and the second 
 word of the Fish ! — let the barrel come 07i to the dry land, 
 and break open, and let ns come out.'' 
 
 This immediately happened ; and when they were 
 out, it came on to rain, and the Princess said to the 
 Half-man, ' Say another word, that we may find a 
 shelter and not get wet.' 
 
 Said the Half-man, ' Give me another fig, and I will 
 say it.' 
 
 The Princess gave him one, and he said the same 
 thing. Immediately they found a shelter and sat under 
 it. Again the Princess said, 
 
 ' You have done that very well. But say yet another 
 word, that a great house may be found of which the 
 stones and the wood and everything else that is in it 
 shall speak.' 
 
 Said the Half-man, ' Give me a fig, and then I will 
 say it.' 
 
 VOL. II. II
 
 1 62 G7^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The Princess gave him a fig, and the Half-man said 
 to himself, * The first word of God, and the second word of 
 the Fish ! — let a palace appear of which the wood and the 
 stones and everything in it shall speak /'^^ Immediately 
 there appeared a palace every part of which could 
 speak. And they went into it with all their possessions, 
 and whatever they required the Half-man brought. 
 
 One day, the King was out hunting, and seeing the 
 palace from afar off, he sent two servants and said to 
 them, ' Here are two partridges, go and cook them in 
 that palace and find out what palace it is, for I have 
 never seen it before when I have been out hunting.' 
 
 Then the servants, when the King had said this, took 
 the partridges and went to that palace ; and when they 
 came to the door, the door asked them, ' What do you 
 want ?' 
 
 They answered, ' The King has sent us to cook some 
 partridges.' 
 
 Then said the door, ' I will ask my lady.' And it 
 turned and spoke to the other doors within, and they 
 to the others again, and so on from door to door till 
 they had told their lady. 
 
 When the lady said, ' Let them come in !' all the 
 doors opened of themselves, and the servants entered, 
 and wondered when they heard the stones and the wood 
 say, ' You are welcome !' 
 
 Then they went to the kitchen, and as one said to 
 the other, 'Where shall we find wood?' the sticks 
 replied, ' Here we are !' 
 
 Again, when one said to the other, ' We have no 
 salt! We have no butter!' these cried out, 'Here 
 we are !' 
 
 When they had taken of everything they wanted, 
 they put the partridges down to the fire, and while they
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 163 
 
 were gazing at all the things that spoke, the partridges 
 got burnt. Then they sat down to consider what they 
 should say to the King about it, how they had burnt 
 his partridges. What were they to do ? Then they 
 made up their minds to go to the King and tell him 
 everything, all that they had seen. When the King 
 heard them, he would not believe them, and sent other 
 servants, and the same things happened to them. 
 When the King heard these men tell the same story, 
 he made up his mind to go alone and see for himself. 
 And when he came before the door and hesitated, he 
 heard the door sa}^ * You are welcome !' Then he went 
 in and all the stones and the wood cried, ' You are 
 welcome !' 
 
 When the Princess heard that the King was coming, 
 she came and watched him without being seen herself. 
 And when he set about cooking the partridges the same 
 thing happened to him as had happened to the others. 
 Then the Princess said to the King, 
 
 ' I beg you, King, to condescend to sup in our humble 
 house.' 
 
 The King replied that he would be very pleased, and 
 would stay. Then the Princess went to fetch the Half- 
 man, who was hidden away from the King, and said to 
 him, 
 
 ' I have bidden the King to supper in our house. 
 Say now a word that a table may come with all its dishes 
 and its servants, and with singers and dancers — every- 
 thing that is befitting.' 
 
 The Half-man replied, ' Give me a fig, and then I 
 will say it.' 
 
 So she gave him the fig, and the Half-man said as 
 he had said before, and there appeared a table with 
 everything that was befitting. And when the Princess
 
 164 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and the King had sat down and had eaten and drunk, 
 the minstrels began to sing, and sang so well that the 
 King was amazed and said, 
 
 'I, a King, have never heard such singing in my 
 palace !' 
 
 Then the dancers began to dance, and again the King 
 was amazed and said to the Princess, 
 
 ' I, a King, have not the like of such things in my 
 palace. And I beg you to tell me how did yon get them ?' 
 
 The Princess replied that her father had left them to 
 her as a legacy. Then she went to the Half-man and 
 said to him, 
 
 ' Yet another thing thou must do for me. Say a 
 word that a spoon may go into the King's boot.' 
 
 Said the Half-man, ' Give me a fig, and I will 
 say it.' 
 
 She gave him a fig and he said as he had said before, 
 and a spoon went into the King's boot. 
 
 When they had eaten and drunk, he rose to leave. 
 But the Princess said to him, 
 
 ' Wait a moment, for it seems to me that something 
 is missing.' 
 
 'No,' replied the King, 'we are not of that sort.' 
 
 Then the Princess cried, 
 
 ' Pots ! are you all here ?' 
 
 'All!' they replied. 
 
 ' Pans ! are you all here ?' 
 
 ' All !' they replied. 
 
 ' You, spoons ?' 
 
 But the spoon which was in the King's boot said, 
 
 'As for me, I am in the King's boot !' 
 
 Then said the Princess to the King, 
 
 ' I received you in my house, and set for you a table 
 and so many other things, and you take my spoon ?'
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 165 
 
 Then the King repHed that that was unjust, and that 
 someone else had put it in his boot. 
 
 'And so it was with me,' said the Princess, 'unjustly 
 thou didst put mc in the barrel with the Half-man, 
 without my ever having seen him, and there within is 
 the Half-man.' 
 
 Then the King sat long without understanding. 
 Afterwards the Princess brought the Half-man before 
 the King, and he told him all that he had done. The 
 King marvelled at that word of the Half-man. And his 
 daughter he married to a Vizier, and the Half-man 
 made chief slave-warder, and married him to one of hit. 
 slaves.
 
 THE GREEK PRIEST AND THE TURKISH 
 
 WITCH. 
 
 Athens. 
 
 {Aekriov, I., p. 352.) 
 
 In the time of the Turkish rule, a Priest of Athens 
 wooed a young woman whom he afterwards deserted, 
 and married another. She, in order to revenge herself, 
 threw spells upon the Priest's wife, and said that she 
 would cause her not to see the next year. And of a 
 truth the beautiful Papadhid not only grew thinner 
 every day, but became paralysed, and her body was bent 
 round like a ringcake, so that her face touched her knees. 
 The Priest began with his blessings and readings ; but 
 when he saw that they were of no avail, he betook him 
 to a Turkish Witch in the hope of finding some remedy; 
 for he now understood that his wife's illness was caused 
 by sorcery. But the Witch, when she had made a 
 thousand and two [exorcisms] and found that they 
 availed nothing, told the Priest that she who had cast 
 the spells was more powerful than herself, and she 
 advised him to go to Chalchis, and there to seek for 
 and bring another Turkish woman. So the Priest went 
 to Chalchis, and returned with that same old Witch- 
 wife. When they arrived at Athens it was still daylight, 
 and they waited a little while outside so as to enter by 
 night into the city. 
 
 When the Witch saw the Papadhid, she said that she 
 would make her well that same night. She swept the 
 hearth, told the Priest to give her three pearls, and to 
 light on the hearth three great torches and one small 
 lantern. And she told him not to be afraid whatever 
 he might see, and whatever he might hear, but to hold
 
 /. Mythological — (//.) Magical. 167 
 
 the lantern and, when it went out, to Hght it at one of the 
 torches, but to take care, however, not to take twice from 
 the same torch, but always to take them in turn. Then 
 she let down her hair, and spread it over her shoulders, 
 and bej^an to walk round the room, playing with the 
 pearls in her palm, and repeating her exorcisms in a low 
 voice, while the Priest followed behind her. Then a 
 great whirlwind arose, and one of the walls fell in ; but 
 she, quite undisturbed, descended to the courtyard, and 
 there, as she walked round it, the pearls fell from her 
 hand. Then she immediately bade the Priest search 
 with his lantern and find the middle pearl. When he 
 had found it, the old Witch-wife dug at that spot and 
 turned up a tin box. In that box they found a gold 
 embroidered slipper which the Papadhid had lost on 
 her wedding day. This slipper was nailed with a great 
 nail. They found besides in the box a bit of dry soap 
 which had stuck into it a great many large needles, a 
 little wisp of hair entangled in a thousand knots, and a 
 lock. Then they went up with the box into the chamber, 
 and there the Witch first took out the nail from the 
 slipper, disentangled the hair, and, one by one, drew 
 out the large needles. As she drew out the last, th( 
 sick Papadhid sighed as if a great burden were lifted 
 from off her, and sat up in the bed. Afterwards the 
 Witch gave the lock to the Priest and told him that 
 they had locked up the womb of his wife so that she 
 could not bear children, and that he must find means 
 to open the lock, but be careful not to break it. The 
 Priest consequently set to work to try and open it, but 
 could not manage to do so ; and after a couple of years 
 he threw it into the sea, and so remained childless. 
 The Witch would take no money for her trouble, but 
 asked only for an oka of coffee, an oka of sugar, and a 
 rushlight.
 
 THE STORY OF A VAMPIRES 
 
 Crete. 
 
 (Pashley, IL, p. 226, note.) 
 
 A LONG time ago there came out a Vampire in the 
 village of Kallikrati in the district of Sphakia, and no 
 one knew what man he was, or whence he came. This 
 Vampire destroyed many children and grown-up people, 
 and he made great havoc both in that village and in 
 many others. They had buried him at [the church of] 
 St. George at Kallikrati, and in his time he had been a 
 man of note, and they had built an arch over his grave. 
 Now there was a shepherd who was his Synteknos ;^^ 
 and the Shepherd was pasturing his flocks close by the 
 church, when it began to rain, and he went into the 
 tomb for shelter from the shower. Afterwards he made 
 up his mind to sleep there and remain the night ; so he 
 took off his arms, and placed them crosswise above his 
 pillow (and people say that this was why the Katakhnds 
 was not permitted to come out). So, during the night, 
 when he wanted to go forth again, and destroy men, he 
 said to the shepherd, 
 
 * Get out of this, Synteknc, for I have some business to 
 see to.' 
 
 The shepherd made no answer, neither the first time, 
 nor the second, nor the third ; for by this he knew that 
 he was a Katakhnds, and that it was he who had been 
 
 " See vol. i., ' Annotations ' No. 7. 
 
 ^ That is, was his child's godfather. This relationship is con- 
 sidered in the Greek Church as complete a bar to marriage as the 
 closest consanguinity.
 
 /. Mythological— {11.) Magical. 169 
 
 working all the mischief. Accordingly he said to him 
 when he spoke a fourth time, 
 
 ' I shall not rise hence, for I fear, Syntehic, that there 
 is an evil odour about thee, and that thou mayest work 
 me mischief, and I am afraid. But, if thou wilt that I 
 arise, swear to me, " iy thy winding-sheet"^ that thou 
 wilt not meddle with me, and I will get up.' 
 
 He would not say it at first, but said something else. 
 Afterwards, when his Synteknos would not let him get 
 up, he swore as he wished. Then he arose and took 
 his arms and put them outside the tomb. And he (the 
 Katakhnds) came forth, and greeted him, and said to 
 him, 
 
 ' I say, Syntekne, don't go away, but remain here ; I 
 have some business to see to, but in an hour I will 
 come back, for I have something to say to you.' 
 
 So he waited for him. Then the Katakhnds went 
 some ten miles distance where there was a newly- 
 married couple, and he destroyed them, and returned, 
 and his Synteknos saw that he was carrying liver, and 
 that his hands were all dripping with blood ; and as he 
 carried it he blew into it as a butcher does, to make the 
 liver larger. And he showed him that it was cooked as 
 if it had been done over the fire. And with that he 
 said, 
 
 ' Let us sit down, Syntekne, and eat.' 
 
 He pretended to eat, but ate only dry bread, and did 
 not eat of it, but put it into his bosom. Presently the 
 time came for them to separate, and he said to him, 
 
 ' Syntekne, speak not of what thou hast seen, or my 
 twenty nails will be fastened in thyself and thy children.' 
 
 The shepherd, however, lost no time, but gave notice 
 
 * A vampire considers no other oath binding.
 
 1 70 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 of the matter to the Priest and to other persons, and 
 they went and found him in the tomb, and all under- 
 stood that it was he who had done all that evil. So 
 the men gathered a quantity of wood, and placed him 
 upon it, and burnt him. His Synteknos was not then 
 present, but when he was half-burnt he came up, too, 
 to enjoy the sight ; and the Katakhnds threw out as it 
 were a single speck of blood which fell on his foot, and 
 it wasted away as if roasted by fire. On that account 
 they sifted the ashes, and finding the little finger nail 
 of the Katakhnds unconsumed, they burnt that too.
 
 SECTION (III.) 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF SUPERNALIST 
 
 IDEAS. 
 
 THE STORY OF SAINT DEMETRA AND HER 
 
 DA UGHTER.^^ 
 
 Elevsis. 
 
 (Lenormant, Monographie, etc., I., p. 399, note.) 
 
 Saint Demetra was an old woman from Athens, good 
 and charitable. She spent all that she had in feeding 
 the poor. She had a daughter of incomparable beauty 
 — since the time of Mistress 'Phrodite (Kupa ^pohirr]) 
 no such beauty had ever been seen. A Turkish Agha 
 of the neighbourhood of Souli, who was very wicked 
 and deeply skilled in magic, perceived her one day 
 when she was combing her hair, which was the colour 
 of gold and reached to her feet, and he fell madly in 
 love with her. Finding an opportunity of speaking to 
 her, he tried to gain her love, but she was as virtuous 
 as she was beautiful, and repulsed all his advances. 
 He accordingly resolved to carry her off, and place her 
 in his harem. So, one Christmas Night, while Demetra 
 was at church, the Agha burst open the house -door, 
 seized the maiden, who was alone, and in spite of her 
 cries of distress, he placed her before him on his horse,
 
 172 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and rode off with her. This horse was a wonderful 
 animal. He was black, fire issued from his nostrils, 
 and with one bound he could spring from East to 
 West. In a few moments he had carried the ravisher 
 and his victim into the mountains of Epeiros. 
 
 When the aged Demetra returned from church and 
 found the house broken into and her daughter carried 
 off, her distress knew no bounds. She asked the neigh- 
 bours if they knew what had become of her daughter ; 
 but they dared not give her any information, for they 
 feared the Turks and their vengeance. She questioned 
 the Tree which grew in front of the house, but the Tree 
 could tell her nothing. She questioned the Sun, but 
 the Sun could tell her nothing. She questioned the 
 Moon and Stars, but nothing could she learn from 
 them. At last the Stork which had his nest on the 
 roof of her house said to her, 
 
 ' For many years we have lived together. You are 
 old and so am I. Listen. You have always been kind 
 to me ; you have never disturbed my nest, and once 
 you helped me to drive away the bird of prey which 
 sought to steal my young ones. In return I will tell 
 you what I know about the fate of your daughter. 
 She has been taken away by a Turk mounted on a 
 black horse, which has carried her to the W^est. Come, 
 I will go with thee, and we will seek her together.' 
 
 Demetra set out, accompanied by the Stork. It was 
 winter, and cold, and the mountains were covered with 
 snow. The poor old woman was frozen and could 
 hardly walk. She asked of all she met if they had 
 seen her daughter, but they either laughed at her or 
 made no reply. Every door was shut so as not to 
 receive her, for men are cruel to misery. She wept 
 and lamented. Still she managed to travel on as far
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Supernalist. 173 
 
 as Lepsina.'"^ Arrived there, however, she fell down b}' 
 the roadside overcome with fatigue. There she would 
 have died had there not chanced to pass by the wife of 
 the headman of the village, who was returning from her 
 sheepfolds. Marigho, for that was the name of this 
 woman, took pity on Demetra ; she helped her to rise, 
 and led her to her husband, who was named Nikola. 
 The headman was as compassionate as his wife ; she 
 was treated by both with the greatest kindness, and 
 they did their best to tend and console her. In return 
 for their hospitality, Saint Demetra blessed their fields 
 and made them fruitful, 
 
 Nikola, the headman, had a son who was handsome, 
 strong, brave, and clever, and, in a word, the smartest 
 pallikar in all the country-side. Seeing that Demetra 
 was not able to continue her journey, he offered to go 
 himself in search of the stolen maiden, asking only in 
 return for her hand in marriage. This was agreed to, 
 and he set out accompanied by the faithful Stork, which 
 would not abandon the quest. 
 
 The young man walked for many days without find- 
 ing anything. At last one night, when he was in a 
 forest in the heart of the mountains, he saw in the 
 distance a great and shining light. He went eagerly 
 towards it, but the spot whence the light came was much 
 further away than the darkness of the night had led 
 him to imagine. He, however, finally reached it, and, 
 to his great amazement, found forty Dhrakos l}'ing on 
 the ground and watching a great cauldron which was 
 boiling on the fire. Without losing courage at this 
 sight, he lifted the cauldron with one hand, lighted a 
 torch at the fire, and replaced the pot on it. The 
 
 " The popular local term for Elevsis.
 
 174 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 Dhrakos, astonished at his strength, surrounded him 
 and said, 
 
 ' Thou who hast been able to hft with one hand the 
 cauldron which with our united strength we are hardly 
 able to lift, thou only art capable of carrying off a 
 maiden whom we have long been trying to get hold 
 of, and which we are unable to do because of the 
 great height of the tower where a Magician keeps her 
 shut up.' 
 
 The son of the headman of Lepsina saw the impos- 
 sibility of escaping from the hands of these monsters. 
 Accompanied by the forty Dhrakos, he proceeded to the 
 tower, and after having well examined it, he bade them 
 give him a number of great nails, which he drove into 
 the wall, making a sort of ladder, and which he drew 
 out again as he ascended so that the Dhrakos might 
 not follow him. Arrived at the top, where there was 
 a little window through which he could just squeeze 
 himself, he proposed to the Dhrakos to climb up as he 
 had done, one after the other. They did so, so that he 
 had time to kill the first who came up while the other 
 was mounting and throw him down on the other side 
 of the tower, where there was a great courtyard, a 
 beautiful garden, and a splendid palace. Thus rid of 
 his dangerous guards, he descended into the interior 
 of the tower, and found there the daughter of Saint 
 Demetra, whose beauty immediately excited in him the 
 most ardent love. 
 
 He was on his knees before her when the Agha- 
 magician entered. Beside himself with anger, he fell 
 upon the youth, who received him courageously. The 
 Agha was possessed of superhuman strength, but that 
 of the son of Nikola was not inferior. The Agha had 
 the power of transforming himself as he pleased ; he
 
 /. Mythological — iJII-^ Supcrnalist. 175 
 
 became a lion, a serpent, a bird of prey, a flame, hoping 
 in one of these forms to prevail against his adversary. 
 But nothing could prevail against the intrepid pallikar. 
 For three days the Agha and the youth of Lepsina 
 fought unweariedly. On the first day the Agha seemed 
 to be vanquished, but on the second he recovered ground, 
 and at the end of it he slew his young adversary, and 
 cut his corpse into four quarters, which he hung on the 
 four sides of the tower. Then, elated by his victory, 
 he forced the daughter of Demetra to yield to his 
 desires, having hitherto respected her virginity. But 
 during the night the Stork flew his fastest to a great 
 distance to seek a magical herb^ which he knew of, 
 brought it in his beak, and rubbed the lips of the dead 
 youth with it. Immediately the pieces of his body 
 joined themselves together, and he came to life again. 
 Great was his despair when he learnt what had happened 
 after his defeat. But he only fell with greater fury on 
 the Agha on the third day, to punish him for his crime. 
 Once again he seemed on the point of defeat, when the 
 happy idea occurred to him to invoke the aid of the 
 Panaghia by vowing that, if he prevailed, he would 
 become a monk in the monastery of Phaneromeni.* 
 Her divine protection renewed his strength, and he 
 succeeded in laying low his enemy. The Stork, which 
 had helped him so well, then fell upon the prostrate 
 Agha, pecked out his eyes, and plucked out with his 
 beak a white hair which was visible in the black tuft 
 with which his head was surmounted. On this hair 
 depended the life of the Turkish Magician, who im- 
 mediately expired. 
 
 Taking the girl with him, the conqueror of the Agha 
 
 ■■' In the island of Salamis, opposite Elevsis.
 
 I 76 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 returned with her to Lepsina at the time that the Spring 
 was born and the flowers were beginning to appear in 
 the fields. He went forthwith, as he had vowed, to 
 shut himself up in the monastery. Saint Demetra, 
 having regained her daughter, left with her. No one 
 knew what became of them ; but ever since, owing to 
 the benediction of the Saint, the fields of Lepsina have 
 always been fertile.
 
 WHAT IS FATED MUST HAPPEN. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeXXrjvtKo, ^AvdXeKra, B. 14.) 
 
 There was once a man who had no children. He 
 prayed to the Saints, and after many years a Httle 
 daughter was born to him. The father, full of joy, 
 went out into the road to seek a godfather for her. He 
 meets a man. 
 
 * Good-day, where are you going ? What are you 
 seeking?' 
 
 'A godfather to baptise my daughter.' 
 
 ' I will baptise her.' 
 
 He takes him home, and gets things ready. Before 
 the christening the godfather hears the Fates, and one 
 says, 
 
 ' Let it be written that she shall be eaten by wild 
 beasts !' 
 
 The other says, ' No, but that she shall be burnt by 
 fire!' 
 
 The third says, ' Wait. When she is an eighteen 
 year old maiden, let her be drowned.' And so the three 
 agreed. 
 
 The poor godfather was ready to burst, but he said 
 nothing. He baptised the child, made the bond of 
 godfatherhood with her, and went away. When the 
 eighteenth year was drawing near, he went to his 
 synteknos.'^ 
 
 ' I would ask a favour of you.' 
 
 'Ask two!' 
 
 » See p. 168, note '\ 
 VOL. II. 12
 
 lyS Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Give me my godchild that I may have her with me 
 for a year.' 
 
 Not to lose his friendship, he let her go. The god- 
 father took her home to his town, and gave her a 
 separate chamber where everything was ready to her 
 hand, and water in the cup, so that she had no need to 
 go to the well, for fear she might fall in, at least until 
 the year had passed which had been written for her. 
 One day, when the year had nearly expired, they went 
 to her chamber to keep her company, and saw her plate 
 full of water, and she was lying with her face in it, 
 drowned. When her relations heard of it, they laid the 
 blame on the godfather. 
 
 ' But, my good Christians !^ it was written ! For 
 eighteen years you lived free from care, while I, from 
 the day I baptised her, have been anxious.' 
 
 That which Fate has writ for me, 
 Can by none averted be ! 
 
 a KaXe XpLo-Tiai'ol fx ! A common form of address among the 
 Greek populace, who apply the term ' Christian ' only to members 
 of the Orthodox Church.
 
 KING SLEEP. 
 
 Athens. 
 
 (AeXriov, I., p. 326.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the stor}-. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once upon a time a King and a Queen, 
 and they had a very handsome son, and they called him 
 Sleep. This son did not wish to marr}-. Often the 
 King and the Queen said to him, ' Do get married and 
 have children !' but to no purpose, he would not marry. 
 The Queen set spies to discover if perchance her son 
 was in love with some one, and did not wish to tell her. 
 She set two or three watchers to watch him, to see 
 where he went, and what he did, and tell her. In the 
 neighbourhood, a little way off, lived a very lovely girl, 
 but she was poor. She had no relations, but was all 
 alone in the world. At night when she sat up, she 
 grew sleepy, and to drive away sleep she would say, 
 
 ' Sleep, thou'rt come ! and thou art welcome ! 
 Take the stool, and sit thou patient. 
 While my spinning wheel I'm turning; 
 While I twist and fill the spindle ; 
 Then will we lie down and slumber. 
 In a tight embrace enfolded.' 
 
 This she said every evening when she was sleep}', to 
 drive away her sleepiness. One evening there passed 
 by the watchers whom the Queen had set, and they 
 heard her say, ' Sleep, thou'rt come,' and the rest of it. 
 They went and said to the Queen,
 
 i8o Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' My longlived Queen, over there lives a maiden, very 
 beautiful, and of good reputation. We did not see the 
 Prince go into her house, but every evening we hear 
 her say, 
 
 '" Sleep, thou'rt come ! and thou art welcome ! 
 Take the stool, and sit thou patient. 
 While my spinning wheel I'm turning; 
 While I twist and fill the spindle ; 
 Then will we lie down and slumber, 
 In a tight embrace enfolded." ' 
 
 Said the Queen, ' At what hour did you hear that ? 
 You must take me that I may hear it.' 
 
 In the evening, at the appointed time, the watchers 
 took the Queen, and they went outside the poor girl's 
 window. She went near, the Queen did ; the shutter 
 was closed, but she heard within, ' Sleep, thou'rt come,' 
 and the rest of it. 
 
 Said the Queen, ' It must surely be my son, for there 
 is no one else in the kingdom called Sleep.' Then 
 another day she said, ' Bd, shall my son go and sit on 
 a wooden stool ? — I will send her a sofa and chairs !' 
 
 So she sent her a sofa, and chairs, and money, and 
 they told her that the Queen sent her greetings. 
 
 Said she, ' The Queen ? It must be a mistake ! — To 
 me, a poor girl ? — It must be a mistake !' 
 
 There was an Old Woman out in the courtyard, and 
 she said to her, ' Keep them now that they are sent to 
 thee, it won't do to send them back again.' 
 
 So she sent her thanks, and when the Queen's people 
 had gone, the Old Woman said, 
 
 ' Listen to me, my child, and do whatever I bid thee, 
 for thou hast no one greater than me to counsel thee.' 
 (This Old Woman was the girl's Fate.) Some little time
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. i8i 
 
 passed, and the Queen again sent her presents. One 
 day the Old Woman said to her, ' If the Queen comes 
 here to see thee, tell her thou art going to have a child.' 
 
 ' But how could I tell her such a thing ! — I, a maiden, 
 to say that I am going to have a child !' 
 
 ' Listen to me who am speaking to thee,' said the Old 
 Woman, ' and thou wilt not repent it.' 
 
 The Old Woman goes to a carpenter and orders a 
 male child of wood, with hands, and feet. One day the 
 Queen passed by, and went into the girl's house. She 
 said, 
 
 ' How art thou, my child, art thou well ?' 
 
 'What shall I do,' she replied, 'for some months 
 past I have not been well.' 
 
 Then the Queen understood, and sent her birds' milk 
 to drink. Hard by there lived another poor woman 
 who was going to have a baby. The time came, and 
 her child was born. Then the Fate went and told the 
 girl to take to her bed as if she were a lying-in woman, 
 and by her side she put the wooden child, and covered 
 it with a gold embroidered kerchief. The Fates went 
 on the third night to decree the destiny of the neigh- 
 bour's child, and this Fate wished also to go and settle 
 its destiny. They also invited a Laughterless Fate, 
 who never laughed, to take her with them. They said 
 to her, 
 
 ' Come, and let us go, and do thou also decree.' 
 
 It was many years since she had laughed, and that 
 was why they called her ' The Laughterless Fate.' She 
 arose, and they went first to the woman who had borne 
 a child. They said that the poor woman's child should 
 become a good man, and prosperous. The Laughter- 
 less Fate told him nothing, either good or bad. When 
 they came out at the door, said the Old Woman,
 
 1 82 Gi^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Let us go and destine here where another poor 
 woman has had a child.' She had told the mock- 
 mother whatever happened not to laugh at anything. 
 
 Then the Fates came in, the mock-mother heard 
 their voices, but said nothing, and was silent. Said the 
 Old Woman to the Laughterless Fate, 
 
 ' Here thou must first decree,' and she raised the 
 kerchief, and the Laughterless Fate saw the wooden 
 child, and split her sides with laughing. 
 
 * Ou ! it made me laugh, who for so many years have 
 not laughed !' 
 
 ' Since it is so many years since you laughed, and 
 you laugh now, you ought to wish that he may become 
 human.' 
 
 Then said the Laughterless Fate to him, ' I destine 
 thee to become human, with blood, with flesh, with 
 hair, as real children are.' 
 
 Said the second Fate, ' And I destine thee, and give 
 thee speech, and knowledge, and brains.' 
 
 Said the third, the Old Woman, ' And I destine thee, 
 my child, to become a king exactly the same as King 
 Sleep, even a mole which he has on his cheek thou 
 shalt have too ; and when the Prince sees thee, thou 
 shalt find thy way into his heart, and he shall love 
 thee.' 
 
 The Fates arose, and went away. Then the child 
 became alive, and began to cry — he wanted milk. 
 Then said the girl, 
 
 ' What shall I do ? I am ashamed before the world.' 
 The Fate came back (her own), and took him and got 
 him nursed, and brought him back to his mother. In 
 the morning the Moira took him, and carried him 
 straight to the Queen, and said, 
 
 'Your daughter has been delivered, and has borne
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 183 
 
 this child ; he is the image of your son, Sleep. See ! he 
 has even a mole on the cheek !' 
 
 The Queen took it from her arms, and carried it in 
 to her son. She said to him, 
 
 ' My son, have done now with deceit ; thou art lucky 
 at last, and long mayst thou live ! Let us bring my 
 daughter-in-law too — a'i ! what matter ? — she is poor, 
 but honest, and she shall be Queen !' 
 
 Said he, ' What sayest thou, mother ? I don't under- 
 stand a bit.' 
 
 ' Come, now, have done with that now ; we will send 
 and fetch her here ; she must not stay in that little 
 house.' 
 
 Then said he, ' I will go and see what it is all about ; 
 where did she see me, and where did I see her ?' 
 
 The Fate took him, and said, ' Come, let us go, I 
 know the house.' 
 
 As they went along the road she fated him to love 
 her [the girl]. The Prince went in, the maiden was 
 seated spinning. When the Prince saw her, she started 
 to her feet, she knew not who it was. She said, 
 
 * Who are you, and what do you seek that you have 
 come here ?' 
 
 ' What ! Thou knowest me not ? Thou sayest that 
 thou hast had a child by me, and thou knowest me 
 not?' 
 
 Then she sat down and told him all the story, and 
 how at even, when she was falling asleep, she said, 
 
 ' " Sleep, thou'rt come! and thou art welcome ! 
 Take the stool, and sit thou patient, 
 W^hile the spinning wheel I'm turning; 
 While I twist and fill the spindle." 
 
 ' Now, my King, thou canst do what thou wilt. I
 
 184 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 knew nothing of what was going on ; the Queen sent 
 me things, and I could not send them back.' 
 
 He did not speak, but sat still. Then said the Old 
 Woman, 
 
 ' I will tell thee something, my son. I am thy Fate 
 and hers, and I did all this, and made the child of 
 wood, and the Laughterless Fate destined it, and it 
 became a man ; for I saw that thou hadst no mind to 
 marry, and that thy kingdom would perish, and now 
 thy kingdom is saved. Only wed her, my son, she is a 
 good and honest girl, and you will live happy and 
 fortunate.' 
 
 He took a carriage for the Fate and himself and the 
 maiden, so that they might go to the palace. When 
 the carriage stopped, the Prince got out, and gave his 
 hand to help out first the Old Woman, and afterwards 
 the maiden, but the Old Woman had vanished. Then 
 he understood that she was really a Fate ; and so he 
 took the girl by the hand, and led her upstairs to his 
 mother. There were music, and drums, and great re- 
 joicings. The wedding took place, and they took a 
 nurse for the child, and lived happy and prosperous. 
 And we happier !
 
 THE GOOD FATE.^' 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXTLOv, I., p. 637.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a Queen, and she had an 
 only son. The Queen was very wicked and ill-tempered, 
 as we shall presently see. But though the Queen was 
 so wicked and ill-tempered, the Prince was as good and 
 kind as he could be. At home the Queen was like a 
 wild beast, or a Lamia, and was always on the look- 
 out to devour them with her words. The Prince, not 
 knowing what else to do, so as not to hear all the 
 scolding that went on, went often out hunting. On 
 one of the many occasions that he went a-hunting, he 
 was sitting on a rock to rest when he heard voices be- 
 hind the rock. He strained his ears to hear what they 
 said. Said one, 
 
 ' My dear, the Prince is out hunting.' 
 
 ' Indeed ; when is he going to marry ?' said another. 
 
 Said the third (for they were three girls who were 
 speaking), ' If the King would marry me, I would 
 become his slave, or anj-thing he liked.' 
 
 Said the second, ' But if he married me, I would 
 come and go, and bid him welcome when he came 
 home from hunting, and take his gun from his hands, 
 and say, " Art thou weary, my long-lived King ?" and 
 even if he were to bid me throw myself into the well, I 
 would do it to please him.' 
 
 Said the third, ' If he married me, I would bear him 
 three princes who would shine like the sun. The one 
 would have golden hair, the second golden ankles, and 
 the third a golden star on his forehead,'
 
 1 86 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' But if thou shouldst not bear those golden children ? 
 — as if it were in thy power !' 
 
 ' Well, if I don't, let him drive me away, let him do 
 with me what he will. But I should bear him those 
 three golden children, for my Fate foretold it when she 
 told my fortune. My mother was awake on the third 
 night, when they fated me, and she told me, for she 
 heard it.' 
 
 Then they laughed and said, ' Ai', let us go home hke 
 princesses as we are !' 
 
 The King heard all that the maidens said, and 
 suddenly — pop ! he appeared before them. When they 
 saw him, they were afraid, and were about to run away. 
 But he said, 
 
 ' Stay, don't run away ! Which of you three is she 
 who is to bear me the three princes? — the golden-haired, 
 the golden-ankled, and the one with the golden star on 
 his forehead ?' 
 
 She who had said this made no answer, but cast 
 down her eyes, for she was the youngest, and more 
 beautiful than the other two. 
 
 Then the eldest said, ' Nd ! this one, my long-lived 
 King.' 
 
 Then the King says to the 3'oungest, ' I will take 
 thee home with me now, and either thou wilt bear me 
 the three princes as thou hast said, or I will send thee 
 back to thy mother.' 
 
 So he took her, and went to the palace. When the 
 Oueen saw her, she said to her son, 
 
 ' Bd ! where hast thou found this game thou hast 
 brought us ?' 
 
 ' Mother mine, I beg of thee to have her bathed and 
 dressed in royal clothes, and she will bear me three 
 golden princes ; the one will be golden-haired, the
 
 /. MytJioloi^ical — (///.) Supernalist. 187 
 
 second golden-ankled, and the third will have a golden 
 star on his forehead.' 
 
 Then his mother laughed a mocking laugh and said, 
 ' Thy slaves are there, command them what thou wilt !' 
 And the Queen went away into her chamber. 
 
 Then the slaves took the maiden, and led her down 
 to the bath, and bathed her, and adorned her. They 
 took her to the King, and he loved her very much, for 
 she was very good. After a time, when she was about 
 to have a child, word came for the King to go to the 
 wars. Then he begged his mother very earnestly to see 
 what kind of child his wife would have. 
 
 ' Very well,' said she, ' do thou go to the war, and I 
 will look after thy wife.' 
 
 The King took leave of her and took leave of his 
 wife, and set out to go and fight in Lombardy. His 
 wife wept as if she knew, poor thing, what grief was 
 in store for her. Well, the King went to Lombardy, 
 and his wife remained in the palace, and after a little 
 while her baby was born. She called the Queen, and 
 the Queen called the nurse and other people, and when 
 the baby came into the world, it lighted up all the 
 chamber. 
 
 Said the Queen to one of her people, 
 
 ' Wrap it up well, and go and throw it out for the 
 dogs to eat.' 
 
 When the servant came down and went outside the 
 door, there was an Old Woman there, and she said, 
 
 ' Where art thou going with that child ?' 
 
 Said he, ' Nd ! a slave has given birth to it, and I 
 am going to cast it away.' 
 
 ^OxM give it to me, and mayst thou prosper! My 
 daughter-in-law has borne a dead child, and I will tell 
 her that this is hers.'
 
 i88 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The Old Woman took it and went away. This Old 
 Woman was the young mother's Fate, who had changed 
 herself into an old crone. Well, she took the child, 
 and went away. When the poor young mother was 
 laid on her bed, she said, 
 
 ' Where is my baby ? — let me see it.' 
 
 ' Baby indeed 1 Thine was a dead child, and we have 
 cast it away ! ' 
 
 The poor woman said nothing, but she cried a little, 
 and then was quiet. Some time passed, and the King 
 came back from Lombardy. He went to his mother, 
 kissed her hand, and said, 
 
 * Where is my wife, and what kind of a child has 
 she had ?' 
 
 ' iYrt / She has had a dead child, and we threw it 
 away over there ; thy wife is well.' 
 
 Then he went to his wife, and saw her, and she wept. 
 
 ' Ai !' said the Prince to her, ' it is because thou wert 
 sad that thy child was born dead. A'i ! Never mind, 
 thou wilt have another.' 
 
 Some time passed, and again she was about to have 
 a child. Hardly had the month begun in which it was 
 to be born, than word came again for the King to go 
 and fight against the Saracens. He was very much 
 grieved at having to leave his wife again at the time 
 her baby was to be born, but what could he do ? And 
 she wept. Said he, 
 
 ' Don't fret, or this child which thou bearest in thy 
 bosom will die too. Only be patient, and I will soon 
 come back.' 
 
 A few days after her husband's departure the pains of 
 labour came upon her, and again the same servant was 
 at hand. Another child was born, and the house was 
 lighted up, for the baby was golden-ankled. Again the
 
 /. MytJiological — (///.) Supernalist. 189 
 
 servant wrapped it in a sheet. He went to cast it away, 
 and again the Old Woman was there, and she persuaded 
 him to give it to her, and went away. Said the young 
 mother, 
 
 ' Where is my baby ? Let me see it !' 
 
 ' Nd I Thou hast borne a horror ! And as soon as 
 it was born, it fled, and we don't know what has become 
 of it. But I wish my son joy of his choice !' 
 
 The poor young mother said nothing ; she must be 
 patient — what can she do ? What can she say ? The 
 King came back from the Saracens' land. He went 
 again to his mother, kissed her hand, as usual, and 
 asked her, 
 
 ' Mother mine, how is my wife, what child has she 
 borne ?' 
 
 * A horror. And as soon as it was born it went we 
 know not where.' 
 
 ' A'i r sighed the King, he was beginning to suspect 
 something, but what could he do ? — could he accuse his 
 mother ? 
 
 He went and found his wife, and comforted her by 
 saying that she would have other children, and that 
 cloud passed by. Some time passed and the King's 
 wife was again going to have a child. About the seventh 
 or eighth month, word came for him to go to Venice. 
 Imagine the grief of the Prince and of his wife ! — but 
 what could he do ? She threw herself on his neck and 
 wept, and he set off to go to Venice. The appointed 
 time came, and the Prince's wife was delivered, and she 
 bore a child with a golden star on his forehead, and all 
 the house was lighted up. Again the servant folds it in 
 a cloth, and takes the bundle down to the road. The 
 Old Woman was there. She seizes hold of it, and takes 
 it to the others. Says the mother.
 
 190 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 ' Where is my baby ? — let me see it !' 
 
 ' A^<^' / Didn't you see that you bore a great snake, 
 and it roused our ire, for it was five pikhs long !'^ 
 
 ' Why, I saw that it lighted up the whole house !' 
 
 ' Ah ! that was the serpent's eyes ! and he took a 
 spring and broke the window, and went away to the 
 mountains.' 
 
 When a few days had passed the poor woman began 
 to weep and to cry, 
 
 ' I gave birth to three lovely children ! — and you have 
 cast them away !' 
 
 Then the Queen got very angry, and she ordered 
 them to throw her into the ash-pit, where all the dirty 
 ashes fell. And whoever pitied her threw her dry bits 
 through the grating. A long time passed, a year, three 
 years, before the King returned this time from Venice. 
 He came back from Venice, went to his mother, kissed 
 her hand, and said to her, 
 
 ' How is my wife ? Has she given birth ? And what 
 has she borne ?' 
 
 ' Your wife, my son, deserted you years ago. As soon 
 as you had gone, she beat her breast, and carried on, 
 and did not wait to be confined, but went away with 
 that she had in her bosom.' 
 
 Then the King was grieved exceedingly, and he wept. 
 He went to his chamber, so that no one might see him, 
 and locked himself in. Two of the King's friends went 
 and said to him, 
 
 ' My King, will you not come out hunting ? — all this 
 is destiny.' 
 
 They took him, and went out hunting. They hunted, 
 but he did not hunt, but only went and sat on the rock 
 where he had first seen his wife, and meditated. One 
 
 ^ About four yards.
 
 /. Afyt/io logical — (///•) Stipcrnalist. 191 
 
 day he saw at a distance three little children on the 
 road, the one had beautiful golden hair, the other had 
 golden ankles, and the other had a golden star on the 
 forehead. Said the one, 
 
 ' Langouverdie !' 
 
 ' Yes, Saritsinie !' 
 
 ' Tuck up our Venetsana's apron, that she may not 
 dirty it, and our father and mother scold us !' 
 
 When the King saw them, he wept, and said, ' Just 
 such children my wife said that she would bear me !' 
 When he heard them say, * Langouverdie !' * Yes, 
 Saritsinie !' ' Tuck up Venetsana's apron that it may 
 not get dirty, and our father and mother scold us,' he 
 remembered that when he was gone to Lombardy his 
 wife bore her first child ; the second when he had gone 
 to the Saracens' land ; and the third when he went to 
 Venice. He called the children to him, and said, 
 
 ' Come here, my children. Whose are you ?' 
 
 ' Our father's and our mother's.' 
 
 ' Where are your father and jour mother ?' 
 
 ' Do we know where they are ?' 
 
 ' But with whom do you live then ?' 
 
 'With our MamniHsa (nurse).' 
 
 ' Will you come with me to the palace, for I am the 
 King ?' 
 
 ' We will ask our Mammitsa, and if she will let us, 
 we will come, of course we will.' 
 
 ' Go then, and ask her, and come and tell me, but be 
 quick.' 
 
 Then the two little boys put Venetsana between 
 them, and took hold of her hands, for she was the 
 youngest ; and the King looked after them, and his 
 heart ached, and he said, 
 
 ' Ach ! If those children were only mine !'
 
 192 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The children went to their Nurse, and said to her, 
 * He who is sitting on the hill is the King, and he has 
 asked us to go to the palace — shall we go ?' 
 
 ' Go, and they will give you to eat ; but when they 
 put food on your plates, say, " We will not eat un- 
 less our dear mother eats too," and they will ask you, 
 " Where is your dear mother ?" then you must do so,"^ 
 and you will see some iron bars across a little window, 
 and 3^ou must say, " Our dear mother is in there !" and 
 a woman will come out at that hole ; she will put out 
 her head, and it will be covered with ashes, and her 
 hair all uncombed and dirty. You must say to her, 
 *' Eat, dear mother, who hast suffered so much for our 
 sakes when we were born." And if they don't show 
 you your mother, don't eat, but fall on the King's neck 
 and say to him, " Give us our mother !" ' 
 
 The children returned to the King, and said, ' Our 
 Mammitsa allows us to go with you !' 
 
 When the children had gone to the King, the Fate 
 immediately disappeared. The King took the children, 
 and brought them to the palace. When the old Queen 
 saw them, she had serpents enow.^ The King com- 
 manded them to give the children to eat. They took 
 their little plates in their hands, and said, 
 
 ' We will not eat unless our little mother eats first !' 
 
 ' And where is your little mother ?' asked the King. 
 
 ' She is in there, behind those bars !' and they ran 
 with their plates, all three of them, and went up to 
 the bars. ' Eat ! mother dear !' they cried, * who hast 
 suffered so much for us when we were born !' 
 
 She runs up to the window, and seizes the plates of 
 soup ; and, one by one, she empties all three. 
 
 "^ I.e., raise their heads and look up. 
 '' 'Ej'ti^jjKe 's TCI (piioia.
 
 /. Mythological — {III) Szipernalist. 19 
 
 -> 
 
 'O, my dear!' says her mother-in-law, 'have you 
 supped all three ?' 
 
 ' I bore three children, and three platesful will I eat !' 
 
 Then the Prince turned and said to his mother, 
 
 ' Ach ! mother, didst thou not pity me ? Didst thou 
 not pity her ? Didst thou not pity these three little 
 children, but cast them out on the road ?' And he 
 ordered them to take her out of the ash-pit, and wash 
 her, and put royal garments on her, and bring her up- 
 stairs. 
 
 Then came the Old Woman, the Fate who had 
 brought them up, and she said to the King, 
 
 ' When thou wast in Lombardy thy wife gave birth 
 to this one ' (pointing to the lirst with the golden hair), 
 ' and for that reason he is called Langouverdio. When 
 thou wert in the Saracen's land, Saritsinie was born — 
 this one with the golden ankles. And when thou wert 
 in Venetia, this Venetsana with the golden star on her 
 forehead. And they cast them away, and I took them 
 and nourished them. And now take my blessing, and 
 live happily with thy wife and children.' 
 
 And as the Old Woman was giving her blessing, his 
 wife came and threw herself on his neck and embraced 
 him, and embraced her children, and the Old Woman 
 vanished. Then the King at once ordered music and 
 drums and great rejoicings. And he married her, and 
 they lived happy. But it was more than his mother 
 could bear ; and in forty days she burst. And the 
 children went to her grave and wept, and sometimes 
 their father and mother went, too, and they all wept 
 together. 
 
 VOL. 11. 13
 
 THE ARCHONTAS AND HIS THREE 
 DA UGHTERS. 
 
 Cyprus. 
 
 (Sakellarios, III., p. 147.) 
 
 There was once an drchontas, and he had three 
 daughters. Well, they grew up, but as he couldn't 
 find husbands for them, he didn't know what to do. 
 So he bethought him, my lady, of having his daughters' 
 likenesses painted and hung up in front of the door of 
 the house, so that the passers-by might see them, and he 
 might get a son-in-law. 
 
 The place where this drchontas lived was by the sea- 
 shore, and many vessels came from other lands and 
 touched there. At last, my lady, one day a captain of 
 one of the ships saw these likenesses. He took a 
 fancy to that of the youngest, and went and asked her 
 father for her. But her father was not willing to give 
 her to him, because he wished to get the two eldest 
 married first, and the youngest afterwards. But this 
 captain wanted the youngest, and the father's friends 
 advised him to agree to give her, so as to make a good 
 beginning. So at last, my lady, he consented ; and in 
 a few days the wedding took place. When they had 
 crowned them, all the relatives and friends went away 
 and left them alone together. Then the bride laid her- 
 self down on her walnutwood bedstead ; but when the 
 bridegroom went to sleep by her side, the wall was 
 rent, and a Phantasm came out and said to him, 
 
 * Leave thou Rosa (for that was the bride's name), for 
 Rosa must marry her father ; by her father she will
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Snpernalisi. 195 
 
 have a child ; and in time she will take that child for 
 her husband.' 
 
 When the bridegroom heard all that, he went without 
 saying a word to anyone to find his father-in-law, and 
 told him that he had made a mistake and that it was 
 his eldest daughter he wanted, and not the youngest. 
 The father was glad to find that he wanted the eldest, 
 and they were married. Then the husband took his 
 wife and returned to his own country. 
 
 Not long afterwards, there came another suitor who 
 also liked the youngest best. Not to make a long story 
 of it, the same thing happened to him as had happened 
 to the first husband, so that poor Rosa, after being 
 crowned along with one husband and then another, 
 remained husbandless. When some time had passed, 
 Rosa fell into thought, but could not understand why 
 two husbands should have wed her and both have 
 abandoned her. She, however, bethought herself of a 
 plan, and begged her father to let her go on a visit to 
 her sisters as she wanted to see them, so that she might 
 find out why her husbands had left her. Her father 
 gave her leave, and she set out. 
 
 When she was come to the place where her eldest 
 sister lived, she saw her maid at the well, where she had 
 come to fetch a pitcher of water. She knew her and 
 called to her, 
 
 ' Take this ring and give it to thy mistress, and I will 
 wait out here for her answer.' 
 
 A few minutes afterwards the maid came back and 
 begged her to come in, for her mistress wished to see 
 her. She found her sister all alone, and they sat 
 down. 
 
 * Sister dear,' said she, ' I longed for thee and came 
 to see thee, and I want thee to do me a favour. To-
 
 T96 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 night when thou goest to sleep with thy husband, thou 
 must put out the lamp, come out of thy walnutwood 
 bed, and I will get in.' 
 
 ' Very gladly,' replied her sister, ' why not ? All that 
 thou wilt I will do for thee.' 
 
 When night came, her sister did as she had asked her. 
 She left her husband, and Rosa laid down by him. 
 Then, as if she had been his wife, she said, 
 
 ' Long as I have had thee for husband I have always 
 forgotten to ask the reason why thou didst wed my 
 youngest sister and then didst leave her ?' 
 
 Then he told her all that had happened. 
 
 When Rosa had learnt this, she left the walnutwood 
 bed, and her sister came back to it. The next day she 
 set off to see her other sister ; and when she had learnt 
 the same thing from her husband, she returned home, 
 saying to herself, 
 
 ' No, I will not take my father for my husband as the 
 Phantasm said, but I will hire men to kill him.' 
 
 So, my lady, a few days afterwards she hired men 
 who killed her father ; and they took the corpse and 
 buried it in a field outside the town. Over the grave 
 where they had buried her father there sprang up an 
 apple-tree which bore beautiful apples. 
 
 Then one day, my lady, Rosa saw a man selling 
 apples ; she called him, bought some, ate them, and 
 became pregnant, Some time afterwards she became 
 ^reat with child, and knew not the cause. By-and-by, 
 however, she learnt that an apple-tree had grown up 
 from her father's grave and she remembered that she 
 had eaten of those apples. Then she said to herself 
 again, 
 
 ' I will not let the Phantasm's words come true ; for, 
 as soon as the child is born, I shall kill it.'
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 197 
 
 When she gave birth, she took the child, gave it 
 several stabs with a knife in the breast, put it in a box 
 which she nailed up carefully, and threw it into the sea. 
 As the wind was blowing seawards, it carried away the 
 box to the Pelagos. It so happened that a merchant- 
 ship was passing, and the captain of the vessel saw it, 
 and said to his men, 
 
 ' Lower a boat, and pick up that box. If there is 
 anything of value in it, it shall be yours ; but if there is 
 a living being, it shall be mine.' 
 
 So they lowered the boat and picked up the coffer, 
 and found inside it an infant bathed in its blood. Then 
 the captain took it and adopted it as his son. When 
 many years had passed the captain died, and left all his 
 goods to his adopted son. 
 
 The child when he grew up followed the calling of his 
 father, and sailed from place to place. In one of his 
 many voyages he happened to land in his mother's 
 country, and seeing her house-door, he asked whose 
 were the likenesses that were at that door. Then they 
 told him the story of the three sisters, and also that the 
 youngest was not yet married. 
 
 ' Then I,' said he, ' will take her for my wife.' 
 
 So he married her. And when a good many years 
 had passed, and children were born to them, one da)'- 
 she saw him changing his shirt, and noticed on his 
 breast the marks of the stabs which she had given him 
 before putting him in the coffer. She then grew sus- 
 picious and asked him, 
 
 * Wilt not tell me what are these marks that thou hast 
 on thy breast ?' 
 
 He then told her that he had never known either 
 father or mother, but that a captain had found him on 
 the Pelagos in a coffer and had saved him and adopted
 
 198 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 him as his child. * And after the death of my father [he 
 added], I inherited his goods, and followed his calling, 
 and I came to this country and wedded thee. That is 
 all I know.' 
 
 Then Rosa said, ' My evil Fate still pursues me ! 
 Thou art my son ! And now that what the Phantasm 
 foretold has come to pass, I leave thee grieving and my 
 children orphans. As for me, I must die, for such was 
 my fate.' 
 
 And she left him, and threw herself from a terrace, 
 and was killed.
 
 THE CAP OF INVISIBILITY,^ OR THE 
 BEWITCHED PRINCESS. 
 
 Athens. 
 
 {AeXTLov, L, p. 693.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a very wealthy King, and 
 he had an only daughter who was so lovely that every- 
 one thought she must be a Nereid. This Princess was 
 sought in marriage by many, many Princes, but she did 
 not wish to marry. Her father every evening put a new 
 pair of satin slippers under her pillow, and in the morn- 
 ing they were found worn out. Whoever came to ask 
 for her, he said to them, 
 
 ' If you find out how her shoes become thus, I will 
 give you her to wife, will she or nill she.' 
 
 As the fame of her beauty had spread to all the 
 kingdoms, there came Princes from the four quarters of 
 the inhabited world to guess the riddle and take her to 
 wife, but in vain. None of them could find it out, and 
 they killed them all. One Prince who was very hand- 
 some, and an only son, said to his parents, said he, 
 
 ' I will go and find out how her slippers get worn out 
 under her pillow !' 
 
 His parents said to him ' Bre ! my good boy ! Bre I 
 my bad boy ! What dost want ? What dost seek ? 
 Seest thou not how many princes have lost their lives ?' 
 
 He heeded them not. 
 
 ' I will go ! I will go !' 
 
 Ah well ! his parents saw how it was with him, and 
 they prepared for his going. He kissed the hands of 
 his father and mother, and left. On the road as he 
 went, he met an Old Woman. Said he,
 
 200 Greek Folk-Pj^ose. 
 
 ' Good day, mother !' 
 
 ' Glad to see you, my boy ! May I ask where you are 
 going ?' repHed the Old Woman. 
 
 ' What shall I say, mother ? I am going to such and 
 such a Princess, who has slain so many Princes, 
 because they could not find out the puzzle she set 
 them.' 
 
 ' And what is the puzzle she sets them ?' asked the Old 
 Woman. 
 
 ' They put every evening a pair of satin slippers 
 [under her pillow] , and in the morning they are found 
 worn out.' 
 
 ' Ah, my boy, the one who finds that out must have 
 a head and feet too !' 
 
 ' I, mother, have a head and feet too, and I am 
 determined either to make her my wife, or be slain.' 
 
 ' I pity thy youth,' said the Old Woman, ' and I will 
 give thee something so that they shall not kill thee. 
 Here, take this cap ' — she gives him a cap of white felt — 
 ' and when you put it on and wear it you will be invisible. 
 Here ! wait, I will put it on, and thou wilt see if I am 
 visible.' When she put it on she became invisible. 
 ' There ! you see, my boy ! It is called the " Cap of 
 Invisibility." The Princess to whom you are going 
 has to do with " Outside Princesses. "^^ And when you are 
 there, and are sitting at table, there will be two bottles 
 of wine. That which they will place before you will 
 have a potion in it, and you must manage not to drink 
 it. She will say, "Drink! Drink!" and you must 
 pretend to drink, but have under your beard a sponge ; 
 and when you are making believe to drink the wine, pour 
 it into the sponge, and then pretend to sleep. While 
 you arc feigning sleep, watch what she does. If you see 
 her go out of the door, put on the Cap of Invisibility
 
 /. MytJiological — (///.) Supernalist. 201 
 
 and go softly, softly behind her. The rest, my boy, I 
 leave to thee, but I think that thou wilt win her.' 
 
 ' For the counsel thou hast given me, mother, what 
 can I give thee in return ?' asked the Prince. 
 
 ' Nothing, my boy, do I want, for I am thy Fate.' 
 This said, she disappeared. 
 
 The Prince took the cap, put it on his head and 
 became invisible. He went on his way, and came to 
 the palace of the Princess's father. He presented him- 
 self before the Princess's father, and said to him, 
 
 ' My long-lived King, I have come for thy daughter, 
 tell me what I must do to gain her for my wife ?' 
 
 ' First tell me who thou art, my boy ?' 
 
 ' I am a Prince, and an only son, the son of such and 
 such a King,' said the Prince. ' And I heard of thy 
 daughter's beauty, and came to get her for my wife, or 
 die.' 
 
 ' What shall I say, my boy ? I pity thy youth !' said 
 the King. 
 
 * Well ! tell me what I must do, and perhaps I can 
 do it.' 
 
 ' What shall I say, my boy ? — for three years past, 
 since she was fifteen years old, we put under her pillow 
 a pair of shoes, and in the morning they are found worn 
 out, and no one can find out how this thing happens, 
 and many Princes we have slain— to our great sorrow.' 
 
 ' Well ! let me try my luck too !' said the Prince. 
 
 Then the King clapped his hands,^ and a servant 
 came, and he conducted the Prince to the Princess. 
 
 When the Princess saw him, she rose to her feet and 
 said to the servant, ' Is not my father weary of sending 
 them to me ? Sit down,' she said to the Prince, and 
 ordered them to lay the table for dinner. 
 
 * The usual way of calling a servant in the East.
 
 202 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The slaves came in, and spread a great table with 
 sweetmeats and food, and many kinds of fruit, and two 
 bottles of wine. Said she, 
 
 ' Come and let us dine, my Prince !' 
 
 They sat down to table, and she talked and joked, 
 and said to him, 
 
 ' Why don't you drink some wine ?' 
 
 * O ! I will drink a little at a time, because it goes to 
 my head.' 
 
 She poured some out of the bottle and drank it. 
 Afterwards she took hold of his bottle, and filled his 
 glass half full. 
 
 * Let me drink to your health !' 
 
 He bent down as if to drink, and poured the wine 
 under his beard, but did not put any into his mouth. 
 When he had emptied his glass, he said, 
 
 ' Ouf ! I feel giddy, I will go outside for a little 
 while!' 
 
 He went outside, squeezed the sponge on the spot 
 where he stood, and then put it back under his beard' 
 and went in again. He came in and said, * I don't feel 
 well,' and as soon as he had said that he fell down like 
 one fainting. Said the Princess, 
 
 ' There he goes too ! Take him,' said she to the 
 servants, ' and put him on that bed.' 
 
 When night came, and everyone was asleep in the 
 palace, our good Princess gets up, dresses herself very 
 carefully, puts on her diamonds, puts on her fine shoes 
 which were under the pillow, and then opens a cup- 
 board and takes out of it two Wands, one of silver and 
 the other of gold, and turns and says to the Prince, 
 
 ' Your head will go, too, to find those of the other 
 Princes !' 
 
 When she had got as far as the door, he got up, put
 
 /. Mythological — {III.) Supernalist. 203 
 
 on the Cap of Invisibility, and followed her softly, softly. 
 She leaned the silver Wand against the door, and the 
 door opened of itself. She went down the steps of the 
 palace and up to the great door, put the golden Wand 
 against it, and the door opened. Then she set off on 
 her journey, she in front, and he behind wearing the Cap 
 of Invisibility. She went on, and on, through lonely 
 places and thorns and pitchy darkness, and still she 
 went on. Now and again she heard a noise behind her 
 among the branches, but as she saw nobody, she again 
 went on her way. He tramped, and tramped, and at 
 last he saw a great palace, all brilliantly lighted up from 
 top to bottom. When they saw her coming, three 
 beautiful Princesses took each a lamp and came down 
 to receive her. They were Princesses of the ' Outside 
 Ones.' They had seen her at a dance three years 
 before and all three had taken a fancy to her ; and that 
 was why she did not marry, but went there to amuse 
 herself. When they saw her, they embraced her and 
 
 said, 
 
 ' Why are you so late, my e}-es, in coming to-night ?' 
 ' What shall I say ? My father sent me a foolish 
 
 Prince, and I had to see and bother about sending him 
 
 to sleep. To-morrow, however, he will find his match. 
 
 And as I came along the road, it seemed to me that I 
 
 heard something following behind, and I was frightened. 
 
 Could it have been a snake ? — what could it ha\-e been ? 
 
 perhaps one of the " Outside Ones " ?' 
 
 ' Bd, Bd, Bd ! it was nothing of the kind,' said the 
 
 Princesses, ' for we hold them all bound ; it was your 
 
 fancy ! ' 
 
 They lifted her and carried her up the steps,^'' and 
 
 behind came he with the invisible cap. On the top step 
 
 was a great flowerpot, all of gold ; and in the golden
 
 204 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 flowerpot was a tree like a willow, all diamonds and 
 coral. When they had gone in, he with the Cap on 
 broke off a branch and hid it in his bosom. They sat 
 down to table, and above shone a splendid diamond 
 chandelier. The plate the Princess ate from, and her 
 fork, and her spoon, were all of diamonds and rubies. 
 When they had well dined, they went into a fine large 
 saloon to amuse themselves, and he took her plate, and 
 her fork, and her spoon, and put them in his bosom and 
 hid them well. Afterwards there was brought a basin, 
 and they poured water [on her hands] and she wiped 
 them on a gold-embroidered napkin, and when she had 
 dried them she threw the napkin on a stool, and he in 
 the Cap went behind and took it. Then the Princesses 
 took each one a lamp and accompanied the Princess to 
 the door, and she went away. The Prince with the Cap 
 of Invisibility took the same road, and followed behind 
 her all the way, and came to the palace. She took out 
 the golden Wand, the door opened, and pop ! he went in 
 after her. She went upstairs, again opened the door 
 with the silver Wand, and went in, and he behind her. 
 When she went to undress, he went to his bed, 
 stretched himself out, and lay like one dead. When 
 she had undressed and put away her diamonds, and put 
 away her Wands, she took off her shoes, now all ragged, 
 and put them under her pillow. She then went and 
 looked at him, and laughed. 
 
 * I have you now, and I have you for to-morrow.' 
 God dawned the day, and the King sent to see the 
 shoes from under her pillow — they were in tatters. 
 Then the King sent two men, and they called the 
 Prince, and he said to him, 
 
 ^ A'i ! my boy, the shoes are in rags, can you tell us 
 how they have become ragged?'
 
 /. MytJiological — (///•) Siipenialist. 205 
 
 ' My long-lived King, you must call a council ; let 
 your Councillors come, and your Viziers, and then 
 I will speak.' 
 
 When the council was assembled all around, then 
 said the Prince, 
 
 ' You will do me yet one more favour.' 
 
 ' Speak,' said the King, 'what do you ask ?' 
 
 ' Let the Princess come behind that lattice-'^ up there, 
 and listen.' 
 
 The King at once commanded the Princess to come 
 and sit behind the lattice. When she had come 
 behind the lattice, the Prince began, 
 
 ' You wonder, my long-lived King, how her satin 
 slippers get worn out. How should they not get worn 
 out when all night long she is wandering through the 
 valleys and wildernesses ?' 
 
 * Consider well,' said the King to him, ' and don't 
 tell us lies, or off will go thy head !' 
 
 * A man,' replied the Prince, ' who has resolved to 
 deliver a Princess from death, or to sacrifice his own 
 life, never tells lies.' 
 
 ^ Ail what valleys dost thou mean, and what wilder- 
 nesses?' asked the King. 
 
 ' The evening that the King sent me, and I went in 
 to the Princess, the table was laid and there was one 
 bottle of wine. Afterwards the Princess clapped her 
 hands, and they brought another for me. Then I 
 became suspicious when one kind of wine was set for 
 me, and the Princess drank another. I managed to put 
 my handkerchief under my beard and spilt the wine on 
 it instead of drinking: it.' 
 
 'r-i 
 
 » A screened aperture in a partition-wall of a Turkish house, 
 behind which the women may sit, seeing and hearing everything, 
 while themselves unseen.
 
 2o6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 And he told them all as we know it, about the 
 Wands, and how he went down, and went along the 
 road, and reached the palace — (the Princess began to 
 be uneasy behind the lattice) — and how the three 
 Princesses had come down and received her into the 
 palace. ' On the topmost step,' said the Prince to 
 them, ' is a beautiful golden flowerpot, and inside it 
 a tree, a willow, all of diamond and coral, and here 
 is a piece of it for you, which I cut off as a proof. Is 
 it not from that which was on the steps ? Do you 
 recognise it ?' he asked of the Princess. But she 
 answered never a word. 
 
 The King began to get very uneasy, and pulled his 
 beard. 
 
 ' Then ' [the Prince went on] ' they sat down at the 
 table to dine, and there were the three others and she 
 the fourth. Afterwards they went into a large room to 
 amuse themselves ; and I then took her plate, her spoon, 
 and her knife and fork, all of diamonds,' and as he said 
 this, he took out of his bosom the plate and the other 
 things he mentioned, and showed them. She said not 
 a word, but gnawed the bars in her anxiety. 
 
 * Afterwards they brought a golden basin and jug'^ for 
 her to wash ; one held the basin, the other poured out 
 from the jug, and the third handed the golden napkin, 
 and she wiped [her hands]. And when she had wiped, 
 she threw it on a stool which was near — and, look you, 
 I took that too.' 
 
 Then the King drew his sword and was rushing to 
 kill her — her own father ! 
 
 ' Ach ! three years thou hast been our scourge, wicked 
 skyla ! and hast slain so many Princes, and dost thou 
 still live?' 
 
 » Aeyev6/j,irptKo, the Turkish /eye// and ibrik.
 
 /. MytJwlogical — (///•) Supernalist. 207 
 
 Then the Vizier and all of them threw themselves on 
 the King to hold him, and they said, 
 
 ' My King, would you kill your own child ? Don't 
 you remember that you have no other ? Marry her, 
 give her to him to wife.' 
 
 * Ah ! but let us see if I want her !' said the Prince. 
 ' Oh, it wouldn't do, since you found out the puzzle, 
 not to marry her,' said the others. 
 
 ' I will accept her for my wife on one condition — she 
 must burn her Solomonic books, ^- she must burn her 
 Wands, the silver one and the golden one, and I will 
 take her to my fatherland, and to my parents. And if I 
 find that she does not love me, and is not contented to 
 remain there, I will send her back to you, and you must 
 not be affronted.' Then he asked her, ' Dost thou agree 
 to all this ?' 
 
 ' I agree,' she said. 
 
 Then they set a crier to proclaim—' The Princess has 
 abandoned her witchcraft, and she is going to marry the 
 handsome Prince !' [Then] music, and drums, and 
 great rejoicings. He made her his wife, and they went 
 home to his parents, and for three days and nights they 
 sat at table. I was invited too, but came late : and 
 they gave me a bone, and I sucked it, and sucked it, but 
 couldn't get the marrow out, and my nether-jaw fell. 
 I gave it a kick, and it flew up on the tiles.**^ And 
 neither you nor I were there, so you needn't believe it !
 
 THE MOTHER OF THE SEA, OR THE STORY 
 
 OF YIANKOS.*^ 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeWrjvLKa ^AvdXeKra, B. 37.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a fisherman who had no 
 children, and on that account he was discontented. If 
 he cast his nets, too, he never caught any fish. The 
 first time he brought them up empty ; the second time 
 they were full of seaweed ; the third time they were very 
 heavy, and he said, 
 
 * A'i, now they must be full of fish !' 
 
 He looked, but they were full of sand and mud. So 
 it happened for a month and more, though now and 
 again he would find a small sea-gudgeon hidden in the 
 mud. His poor wife waited every evening in the hope 
 that he would bring something home, and despaired 
 every time when it was only a small sea-gudgeon to 
 cook on the gridiron. What could that avail them ? 
 They were hungry and had no bread. One day, when 
 he had cast his nets, and left them a long time in the 
 sea, he had much difficulty in drawing them up again, 
 but found only quantities of stones and mud, and his 
 nets torn to pieces. ' Ach ! Ach /' he sighed, as he sat 
 in his boat. 
 
 There came up the Mother of the Sea on the foam, 
 and said to him, 
 
 ' Why dost thou sigh so deeply ? Thy sighs wither 
 the very trees !' 
 
 ' I am in despair because for a month and more I 
 have cast my nets without being able to take a single
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Supernalist. 209 
 
 fish. I have no bread to eat, and now my nets are all 
 torn to pieces.' 
 
 ' If you will promise me to bring up a son, well taught 
 and well nourished, and when he is eighteen years of 
 age to bring him to me on the beach as a husband for 
 my youngest daughter — for the two eldest are married 
 — you will catch plenty of fish.' 
 
 ' But I have no children !' 
 
 * Give me thy word, and that will be my business.' 
 He gave his word, thinking, ' What does it matter to me 
 
 what I promise, who have not so much as a puppy dog!' 
 He patched up his nets as well as he could, threw 
 them again, and with that one cast caught a boatload 
 of fish. Having sold them, he went home with his 
 handkerchief full of gold pieces, bought new nets, 
 plenty of bread, wane even, the utmost he could desire. 
 On the following day he cast his new nets, and 
 caught as much fish ; and again he gained a handker- 
 chief full of money. Thus it was day after day, and, as 
 the way of the world is, the other fishermen became 
 jealous of him. But soon the fishermen's wives were 
 jealous too. Months came and months went, the good- 
 wife was full of joy that she was at last to have a child 
 after she had given up all hope of one. But the fisher- 
 man was sad. His wife asked him, 
 
 ' Why, my good man, other people have half a score 
 of children, and don't trouble about it, and we who 
 have wished so much to have a child, should we not 
 thank God instead of being sad ?' 
 
 * How shall I tell you, wife ? The Mother of the Sea 
 made me take an oath to her, and that is why I take 
 the lives of the fish.' 
 
 The woman was much distressed, but what could she 
 do ? — he had promised. At the end of nine months a 
 VOL. II. 14
 
 2IO Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 son was born, and they christened him Yianko, and he 
 was a most beautiful child. They brought him up like 
 the son of a noble, for they were rich ; they sent him to 
 school, and he became a great scholar. When he was 
 eighteen years of age, the Mother of the Sea came out 
 on the foam, and said to the fisherman, 
 
 * It is time to bring me the boy.' 
 
 He returned home, took a sack, and said to his 
 son, ' Follow me !' He took him down to the water's 
 edge, got into the boat, and said to him, * I am going 
 to lish ; do thou gather seaweed here and fill the sack, 
 and stay with it till I return.' 
 
 So the fisherman went in his boat to the deep 
 waters, and said to the Mother of the Sea, ' I have 
 brought him to the beach, and you may go and take 
 him.' 
 
 The Sea threw herself upon him to seize him as he 
 gathered the seaweed. He, being wide awake, and 
 seeing the wave [coming], fled, and the Sea followed 
 him. He took to the fields, and the Sea chased him 
 till he came to a high mountain which she could not 
 climb. So the Sea returned and let him escape. 
 
 The fisherman asked her, ' Eh, did you find the boy ?' 
 
 * He fled, but I shall catch him yet. Will he not 
 come back to the beach ? You have not wronged me, 
 you shall catch fish as before.' 
 
 The youth came down from that mountain, climbed 
 another, and went on, and on. Then he saw an eagle 
 and a lion and a dying ass which they were going to 
 eat, and they were quarrelling about sharing it. When 
 they saw the youth, they called to him — for at that 
 time even the animals talked, so they say — ' Come and 
 divide it for us ; give the bones to the lion and the 
 flesh to the eagle.'
 
 /. Mythological — {///.) Supernalist. 211 
 
 So Yianko takes out his knife, stabs the ass, and kills 
 it, takes out the bones and gives them to the Hon, and 
 the eagle eats the flesh. Then they say to him, 
 
 ' What favour dost thou ask of us ?' 
 
 He, desiring nothing, said, ' What can I expect from 
 you ?' 
 
 Then the eagle plucked a feather from his breast, and 
 said, ' Take care of this feather, and thou wilt not 
 repent it. Whenever thou wilt, thou mayest become 
 an eagle, and, when thou wilt, a man.' 
 
 And the lion pulled out one of his hairs, and said, 
 * Keep this hair, and when thou shalt burn it, I will 
 gather together all the other lions, and we will do thy 
 bidding.' 
 
 The youth hid the hair and the feather safely away in 
 his girdle, and again he put the road before him. At 
 night he slept under a tree. One day he met a 
 shepherd. 
 
 * Good day to you ! Will you take me to tend your 
 sheep, that I may earn my bread ?' 
 
 ' These flocks belong to the King, and the palace is 
 Ave hours' [journey] away. I may not take them 
 nearer, because it is all gardens and fields belonging to 
 other people, which are sown and planted at this season, 
 and there is no pasture to be found. Every morning I 
 carry them a big skin of milk which the King's daughter 
 likes better than anything, and she likes it to be warm. 
 If thou art active, and canst leap like a bird, I will take 
 thee with me.' 
 
 ' I can do more than that, for I can let her have it 
 with the froth still upon it.' 
 
 So the shepherd took him, and they ate together. 
 They slept. While it was still night he milked the skin 
 full, and said, ' Off with thee, this is thy only business !'
 
 2 1 2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The youth took it, and when he had gone a Httle way, 
 he called ' Eagle !' 
 
 He became an eagle, and in the early morning he 
 arrived with the froth upon it. He became a man 
 again, and went up. When the Princess saw him, she 
 looked at him closely, and was more pleased than I 
 can tell you. Said she, ' This is the first time I have 
 seen thee ?' 
 
 ' Your shepherd has taken me as his servant, to bring 
 the milk to you.' 
 
 She asked him a great many questions, for he was 
 handsome, and she had taken a fancy to him. So not 
 to make a long story of it, he carried the milk to her 
 every day as fresh as fresh could be. The Princess 
 always received him kindly and gave him pocket-money 
 in secret. And wasn't he just as fond of her? He 
 observed her fancy for him, and her notice of him, but 
 was shamefaced, because he was but a shepherd. 
 What stratagem does he resort to ? He takes a sackful 
 of grain and throws it on an ants' nest. The ants come 
 swarming out and carry it into their hole. Then they 
 ask him, 
 
 ' What favour desirest thou in return for what thou 
 hast done for us ?' 
 
 ' Only that I may become whenever I wish an ant, 
 like you.' 
 
 The King of the ants pulled out one of his wings and 
 gave it to him, saying, ' Take care of it, and whenever 
 thou wilt thou canst become an ant.' 
 
 He takes it and goes at night to the outside of the 
 palace, and cries, ' Ant !' 
 
 At once he was changed into an ant. He creeps into 
 a cranny of the palace-wall, and enters the Princess's 
 chamber. He saw her lying asleep, and at each corner
 
 /. Alythological — (///. ) Supernalist. 2 i 
 
 o 
 
 of her bed hung a hghted lamp. He became a man, 
 put out the lamps, went to the Princess and embraced 
 her. She awoke and screamed, and he again became 
 an ant. 
 
 Her father, the King, gets up from his bed, and 
 going to her room with a candle, he asks, ' Why didst 
 thou scream ?' 
 
 ' Human hands were embracing me.' 
 
 The King searched here and there — (how should he 
 find the man when he had changed into an ant, and 
 was hidden in a chink of the floor?) — and then said, 
 'Thou must have fancied it, my girl,' and went back to 
 his own chamber and lay down. 
 
 After a little while the ant again became a man, and 
 he pinched her, and again she screamed, and again the 
 King came in. 
 
 * What is the matter ?' 
 
 ' A man pinched me !' 
 
 He looks about, but there was nobody, for the youth 
 had again become an ant. 
 
 ' Thou hast been dreaming, my child, and awoke out 
 of thy sleep, and have spoilt my rest too,' he said, and 
 went away. 
 
 After a little while Yiankos again became a man, and 
 caressed the Princess. Once more she screamed, and 
 once more Yiankos was an ant in the cranny, so that 
 he might not be trod upon. Again the King rises from 
 his bed. 
 
 ' What is the matter again that thou screamest ?' 
 
 ' Papa, I felt a man's hand caressing me !' 
 
 Again the King searched, but found nothing. 
 
 ' Where then is the man ?' he asked. ' The doors 
 are all locked, where could he have gone ? Every hour 
 thou wakest me up unnecessarily until I am itching with
 
 2 14 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 sleepiness ; if thou screamest again I shall whip thee, 
 a thing I have never yet done !' And again he goes back 
 to his chamber. 
 
 Once more the ant becomes a man ; he finds the 
 tinder-box — that was how they struck a light then — and 
 rekindled the lamps, for he knew that if the Princess 
 were again frightened she would call out. When she 
 saw him she said softly, ' My Yianko, was it thou, and 
 all the time I knew it not ? Where didst thou hide 
 thyself?' 
 
 Then he related everything to her — how that the Sea 
 had come forth to take him away ; how he had fled, and 
 she had pursued him as far as the mountain ; how he 
 had the eagle's feather and the ant's wing, and how 
 everything had happened. Then she understood that 
 it was by becoming an eagle that he had been able to 
 bring the milk to her so quickly with the froth upon 
 it, and by becoming an ant, that her father had not 
 seen him. Then they lay down in each other's arms 
 and slept, and in the morning she went to her parents 
 and said, 
 
 ' I want this one for my husband.' 
 
 ' Bre ! really, my daughter ? This shepherd lad, 
 when so many others are asking for you ?' 
 
 When they saw her determination, so as not to lose 
 her love, they married her with great pomp, and many 
 guests were invited. Then the shepherd found out 
 where Yianko had been all the day and night that he 
 had been missing. Now he was dressed like a prince, 
 and went out with his wife, and she loved him to 
 distraction. 
 
 One day he sees the King pensive, and says to him, 
 ' What is the matter, father-in-law, why are you sad ?' 
 
 ' I have a quarrel with another King, and he has
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supcrnalist. 215 
 
 declared war against me, and I find that I am not 
 prepared for war, neither have I many troops.' 
 
 ' And are you going to wait, father-in-law, until they 
 arrive here ? We will go forward and fight against 
 them in the name of the Lord !' 
 
 So he persuaded the King, and they made ready and 
 set out together with the troops. Then the Princess 
 fell upon her father's neck, saying, ' Papa, my Yianko 
 [who is dear to thee as] thine eyes, see that thou let 
 him not go near the ocean, for fear the Sea should take 
 him from me !' 
 
 Then they went away, and met the enemy, and 
 fought with them. Yianko did all in his power ; he 
 rushed on with his sword and slew them ; but they were 
 too many, and ' alas /' as people say, ^ for the strong man 
 ivho is seized by two feeble ones /' The enemy had nearly 
 gained the day, and he and his father-in-law were sorely 
 pressed. At that moment he burned the lion's hair^ 
 and all the lions gathered around him, and he cried, 
 ' Why wait ye ? Fall on the enemy !' 
 
 They threw themselves on the foe, some fled, others 
 were killed, and the rest were scattered miserably with 
 their King. And Yianko, on horseback, rode, sword in 
 hand, amid his lions and slew them [the enemy]. 
 When the battle was over, Yianko was about to go and 
 wash in the Sea, which was close by, when his father- 
 in-law called to him, ' Where goest thou ? Where 
 goest thou ?' and prevented him, but gave orders to his 
 men to bring water for him to wash in. Early the next 
 morning they set out for the capital of the foreign 
 King, and found that he had collected his scattered 
 forces to prevent if possible his capital being taken. So 
 the battle began again, and again Yianko lighted the 
 lion's hair, and the hons fell upon them with Yianko at
 
 2 1 6 Gi'cek Folk-Prose. 
 
 their head, and they slew all the enemy, and Yianko 
 killed the King with his own sword. 
 
 Again he ran, all bloodstained, to the Sea to wash. 
 His father-in-law, overjoyed at the victory, forgot to 
 warn him, and as soon as Yianko reached the margin 
 and dipped his hand in the water, the Sea threw herself 
 upon him, and drew him in. His father-in-law waited 
 for him an hour or two ; he went to the beach in the 
 hope of overtaking and warning him, but saw nothing 
 of him. Then he concluded that the Sea must have 
 taken him ; and he who had been so joyful was con- 
 sumed with sorrow, because he had lost him who had 
 been the hero and the victor in the battle. He returned 
 to the palace full of grief. Seeing him come back alone 
 and without Yianko, his daughter lost her senses, and 
 tearing her hair, she said, 
 
 ' Papa, I will go and seek my husband, but you must 
 get ready for me a great ship with three decks and forty 
 youths and forty maidens ; you must give me also three 
 golden apples, and I will go in the ship.' 
 
 ' Bravo, my daughter, for he is the man who not only 
 saved my life, but brought me out with a white face.'^ 
 All that thou dost is befitting, may'st thou be able to 
 find him.' 
 
 He got ready for her the three-decked ship, put on 
 board the forty youths with various kinds of music, and 
 forty maidens to wait upon the Princess, ordered them 
 to make for her three large apples of gold, and she 
 embarked. 
 
 They set sail, and went forth on the ocean. The 
 Princess bids the maidens sing, and the youths accom- 
 
 ^ I.e., 'an unblushing face.' How much more graphic and pic- 
 turesque a phrase than our abstract, 'saved his honour.' The 
 Albanians make use of a similar expression.
 
 /, Mythological — (///. ) Stipcrnalist. 2 1 7 
 
 pany them on their instruments. She holds an apple 
 in her hand and plays with it. Then up comes the 
 Mother of the Sea, and says to her. 
 
 ' What a grand concert, my eyes ! Give me that 
 golden apple to take to my eldest daughter who has 
 smelt it, and I will give you what you will.' 
 
 ' I am a King's daughter, and Yianko, whom you took 
 away, was my husband. Put out his head only for me 
 to see, and I will give you the apple.' 
 
 The Mother of the Sea put out the head of her 
 son-in-law, and when he saw [the Princess] his heart 
 went out of him and he sank. Then the Princess threw 
 the apple into the sea. The ship sailed away. After 
 a while the Princess bade them begin to sing again, and 
 she played with the second golden apple. The Mother 
 of the Sea again came up, and said, 
 
 ' Give me. Princess, the apple, my second daughter 
 longs for it.' 
 
 * If you will let me see my Yianko down to his waist, 
 I will give it to you.' 
 
 She throws her the apple, and the Mother of the Sea 
 brings up Yianko as far as his waist, and he saw her 
 [the Princess], and his heart beat and again he was lost 
 to sight. 
 
 The ship sailed on. Presently the Princess again 
 commanded the forty maidens and the forty youths to 
 begin singing, and she held the third apple in her hand 
 and played with it. The Mother of the Sea came out 
 again and said, 
 
 'For God's sake, my Princess, my third daughter who 
 has married Yianko and who is pregnant has smelt the 
 apple, give it to her that she may not miscarry.' 
 
 ' Show me the whole of Yianko erect and free from 
 you, and I will give it.'
 
 2i8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Bravo,' sa3'S she. 
 
 The Mother of the Sea took the apple, and raised up 
 Yianko erect and free. When he no longer felt the sea 
 flowing above him, he cried ' Eagle !' and became an 
 eagle, and flew into the ship, and went below to the 
 cabin, and became a man again, and the Princess 
 followed him. A mad wind arose and the waves en- 
 tered the ship ; but he was in the cabin, and the Sea 
 could not get hold of him. Thanks to the worthy 
 captain and the good ship they weathered the storm, 
 and cast anchor and came safely ashore when within an 
 inch of drowning. Then they walked for two days till 
 they came to the palace. From this time he remem- 
 bered never again to go near the Sea. And he became 
 King when his father-in-law died. And they lived and 
 grew old, and brought up their children.
 
 THE WIDOW'S SOX.^-^ 
 (N60€WT]viKa 'AvdXeKTa, A. II.) 
 
 Once on a time, and an olden time, 
 
 And a very long time ago, 
 When the Turks were keeping their Ramazan 
 
 In a leaky old cauldron, O, 
 
 there lived an old woman, who had been a widow 
 a great many years. She had an only son who, all day 
 long, from dawn to sunset, carried faggots on his back 
 in order to earn his bread, and support his old widowed 
 mother. After working in this way for a long time, he 
 one day, as he was going to the wood, heard a crier 
 who had been hired by a Jew, crying on the road, 
 ' Whoever is able to work for me one or two days, I will 
 give him as much money as he wants !' 
 
 These words sounded pleasantly to his ears, for he 
 had been thinking on his poverty and his misery ; and 
 he ran joyfully to his mother to ask her blessing. His 
 mother did not object, and so he goes to the Jew, takes 
 his hire, gives it to his mother, and then follows the 
 Jew. That Jew had ever so many ships under his 
 orders, and when the youth came to his house, he took 
 him down to the sea, and they embarked in one of the 
 ships, and the others followed. After making a pros- 
 perous voyage, they saw on the one hand high and 
 green hills, and on the other vineyards and trees and 
 fields, the sight of which made their hearts rejoice. 
 
 After sailing for some time they found themselves 
 under a very high mountain, the foot of which was 
 washed by the waves, and the summit lost in the white 
 clouds which floated around it. When they arrived
 
 2 20 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 there, the Jew told the Widow's Son that he must chmb 
 to the top of the mountain and there do what he was 
 bid. He was rather frightened, and asked how was he 
 to get up ? Then the Jew gave him arms, and sewed 
 him up in a hide, and told him that when he knew that 
 the eagles had seized him and carried him up to the top 
 of the mountain, he must slit the hide with his sword, 
 and come out, and whatever he found on the summit 
 he was to throw down. 
 
 As he was bidden, so he did. The birds of heaven 
 came, and seized him, and carried him to the top of the 
 mountain ; and he slit the hide and came out. What 
 did he see ? Wherever he turned his eyes were millions 
 of diamonds, and golden things, and sapphires lying 
 among myrtles and roses, and surrounded with musk. 
 There you might see everything you could possibly 
 imagine. Instead of stones or flints, gold and diamonds 
 layabout ; and on the roses pearls hung instead of dew. 
 The youth stood wondering at the sight, he bit his lips, 
 and crossed his arms'^ as if he were ashamed to step 
 among so much brightness and such wealth. By and 
 by he hears the Jew calling from below, and then he 
 begins picking up and throwing down, throwing with 
 both hands, until he was weary. 
 
 The Jew by this time had filled his ships, and he set 
 sail. The youth called to him from above, and asked 
 what he was to do, but he made no answer. Again he 
 called, but still the Jew took no heed. The poor youth, 
 left alone on the mountain top, walked round and round 
 ^t in despair. The brilliants and the pearls were all 
 very fine, but of what use were they to him when he 
 had neither bread to eat nor a drop of water to drink ? 
 Grief seized upon him. He thought of his poor mother, 
 
 ■' The posture expressive of respect, assumed by Orientals.
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Sitpenialist. 2 2 1 
 
 now all desolate and lonely ; and, weary as he was, with 
 his eyes all red and swollen with weeping, he lay down 
 in the shade of a tree to sleep a little. As he was 
 sleeping with his head on a stone, or rather on a great 
 diamond or lump of sapphire, he fancied that he felt it 
 move under him. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said he to himself, 'there is some animal 
 underneath.' 
 
 He lifted up the stone, and saw a trap door. Under 
 it was a ladder, down which he climbed. He goes 
 down, down, forty steps, fifty, I don't know how many 
 steps, and at the bottom he sees a palace. Not a soul, 
 however, was to be seen about, either human or other. 
 He was very hungry, and as he went about looking here 
 and there for something to eat, he came to a cupboard, 
 opened it, and found inside a piece of bread. He ate 
 it, and it satisfied his hunger somewhat. Then he went 
 further, and searching here and there he saw a blind 
 Dhrako. At first he was afraid, and began to tremble, 
 but when he saw that the Dhrako was blind, he 
 thought that if the Dhrako did not speak to him, he 
 would make himself known to the Dhrako. But still 
 he was afraid and didn't know how to set about it. 
 Finally he went softly behind the Dhrako, and — with 
 \'Our pardon — called out, 
 
 'Father!' 
 
 The Dhrako replied, ' Since when have I had a son ?' 
 
 Said the youth, ' Now thou hast borne me, this ver\- 
 minute !' 
 
 Then the Dhrako believed him. He called him to his 
 side, and began to love him as if he were really his son. 
 He gave into his hands forty keys, and told him to open 
 all the forty chambers save one, which he was not to 
 open.
 
 2 22 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 Well, he came and went ; he opened the thirty-nine 
 chambers, and found within all God's treasures ; but the 
 one the Dhrako had told him not to open he did not 
 open. But after a few days had passed, he began to be 
 curious, and said to himself, ' Why may I not open 
 that chamber too ? There is some treasure in it, and 
 the Dhrako is jealous, and does not want me to see it.' 
 
 So, after a time, he could refrain no longer, and he 
 opened it. There he saw a beautiful garden, so beauti- 
 ful as to dazzle his eyes. All the choicest trees of the 
 earth were there collected. And amid all this greenness, 
 and amid all the branches which bent under their 
 weight of delicious fruits, was a marble cistern, glisten- 
 ing white. 
 
 While the youth was gazing on this garden, and not 
 knowing what to look at first, there came flying down 
 three most lovely pigeons, how lovely I cannot tell you 
 — you must imagine for yourselves. These pigeons 
 dropped their feathers on the edge of the cistern, and 
 became three maidens so fresh and blooming that the 
 Patriarch himself would have fallen in love with them 
 if he had seen them, and much more so a youth. Then 
 the maidens plunged into the cistern, and swam quietly 
 about as if no one was looking at them. And how 
 should they know that he saw them from inside the 
 doorway ? But see how his eyes glisten, and a scalding 
 tear falls on his cheek ! 
 
 Well, what would you ? — such is love ! It steals 
 cunningly into the heart when we are least aware of it ! 
 Well, enough of that ! 
 
 So he gazed at the maidens, gazed at all of them, and 
 liked them all ; but he gave most glances to the 
 youngest, for his heart told him that she was the best. 
 Then, while he was still gazing, they suddenly finished
 
 /. Mythological — {JIJ^-) Siipeinalist. 223 
 
 their swimming, took up their feathers and put them on 
 again ; and the youth saw with dismay the three 
 beautiful maidens disappear, and three pigeons fly 
 away up into the heavens. 
 
 You may imagine his grief! He locked the door of 
 the chamber, and went sorrowful and mazed^ to the 
 Dhrako. The Dhrako asks what is the matter with 
 him that he sits moping there. 
 
 * How shall I tell thee ?' he replied. ' It happened 
 this way. I opened the chamber and saw this and 
 that. Well, I repent of it, but of what use is that now 
 that I am in such affliction, and my heart has gone out 
 from me ?' 
 
 When he had thus spoken, the Dhrako forgave him, 
 and advised him to go early in the morning when the 
 maidens were bathing, and watch where they left their 
 feathers and take the plumage of the one that pleased 
 him best and hide it ; for, if she were to see it again, she 
 would seize hold of it and escape. 
 
 So the next day he went as the Dhrako had told him, 
 seized the plumage of the youngest — the one he said he 
 liked best — and took it with him into the house. The 
 other two, when they had finished bathing, donned 
 their feathers and flew up at once into the heavens. 
 The other searched here and there for her feathers, but 
 could not find them, so there she was ! Then the youth 
 came out and approached her. She begged him to give 
 her back her feathers, and she would promise not to 
 escape. But not he ! — he would not give them, and so 
 he took her for his wife. 
 
 The couple lived happily together for some time, and 
 two children were born to them. Then the youth 
 
 3 This Devonshire word is the best equivalent I know of for the 
 original.
 
 2 24 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 related to the Dhrako how he had come there, and the 
 Dhrako asked him if he would not like to go home to 
 his mother. At this he rejoiced greatly. So he says 
 good-bye to the Dhrako, who gives him lots of money, 
 and opens the mountain for him to go out with his 
 children and his wife, whom he loved like his own 
 eyes. 
 
 Well, they walked, and they walked, till they came to 
 the place where his widowed mother lived. Imagine 
 the joy of the widow when she saw her son, and with 
 him this goddess and his two dear children, whom you 
 might call little angels. Shortly afterwards he gives 
 the plumage to his mother and begs her to hide it 
 safely, lest perchance his wife might find it, and he 
 would lose her. She, however, put it in a place where 
 it could easily be found, and some days afterwards when 
 the youth was away from home, she [his wife] managed 
 by some means or other to find the feathers. She took 
 them, just as they were, gave one feather to one child, 
 and another to the other, mounts up on the roof, and 
 calls out to her mother-in-law, 
 
 ' Tell my husband that he must take a pair of iron 
 shoes, and an iron staff, and come to find me in 
 
 ' The castles green, the castles red, and in the five white towers.' 
 
 When she had said these words, she gave a spring, 
 and was lost to the old woman's sight. When her son 
 came home and found no wife there, he began to 
 weep, and was quite inconsolable, until his mother 
 repeated to him what his wife had said just before she 
 flew away. Then day and night he pondered on the 
 means of recovering his wife, for he knew not where 
 those places were of which she had spoken to his 
 mother. He turned it this way and that, but could
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Siiperualist. ^'' 
 
 --0 
 
 make nothing of it. Then he bethought him of going 
 to th"e Dhrako, who had been Hke a father to him ; for 
 he might possibly know where the pigeons lived who 
 bathed in the garden and became women. 
 
 So again he goes to the Jew as he had done before, 
 and they set off for the foot of the mountain. This 
 time, however, he throws him down no diamonds or 
 anything else, but leaves him to tear his hair. Then he 
 goes down to the Dhrako, greets him, relates all that 
 has happened, and then questions him concerning his 
 wife's command. 
 
 The Dhrako gave him the shoes and the iron 
 staff, and told him to set out and he would soon 
 find means to reach the palace of his beloved one. So 
 he tramped, and he tramped ; and, as he went, he 
 came to a lonely place where he found two men 
 quarrelling and shouting. He went near, and asked 
 them what they were making all that noise about, 
 and they replied, ' Brc, brother, look ! We have this 
 Poplar, this Sword, and this Hat, and we can't divide 
 them between us.' 
 
 When he heard this, he couldn't help laughing at the 
 idea of their killing each other for such a small matter, 
 and he cried, ' Pooh ! as if those things were worth 
 tighting and quarrelling about !' 
 
 Then they explained to him that whoever should put 
 that Hat on his head would become invisible ; whoever 
 should climb into that Poplar and shake it would be 
 carried to any place he might mention ; and whoever 
 held the Sword in his hand, and bade it do so, it would 
 cut down everything before it.^^ When the youth 
 heard this, he took a fancy to have them, and pondered 
 what he could do to obtain them. Then he said, * I 
 will divide them between you. I will throw my staff to 
 
 VOL. II. . 15
 
 2 26 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 a distance, and whoever runs and brings it first to me 
 shall find his share ready for him to take.' 
 
 Then while they are both running to bring the staff, 
 he dons the Hat, girds on the Sword, climbs up into the 
 Poplar, and vanishes. They look here, and they look 
 there, but — pumpkins \^ The youth climbs higher up 
 in the Poplar and tells it to take him to 
 
 'The castle green, the castle red, and to the five white castles.' 
 
 He had hardly said the words when — there you are ! 
 — he was arrived at the place he mentioned. He leaves 
 the Poplar and the Sword in a certain spot, and, still 
 wearing the Hat so as not to be seen, he enters the 
 castles to find his wife and children. He first goes 
 round this way, and then round that way, and at last 
 he finds his wife in the poultry-yard among the fowls, 
 where her father had put her when she came back. He 
 goes up to her, makes himself known, and proposes to 
 her to fly with him. 
 
 Said she, ' We will tell my father, and then we 
 will go.' 
 
 After a little while they hear her father coming down. 
 She was afraid, but he stood still and told her to take 
 no notice of him. 
 
 Then he put on the Cap and became invisible without 
 stirring thence. 
 
 Her father comes near and asks her, ' Who is hidden 
 here ? I smell human flesh.' 
 
 Then she told him that it was her husband, who had 
 come to fetch her. He asked her if he could see him, 
 for he wanted to know what kind of man he was. She, 
 however, did not allow him to show himself, as she 
 feared that her father would kill him — for those who 
 have the heartache live ever in dread. Then her 
 a KoXoKi;^ta, a popular expression, signifying ' emptiness.'
 
 /. Mythological — (//■/•) Super nalisl. 227 
 
 father said that he would give her back to her husband 
 if he could throw down a mountain which was near, 
 and make it into gardens, thinking that this was just as 
 if he had said ' I will never give her !' for it was not 
 possible to imagine how the deuce {ji hiaoXo) he could 
 succeed in accomplishing such a task ! 
 
 And so she pretended to believe. But when her 
 father had gone away, she called her husband, and gave 
 him a tile which she bade him throw into a certain well, 
 and he would see a crowd of men come out to whom he 
 must give his orders. 
 
 So he went as his wife directed him, and threw the 
 tile into the well, and there flew out — what shall I say ? 
 — thousands of men. He gave them his orders, saying, 
 ' By to-morrow morning I want that mountain removed, 
 and in its place to have gardens planted with ever}- kind 
 of tree and flower.' 
 
 He had hardly finished speaking, when they set to and 
 began working. " In the morning, when her father got 
 up he opened the window, and what did he see ? The 
 mountain was gone, and in its place were gardens — but 
 such gardens ! — with trees and flowers and fountains ; 
 how shall I tell you what all ? — indescribable marvels ! 
 He could hardly believe it ; he rubbed his eyes, and 
 rubbed them again, until he found that it was no delu- 
 sion. So he went to his daughter, and said to her, 
 ' Well, that has been accomplished. But now I require 
 the garden to be turned into a sea with ships upon it.' 
 
 The girl again gave her husband a tile, and — not to 
 make a long story of it — there happened what had 
 happened before, and the garden became a sea with 
 three-masted ships and feluccas and every other vessel 
 you might wish to see. Then, when this had been 
 accomplished, the youth presented himself before the
 
 2 28 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 King with his Sword girt round his waist and his wife at 
 his side. When her father and mother saw their 
 daughter's husband, they fell upon him to devour him. 
 But he lost no time in saying, ' Little Sword of mine, 
 cut them down !' and it cut them down. 
 
 So now they were at peace, and he set out with his 
 wife and children — taking with him also the Poplar — to 
 return to the Dhrako, and afterwards to go to his 
 mother's house. Then the wife remembered that she 
 and her sisters had taken out the eyes of the Dhrako, 
 and had hidden them in a cave. So they went thereon 
 the Poplar, and when they had got the eyes of the 
 Dhrako, they returned to his palace, and put them back 
 in their sockets. And so they lived happily. And we 
 more happily still !
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GORGON S.^'^ 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 304.) 
 
 There was once a King and a Queen, and they had an 
 only son. Good as the King and Queen were, their son 
 was perverse in an equal degree. In the same palace 
 there lived the King's Vizier, and he had a son who was 
 as handsome and good as the Prince was ugly and bad ; 
 and the Prince was always on the look-out for an oppor- 
 tunity of persecuting the Vizier's son. One day the 
 Vizier's son went out hunting with his tutor. As they 
 were going, he saw on the ground a beautiful golden 
 feather. Said he to his tutor, 
 
 ' Shall I take this feather, Dhdskale, it is so lovely ?' 
 ' What shall I say, my boy ! If thou take it, thou 
 wilt repent it ; and if thou take it not, thou wilt still 
 repent it.' 
 
 ' At!' said the boy, ' then I will take it and repent it, 
 since it is such a beautiful feather !' 
 
 He got down from his horse, picked it up, and put it 
 in his cap. The Prince was gone up to the kiosk 
 which was on the roof of the palace, and he had a spy- 
 glass, and looked at the mountains and at the open 
 country. He chanced to turn his glass on something 
 that flashed in the sun like a diamond. He did not 
 know what it was. He looked more closely and saw the 
 Vizier's son, and in his cap was a jewel like a great 
 feather. 
 
 ' Bd ! where the devil did he get that ?' said he. ' I 
 am a Prince and my papa is the King, but I never found
 
 230 Greek Folk-P7^ose. 
 
 such a thing. When he returns to the palace I will take 
 it from him.' 
 
 The youth returned to the palace with his tutor. He 
 [the Prince] sends word to him to come upstairs 
 immediately, as he wanted him. Said he, 
 
 ' What was that which thou wert wearing in thy cap 
 out hunting which shone like a diamond ?' 
 
 ' Nothing, a feather,' said the youth. 
 
 ' Feather ! Go and bring it for me to look at.' 
 
 The Vizier's son went down to his chamber, took 
 the feather, and carried it to the Prince, and said 
 to him, 
 
 ' As it pleases you, take it, my Prince.' 
 
 ' Bd ! what should I do with the feather ? Go and 
 bring me the bird ; and if thou bring'st not the bird, 
 there is no place for thee in the palace.' 
 
 The Vizier's son went down to his own apartments, 
 and began to weep and to curse the hour when he 
 picked up the feather from the road. As he was weep- 
 ing, his tutor came to him. 
 
 ' What ails thee, my boy, that thou weep'st ?' 
 
 ' What ails me ? Would it not have been better to 
 have listened to you and not to have taken the 
 feather ?' 
 
 He related everything to him as it was, and told him 
 that he had to find the bird which had the feather, 
 or he would be driven out of the palace. Said the 
 tutor, 
 
 * Leave weeping, and we will go and find thy father, 
 and see what can be done.' 
 
 Then they decided to take some skins of wine, and 
 go to a great cistern where the birds drank water, which 
 the tutor knew of. They took the wine, and went 
 to the cistern, and opened it and turned off the water,
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 
 
 231 
 
 so that no more should flow into it, and emptied the 
 wine out of the skins, and went to a distance and 
 watched. A short time only had passed when they 
 saw the whole country lighted up. What did they see 
 then ? They saw a magnificent Eagle which came to the 
 cistern to bathe and drink. It came and drank and then 
 rose high, and again descended, drank again of the wine, 
 and then tried to fly again, but could not. The tutor 
 loses no time, but runs and seizes the Eagle. He brings 
 it to the youth, he takes it, and they go to the palace. 
 
 The Queen of the Gorgons and of the Birds was out 
 walking, and was told that the great Golden Eagle had 
 been caught and taken to the [King's] palace. In her 
 anger she tore off her girdle from her waist and threw it 
 away, ran to her palace, and shut herself up, for she 
 was very fond of the Eagle. 
 
 They brought the Eagle to the Prince. He was 
 delighted with the Eagle, but annoyed with the Vizier's 
 son, because he had been able to catch it. Some days 
 passed. The Vizier's son, to get some fresh air, took 
 his tutor and went out hunting. As they went through 
 a valley, he saw something shining, and said, 
 
 ' What thing is this ? Let me go near and see.' 
 
 He goes up and what does he see ? A girdle 
 smothered with diamonds and pearls, and on the girdle 
 were pictured in pearls Fishes and Gorgons. He takes 
 it up and runs to his tutor, saying, 
 
 ' See, Dhdskalc, what I have found ! Shall I take it, 
 or shall I not take it ?' 
 
 ' What shall I say, my boy ? For if thou take it 
 thou wilt repent it ; and again, if thou take it not, thou 
 wilt repent it.' 
 
 ^ Ai ! I will take it, and shall not repent it, since it 
 is so beautiful !'
 
 2^2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 He took it and clasped it round his waist, and set out 
 to return to the palace. The Prince again saw him 
 from the Mo^li. 
 
 ' I say !' he cried, 'what is he wearing round his 
 waist ? When he comes I shall take it from him !' 
 
 The youth arrived at the palace, folded up the girdle, 
 and put it in his box. The Prince sent word to him to 
 go upstairs, as he wanted him. The Vizier's son went. 
 Said the Prince, 
 
 ' What was that which thou wert wearing round th3' 
 waist ?' 
 
 ' Nothing, a girdle which I found out there where we 
 were hunting.' 
 
 ' Go and bring it, that I may see what kind of girdle 
 it is.' 
 
 The youth went and brought the girdle upstairs. 
 The Prince looked at it. 
 
 ' Bre r said he, ' only fancy what the lady who had 
 this must be ! Thou must go without fail and find her 
 and bring her to me.' 
 
 ^ Bre ! Anian ! Prince, how can I find the woman 
 who had that and bring her to thee ?' 
 
 ' Whether thou canst or not, thou must bring her, 
 otherwise thou wilt repent it.' 
 
 The Vizier's son goes downstairs again. He runs, 
 weeping, to his father, to his tutor. 
 
 ' How am I to find her who had that girdle ?' 
 
 * What can I say, my boy ? Thou should'st not have 
 taken it ; or, as thou did'st take it, thou should'st have 
 hidden it ; tears and cries are useless, let us now see 
 how we can find this lady.' 
 
 He took the tutor, and they searched here and searched 
 there to see if there was an}- trace, but — nothing ! 
 But while they were searching they saw a splendid
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 233 
 
 palace, and outside in the courtyard of the palace they 
 saw a beautiful lady walking all by herself. They lost 
 no time, but said that this must be she who had 
 the girdle. They rushed to her, wrapped her in 
 a mantle, and placed her on a horse. The Vizier's son 
 mounted behind her, and held her tightly, that she 
 might not escape. She was frightened, and shrieked. 
 Then the Vizier's son said to her, 
 
 ' The fault is not mine, lady. The Prince sent me 
 first to fetch the Eagle, and afterwards you, or he would 
 cut off my head.' 
 
 Then, in her anger, she broke the strings of pearls 
 which were round her neck, and threw them on the 
 road. They arrived at the palace, the Prince saw her, 
 and lost his senses over her beauty. The King came 
 and told her that she should be Queen if she would 
 marry his son. Said she, 
 
 ' I can give you no answer unless you go and bring 
 me the pearls which I lost on the road, and not a single 
 pearl must be missing.' 
 
 They call the Vizier's son. 
 
 * Go quickly and bring the pearls which the Queen 
 threw away, and let not one be missing.' 
 
 The unfortunate Vizier's son goes down, and says to 
 the tutor, * Let us go and seek the pearls, for not one 
 must be missing.' 
 
 The poor fellows search here and there ; they see an 
 ant-hill, and the ants had put the pearls all in rows 
 round their nest. The Vizier's son immediately dis- 
 mounted his horse, picked them all up and did not 
 leave one. Then she was pleased and said, 
 
 ' Before I take you for my husband we must punish 
 him who has done me such despite.' 
 
 * Command, my Queen, and I will give him whatever
 
 234 Greek Folk-Pi'ose. 
 
 punishment you may mention, you have only to 
 command.' 
 
 * Let them heat an oven during seven days and nights, 
 and on the seventh day, let them throw him into the 
 oven, and be burnt.' 
 
 Immediately the Prince commanded them to heat the 
 ovens for seven da3^s and nights. Imagine the grief and 
 anger of the Vizier's son, of his father, of his tutor, of 
 everyone ! One day this Queen wanted to go to the 
 seashore for a little walk. There she began to speak and 
 speak things which no one could understand, Solomonic 
 words. ^^ 
 
 Said the Prince, ' What art thou saying ? Thou 
 speakest all this time, and I understand nothing.' 
 
 ' I am saying my prayers.' 
 
 The Prince said no more ; he turned and went back 
 to the palace. 
 
 The seven days passed ; but the Queen of the 
 Gorgons told the Gorgons to carry water and throw 
 into the ovens. In front the men of the palace heaped 
 up fires, and behind they [the Gorgons] put them out. 
 The seven days were past. They went to throw the 
 youth into the oven. They left him there all night, and 
 at dawn he came out alive. They were all amazed to 
 see him living, and there was great rejoicing in the 
 palace. Then said the Prince, 
 
 ' Command now when our wedding shall take 
 place.' 
 
 * But we have still another trial to make if thou lovest 
 me.' 
 
 ' If I love thee ?' cried the Prince. * I love thee 
 madly ! For love of thee I have given my best friend 
 to be burnt.' 
 
 ' That is not sufficient,' said the Queen. ' For the
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Supernalist. 235 
 
 Vizier's son they heated the oven seven days and nights, 
 and we put him in, and he came out alive. For thee it 
 shall be heated two hours, and thou wilt go in, if thou 
 lovest me ; but if thou do it not, I am able to go away 
 and return whence I was brought.' 
 
 Then what could he do ? He tried to make her 
 change her mind, but in vain ; she said it was her last 
 fancy. Then at last the Prince saw that he could not 
 do otherwise, and he called the servants and told them 
 to put very little wood so that the oven might not get 
 very hot. Then the Queen took him by the hand and 
 they went downstairs. They went to the ovens, and 
 the Prince saw that the oven was cool. Then she said 
 to him, 
 
 ' Go in, for I have blessing and cursing from my 
 parents that the first husband who weds me must enter 
 an oven.' 
 
 When the Prince was in, she clapped her hands, and 
 they threw a great fire into the oven, and he was burnt 
 to a cinder. She lost no time, but came into the 
 courtyard, and passed through it into the garden where 
 the Vizier's son was sitting under a tree. She took him 
 by the hand, and clapped her palms, and a whirlwind 
 came and took up both of them and carried them to her 
 palace. And she said to him, 
 
 ' Thou who art valiant, and hast done such deeds, art 
 worthy to rule with me over the Gorgons. For I am 
 the Queen of all the Gorgons and all the Birds. I, 
 because I loved thee, commanded the Gorgons and they 
 brought water into the oven into which thou didst 
 enter, and when the Prince went in, they brought fire. 
 If thou desirest me for thy wife, well ; if not, thou art 
 free to return to thy palace, to thy parents.' 
 
 Then he fell at her feet, and saluted her and said,
 
 2^6 Greek Folk-Pj-ose. 
 
 ' Not the husband, but the slave will I be of thee who 
 savedst my life.' 
 
 Then the whole World laughed, and all the Birds 
 began to sing, and he took her for his wife. They sent 
 for his tutor and his father. And they reigned, and 
 are still reigning over the Gorgons and the Birds. And 
 they lived happily. And we more happily still !
 
 THE NEREID.^ 
 
 Athens. 
 {AeXrlov, I., p. 153.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once a King and a Queen, and they had an 
 only son. This son of theirs did not wish to marry. 
 Princesses came to him, but not only would he not wed, 
 but he would not even raise his eyes to look at any 
 woman. Opposite the palace lived a mother, and she 
 had three daughters. They were very beautiful. At 
 last the Queen said, 
 
 ' Perhaps he loves one of these and is unwilling to 
 confess it ?' 
 
 She made up her mind that it was so, and said to the 
 girls' mother, 
 
 * Wilt not send thy eldest daughter here to me, to 
 keep me company ?' 
 
 ' Bd ! with pleasure, my Queen !' said the woman. 
 
 So she adorned her eldest daughter and led her to the 
 palace. When the Queen saw her, she greeted her, 
 took her by the hand, and brought her into her son's 
 chamber. And she said to her, 
 
 * I have brought thee here, my girl, because my son 
 does not wish to marry, and to see if perchance he is in 
 love with one of you. If my son tells thee he loves thee, 
 I will make thee my daughter-in-law.' 
 
 So the girl went and sat on the sofa. The Prince 
 came in the evening, went into his room, sat down at 
 his table to write, and wrote without looking at her at
 
 238 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 all. Sleep took her, and she slept on the sofa. In 
 the morning the Queen went alone to see what the 
 maiden was doing, and [hear] what the Prince had 
 said to her. 
 
 * What shall I tell you, my long-lived Queen ? The 
 Prince came ; he did not look at me at all ; he wrote 
 and wrote, and got up and went out without speaking 
 to me at all.' 
 
 Then the Queen thanked her and gave her a 
 present, a beautiful ring, and begged her to send her 
 next sister. She went home and told them, and so 
 they adorned her second sister, and she arose and went 
 to the Queen. The Queen received her well also, and 
 led her to her son's chamber and said to her, 
 
 ' If my son tells thee that he loves thee, then tell me, 
 for I will make thee my daughter-in-law.' 
 
 She, too, sat on the sofa like the other. In the even- 
 ing, at dusk, the Prince came, and sat down at his 
 table, without raising his eyes to look at her. He 
 wrote, and wrote, rose, and went away. In the morn- 
 ing the Queen went to learn what her son had said. 
 She told her that he hadn't even looked at her. Then 
 she made her, too, a present of a ring, and begged her 
 to send the youngest. The youngest was very wide- 
 awake and very beautiful. The Queen adorned her with 
 her own jewels, and told her to sit in her son's chamber, 
 and, when he came, to speak to him, and see what he 
 would say to her. So she sat down on the sofa in the 
 Prince's room. There was outside a splendid cage with 
 a bird, and she brought it inside. When the Prince 
 came, he entered without noticing her, and sat down 
 and wrote. The maiden pretended to talk to the bird, 
 as the Prince wouldn't speak to her. She said to it, 
 
 ' Good-evening, my little Bird, won't you speak ? or
 
 /. MytJiological — {///•) Supernalist. 239 
 
 you, my little Cage, you, my Candlestick, won't you 
 speak ?' 
 
 Then said the Prince, ' My Candlestick, my Candle- 
 stick, at your orders, my Candlestick.''^ 
 
 She was ashamed, and said no more. The Prince 
 rose when he had finished his writing, and went away. 
 In the morning the Queen went to see if her son had 
 spoken to her, and what he had said. 
 
 ,' When he came in,' said she, 'he wished me " Good 
 evening," and afterwards he asked me who had brought 
 me to his room, and I told him that the Queen had told 
 me to come and keep him company.' 
 
 Then the Queen begged her to remain another day. 
 In the evening she again talked to the candlestick, and 
 he again answered to the candlestick, and when he had 
 written and written, he rose and went away. Her 
 sisters expected her on the following day to have 
 returned home, and as they did not see her coming, 
 they went themselves to the palace. They saw her 
 sitting beside the Queen, and both the Queen and she 
 were in very good spirits. They bade her come home, 
 and she said, 
 
 ' The Queen will not allow me to come.' 
 
 ' What ? Has the Prince spoken to thee ?' asked her 
 sisters. 
 
 ' Ou I we have had a great deal of talk to- 
 gether!' 
 
 So the two sisters were poisoned with jealousy, and 
 they rose and went away. When they had left the 
 palace, said the one to the other, 
 
 ' KaU, don't believe that the Prince has spoken 
 to her ! She likes very well to remain at the palace, 
 and tells lies. Knowest thou what we must do ? — we 
 
 "^ The Prince replies in Turkish.
 
 240 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 will take to her those pearls which the pedlar-woman 
 is selling, for her to buy, and we will see what she 
 will do.' 
 
 The next day they took the pearls from the pedlar- 
 woman's hand, and rose and went to the palace. They 
 said to her, 
 
 ' These beautiful pearls are for sale, ask the King to 
 buy them for thee.' 
 
 She said, ' Leave them, and I will ask him if he 
 wishes to buy them for me.' 
 
 They left the pearls, and arose and went away. On 
 the road as they went they said, ' We shall see how she 
 will manage it, who will buy the pearls for her.' 
 
 When the Prince came in the evening, she said to 
 him, ' My Candlestick, my Candlestick !' 
 
 Said he, ' At your orders, my Candlestick !' 
 
 ' My sisters have brought these pearls for me to buy. 
 Shall I buy them, or shall I not ?' 
 
 ' My Candlestick, my Candlestick, the keys are in 
 the cupboard, the sequins are in the drawer, open and 
 take what thou wilt !' 
 
 In the morning she told the Queen that the Prince 
 had given her money to buy anything she liked. Then 
 the Queen embraced her, kissed her, and said, ' Thou 
 shalt be my child !' Her sisters came, she asked how 
 much the pearls were, paid it, and bought them. Then 
 they went away, and their noses dropped venom ; but 
 still they did not believe that the Prince had spoken 
 to her. 
 
 * Don't believe it, she is a cunning baggage — the 
 Queen must have bought them for her ! We will take 
 her now a pair of bracelets, and see if she will buy 
 them too.' 
 
 The next day they took a pair of bracelets which
 
 /. MytJiological — (///.) Supernalist. 241 
 
 the pedlar-woman had, and carried them to her that she 
 might buy them, and she again used the same means to 
 get the Prince to buy them for her. They went the 
 next day to fetch the money, and said to her, 
 
 ' If you are a Queen now, why don't you invite us to 
 dinner that we too may see the bridegroom ?' 
 
 ' I will speak to him,' she said, ' in the evening, and 
 if he is willing, why not ?' Then she went into her 
 chamber and burst into tears. And she said, ' What is 
 this ? — my sisters fall upon me to devour me worse 
 than Lamias ! — how shall I escape them ?' 
 
 In the evening the Prince came and began to write. 
 She wept so much that she could not restrain herself. 
 
 ' My Candlestick! my little Candlestick !' sobbed she. 
 
 ' Come here, my Candlestick ! what ails you, my 
 Candlestick, that you weep so ?' 
 
 ' My sisters want me to invite them to table, and I 
 have no authority here, and I am in despair, and for 
 that I weep.' 
 
 Says he to her, ' My precious Candlestick, the cooks 
 are downstairs, the hunters downstairs, geese and ducks 
 as many as you want, kill and prepare your table.' 
 
 In the morning she crossed her arms,'^ and went to 
 the Queen and said to her, 
 
 ' The King has ordered me to spread a table for my 
 sisters. And he says that the hunters are below, and 
 geese, and ducks, and I am to order them to cook any- 
 thing I like. What do you command me to do, my 
 Queen ?' 
 
 ' Since the King has said so, call yourself and give 
 orders.' 
 
 Then she called the hunters, and ordered them to go 
 hunting ; she called the cooks, and told them to kill 
 
 ^ See p. 220, note '\ 
 
 VOL. II. 16
 
 242 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ducks and geese and fowls, and prepare them for the 
 next day, as she was going to give a dinner to her 
 sisters. She called the groom and told him that the 
 King did not wish to sit down with her sisters at the 
 table, and bade him play a trick with her on them. She 
 was so lovely and her face was so sweet that all in the 
 palace loved her. She bade him, at the time when 
 they would be sitting down to table, about noon, and 
 expecting the King to come and eat with them, to bring 
 out the horse to the ruined back gate of the courtyard, 
 and cause him to make a great clatter with his hoofs 
 so that it might be heard upstairs, and then to send a 
 servant in haste to say, 
 
 ' Run downstairs. Little Queen, for the King wants to 
 speak to you !' 
 
 So it fell out. The next day the sisters came to dine. 
 The Queen was delighted at dining with her son after 
 so long a time, but the sisters smiled because they 
 believed it was all fables. The youngest girl went 
 from time to time to the wandow to see why the King 
 was so late in coming. Then they heard the horse 
 galloping on all fours in the courtyard. They both 
 grew yellow, but the youngest blushed. Then a 
 servant ran up and said, 
 
 ' Come downstairs. Little Queen, for the King \vants 
 you!' 
 
 Then she went running downstairs. She went to a 
 place far away under some chambers, and \vept. There 
 as she was walking up and down not knowing what to 
 do, she trod on a slab which moved. She raised the 
 slab and saw a staircase. She went down the stair- 
 case, down and dowm, and then walked on, and 
 came to a dark place, and there she saw a lonely 
 barn full of thistles, and upon the thistles slept the
 
 /. MytJiological — (///.) Super nalist. 243 
 
 Prince, and near him was a Nereid, and by her side a 
 child. Then she lost no time, but ran off back to the 
 palace, called the Queen out and told her that the 
 Prince would not come to dine with them, but desired 
 her to bring down two gold [embroidered] scarves,'' one 
 rose-coloured and one white, a silver comb, and a gold 
 [embroidered] coverlet of silk for a child, as a friend's 
 wife had given birth, and he wished to offer them as 
 presents. Then the Queen gave them to her. She 
 took them, and begged her to go and begin dinner, and 
 she would come when she had taken the things, because 
 the Prince had told her to go alone. 
 
 So she took them, went downstairs, lifted the 
 stone which moved, descended the steps softly, softly, 
 and approached the Nereid. She then spread the 
 golden coverlet on the ground, lifted the child, and laid 
 him on it, picked the thistles out of his hair, combed it, 
 and covered him with the rose-coloured scarf. And she 
 also cleared her [the Nereid's] hair of the thistles of 
 which it was full, and covered her and the Prince 
 together with the white scarf, and went back and sat 
 down to table and ate. 
 
 When the Nereid woke up and saw herself and her 
 child thus cared for, and without thistles in their hair, 
 she turned and said to the Prince, 
 
 ' Who is she that has come and has done this thing 
 to us here ?' 
 
 He swore to her — ' hy the sparks of the fire' — that he 
 had seen no woman. 
 
 ' Thou knowest well that thou hast taken the light 
 out of mine eyes, and that I see no woman but thyself !' 
 
 * The Turkish /r/zd'T-rA— strips of linen, or muslin, with em- 
 broidered ends, of which so many have of late years been brought 
 to this country. The other articles mentioned also refer to Turkish 
 usages.
 
 244 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Then he related to her how he heard every evening a 
 woman talking to the Candlestick, but saw her not. 
 Then she gave him a slap and said, 
 
 ' I give thee this blow that thy light may come again, 
 but I charge thee on thine oath to take none else to wife 
 but her.' 
 
 Then the Nereid clapped her hands, and a great whirl- 
 wind*'^ arose like that which had carried away the Prince 
 one noontide when he was out hunting, and it carried 
 off all the thistles and her child and herself, and they 
 disappeared. Then he heard a voice out of the whirl- 
 wind which said, ' I leave farewell to thee ! Thou wilt 
 never see me again, neither me nor thy child !' 
 
 It was about mid-day, and the Prince grieved for her 
 until evening. He then went up to his chamber and 
 saw the young woman weeping bitter tears. As soon as 
 he came in he embraced her, and said, ' Let your tears 
 be dried ; you must neither say what you saw, nor I 
 what I know ; let us forget the past. You delivered me 
 from out of the hands of the Nereid. Now let us go 
 and kiss my mother's hand, and to-morrow we will 
 hold our wedding.' 
 
 He led her to his mother, and the next day [they 
 had] music and drums, and great rejoicings. The 
 wedding was celebrated to the joy of everybody and to 
 the disgust of her sisters.
 
 THE STRING LA''' PRINCESS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 (AcXtlov, I., p. 309.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen, and 
 they had three sons as beautiful as gold. But, as you 
 know, man is never content, but forever wanting some- 
 thing. Because they had nothing else to desire, they 
 asked God to give them a daughter. Because they had 
 no other cause for grief, they grieved that they had not 
 a daughter to amuse them. For their sons were grown 
 up and did not stay in the palace, but were always out 
 of doors. And so they prayed to God day and night to 
 give them a daughter. After a little while the Queen 
 was with child. They took the greatest care that not 
 a drop of rain should fall upon her to wet her, so that 
 perhaps she might have a daughter. When the time 
 came the Queen gave birth to a female child. Just 
 fancy the joy it gave ! It was who should first hold it 
 in his hands, who should first dandle it ! When it was 
 born two of the sons were at home, but the youngest 
 was out hunting. But when he returned they told him 
 that the Queen had borne a female child. In his joy 
 he ran into the lying-in chamber, to take up his little 
 sister and kiss her. As he held her in his arms, she 
 turned and looked at him, and he saw that she had eyes 
 like stars, and he said, 
 
 ' Bd ! what sort of eyes are these which the child 
 has ?' They glittered as he looked at them, and he 
 gave back the baby to its mother, and went out.
 
 246 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 In the night they heard an uproar, a horrible noise 
 down in the stable. 
 
 ' Bre ! what can that be ?' they said. 
 
 They hasten to the stable and what do they see ? 
 The best horse strangled. The next night another, and 
 the next again another. 
 
 ' Bd !' said the Princes, ' this is a bad business. — But 
 I will go who am the eldest, and we shall see what 
 happens to the horses that they die.' 
 
 He went down to the stable, and stayed all night, but 
 saw nothing, the horses neither died, nor did anyone 
 come into the stable. The next night the second 
 Prince said, 
 
 ' I will go and watch.' 
 
 The Queen said to him, ' Go !' 
 
 The second one went. Nothing [happened], there 
 was quiet in the stable. 
 
 The next evening no one went to watch, and again 
 there was uproar, a horrible noise, and they found a 
 horse dead. The youngest then said nothing to anyone, 
 but thought to himself, 
 
 ' I will go alone and watch, for I don't like my sister's 
 eyes !' 
 
 He took his sword, went at dusk to the stable, and 
 hid himself behind the door. He drew his sword from 
 its sheath, and waited to see who was the customer who 
 strangled the horses. He waited, and waited, nothing 
 [happened] . 
 
 * A'i r he said, ' some accursed serpent, it seems, must 
 have strangled them.' 
 
 He waited till the fearsome midnight was past. As 
 he was thinking of going away, he heard a faint rustling. 
 He shrank back, and what did he see ? His little sister 
 with her little arms outspread and her little fingers
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Siipernalist. 247 
 
 outstretched, and she threw herself upon the neck of a 
 horse to strangle it ! He lost no time, struck a blow 
 with his sword, and cut off her little finger. She turned, 
 looked fiercely at him, and recognised him, but said 
 nothing. The Prince, when he had cut off her finger, 
 picked it up off the ground, and then hastened to his 
 chamber. x\nd all night he could not sleep a wink for 
 worry. 
 
 In the morning when God dawned the day, he went 
 and found his brothers and told them what he had 
 found out in the night, that their little sister was a 
 Stringla and strangled the horses. He had watched 
 her the night before, and had cut off her little finger. 
 Then they threw themselves upon him as if to eat him, 
 the Queen, and the King, and his brothers ; and all bade 
 him be off, and never let them see him again. 
 
 ' Murderer ! Out on thy jealousy ! To cut thy little 
 sister's hand, and cripple her !' 
 
 Then he weepingly bade farewell to his brothers and 
 said, ' Whether we shall meet again or not [I know not], 
 for the Stringla will destroy us all.' 
 
 His brothers, instead of being sorry that their brother 
 was going away, said to him, 
 
 * Art thou not ashamed, with thy jealousy, to pit thy- 
 self against a baby-girl, and cut off her finger and maim 
 her to prove thy words true when thou sayest that our 
 little sister is a Stringla ?' 
 
 The poor youth made no repl)-, but gazed sadly at 
 his brothers. He looked at the palace, his eyes filled 
 with tears ; and then he went to his chamber, dressed 
 himself, took his arms, and lied, weeping as he ran, for 
 he knew he would never see them again. He looked 
 straight before him, and went and went, and still went 
 on. When evening came, he climbed a tree, and slept.
 
 248 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and at dawn when he awoke, he again took to the road 
 and journeyed on. One day he saw afar off a splendid 
 palace, with the door standing wide open. He goes in, 
 he sees nobody. He ascends some marble steps, and 
 there he sees sitting on a sofa and leaning on some gold 
 embroidered cushions a most beautiful maiden. When 
 she saw him, she jumped up. 
 
 ' Bd ! How didst thou come here ?' she asked. 
 
 ' The earth and kosmos tell of thy beauty, and I heard 
 it, and came to see if it were so [great] ; but now I see 
 that thou art still more beautiful than I heard tell, in- 
 deed thou art.' 
 
 Said she, ' Never mind about that, would that I had 
 not been beautiful, for my beauty has been my misfor- 
 tune. For forty Dhrakos saw me and tore me away 
 from my parents and brought me here ; and they guard 
 me so that no one can come and steal me. Four years 
 now it is since the foot of man trod in here, and now it 
 has befallen thee to come, and the Dhrakos will eat 
 thee, if they see thee.' 
 
 She had hardly spoken when they heard a noise, a 
 great uproar. 
 
 'Alas!' she cried, 'they are coming! Now what 
 shall we do ?' 
 
 ^ Ail I shall stand here,' said the Prince, 'and if I 
 perish, I perish !' 
 
 ' Ah ! but I want you to live, and rescue me !' said 
 the Princess. 
 
 The noise drew near. She lost no time, but gave 
 him a slap, and turned him into a bundle of thyme used 
 for sweeping and placed him behind the door. A 
 Dhrako comes in, turns up his nose very high, and 
 says, 
 
 ' I smell man's flesh in here !'
 
 /. MytJiological — (///•) Siipernalist. 249 
 
 ' A'il someone passed by outside and the door was 
 open, and the scent of him came in,' 
 
 A second Dhrako came in, and did the same. 
 
 ' I smell the smell of a man !' 
 
 The third came and did the same, and not to make a 
 long story of it, all the forty. She said again, 
 
 ' A'i ! my brothers, I too am human, and smell ; eat 
 me, and have done with it, that I may escape from your 
 hands.' 
 
 Then the youngest said, ' Let us leave her now, and 
 go and eat with the other Dhrakos.' 
 
 They went away and ate heartily, and then each one 
 went to his mattress and fell asleep. When she heard 
 their snoring and knew that they were asleep, the 
 Beauty went to th6 top story and hung out a red hand- 
 kerchief at the casement, and immediately there arose 
 afar off a cloud of dust and a commotion, and there 
 came under her window a horseman, a most handsome 
 youth, and said to her, 
 
 ' Have you decided to run away with me ? What do 
 you want with me ?' 
 
 ' To run away ! But how can we run away when 
 there are the forty Dhrakos and we should both 
 perish ?' 
 
 ' Dost thou wish me to fight with them ? to kill 
 them ?' 
 
 ' But if thou shouldst perish, what would becom.e of 
 me ?' said the Beauty. 
 
 ' A'i I then why didst thou call me ? What dost thou 
 want ?' And he turned his horse to go. 
 
 ' Bd I wait and hear, don't go away ! Don't be 
 angry ! God has sent us a simpleton to save us !' 
 
 ' What sayest thou ? — a simpleton ? How can he 
 save us ?'
 
 250 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' He is a simpleton because he fell in love with me 
 without knowing me. I will tell him that I love him, 
 and will set him to kill the forty Dhrakos, for he is very 
 valiant.' 
 
 ' A I ! and when he has killed them, what shall we do 
 with him ?' 
 
 ' I will send him to fetch me the Water of Life,^ so that 
 we may never die, and there let him leave his bones, 
 and we will then live a joyful life. Go now away 
 quickly, and don't come back till I call thee.' 
 
 He whipped up his horse, and she shut the window 
 and went to where the thyme broom was, and again she 
 gave it a slap, and he became a man as he was before. 
 Said she, 
 
 ' A'l / now, what shall we do about the forty Dhrakos ? 
 So long as they live we cannot live, and we shall be in 
 the Devil's eye if they find us and eat us.' 
 
 ' If thou lovest me and art willing to take me for thy 
 husband, I will engage to kill them.' 
 
 ' What, thou, one man, kill forty Dhrakos ?' 
 
 ' When a man has a [stout] heart, what he sets his 
 mind on he can do.' 
 
 ' A'i ! then, in God's name, if thou kill them I promise 
 to be thine !' 
 
 The following evening, when the Dhrakos were 
 coming home, he hid behind the outer gate ; he had 
 sharpened his sword well, and as they came in, one by 
 one he cut off his head and dragged him away and 
 threw him into a great well. When he had killed them 
 all, he said, 
 
 ' I have kept my word, do thou now keep thine !' 
 
 ' What dost thou mean ? I love thee and desire thee, 
 but we can stay but a short tune together, for I am a 
 Princess, and my Fate foretold that I should be carried
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Stipernalist. 251 
 
 off by forty Dhrakos, and if there should be found a 
 man to kill them, and he should marry me within the 
 year, the blood of the Dhrakos would become a monster 
 and he would strangle me. But if that man goes and 
 brings the Water of Life and sprinkles me with it when 
 he linds me strangled, then indeed we may live happily. 
 But how canst thou go and bring this Water ? I fear 
 thou wouldst never return !' 
 
 ' And where is the Water of Life ?' asked the Prince. 
 
 ' Ach ! but it is very far away, and very difficult [to 
 get], and great valour and swiftness are needed, for 
 where the Water is are two mountains which open and 
 shut, and if thou art not nimble they will crush thee. 
 But love me only, and all will be well.' 
 
 She embraced him, kissed him, and wept ; and she 
 gave him a jar to fill there where it falls drop by drop, 
 and told him to fill it. ' And don't forget that thou 
 leavest me here all alone, and waiting for thy speedy 
 return.' 
 
 He took the jar, bade her farewell, and set out. As 
 he went along the road he was all in a sweat. He 
 went and sat down under a tree, and spied afar off 
 among the trees a beautiful palace. Said he, 
 
 ' Shall I not go in there and see if perchance I may 
 learn which way to go for the Water of Life ? If there 
 are Nereids within, will they not pity me and tell me 
 something ? and if. there are Dhrakos, may my sword 
 be good.' 
 
 He went up and saw a great open door ; he went in 
 and sees nobody, only a large garden. He goes into 
 the garden, and what does he see ? A lovely Nereid !^* 
 She was sitting under a tree, and around her sat three 
 great Dogs. When they saw him, they began to bark. 
 
 The Nereid patted them, and they licked her hand
 
 252 Gi^eek Folk-Prose, 
 
 and were quiet. The Prince saluted her with much 
 respect and gentleness. She said he was welcome to 
 her palace, and asked what she could do for him. 
 
 ' Ah ! my Queen ! — for I can give you no other name 
 but Queen ! — my woes are many and great !' and he 
 related to her all his story — how he had found in the 
 palace where he had been a beautiful young woman and 
 forty Dhrakos, and how she had sent him to bring her 
 the Water of Life. The Nereid smiled and said, 
 ' Knowest thou where is the Water of Life ?' 
 ' No, but I shall seek for it, and find it.' 
 ' Well, because thou hast trusted me and told me thy 
 secrets, I will tell thee where is the Water of Life, but 
 on condition that thou give me thine oath to return this 
 way, and afterwards thou shalt go to the Beauty's house, 
 for I shall be anxious [to know if] thou returnest alive 
 from thence.' 
 
 Then he swore to her that if he lived he would come 
 first and see her, and afterwards go to the Beauty's 
 house. Then the Nereid said to him, 
 
 * Thou must keep to the right for some hours. Then 
 thou wilt observe a high and dark mountain, and behind 
 that mountain thou wilt see a higher, but the second 
 will be green, and upon it crawl great serpents with 
 horns on their heads and with one eye in their fore- 
 heads, and others again with one horn and with many 
 eyes under that horn. Those are the poisonous snakes. 
 But fear them not and kill none, for I will give thee 
 some Water to drink, and they will not bite thee if thou 
 touch them not. When thou hast passed over that 
 mountain thou wilt see a lake, and, at the far side, two 
 mountains which open and shut. In front of the lake 
 thou wilt see a little ship moored to a withered tree. 
 Unmoor the ship, embark, and spread the sails. Take
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Supernalist. 25^ 
 
 a 
 
 these two pigeons, and when thou comest near the 
 mountains which open and shut, let fly the one pigeon, 
 and if it does not pass through to the other side, but is 
 crushed by the mountain which opens and shuts, stay 
 in the ship a httle while, for the mountain sometimes 
 opens and shuts quickly and sometimes slowly, and if 
 thou pass safely to the other side there is a cave, and 
 within it falls drop by drop the Water of Life. Then 
 fill thy jar, but drink not, for it kills the living, but 
 brings the dead to life. Then let go the other pigeon, 
 and if the pigeon passes through, do thou also pass, and 
 come hither.' 
 
 Then the Prince thanked her heartily, drank the 
 Water against the snakes which the Nereid gave him, 
 took the two pigeons, and set off. Not to make a long 
 story of it, he found the black, and afterwards the green 
 [mountain] with the great snakes, and afterwards the 
 lake and the moored ship. He went on board, and 
 unfurled the sails. Then, as he came near, he let fly 
 one of the pigeons and it passed alive to the other side, 
 only its tail got scotched a bit. Then he set all his 
 sails, and made haste, and sped through with his little 
 ship to the other side, only the stern of the ship got 
 smashed a little. He found the cave, filled his jar, got 
 into the ship again, and let fly the other pigeon. When 
 it had passed safely, he set his sails and passed through. 
 He came on shore and arrived at the Nereid's house. 
 
 When she saw him coming back so soon and alive, 
 she was amazed and thought to herself, 
 
 ' What a pity such a youth should perish for the sake 
 of a horrid wicked woman !' (for, being a Nereid, she 
 knew who had sent him). She said to him, 
 
 * Welcome ! Sit down and rest, and eat a little, and 
 sleep, and go an hour later to thy beloved.' She said
 
 2 54 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 much more, so that he could not but stay in order not 
 to offend her who had shown him such kindness. And 
 of course he thanked her and said, 
 
 'Without your aid I should have perished!" and he 
 ate and went to sleep. 
 
 Then the Nereid w^ent softly, softly, took the jar, 
 emptied it into another, tilled it with cold water, and 
 placed it by his side. And the jar which held the 
 Water of Life she put in a cupboard and locked it up. 
 After a little while the Prince awoke, he took up the 
 jar, bade the Nereid farewell, thanked her, and went 
 away. When he w^as gone, the Nereid called to her 
 biggest Dog, 
 
 ' Asian ! follow that Prince. Wait outside the door 
 and observe what happens, and come and bring me 
 tidings, hearest thou ? Be w^ary ! Now thou knowest !' 
 The dog wagged his tail, and disappeared. 
 
 Let us now leave the Dog to watch, and let us come 
 to our beloved Prince, She [the Princess] did not love 
 the Prince, as we know, but another, who, so long as the 
 Dhrakos were alive, feared to approach the palace. 
 But when the Prince went to fetch the W^ater of Life, 
 she immediately spread the red handkerchief, and her 
 lover came at once and she said to him, 
 
 ' I have sent away the never-returning simpleton ; the 
 serpents will eat him, or the mountain will crush him.' 
 
 So her lover came, and they lived happily. Some 
 time passed, and they forgot all about him — for how 
 were they to know that a Nereid had fallen in love with 
 the Prince the iirst time she saw him, and had helped 
 him to bring the Water of Life ? — and let things 
 happen of themselves just as they did happen. So 
 the Beauty, on the day the Prince returned, was at the 
 window ; she saw the Prince, and cried,
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 255 
 
 ' Po / po ! just what I dreaded ! He is coming ! What 
 shall I do now ?' and she ran to her lover and said to 
 him, ' I saw at a distance the Prince coming, and now 
 what will become of us ? He will kill both thee and 
 me if we cannot destroy him !' 
 
 The Prince replied, ' He killed forty Dhrakos, and 
 cannot we kill one man ?' 
 
 ' But we have not time now ; go hide thyself, and 
 may God give the opportunity!' She ran downstairs 
 to the door, and said to him, ' Welcome ! Thou art 
 come at last, and I was near dying of grief !' 
 
 The Prince stood and embraced her. She said, ' vSit 
 down now and stretch thyself while I go and prepare 
 something to eat.' Then she went in, took a cup of 
 wine, and put in it a potion and said, ' Drink this, and 
 lie down on the bed a little, while I go and get the food 
 ready.' 
 
 He drank the wine, and sleep took him at once. 
 Then she went and said to her lover, 
 
 ' He is asleep, so finish him off!' 
 
 Then he ran, and took a knife, and went to the bed, 
 and cut him in pieces. He gathered him up in the 
 sheet, knotted it, and threw it out of the window into 
 the street. Asian, the Nereid's Dog, was on guard out- 
 side the window, and when he saw the bloody sheet, he 
 smelt at it, took it in his teeth, and ran off with it to his 
 mistress. The Nereid, as soon as she saw the Dog 
 come with the sheet, took it from his teeth, and spread 
 it out on her bed, laid him out very carefull}-, and put 
 the pieces in their places. Then she ran to the garden 
 for a winter melon, cut it into thin slices, dipped them 
 into the Water of Life, and put them upon his wounds ; 
 and then she began to pour over him the Water of 
 Life and wetted him all over with it, and poured some
 
 256 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 into his mouth, and presently he began to move. 
 Then the Nereid raised him in her arms very very 
 gently, and laved him all over with the Water of Life. 
 Then he opened his eyes and said, 
 
 ' Where am I ?' 
 
 ' In my house, but thou must be quiet.' 
 
 She gave him some more Water of Life to drink, and 
 covered him up and said to him, 
 
 ' Go to sleep, and don't speak.' 
 
 He slept for a day and a night, and then woke up and 
 saw the Nereid at his side. He asked her how became 
 there, and the Nereid told him all, how they had killed 
 him, how her Dog had found him, how they had for 
 some time wished to kill him, because she whom he 
 loved, loved another. ' For that she set thee to slay 
 the Dhrakos, and the Water of Life was only a pretext 
 to get thee eaten by the serpents.' 
 
 He was angry and said, ' It is impossible that such a 
 beautiful woman could be an evil-doer. I knew that 
 my sister was a Stringla, and why did I not know that 
 this one was a Lamia !' 
 
 ^ Ail that is all over now, and done with ; we must 
 now see how thou canst revenge thyself.' 
 
 ' I will go at once and kill them both,' said the 
 Prince. 
 
 ' Thou art still weak, but I will now send Same to see 
 when he goes out of the house to hunt ; and when the 
 Dog brings us the tidings, thou shalt go and kill her ; and 
 when her lover returns to the house thou must kill him, 
 and finish with them.' 
 
 So he did. He went, killed them, and came back 
 again to the Nereid, and fell at the Nereid's feet, and 
 said to her, 
 
 * Thou hast saved me from many deaths, and not from
 
 /. I\Iythological — {^III.) Siipernalist. 257 
 
 one only ; now I am thy slave, so command me what I 
 shall do.' 
 
 The Nereid told him that she had loved him from 
 the first day she saw him, and all she asked for in 
 return was that he would love her and live with her. 
 
 He replied, ' Dost thou deem me so thankless ? I 
 will be thy slave, not thy husband. One favour only I 
 would ask — let me go to our kingdom to see what has 
 become of my most unfortunate parents, and my 
 brothers, and afterwards I will come and live with thee. 
 If I come back glad, we will be joyful ; but if I come 
 back sorrowful, thou wilt comfort me.' 
 
 ' Bravo /' said she, ' I am proud of thee, and love thee 
 all the more, because thou lovest and rememberest 
 them who drove thee out of thy palace. Go, and come 
 back happy. I will await thee. Take these three 
 dates, and when thou art gone from hence into some 
 road, eat one, and plant the stone in the earth ; and 
 when thou hast gone again some distance further, eat 
 another, and again plant the stone ; and do the same 
 with the third. The dates will take root, and grow 
 large, and if anyone pursue thee, climb up into the 
 date-trees, and if thou needest any help, call three 
 times from the top of the date-trees, " Come, my Asian ! 
 Come, my Saine ! Come, m}^ Boutala !"'iand the Dogs 
 will run to help thee.' 
 
 The Prince took the three dates and kissed the 
 Nereid, for he did not know whether he should see 
 her again. 
 
 He took the road, and went on, and on. He ate one 
 of the dates ; he went further and ate the others ; he 
 did all that the Nereid told him. He took the road, 
 and went on until he came into the city. And what 
 
 » These names are Turkish. 
 VOL. II. 17
 
 258 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 did he see ? — solitude everywhere, the shops deserted 
 and dark, no man called to another. He went to the 
 palace, what did he see ? — Tzan, tzin, top inar I (the 
 Stoicheia'^ were playing at ball). He shuddered and 
 fell a-weeping. He wept, and wept, and then mounted 
 the stairs of the palace. There, in a corner, he saw his 
 father, a miserable stump, without legs or arms. He 
 ran weeping to embrace him, but instead of saying, 
 ' Welcome, my boy !' he called to the Stringla Princess, 
 
 ' Come, my good daughter, and revenge thyself, this 
 is he who cut off thy finger !' 
 
 Then the little Stringla ran up and cried, ' O ! 
 welcome, my little brother who escaped from my 
 hands ! Whenever I saw my maimed finger I remem- 
 bered thee and said, " Let him fall but once into my 
 hands !" Come now, and beat this drum, so that I may 
 know thou art not fled, while I go and sharpen my 
 teeth so as not to torture thee much, as thou art my 
 little brother,' and she gave him a drum to beat till she 
 came back. 
 
 But no sooner had she gone downstairs than a 
 Mouse came out and said to him, 
 
 ' Why dost thou stay here and beat the drum ? She 
 will sharpen her teeth and come and eat thee as she ate 
 the others !' 
 
 'But what can I do ?' asked the Prince. 
 
 ' Give me the drum to beat, and do thou run away.' 
 
 He gave the drum to the Mouse, and he beat it with 
 his tail. He went down to the oven, took off his torn 
 trousers, tied up the feet, and stuffed them with chaff, 
 hung them high up on a beam, and set off running. 
 When the Stringla had sharpened her teeth, she came 
 upstairs. Phrouct ! off goes the Mouse to his hole. 
 ^ See Vol. I., Annotation No. 14.
 
 /. MytJiological — (///•) Stipei'-nalist. 259 
 
 The Stringla Princess looks on this side and that, but 
 sees him not. She runs all about the house, and sees 
 the trousers hanging high up. 
 
 ' Ach r said she, 'thou hast got up there so that I 
 may not reach thee !' and she snaps at him with her 
 teeth and bites the cloth which was stuffed with chaff, 
 and the chaff falls on her face and nearly blinds her. 
 
 ' Ach /' said she, ' even if thou hide thee in a snake's 
 hole I wall drag thee out !' 
 
 She runs up and down in the garden. Nowhere ! 
 She runs out into the street, and sees him a long way 
 off. But as he was very far away she could not catch 
 him. He ran in front, and she behind; he in front, and 
 she behind ; and she had nearly caught him when the 
 Prince saw a date-palm, and climbed up into it. She 
 lost no time, but began to gnaw at the trunk that the 
 palm-tree might fall. As her teeth were sharpened, she 
 was not long about it ; and the tree was about to fall 
 when the Prince went up to the top and caught hold of 
 the branches of another date-palm and swung himself 
 upon it. The Stringla Princess lost no time ; she ran 
 to the second date-palm, and began to gnaw it. In 
 a little while the second tree began to totter. The 
 Prince lost no time, he took hold of the branches and 
 swung himself into the third date-palm. She ran to 
 the third and gnawed it. 
 
 * Ah ! now at length whither wilt thou go from me ? 
 There is no other date-tree, and as I am hungry and 
 angry, I will not leave a bone of thee !' 
 
 Then the Prince called to mind the words of the 
 Nereid, and he shouted with all his might, 
 
 ■ Come, my Asian, come ! Come, my Saine, come ! 
 Come, my Boutala, come !' 
 
 When the Nereid's three great Dogs heard this cry,
 
 26o Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 they broke loose, my eyes ! in a sweat, and fell upon 
 the Stringla Princess, and tore her to bits of bits. 
 
 Then the Prince went sadly to the Nereid, and told 
 her all he had seen and heard. Then he took the 
 Nereid for his wife. And they went together to his 
 palace with her servants, and sent out men, criers, and 
 they proclaimed throughout all the kingdom that the 
 Stringla was destroyed ; that the youngest son of the 
 King was on the road ; that he had married a rich 
 Queen ; and that whoever of his subjects wished to come 
 back, he would love him as a brother. When they 
 heard that the Stringla was slain, they came and did 
 homage to their King, for his fame had gone abroad 
 into all the world. Then the wedding was held, and 
 he took the Nereid for his wife, and distributed much 
 money and many gifts to his subjects, and enlarged his 
 kingdom, for he took the lands of the Dhrakos. He had 
 sons and heirs, and became the most noble and just 
 King in the world. 
 
 As to his father, they searched everywhere for him, 
 but found him not, whether alive or dead. This is the 
 end of the story of the Stringla Princess.
 
 THE WILD MAN.^^ 
 
 Astypalaia.^ 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeXk. Tlap., p. 179,) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen, and 
 they had one son. This King was always sorrowful 
 because he foresaw that, as he had neither soldiers nor 
 money, if any other King were at any time to declare 
 war against him, he would take away his kingdom from 
 him. This worm continually gnawed him, and so his 
 lips never smiled ; and every day he walked out into the 
 country to dispel the gloom which was in his heart. 
 
 One day as he was out walking, a Monk met him on 
 the road, and when he saw him so moody, he said, 
 ' Sir King, what is the matter that thou art so sad ? — 
 always moody is your Majesty !' 
 
 ' Eh, my good Monk,' says the King to him, ' every 
 stick has its own snioke,^ you know. I am moody 
 because one day I shall be undone ; they will take from 
 me all my towns, because I have no soldiers.' 
 
 ' Bd ! Is that why thou art sorrowful, my King ? I 
 will tell thee what to do. In a certain place there is a 
 Wild Man whom all the world fears for his strength. 
 Collect thy soldiers, and send men to seize him ; and 
 when thou possessest such a Wild Man, no King can 
 menace thee.' 
 
 Then the King rejoiced a little, and said, ' My Monk, 
 I will give thee whatever thou may'st desire, if only this 
 is accomplished and the Wild Man brought to me, as 
 thou sayest.' 
 
 "^ A small island in the yEgean belonging to Turkey. 
 ^ A Greek proverb.
 
 262 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 And when he returns to the palace, he calls imme- 
 diately the Twelve and tells them what the Monk had 
 said to him. The Twelve, when they heard his words, 
 rejoiced on the one hand, but looked grave on the other, 
 for how was it possible to bring that Wild Man ? So 
 they said to the King, ' O Sir King, thou sayest that 
 in a certain place away in the wilderness is to be 
 found a Wild Man ; but we must see if it is possible 
 to bring him. We see no easier way than that 
 he who told thee of this Man should himself bring 
 him.' 
 
 The next day, accordingly, very early in the morning, 
 the King gets up and goes to meet the Monk, and when 
 he had arrived at the same spot, the Monk again 
 presented himself, and said, ' Eh, what hast thou done, 
 my King ?' 
 
 Then the King replies, ' Alas, Kaloyerc, I have done 
 nothing. For I told my Twelve, and they said to me 
 that no other could bring him save he who had given 
 me the tidings.' 
 
 ' Very well. Sir King, if thou biddest me, I will bring 
 him to thee. Give me forty thousand soldiers ; make 
 me a chain of copper weighing a hundred thousand 
 kantars, and an iron cage each bar of which must be 
 like a column ; and so I will bring him to thee, otherwise 
 nothing can be done.' 
 
 ' I will gladly make for thee,' said the King, ' anything 
 thou askest me.' And he takes him, and brings him to 
 the palace, and at once gives orders to the Gipsies'^ to 
 collect all the copper in the city for the chain. In a 
 week all is ready. And the Monk takes them, and goes 
 for the Wild Man. 
 
 After two or three months they arrive at the place 
 
 => The gipsies are the blacksmiths of the East.
 
 /. MytJiological — {///.) Siipernalist. 26 
 
 v> 
 
 where he was. They immediately set to work and 
 encircled the mountain with the chain, and took every 
 precaution against his escaping at any spot. They did 
 in fact everything the Monk told them. And about 
 noon they felt the mountain tremble, and from that 
 they understood that the Wild Man was coming forth. 
 They look this way and that, but see nothing ; but when 
 they look upwards, they see — my eyes ! — coming down 
 from the summit a Wild Man, a sight which made 
 them tremble. But the Monk encouraged them. 
 
 ' Ah, my pallikars, let us seize the monster ! Bring 
 here the chain !' So then they took a little courage, 
 and began to shout and drag the chain, and so approach 
 him. But, as if he had wings, the Wild Man fled away, 
 and so they could not entangle him. Not to make 
 a long story of it, six months passed, and they had not 
 caught him ; and about the end of the sixth month the 
 Wild Man became one day at last weary ; and they 
 entangle him in the chain, and bind him, and put him 
 in the cage. 
 
 Then the Monk says to them, ' Now, my boys, you 
 may rest, for we have him safe !' 
 
 And they take him and bring him to the King, and 
 put the cage in the courtyard of the palace. You 
 should have seen the King when they brought him ! 
 He made great rejoicings, and embraced the Monk, and 
 kissed him tenderly, and said to him, ' What gift dost 
 thou desire in return for the favour thou hast done 
 me?' 
 
 ' I want nothing,' he said, 'but thy love.' 
 
 ' No,' said the King to him, ' am I not able to reward 
 thee ?' And he took and gave him many royal gifts, 
 and the Monk bade him adieu, and departed. 
 
 Let us return to the King. Sorrow and care had
 
 264 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 departed from him since the day on which they brought 
 him the Wild Man, and he leapt for joy. In a short 
 time, however, his grief returned, and you will see how. 
 Two weeks had not passed when one day the little 
 Prince was standing on the steps of the palace, playing 
 with a golden apple. As he played, it slipped from his 
 fingers, and rolled, and rolled, until it got inside the 
 cage where was the Wild Man, and he picked it up. 
 The boy runs to the cage and asks for his apple. And 
 then, for the first time, the W^ild Man speaks and says 
 to the Prince, ' If thou wilt take the key and open the 
 door of the cage that I may take the air a little who 
 have been so long imprisoned, then I will give thee the 
 golden apple.' 
 
 The Prince, like the child that he was, goes and takes 
 the key, and opens the door, and the W^ild Man gives 
 him the apple, and then gives him a kick, and — if you 
 see him, so do I ! 
 
 In a short time the King comes, and as soon as he 
 enters the courtyard, he goes to look at the Wild Man, 
 as was his custom, for he was his consolation. And 
 when he saw that the cage was open, and the Wild Man 
 gone, he lost his senses, and drew his sword and ran to 
 kill him who kept the key. As he was going to cut off 
 his head, this man cried, ' Sir King, you kill me un- 
 justly, I have done no wrong! My Prince came and 
 took the keys without my knowledge, and went and 
 opened, and the Wild Man ran away.' 
 
 ' Is that true ?' asked the King frantically. 
 
 ' It is true, Affcndi /' 
 
 So he left him and ran to kill his son. But the 
 Queen, when she heard of it, seized the Prince in her 
 arms, and cried, and besought the King — ' In God's 
 name, my King, do not such a thing as to kill your son
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Sttpernalist. 265 
 
 in your anger,' she said, and much more. Then all 
 the people in the palace fell at his feet, and ' Don't, my 
 King ! Don't !' they cried. ' Don't do such a thing !' 
 And amid the cries and tears, here from the Queen, and 
 there from the rest, the boy found means to escape. 
 The King called and sought him, and when he was a 
 little calmer, he made an oath, and said, ' Let him not 
 appear before me, nor let my eyes see him, for I will 
 not leave life in him so long as I remember how much 
 I spent to bring hither that Wild Man, and he to let 
 him go ! I cannot stomach it ! Let him go so far 
 away that I cannot hear of him, for he knows what will 
 happen to him.' 
 
 The poor Queen, when she heard such hard words 
 from the mouth of his father, seeks to make him flee 
 quickly, and goes at once to order him a pair of iron 
 shoes, and puts in each one fifty gold pieces, takes 
 whatever else is necessary for him, and carries them to 
 the place where she had bidden him hide, and says to 
 him, ' My boy, as my fate has overshadowed thee, and 
 thou hast done such a deed ; and as thy father has 
 made a solemn oath, never again to let him see thee, or 
 he will kill thee, thou must change thy name and thy 
 dress, and go to live in a foreign land until we can see 
 what turn things will take. And one thing only I beg 
 of thee, that in whatever place thou bidest, thou wilt 
 learn letters, because for that purpose I have put in thy 
 shoes a hundred pieces of gold.' And then she takes 
 and strips him of his royal garments, and puts on him 
 rustic clothes, gives him all that is necessary, and 
 speeds him with her prayers. 
 
 Let us now leave the King and the Queen to their 
 sorrow, and let us follow the poor Prince, who took to 
 the hills without knowing whither he went. He
 
 266 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 journeys one week, he journeys two, and in about a 
 month he comes upon a herd who was tending a 
 thousand pigs. 
 
 ' Good da}^, swineherd !' said he to him. 
 
 ' Well met, and what art thou seeking here ?' 
 
 ' What can I do ?' replied the Prince. ' I am a poor 
 boy, and I have come out to find work so that I may 
 earn my own living and help my parents.' 
 
 ' Ah, is that it ? Eh, what sayest thou ? Will thy 
 bones hold good to look after those swine ?' 
 
 ' Bravo /' replies the Prince. ' They will hold good.' 
 
 ' Then stay with me, for I am only fifteen days from 
 the end of my time ; and come with me in the evening 
 to my master, and I will tell him that I am going away — 
 for I am weary of this trade, and you can take my place.' 
 
 When God brought the evening, the pair of them 
 took the pigs to the fold, where they found the master. 
 When he saw the youth, he asked the herd, ' What is 
 the matter that thou hast brought him herewith thee ?' 
 
 ' Did I not tell thee that when my time was up I 
 should go ? and thou saidst that I could not go unless 
 I brought another in my stead ? Well, then, I have 
 brought him !' 
 
 ' Very well,' he replied, ' let the fifteen days pass, and 
 I will pay thee and thou may'st go about thy business. 
 Only during these fifteen days thou must take him with 
 thee and teach him where and where to go with the 
 pigs, lest perchance he take them to some strange place, 
 and we lose them.' 
 
 But the youth soon found his way into the hearts of 
 his master and mistress. For whenever he went to the 
 house he did not sit with crossed hands, but took at 
 once the broom and swept, lighted the fire, and amused 
 the children until one cried ' Touvon, Tonron /' and the
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Siipcrnalist. 267 
 
 other ' Nid I Nid /' and he did all the work of the 
 house. In fifteen days he became a better herd than 
 the first. And he brought good luck, too. For from the 
 time that the other left, the pigs were bursting with fat, 
 not one got lost, not one fell lame, but they were just 
 like young lions ; and the master loved him from his 
 heart, for, from the time he had come into the house, 
 everything had prospered. And so well did he love 
 him that he told him he would make him his son-in-law. 
 But the Prince remembered his mother's words and how 
 she had told him to go on with his studies, and not to 
 become a mere shepherd. So one evening when he 
 returned home, he pretended to be very melancholy. 
 His master, the apple of whose eye he was, observed 
 his sadness and said, ' What ails thee that I see thee 
 sad ? If thou hast lost a pig, and art anxious, never 
 mind ! it matters not so that thou art well.' 
 
 ' How shall I tell you, Affendi ? It is not that, but I 
 am melancholy because I must soon leave you. For I 
 have received a letter saying that my mother is dying, 
 and now I must go and receive her blessing.' 
 
 ' Stay where thou art, my boy. Who knows if thou 
 wilt find her living ?' 
 
 ' No, Affendi, you will give me leave to go and see my 
 mother ?' 
 
 ' My boy, if thy longing is so great, thou art free to 
 go ; I will not detain thee.' 
 
 And with these wiles he deceived his master, who 
 would not have otherwise allowed him to depart. So 
 again he takes to the road, and tramps, and tramps, and 
 after a time he comes to a town. As he was passing 
 along a street he saw a shoemaker's shop, and stopped 
 before the door. The master, seeing him, asked, 
 ' What dost thou want, my boy ?'
 
 268 Greek Folk-Pi'-osc. 
 
 ' What do I want ? I am a poor boy, and want to 
 learn a trade in order to live, and assist my family,' as 
 he had said to the herd. 
 
 His reply was uttered in such a plaintive tone that 
 the master had pity on him and said, ' Eh, wouldst thou 
 become a shoemaker ?' 
 
 ' O that God may dispose thee to such an act of 
 charity !' 
 
 ' Come in then, my boy, for thou art the lucky 
 fellow.' 
 
 And when he was come in, he saw a man who was 
 polishing a pair of shoes. He seized the brush, and in 
 a moment he had turned them into looking-glasses, 
 while all in the shop wondered at his cleverness. The 
 master then sent him to his house with a basin of water, 
 and when he was come there — not to repeat it all over 
 again — he did as he had done with his first master. 
 And everybody was pleased with him, and he was even 
 more beloved than he had been at the shepherd's house. 
 
 When two or three months had passed, and he saw 
 how fond they were of him, he said one day to his 
 master, ' Mdstore,^ I would ask you a favour !' 
 
 ' Ask two, my boy,' was the reply, ' what is thy 
 wish ?' 
 
 ' When, Mdstore, I left home, I had learnt a little, but 
 now I have nearly forgotten it all, and I shall remain 
 half blind, for it is well said that " they who are learned 
 have four eyes.'' And you will say, "There is no need 
 for thee to study, learn thy trade !" and you will be 
 right, mdstore. But my mother told me that, whatever 
 trade I might learn, it would be necessary for me to 
 have some schooling. And now I pray you, if possible, 
 
 •"» Or 7ndst?-o, the Italian maestro. Our (ueek shoemaker at 
 Bournabat was always designated ' Mastor' Yianni.'
 
 /. Mylhological—illl.) Snpernalist. 269 
 
 to find me a teacher, that I ma}' do lessons but two 
 hours in the day, and in the others I will work at my 
 trade.' 
 
 ' Very good, my dear boy,' was the reply. 
 
 As good luck would have it, his master knew a clever 
 schoolmaster who dealt at his shop. And the boy's 
 good luck brought this man past the shop at the very 
 moment they were talking. 
 
 So the master called, ' Dhdskalc, dhdskale ! Come in ! 
 You will do me the favour to give lessons to this youth 
 two hours a day, and I shall be much obliged to you.' 
 
 ' If anj-one else had asked me, Mdstro Ghiorghi ' — for 
 this was the shoemaker's name — ' I should have said 
 "No"; but I cannot say that to Mdstro Ghiorghi. 
 Only let him come at noon to my house, and I will 
 examine him, and then I will do my best with him for 
 the two hours, and it shall be as if he studied all day.' 
 
 So at noon, as the schoolmaster had said, he goes to 
 his house and asks him how much he must pay him for 
 his lessons. 
 
 ' Bre, my dear boy,' he replies, ' I see that thou art 
 poor ; what can I ask from thee ?' 
 
 ' But tell me though, for I can raise the mone}^ some- 
 how and pay you.' 
 
 ' What shall I say ? IMy trouble ma}' be worth some 
 thirty or forty dollars. But I don't want to gain any- 
 thing by thee — give me whatever thou conveniently 
 canst.' 
 
 Then the boy took off his shoe, and took out of it the 
 fifty sequins and gave them to the schoolmaster, who, 
 when he saw them, smiled, for — ' What is given to Christ 
 is received back again ' — and he said, ' Never mind, my 
 boy, if thou pleasest me, I also will please thee.' 
 
 And the disguised Prince made the schoolmaster do
 
 270 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 his best ; and in a short time the Prince finished his 
 studies, and became a lamp of learning. And afterwards 
 he hired another teacher to whom he gave tlie other 
 fifty sequins, to learn navigation ; and at the same time 
 he learned to make shoes well. At last the master 
 wanted to make him a bridegroom — and, in short, he 
 played him the same trick as he had played his former 
 master. And again he takes to the hills and runs and 
 runs, until he meets with a herd who was tending a 
 thousand goats. 
 
 ' Good day, my goatherd !' 
 
 ' Welcome, my boy !' 
 
 And after they had exchanged a few words the goat- 
 herd goes away, and leaves him in charge of the goats. 
 And the goats again, as formerly the pigs, prospered ; 
 none ever fell lame, or got lost out of his hand, and his 
 master was delighted with him. 
 
 One day, as he was driving the goats home to the 
 fold, one goat strayed away from the rest, and as he 
 w^as very unwilling to lose her, he follow^ed after. She 
 crossed one hill ridge, and stopped, and then another, 
 and stopped, and the youth ran after her to catch her. 
 Well, what are you expecting ? — she crossed seven 
 ridges, and finally stopped content ; and when the 
 3^outh approached her, there appeared before him the 
 Wild Man, who embraced him and kissed him and said 
 to him, 
 
 ' My Prince, for my sake thou hast suffered this 
 adversity, and art become a shepherd and a shoemaker ! 
 But I have been ever near thee, that evil might not 
 befall thee ; and now I will make thee the greatest king 
 upon earth ! And to-day I enticed away the goat, that 
 I might show myself to thee, and put an end to thy 
 misfortunes. So sit thee down and rest thyself.'
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) SupcrualisL 271 
 
 * No,' replied the Prince, ' I cannot. I must first 
 take back the goat to my master, and then, if thou 
 desire it, I will return, but now I cannot.' 
 
 ' Go, then, and come back quickly !' 
 
 So he takes the goat, and goes back, and finds the 
 rest all together, and leads them to his master, and tells 
 him that he cannot remain, as he has received letters 
 from his parents who bid him come, for they are in 
 trouble. And so he arose and went away to meet the 
 Wild Man. And when he was come again to the same 
 ridge the Wild Man appeared before him, and took off 
 his old clothes, and dressed him in royal cloth of gold, 
 and showed him a cave filled with sequins, and said to 
 him, 
 
 ' Seest thou all that ? — for thee have I kept it.' 
 
 Then he took him to another place where was a 
 marble slab with an inscription upon it. And when the 
 Wild Man had read the inscription he removed the 
 slab, and said to the Prince, 
 
 ' Now thou wilt descend three hundred steps, and 
 when thou art at the bottom thou wilt see forty 
 chambers, and in each one of them a Nereid.'*'^ When 
 thou hast entered the first chamber, the first Nereid will 
 appear before thee, and her first words will be to ask 
 thee to marry her. Thou must reply, *' With all my 
 heart, that is what I am come for !" and she will be 
 pleased, and will bestow on thee a gift ; and so thou 
 must deceive them all, and when thou hast gained the 
 forty gifts, escape and come back to me.' 
 
 So the Prince descended the three hundred steps, and 
 when he came to the first chamber as the Dhrako"' had 
 said, the first Nereid immediately appeared, and asked 
 him, ' What seekest thou ? Wilt thou marry me ?' 
 
 ^ The Wild Man is here alluded to by this name.
 
 Greek Folk-P7'ose. 
 
 ' Certainly, my lady,' he replied. ' It is for that I 
 have come.' 
 
 Then she said, ' May'st thou shine like the sun !' 
 
 Then he goes to the next, and she says to him, 
 ' May'st thou be a philosopher !' In a word, they 
 endowed him with forty gifts. And he fled and returned 
 to the Dhrako, who, when he saw him, said, ' Well 
 done ! Now we are all right, you only lack a beautiful 
 wife. In the nearest city is a beautiful Princess who 
 sets a task, and the task is this : She has a ring which 
 is hung on the roof of the tower, and whoso is able to 
 leap up and seize the ring, may marry her ; but if he 
 fails she cuts off his head. And already many Princes 
 and King's sons have decorated the tower with their 
 heads, and but one is wanting to finish a tower. So 
 now let us go and fulfil this condition ; and if perchance 
 thou art afraid of the leap, do but jump upwards and I 
 will give the ring into thine hand, and we will win the 
 Princess. And give no heed to the people who, when 
 they see such a youth, will say, " For God's sake, leap 
 not ! Lose not so unjustly thy beautiful young life !" 
 but do as I have told thee.' 
 
 Then he presented the Prince with a mare all golden 
 from head to foot, and with trappings of diamonds — a 
 wonder to behold ; and she was so swift that she went 
 like the wind. They mounted her, and, as soon as you 
 could wink your eye, they found themselves outside 
 that city, when the Wild Man disappeared, and the 
 Prince was left alone. The people stared at them, and 
 knew not which to admire more, the mare or the Prince. 
 When the Princess saw such a handsome youth, she lost 
 her senses ; and all prayed God that the Prince might 
 win, and marry the Princess ; and on the other hand they 
 pitied his youth, and begged him not to attempt the task.
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Siipernalist. 273 
 
 The Prince, however, heeded them not, but thought 
 of what the Wild Man had said to him. And he 
 hastened to the tower, and all the crowd followed him, 
 weeping and crying, 'The poor Prince!' When he 
 arrived at the tower, and saw how high it was, his 
 courage failed ; but he was ashamed to show it, and said 
 to himself, ' Come with thy prayers, my mother !' 
 And he took a leap, and found the ring in his hand. 
 
 Then was their lamentation changed into laughter 
 and joy ! And the King said the}' should be married 
 that very evening. But the Wild Man presently said 
 to the Prince, ' Do not be married this evening, but 
 betrothed only, for thy father has been dead six 
 months, and another has come forward to claim the 
 kingdom, and on the morrow thou must set out, for 
 there is no time to be lost.' 
 
 So he told the King that he had such and such 
 business on hand. Then he took the ring which he 
 had got down, and gave his to the Princess, and when 
 they had said farewell to each other, he went away. 
 Mounting his mare, he was soon in his native country, 
 and he hastened to the palace and asked for his mother. 
 The servants told him that since the death of the King 
 of blessed memory, the Queen had covered herself with 
 seven black veils, and would see no man. 
 
 'And so,' they said, 'we cannot tell you where she 
 is.' (For how should they know, poor things, that he 
 was the Prince ?) 
 
 He begged them [to let him go in] because he had a 
 secret to tell the Queen, which would do her good 
 to learn. He begged so hard that they relented, and 
 went to tell the Queen. And when the Prince saw his 
 mother's chamber, he rushed in and cried, ' Queen ! I 
 am thy son !' 
 
 VOL. II. 18
 
 2 74 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Without seeing him at all, she said, ' Go, and good 
 luck go with you, my boy, you drive me mad every hour 
 with my son ! — " My boy is found, and to-morrow he 
 will be seen on the road !" ' 
 
 ' Am I not, mother mine, the Prince, whose father of 
 blessed memory sent the Monk to find the Wild Man ; 
 and one day I was playing with the golden apple, and 
 it fell into the cage, and I took the key and opened it, 
 and the Wild Man escaped ?' 
 
 ' [Those are] things that have happened, my boy, 
 and thou hast heard, and repeatest them.' 
 
 '■ Am I not he whom thou didst embrace and didst 
 save from my father, and didst send to a foreign land, 
 because my father had made an oath to kill me ?' 
 
 ' [Those are] things that have happened, my boy ; 
 and thou hast learnt and repeatest them.' 
 
 * Am I not that Prince into whose shoes thou didst 
 put a hundred sequins that I might finish my studies ?' 
 
 When the Queen heard these words, she cast off her 
 black coverings, and threw herself on his neck, saying, 
 ' Thou art my son ! O live, m}^ Light ! Thou hast 
 come back safely ! Thou art my Consolation !' and 
 much besides. 
 
 When it was known in the town that the real Prince 
 had come back, the people ran to meet him, and made 
 great rejoicings and displays; and the Prince had no 
 concern save the grief of his mother, who was still 
 sorrowing for the King. After a few days they allowed 
 him to go with his mother to take the air. And the}' 
 went to fetch the Princess who, while the Prince delayed, 
 stood wasting like a candle, for she thought he did not 
 love her. But when she heard that the Prince had 
 returned with his mother, she was like to burst with 
 joy. And the King ran, and the Twelve ran, and
 
 /. Mythological — {II I ^ Siipernalist. 275 
 
 small and great ran to welcome the Prince. And when 
 they had led them to the palace, they crowned them/ 
 and again there was staring and wondering ! 
 
 When the wedding and the rejoicings came to an 
 end, the Prince took his mother and the Princess, bade 
 adieu to his father-in-law, and returned to his own 
 kingdom. When they arrived, the Wild Man appeared, 
 and told the Prince to give him fifty camels to bring 
 away the treasure [from the cave]. So he takes the 
 camels, and goes and lades them all with sequins, and 
 brings them to the palace, and remains there himself. 
 And the Prince at last begins to enjoy his life. 
 
 But, behold you, a time comes when the other kings 
 learn that he has wealth and gear, and they envy him ; 
 and seven Kings and seven Princes come against him 
 and soldiers without number, to fight against him, and 
 to take from him his towns, and his treasures, and his 
 wife. 
 
 When the Prince heard this, he, too, began to get 
 ready. But what could he do against so many soldiers ? 
 And so his heart quaked with the fear of losing his 
 kingdom. Then the Wild Man said to him, ' Thou 
 hast me, and yet thou art afraid ! And not only with 
 regard to this matter, but whatever may happen, let it 
 not even make thine ear sweat ! For so long as the 
 Wild Man lives, thou needest neither raise soldiers, nor 
 do anything but amuse thy sweet one.' 
 
 So the Prince took courage, and troubled himself no 
 more as to whether he was at war or not. And when 
 his good Wild Man knew that the enemy had come 
 quite close to the town, he arose and went and fell upon 
 them, first on this hand and then on the other, till he 
 had destroyed them all. Then he took the seven Kings 
 
 •'' With the marriage crowns.
 
 276 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and the seven Princes, and bound them, and brought 
 them before the Prince, and said, ' Here are thine 
 enemies, do with them as thou wilt !' 
 
 Then they began to weep, and to beg the Prince not 
 to kill them, and they would pay him tribute every year. 
 Then the Prince had pity on them, and said, ' Be off, I 
 give you your lives ! But truly ye shall, each one oi 
 you, pay me so much tribute every year.' 
 
 Then he released them, and they fell down and did 
 homage to him as to their superior, and each one went 
 about his business. And so the Prince became, as the 
 Wild Man had promised, the greatest King in the world, 
 and feared no one. And so he lived happily, and more 
 than happily. And we more happily still !
 
 THE LORD OF UNDEREARTH}' 
 
 Milos. 
 
 (NeoeXXrjviKa ^ AvakeKra, A. I.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a poor old man, and one 
 day he set off to gather firewood. He went and 
 gathered a small quantity, and brought it back with 
 him to the village. On the road, feeling tired, he sat 
 down at a certain spot, and heaving a deep sigh from 
 the bottom of his heart, he cried, ' Och ohnc and alli- 
 mono^ (O dear me, and alackaday) !' He had no sooner 
 said the words than lo ! there stood before him a Negro, 
 who said, 
 
 ' What dost thou want of me ?' 
 
 The poor old man was frightened, and he answered, 
 ' I want nothing, I did not call thee !' 
 
 Then the Negro asked him, ' Hast thou any 
 daughters ?' 
 
 ' I have three,' replied the old man. 
 
 ' To-morrow morning thou must bring me here the 
 eldest.' 
 
 Early the next morning the old man took his eldest 
 daughter to that spot. The Negro came up and took 
 her and led her to a place where there were great 
 palaces and gardens exceedingly beautiful. At noon, 
 when it was time to eat, the Negro laid the table for 
 her, and served to her a man's foot all rotten and alive 
 with worms, and said to her, ' If thou wilt eat that foot 
 thou shalt marry the Lord of the Underearth, otherwise 
 I will take thee back to thy father.' 
 
 ' The first two syllables of the last word are pronounced A/T, 
 which happened to be the Negro's name. See \'o\. I., Annot. No. 23.
 
 278 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The bare sight of the foot made the poor girl sick ; 
 and presently, when the Negro had gone away, she took 
 it and threw it into the ashpit. By and by the Negro 
 came back to clear the table, and he called out, ' Little 
 foot of mine, little foot of mine, where art thou ?' 
 
 ' In the ashpit, where my lady threw me !' it replied. 
 
 Then said the Negro, ' Come, my girl, I will take thee 
 back to thy father, for thou art not for us.' 
 
 He takes and gives her back to her father, and says to 
 him, ' Bring me the second !' 
 
 The next day the old man leads the second to him. 
 The Negro takes her too down below, and spreads a 
 table for her. But instead of food he gives her a worm- 
 eaten human hand to eat. Not to make a long story 
 of it, when she too had thought about it a little while, 
 she took it and threw it into the ashpit. The Negro 
 comes back again, clears the table, and calls to the 
 hand, ' Little hand of mine, little hand of mine ! where 
 art thou ?' 
 
 ' In the ashpit, where my lady threw me !' 
 
 Then the Negro takes her, too, back to her father, 
 and tells him to bring his third daughter. The next 
 day the old man brought the third to him. The Negro 
 takes her, seats her too at the table, and instead of food 
 he gives her a stinking human stomach to eat, and says 
 to her, ' If thou art capable of eating that, thou shalt 
 have for thy husband the Lord of the Underearth, 
 otherwise thou, too, shalt go where thy sisters have 
 gone.' 
 
 The girl, who was cunning, answered him, 
 
 ' At your orders, my Negro ; if you will only bring 
 me two or three cloves, and a little cinnamon to season 
 the stomach with, I will eat it.' 
 
 So the Negro brought her the stomach, and the cloves
 
 /. Mythological — [III-) Supernalist. 279 
 
 and the cinnamon. She set to, and seasoned it and 
 plastered it upon her own stomach, and tied it there 
 with her girdle. When the Negro came to clear the 
 table, he called, 
 
 ' My stomach, my stomach, where art thou ?' 
 
 ' In^ the stomach of my lady,' it replied. 
 
 Then the Negro was glad, and she was to him both 
 light and eyesight. The poor girl, however, never saw 
 her husband, because in the evening, when she had 
 eaten, the Negro gave her coffee, and in the coffee there 
 was sleep. And so she slept, and when the Lord of the 
 Underearth came to sleep, she knew it not. And so the 
 time passed. But one day her sisters, w^hen they saw 
 that the Negro did not bring her back, took into their 
 heads to go and see what she was doing down below 
 there. The}^ told the old man, and he came to the 
 place and called, 
 
 ' Och dime I and alliuiono /' and lo ! there was the 
 Negro again ! 
 
 Then the old man says to him, ' iVIy children miss 
 their sister ; if it is possible, allow them to see her.' 
 
 The Negro replies, ' Bring them here to-morrow.' 
 
 In the morning the old man brought them, and the 
 Negro took them and led them to their sister. She 
 received them with great joy, and when they were sat 
 down and had talked of this and that, one of them said 
 to the 3'oungest, 
 
 ' My dear sister, you think the Negro is your husband, 
 while all the time you have a most handsome young 
 man ; but you never see him because the Negro gives 
 to you every evening [a draught of] sleep. To-night, 
 however, when he gives you the coffee, throw it away 
 secretly ; and when he comes to sleep with you he has a 
 " The Greek words 's rrjv signify equally z'n the oi on the.
 
 2 8o Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 key in his navel — turn that key and thou wih see the 
 whole world !' 
 
 When the wicked sisters had said this, they went 
 a^^'ay. 
 
 In the evening, she threw away the coffee, and then 
 pretended to be asleep. The Negro took her up, and 
 laid her in her bed. In a little while she sees an 
 exceedingly handsome young man come into the 
 chamber and lie down on the bed. When he 
 let her alone and went to sleep, she, like a wise and 
 prudent woman, took and turned the key which was in 
 his navel, and what did she see ? — Constantinople, 
 Smyrna, and all the world ! There she saw, too, an 
 old woman washing her yarn in a river, and the water 
 was carrying some of it away unknown to the old 
 woman. 
 
 Then the poor girl forgot where she was, and she 
 cried, ' Old woman, old woman ! the river is carrying 
 away thy yarn !' 
 
 When the youth heard in his sleep these cries, he 
 awoke, and said to her, ' Skyla, turn the ke}-, for thou 
 hast lost me !' 
 
 Then she was afraid, and turned the key. But in the 
 morning the Lord of the Underearth said to his Negro, 
 ' Take her and cut off two hairs from her head, and put 
 them in a basin of water, and watch them day and 
 night, and when thou seest them sink, tell me. Give 
 her a piece of bread and send her away.' 
 
 As his master bade him, so did the Negro. The 
 unlucky girl took her piece of bread and went away. 
 She went on, and on, till she came upon a shepherd, 
 and said to him, 
 
 ' Wilt thou, happy man, give me thy clothes, and 
 take mine ?'
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Siipcrnalist. 281 
 
 * With pleasure,' replied the shepherd. 
 
 She put on the shepherd's clothes, and left. When 
 she had gone a long way, she came to a great city, and 
 cried in the streets, 
 
 ' 'Tis I who am the good servant ! 'Tis I who am 
 the good servant !' 
 
 The King of the city hearing him, and seeing that he 
 was well built and clean, took him for his servant. He 
 asked him what he was called, and he said, ' Yianni.' 
 
 But in time, and for Yianni's sins, the Queen fell in 
 love with him. One day the King was going out hunt- 
 ing, and took Yianni with him. When they had gone 
 half way on their road, the King discovered that he had 
 left his watch behind, and he said to him, ' My good 
 Yianni, I have forgotten my watch. Run back and 
 bring it to me, but go softly into the chamber in order 
 not to waken your lady.' 
 
 So Yianni turned back, and went softly into the 
 chamber. But his lady was awake, and was still in 
 bed. She threw herself upon him in order to satisfy 
 her wicked desires. Yianni resisted her, and in the 
 struggle she scratched him with her nails, and made the 
 poor fellow's face all in a mess with the blood. Finally 
 he escaped from her, seized the watch of his lord, and 
 fled. When he overtook him, and his master saw 
 his face all over blood, he asked, ' I sa}^ Yianni, what 
 has happened to thee ?' 
 
 Said he, ' I passed, Ajfendi, through a place full of 
 brambles, and from m}^ hurry to overtake you, I got 
 scratched.' 
 
 In the evening they returned again to the palace, but 
 the Queen was in a wild-beast rage with Yianni, and 
 she said to the King, 
 
 ' To-day, my King, it is a wonder that you find me
 
 282 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 living, for you sent that wretch to bring your watch, 
 and he came to shame me who was still in bed ; and I, 
 poor thing, like a weak woman, I fought against him 
 with my nails, and made his face as you see it, and 
 drove him forth.' 
 
 When the King heard these words, he determined to 
 call together all the Princes of his country, and before 
 them to hang Yianni. The appointed day arrived, and 
 all the people were gathered beneath the palace where 
 they were going to hang him. Then the Negro called 
 to the Lord of Underearth, ' My lord, come ! for the 
 hairs are beginning to sink !' 
 
 Then the Lord of Underearth hastened and mounted 
 his horse, and galloped with all four [legs], and from 
 afar he made signs that they should wait. The Queen 
 who was in the gallery of the palace and saw him, told 
 them to wait a little, for there was coming one in great 
 haste. They waited until he came up, but when he was 
 come, he asked, ' Why are you hanging that man ?' 
 
 Then the Queen, without allowing anyone else to 
 speak, said, ' My Prince, that wretched man wished to 
 put me to shame.' 
 
 Then said the Lord of Underearth, ' And if this man 
 is a woman, what shall we do to you, my lady ?' 
 
 ' Then let them hang me,' replied the Queen. 
 
 The Lord of Underearth lost no time, but tore the 
 clothes that covered Yianni's chest, and immediately 
 the bosom of a woman was seen. 
 
 ' Now say, my lords, shall I tear down any farther ?' 
 
 ' No, so far is enough,' said the King. Then they let 
 the Lord of the Underearth take away Yianni, and the 
 wicked Queen they hanged. 
 
 I was not there, and neither were you, so you need 
 not believe it !
 
 THE TWO COBBLERS.^^ 
 
 Syra. 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeWrjViKd TJapafxvOia, p. 227. 
 
 Good-evening ! — and here begins my story ! 
 
 Once upon a time there were two brothers who were 
 shoemakers, and both were very poor. Finally, in 
 order to earn a living, they made up their minds to 
 travel in search of work. The wife of the one was wise 
 and prudent, and she advised her husband to take any 
 work that might come in his way, even if it were but 
 for a halfpenny, or even a farthing, rather than sit idle. 
 The other was a vain and silly woman, and she said to 
 her husband, ' In whatsoever place thou may'st be, 
 mind and never waste thy time working for one or two 
 piastres ; if thou gettest not five, don't work !' 
 
 So the two husbands set off on their travels. The 
 one ahva5's asked for five piastres, and if he did not get 
 it, he would not work, and so he did not prosper. The 
 other also asked for five piastres, but when he did not 
 get it, he took what he could get, and, by-and-by, with 
 the blessing of God, he had new clothes and three 
 hundred piastres^' — at that time three hundred piastres 
 was a large sum ! 
 
 One day the two brothers met. The do-nothing, 
 when he saw his brother so well off, said, ' How art 
 thou, brother, hast thou earned anything?' 
 
 ' Little by little,' he replied, ' I have made three 
 hundred piastres.' 
 
 ' Well, I can only say that it was not m}- luck to find 
 work.' 
 
 -' About £2 14s.
 
 284 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 His brother gave him a Httle money, and they started 
 to go to Syra. When they had gone some distance, 
 says the do-nothing, ' I will ask thee a riddle.' 
 
 ' Ask away.' 
 
 Says he, ' Which wins, truth or falsehood ?' 
 
 ' Truth, of course !' 
 
 'No,' says he, 'falsehood. If truth wins, I will give 
 thee a hundred piastres ; but if falsehood, thou must 
 give me a hundred.' 
 
 The other does not know the riddle ; but, not to 
 quarrel with his brother, he consents. Presently 
 there appears before them Satan in the form of a man. 
 They ask him, ' Which wins, truth or falsehood ?' 
 
 ' Falsehood,' he replies. 
 
 Says the do-nothing, ' Give me my hundred piastres !' 
 
 What could he do ? He takes them out and gives 
 them to him. To make a long story short, with two 
 other tricks of the same kind he eases him of the 
 remaining two hundred; and, finally, he puts out his 
 eyes, leaves him in a cave, and goes away. He goes to 
 the town. His brother's wife asks him, ' But where is 
 my husband ?' 
 
 ' Ouf r he replies, ' he is a drunkard, an idle fellow. 
 He would not take any work that came, but would have 
 his five piastres.' 
 
 Says she, ' Brc ! But I advised him to take any work 
 that came in his way.' 
 
 Let us leave this fellow in Syra, and return to his 
 brother, who was lying blinded in the cave. There he 
 remained, and wept, and wept. In the evening, 
 towards midnight, he heard a great noise, and shouting, 
 and cursing, and there came into the cave a troop of 
 Nereids and sat them down — for this was their haunt — 
 and began to relate their adventures.
 
 /, MytJiological — (///•) Supernalist. 285 
 
 The first said, ' Do you know what I have done 
 to-day. I made the King of Constantinople a leper. 
 And thou ?' 
 
 ' I made a mother throw her living child into a 
 cauldron of boiling water. And thou ?' 
 
 ' I caused a man to take three hundred piastres from 
 his brother, and put out his eyes. And thou ?' 
 
 ' I made one brother kill another.' 
 
 And so one told her doings, and another hers. Said 
 the one who made the mother to throw her child into 
 boiling water, ' I have done good work !' 
 
 Then the two who had made the King a leper, and 
 made the man put out his brother's eyes said, ' Yes, 
 indeed, thou hast done a good deed ; thou hast sent a 
 soul to heaven ! And thou boasteth of it, forsooth ! 
 We will tell thee what we did to torment them.' 
 
 Said the one who had made a man kill his brother, 
 ' Thou hast done well to torment them ! If they only 
 knew, they would come to the fountain outside here to 
 bathe, and the leper would be whole, and the blind 
 would see.' 
 
 And so they went on talking all night ; and in the 
 morning they arose and went away. The poor blind 
 man, whom by God's mercy the Nereids had not dis- 
 covered, got up in the morning, and after a little search 
 he found the fountain, in which he bathed his eyes, and 
 again saw the light. He then bethought him of the 
 King of Constantinople, and finding a potsherd on the 
 road, he filled it with water and set off for the city. He 
 went to the palace and asked to see the King. The 
 guards go and tell the King. 
 
 Says he, ' Let him come in !' 
 
 He goes in, and says to the King, ' My King, lie 
 down !'
 
 286 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The King lay down, and he took and washed him, 
 and the lepros}' fell from him, and he was healed. The 
 King embraced him, and kissed him, and said to him, 
 ' I will give thee the half of my kingdom, and make 
 thee my Vizier !' 
 
 ' No thank you, my King, for I have a wife and 
 children and want to go home to them.' 
 
 So as he would not, the King loaded twelve camels 
 with gold coins and sent him home with them. When 
 his wife saw him, she lost control of herself with joy. 
 Said she, ' Bre ! they told me that thou hadst become 
 a beggar and a do-nothing !' 
 
 Said he, ' Never mind, my brother was playing thee a 
 joke.' But he told her nothing more. 
 
 Now his brother was spending his time in coffee- 
 houses and taverns, and did no work whatever, but 
 spent his three hundred piastres. And his brother gave 
 him money two or three times. Then an idea came 
 into his head. ' Bre /' said he to himself, ' this fellow, 
 as he gives me money, must have plenty ! — but where 
 did he get it ?' 
 
 He went one day to his brother, and said to him, 
 ' Thou knowest what I did to thee ? — tell me where 
 didst thou get back thy sight, and so much money ?' 
 
 Well, he sits down and tells him. 
 
 Says he, ' Wilt not do me the favour to take me to 
 that same place, and put out my eyes, and perhaps I 
 also may find riches ?' 
 
 So they go, and he puts out his eyes, but not as he 
 had done, from malice. He leaves him in the same 
 cave and goes away. During the night the Nereids 
 come again, and begin to talk one to the other, and 
 the other to another. One striking her forehead 
 says, 'Bre I Do you know that that blind man re-
 
 /. Mythological — (///•) Supcrnalist. 287 
 
 cov'ered his sij^^ht, and the King of Constantinople was 
 cured ? There must be someone who Hstens ! Let us 
 search !' 
 
 So they search, and soon find our good man, and 
 make mincemeat of him. And his brother remained 
 with his wife, and they hvcd happily. And we more 
 happily still \^ 
 
 ^ The conclusion of this story recalls the tale of 'Ali Baba and 
 the Forty Thieves.' A still closer parallel to that Oriental favourite 
 exists in ' The Two Brothers and the Forty-nine Dhrakos.' As it 
 has already been translated into English (Geldart, Folklore of 
 Modern Greece)^ it is not given here. The original is to be found 
 in the ^eoeWrjfi.Ka ' ApdXeKTa.
 
 THE PUZZLED HERMIT.^^ 
 
 Naxos. 
 (NeoeWrjviKa 'ApdXcKTa, B, 2.) 
 
 There was once an old man who lived as a hermit for 
 forty years, and knew nothing whatever of what the 
 world was doing. At last he took it into his head to go 
 down to the city to see and to hear what was happening. 
 So he sets out, your Honours, from his cell, and goes, 
 and goes, and goes, and at last he stops at a well out- 
 side the city. He takes off his wallet, and eats, and 
 drinks. Then lo ! there comes up a man, and says to 
 him, 
 
 ' On this spot nine hundred and ninety-nine [heads] 
 have I already cut off, there is but one lacking to make 
 a thousand, and that one shall be thine !' 
 
 The poor old Monk was so frightened, that he could 
 neither cross himself nor go backwards nor forwards. 
 The other drew his sword and was about to fall upon 
 him, when he burst in the onset. Then the old Monk 
 crossed himself; he dug a grave and buried him in it, 
 and then w^ent and hid himself in a hollow tree to see 
 what would happen next. Thence he saw a rich man 
 ride up to the well on horseback. He had abundance, 
 and ate, and as he went to the well to drink there fell 
 from him a purse, but he did not see it. He left it, 
 mounted his horse, and went away. 
 
 Then he saw a beggar come up, and sit down by the 
 well to rest. He saw the purse, picked it up, and went 
 away. Afterwards came another beggar and sat down 
 by the well, and was eating his food, when lo ! there 
 falls on him the man who had lost the purse.
 
 /. MytJiological — (///.) Supernalist. 289 
 
 ' Move l^ what hast done with my purse of money 
 which I dropped here ?' 
 
 ' By my Christ and my Virgin, I am a Christian, and 
 have only just arrived here.' 
 
 ' Thou, Move, hast taken it !' and he cut his head off. 
 
 The Monk cudgelled his brains : * That the murderer 
 should burst was well ; but that one should lose, and 
 another find, and a third lose his head — I cannot under- 
 stand why that should be !' 
 
 Then he beholds as it were a Man with Wings, who 
 says to him, ' Why hast thou left thy monastery and 
 come here to see things that torment thee, and cause 
 thee to forget the wisdom of God ? I am an Angel and 
 God has sent me to interpret these things to thee. 
 The murderer burst because he had committed so many 
 crimes, and so that he should not be able to commit 
 any more.' 
 
 ' Well,' says the Hermit, ' but why should one man 
 lose, and another find, and a third have his head 
 cutoff?' 
 
 ' Wait, let us take one at a time. He who lost the 
 purse, had made the money by selling the field of a poor 
 widow. He who found it was the widow's brother, and 
 the money will go back to its owners. He who had his 
 head cut off was sent as a spy with orders to set a whole 
 city on fire, and it was better that he alone should be 
 lost. But now return to thy cell, and long no more for 
 worldly things.' And he flew up into heaven. 
 
 ' I praise Thee, O God, great art Thou, O Lord, and 
 marvellous are Thy works!' exclaimed the old man, and 
 he returned to his cell, and left it no more. 
 
 "^ ' I say !' ' Fellow !' ' You there !' etc., vocative of A(wpos. 
 
 VOL. II. 19
 
 THE STINGY WOMAN. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 (NeoeXkijviKa AvdXeKra, B. 26.) 
 
 There was once a woman who would not have given a 
 drop of water even to the Angels. If a beggar came to 
 her door she would cry, ' Get away, we have nothing." 
 When she died she went straight to hell ; and her 
 daughter was afraid, and she sold all that they had, and 
 gave the money to the poor ; and then she set out with 
 prayers and entreaties to seek her mother. 
 
 On the road she met a little Old Man like a Hermit 
 — it was the Lord Christ. 
 
 ' Give thee good day, and bless thee ! Where art thou 
 going ?' 
 
 ' I am going to seek my mother.' 
 
 Said he, ' Follow me ; but whatever strange thing 
 thou mayest see, speak no word.' 
 
 They walked on, and on. It grew dark. As night 
 fell they found themselves near the dwelling of a poor 
 widow. 
 
 ' If thou art a Christian open to us, and let us pass 
 the night here.' 
 
 ' I have no accommodation for you, but I will do my 
 best.' 
 
 She leads them upstairs, takes a panful of flour, which 
 was all that she had in the kitchen, puts some of it into 
 a dish, mixes it with oil, makes it into cakes, and says, 
 ' Come and eat this makeshift, for bread I have none.' 
 
 When they had eaten, she spread for them what 
 mattrasses she had, and they slept. The next morning
 
 /. MytJiolo^ical — (///•) Sitpemialist. 291 
 
 they left, and travelled all day, and night overtook 
 them near a wealthy house. 
 
 Said he, ' If ye be Christians, give us shelter for the 
 night !' 
 
 ' Hearest thou that ?' Men and women came hurry- 
 ing down, they awoke their children and made the 
 travellers comfortable. In the morning Christ said, 
 ' Come all of you out of the house.' 
 ' But why ?' 
 
 ' Come out quickly, for the house will tumble down !' 
 ' But don't you see that it is not at all out of 
 repair ?' 
 
 ' Why will you delay ?' 
 
 As soon as they were all out, down came the house 
 in a heap. Christ went away from thence, left them 
 on the five highways, and took with him the maiden. 
 
 The poor woman wondered much as they went along 
 the road, but said not that he had made it crumble, 
 for fear of the consequences. So all day long they 
 journeyed and came at night to a house where they 
 were well received. 
 
 ' As we rest, so shall you,' they said. 
 Said Christ, ' Let all sleep.' 
 
 They go upstairs. It was a little house in which 
 there was not room to turn round. A baby lay in a 
 cradle in the corner. Sleep overtook them as soon as 
 they had laid down. Before the dawn Christ arose, he 
 took the soul of the child, aroused the girl, and they 
 left. Again they journeyed all day, and night overtook 
 them outside a wealthy house. 
 
 ' Let us sleep to-night in your house, for we are 
 
 w 
 
 eary 
 
 ' Come in and welcome,' was the reply. They bring 
 them upstairs, serve them with dainty food on golden
 
 292 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 dishes and silver trays. Afterwards they spread for 
 them soft beds to lie upon. 
 
 In the morning Christ arose, took the silver trays 
 and the golden dishes, went to the window and threw 
 them into the street. He awoke the girl and they left 
 before their hosts were up, and took to the road, she 
 still at a loss to understand these strange doings ; but, 
 as you know, she was under a promise not to ask 
 questions. At night they again found themselves before 
 a house and it was hailing. 
 
 ' A man I for the love of God, let us come up and 
 sleep, that we may not get wet !' 
 
 ' Go away, we have no guest-chamber.' 
 
 ' More I if you are Christians !' 
 
 ' You disturb our rest !' 
 
 ' Out of your store !' 
 
 ' There is a fowl-house below, go in there, and un- 
 burden yourselves.' 
 
 What could they do ? They went in. One of the 
 walls was ruined and ready to fall, and Christ was so kind 
 as to support it all night standing erect, and did not 
 close his eyes. In the morning he set to work, made 
 the wall new and solid, and went away again with the 
 girl along the high road. She, however, could contain 
 herself no longer. 
 
 'But, good Father!' she cried, 'what are all these 
 wonders ? Till now I have sewn up my mouth, though 
 I have been sorely tried. Instead of showing me my 
 mother, you took me to the widow's dwelling, and she 
 had but a panful of flour and one jar of oil. We ate of 
 them, and we left, and thou helpedst her not at all who 
 would have no food for the next day. And we went to 
 another house, thou didst ruin it, and left them on the 
 five highways. And we went to a meaner one where
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Supernalist. 293 
 
 they had an only child, and thou didst bear away his 
 soul. And we went to a lordly house, and thou didst 
 throw away the silver tray and the golden vessel. And 
 to an inhospitable house we went where they would 
 have left us to perish, and thou didst set up their wall.' 
 
 Christ laughed. ' Thou art but simple, and I will 
 not call thee to account. The widow whom thou 
 thinkest that I left without bread to eat for the next 
 day, I blessed so that her pan should be always full of 
 flour, and her jar of oil run like a fountain for ever. 
 The house I threw down had a treasure hidden under 
 it, and when they went to take out the furniture and 
 the chests they found it. Again, the child whose soul 
 I took away, had he lived, would have become a bad 
 man, the scourge of his kinsfolk. The silver tray and 
 the golden cup I threw away were gotten unjustly from 
 a widow with a family ; and they passed by and found 
 them. The crazy wall again of the uncharitable people 
 had within it a treasure, and in order that it might not 
 fall and they find it, I built it up ; it is better that their 
 descendants find it. Come now, and I will show thee 
 thy mother — but wilt thou know her when thou seest 
 her?' 
 
 ' Of course.' 
 
 ' But take care that thou touch her not.' 
 
 They go on, and on, and he brings her to Paradise, 
 where the sweet scents cause her to exclaim, ' Ikhith ! 
 I think I must have died and risen again !' 
 
 ' Search about and see if she is here.' 
 
 The girl wanders first in one direction and then in 
 another, sees many strange persons under the trees by 
 the brooks, but seeks her mother in vain. She turns 
 back, and says, ' I cannot find her.' 
 
 ' But hast thou looked well ?'
 
 294 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' I have.' 
 
 Thence he takes her to Hell, where there were evil 
 odours, and stenches, and cauldrons with lurid fires 
 under them, and they were boiling. The girl looks and 
 sees her in one of the cauldrons, and, horrified, she ran 
 to her and took hold of her. But as she touched her, 
 her hand turned black from the flames, and remained 
 crippled. 
 
 When Christ saw this, he said, * Did I not warn thee 
 not to touch her ? Follow me now.' 
 
 He took her to a place where there was a river which 
 ran with the Water of Life," and said, ' Put in thine 
 hand.' 
 
 When she had put it in, it became whole, and then 
 he said to her, ' Seest thou what thy mother suffers, 
 because she was wicked ? No one can save her now. 
 But be thou glad at heart, and go home to thy house, 
 and pray God to keep thee ever as thou art now.' 
 
 Then he brought her down from the Upper World, 
 near her dwelling, and left her — alone. And she passed 
 her days in prayer and supplication, and her soul had 
 health.
 
 THE MISERLY SHEPHERD. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {Neo€?0\.'rjViKa AvdXeKTa, B. g.) 
 
 There was once a shepherd who had a thousand head 
 of cattle — sheep, goats, and oxen ; and he sold in the 
 town all his megithra^ cheese, his curds, his milk, and 
 his cream-cheeses, and amassed much wealth. But he 
 never would allow himself to take home so much as one 
 milk-cheese, or one cream-cheese on a feast-day, not 
 even on Sexagesima Sunday, nor at Easter, so that his 
 wife and children might eat ; but gave them only plain 
 boiled herbs, sow-thistles, succory, and such like. His 
 wife would sometimes say to him, 
 
 ' But, really, husband, so many sheep as we have, and 
 never to have meat on a feast-day ! Others have 
 no sheep, and buy meat ; and we, who have, never 
 taste it.' 
 
 ' My good wife, a cream-cheese sells for ten piastres, 
 meat or no meat, and the money is ours.' 
 
 When Christmas-day dawned, the woman said to 
 her husband, ' At least you will bring us a milk- 
 cheese !' 
 
 ' The smallest milk-cheese weighs thirty drachms, 
 and is worth half a piastre. Is it not better to put it 
 into the purse than to squander it ?' he replied. And 
 what could the poor woman do when he would bring 
 her nothing ? 
 
 •'' A round flat cheese, about an inch in thickness, made from 
 sheep's milk.
 
 296 Gi^eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 On the morning of another feast-day, she said, ' At 
 least you will cut half a cheese and bring it ?' 
 
 * But, wife, don't you understand that half a cheese 
 is worth ten paras ?' 
 
 The wife was patient. The shepherd in time found 
 himself the owner of purses full of money. When he 
 fell ill and was about to die, he gave orders that the 
 money was to be buried with him, and left nothing for 
 the poor, as a Christian should. All regretted that so 
 much wealth should be wasted, but what could they 
 do when he had willed it so ? So they put it in the 
 grave. The gravediggers regretted the purses too, 
 and planned to go at night, open the grave, and take 
 them out. 
 
 So at midnight they went, when everyone was asleep, 
 and opened the grave, when what should they see but 
 devils with horns who had hold of the purses, and 
 kicked the dead man on the head. So terrified were 
 the gravediggers that with one accord they abandoned 
 their project, and each ran to his own house and died 
 
 of fright. 
 
 The Little Dog's Warning. 
 
 The shepherd's brother was just such another [miser]. 
 His wife said to him : ' Do buy some clothes for our 
 child so that we may take him to church !' But not 
 he ; and his wife, too, was all in rags. If you say they 
 had no money it would be a sin ; but it was the Devil's 
 will he was doing. 
 
 One day, as he was going through the shambles — not 
 to buy anything, God forbid ! his road lay that way 
 only — he saw a little dog which two sheep-dogs were 
 worrying. Pitying it, he raised his stick, drove away 
 the sheep-dogs, and saved the little dog, which followed
 
 /. Mythological — (///.) Sztpernalist. 297 
 
 him out of gratitude. The miser goes home, and his 
 wife asks him, ' What dog is that ?' 
 
 ' Well, I saved it from two sheep-dogs who were 
 worrying it, and it has followed me.' 
 
 The dog fed on what herbs it could find, and frisked 
 about for happiness ; but after a day or two the man 
 began to grudge the food it ate. Then there came 
 two men from the King, and they asked him to take 
 the dog as a present to him, and he would receive a 
 bakshUh. 
 
 ' Bravo,' said he, when he heard of the bakshish. So 
 he goes and says to his wife, ' More, but we are lucky ! 
 The dog that we were tired of, because it required food, 
 the King has sent and asked for.' 
 
 So he takes the dog and follows the men. On the 
 road the dog calls softly to his master, and says to him, 
 ' Take no bakshish ; but if they wish to give you one, 
 say that you only desire that which you deserve.' 
 
 So he followed the men, and they led him into a 
 golden palace. It was the palace of the Devil, but how 
 was he to know that ? They brought him into the 
 presence of the big Devil who was sitting on a golden 
 seat set with diamonds, and he gave the little dog into 
 his hands, and saluted him. Then he called the big 
 Diabola, and she came out and sat on another seat ; 
 and he told the man to sit on another opposite them. 
 And when he had thanked him many times, he said, 
 ' What gift desirest thou of me ?' 
 
 The man remembered the little dog's counsel, and 
 replied, ' I want nothing.' 
 
 ' That cannot be.' 
 
 ' Then I desire only that which I deserve.' 
 
 What a rage the Devil .was in when he found that he 
 could not destroy him, as he asked for nothing ! But
 
 2o8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 as he could do nothing, he said, ' Go thy ways — thou 
 hast already what thou deservest !' 
 
 The man returned home. He bought clothes for his 
 children and for his wife, and gave them good food, so 
 that his children said to him, ' Now you are a good 
 daddy.' He gave alms to the poor, and so he lived 
 well. And he who might have been boiled in the pitch 
 at last went to Paradise.
 
 CHRISrS EXORCISM.''' 
 
 A thens. 
 
 (AeXrcov, I., p. 6.) 
 
 While Christ was on earth, he wandered about the 
 world Hke a poor man, that he might see the hearts of 
 every one, who was good and who was bad. There 
 hved then a couple and the man was good, but the 
 woman bad. Christ passed by this house and divined 
 that the woman was not good, for he saw that she was 
 shrewish. So he went in, and begged her to receive 
 him, as he was a stranger, and poor. She grumbled a 
 little, but afterwards what should happen, but that she 
 put him in the stable. 
 
 * Stay there,' she said, 'till my husband comes home, 
 for I have nowhere to lodge thee.' 
 
 So Christ remained there as she bade him. Just 
 then a neighbour brought the housewife a plate of 
 beans very nicely cooked. After a little while the 
 husband came home, and the housewife told him that 
 a poor man had come, and that she had put him in the 
 stable. 
 
 ' Bless you,' said her husband, ' was he a stranger 
 man, and you did not bring him into the house ?' 
 
 ' Bd / how should I put such a man at my table!' 
 cried she. * See, these few beans which have been 
 brought to us.' 
 
 What could her husband do ? To escape her grumb- 
 lings he let her alone, and she heated the oil to make 
 the pilaf. Then she gave him the beans and a piece of 
 bread. When he had well eaten, he asked, ' Where 
 shall he sleep ?'
 
 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Said the woman, ' There, on the bedstead. We will 
 give him, too, a stone for pillow.' 
 
 ' No, wife,' said the husband, 'that will not do!' 
 
 ' It matters not, it matters not,' said Christ, and so 
 he lay down on the bare bedstead. During the night, 
 however, the woman was seized with a colic. — (It must 
 be understood that Christ caused this miracle.) — The 
 guest heard many people coming and going to her 
 assistance, and asked, ' What is the matter ? I hear a 
 disturbance, a coming and going — what is it ?' 
 
 ' Nd, my wife is not well,' said the good man, ' and 
 cried out from pain. I don't know what to do, she is 
 going to give up the ghost.' 
 
 ' Let me go and see. I know an exorcism and have 
 cured many,' said the guest. 
 
 ' Come, then, good man, you too, and see if you can 
 cure her ; ever so many neighbours have tried, but have 
 failed.' 
 
 Then Christ went, and made the exorcism ; he 
 cured the woman, and then vanished. All understood 
 that it was Christ. From that time the woman became 
 less shrewish.
 
 CLASS II. 
 SOCIAL FOLK-STORIES: 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF VILLAGE LIFE ; 
 
 ANTENUPTIAL, FAMILY AND COMMUNAL. 
 
 SECTION (I.) 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF ANTENUPTIAL 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 CROWS' LANGUAGE. 
 
 Constantinople. 
 
 {NeoeSXrjviKa AvdXeKra, A. 5O 
 
 Once upon a time there was a Prince who was anxious 
 to marry, but he wanted to find a maiden who knew 
 how to speak the Crows' language. Every day there 
 came offers [of their daughters] from great Kings, but 
 he would none of them, for they did not know the 
 Crows' language as he required. Being melancholy and 
 in despair, he took his gun, and went out to shoot to 
 rid himself of his heartache. From morning till evening 
 he roamed, and thought not of his shooting, but how 
 he was to find a woman to his taste. At last, towards 
 supper time, as he was going up a hillside, he saw
 
 302 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 before him an old man and a maiden who seemed to be 
 his daughter, and they were going up the same hill. 
 They go on in front and he follows softly behind them. 
 He hears the girl say to the old man, 
 
 ' Father, put your feet on your shoulders, we shall 
 then walk faster.' 
 
 ' What sayst thou, my child ? How can I put my 
 feet on my shoulders ?' 
 
 ' Why, I don't mean your feet, father, I mean — take 
 off your shoes and carry them on your shoulder, your 
 feet will then be free and you will walk faster.' 
 
 The Prince, following behind, heard the girl's words, 
 and they rejoiced somewhat his sad heart. After a little 
 while, the girl said to the old man, 
 
 ' Father, help me, and I will help thee, so that we 
 may walk the faster, for it is night already.' 
 
 ' Why, my girl, how can I help thee, who am an old 
 man ?' 
 
 ' I don't mean that, my father, I mean — talk to me 
 and I will talk to thee to pass the time.' 
 
 When the Prince heard this, he again rejoiced 
 greatly, and made up his mind that, as it was already 
 dark, he would go to the cottage to which they were 
 going. In a little while he sees a cottage on the 
 mountain towards which the old man went with his 
 daughter. He let them go in, and afterwards went in 
 himself suddenly and silently. 
 
 ' Good evening to 3'our worships,' said he to them. 
 
 The girl replied, ' We had, but we have lost, and again 
 we shall get.' (The Prince thought she meant they had 
 no dog to bark, but the maiden meant that they had 
 had a dog and had lost it, but would get another.) 
 ' Welcome, and sit down, Affendi.' 
 
 ' I will remain and pass the night here, with your
 
 //. Social— {I.) Antenuptial. 303 
 
 permission, for darkness has overtaken me while 
 shooting.' 
 
 ' Stay and welcome.' 
 
 At the far end of the cottage sat an old woman, the 
 mother, weaving cloth, and round about her were her 
 little children, naked and barefooted. 
 
 ' O,' said the Prince, ' see the little unglazed 
 pitchers !' 
 
 The girl at once replied, ' Here is clay to glaze them 
 with ' (that is to say, the Prince meant that the 
 naked and barefooted children resembled unglazed jars, 
 and the girl meant that the mother was weaving cloth 
 for the naked children). 
 
 As there was not much food, the old man told them 
 to kill a cock, and when it was cooked, they sat down 
 to table. The girl arose and cut up the cock, and she 
 gave to her father the head, to her mother the frame, to 
 the Prince the wings, and to the children the flesh. 
 When the old man saw his daughter's division of it, he 
 turned and looked at his wife, for he was ashamed to 
 speak before the guest. Afterwards, when they were 
 going to rest, the old man said to his daughter, 
 
 * Why, my child ! How badly you divided the cock ! 
 The guest will go to bed hungry !' 
 
 ' Ach ! my father, hast thou not understood that 
 either ? Wait a moment, and I will give you to under- 
 stand : The head of the cock I gave to thee, as thou art 
 the head of the house ; to our mother I gave the frame, 
 for is she not the frame of the house ; the wings to our 
 guest, for to-morrow he will take wing and depart ; the 
 flesh to us children, for in truth we are the flesh of the 
 house. Do you understand now, my good father ?' 
 
 Now the chamber in which the mdeain talked with 
 her father adjoined that in which their guest was sleep-
 
 }04 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ing — the Prince, as we may say. The Prince heard all 
 the story, and was filled with joy, and said to himself 
 that this was just the woman he was in search of, for 
 she knew how to speak Crows' language. 
 
 When morning came, he took leave of them, and rose 
 and went away. When he arrived at his palace, he 
 called his servant, and gave him thirty-one loaves, a 
 whole cheese, a cock stuffed and roasted, and a skin of 
 wine, put them all in a sack, and directed him to the 
 mountain and the cottage where the Prince himself had 
 lodged, [told him] to take them there and give them to 
 a maiden about eighteen years old. 
 
 The servant took the sack, and arose and set off to 
 do his master's bidding. But with your pardon, my 
 ladies, I forgot to tell you this : Before the servant left, 
 the Prince told him to repeat these words to the girl — 
 ' Many many greetings from my master, who told me 
 to say to you "The month has thirty-one [days], the 
 moon is full, the crower of the dawn is roasted and 
 stuffed, and the buck's skin is as tight as a fiddle- 
 string." ' 
 
 The servant set out for the cottage. On his road he 
 met some friends of his. 
 
 ' Good day, Michaeli, where art going so heavily laden, 
 and what is thy burden ?' 
 
 ' I am going to a cottage on the mountain to which 
 my master has sent me.' 
 
 ' And what hast got inside there ? — the smell of it 
 tickles our nostrils.' 
 
 ' This is what I've got — bread, cheese, wine, and 
 roast cock, which my master has given me to take to a 
 poor woman.' 
 
 ' I say ! Sit down, my good fellow, and let us eat a 
 bit — how should thy master know? Let us sit down.'
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antenuptial. 305 
 
 So they sat down on the green mountain-side and 
 began to eat. The more they ate the greater became 
 their appetites, until the rascals had finally cleared off 
 thirteen loaves, half a cheese, the whole of the fowl, and 
 nearly half the wine. When they had well eaten and 
 drunk, the servant took up the remainder, and went on 
 his way to the cottage. When he arrived he found the 
 girl, gave them to her, and told her the words which 
 his master had ordered him to say. When she had 
 taken them, the girl said to him, 
 
 * Say to thy master, " Many many greetings and 
 thanks for all he has sent us ; but the month has but 
 eighteen [days], the moon is at the half, the crower of 
 the dawn has not appeared, and the buck's hide is as 
 loose as loose can be. But, to please the partridge, he 
 must not thrash the pig.' (She meant that the loaves 
 were but eighteen, the cheese was half gone, the roast 
 cock not there at all, the wine nearly half gone, but, to 
 please the girl, he must not beat the servant, who had 
 failed to bring them entire.) 
 
 The servant arose, and set off, and went to the 
 palace. He told the Prince all that the girl had said to 
 him, except the last, which he forgot to say. Then the 
 Prince understood it all, and ordered another servant 
 to lay him down and give him the stick. When the 
 servant had eaten much stick, and his skin began to be 
 sore, he called out, ' Stop, my lord Prince, stop ! and I 
 will tell you something else which the maiden said to 
 me, and I forgot to tell you.' 
 
 ' Say quickly, fellow, what thou hast to say !' 
 
 * She said, my lord, that maiden, " but, to please the 
 partridge, don't beat the pig !" ' 
 
 ' Ah, idiot !' said the Prince to him, ' why didst thou 
 VOL. II. 20
 
 3o6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 not say that at first ? Then thou wouldst not have 
 eaten stick ! Let be, then !' 
 
 A few days afterwards the Prince took that maiden 
 for his wife, and they had feastings and rejoicings. 
 
 I was not there, nor you either, so you needn't 
 beheve it.
 
 THE ROVING PRINCE. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeX. AvaX., B. 15.) 
 
 There was once a Prince who was an only son, and do 
 what they would, his parents could not keep him quiet. -^ 
 Whenever the fancy took him he would go out in the 
 evening on horseback raking about, and very often, too, 
 he would want to go quite alone. His parents, lest 
 they should lose his love, finally let him have his own 
 way. One day he rode and rode for many hours far 
 away, and came to a river, where he found a woman 
 and her daughter washing. The Prince said pleasantly, 
 'Good day, what are you doing?' and they became 
 acquainted. 
 
 The next day he went again to the same spot with 
 his horse. When they learnt that he was a King's son, 
 they received him with great ceremony, and said, ' Come 
 into our poor house !' They gave him dried figs, and 
 raisins, and other things, and the youth was pleased, 
 and took out and gave them liras, and said, ' I know 
 that you are in need, take them.' 
 
 The next day he went again to their house. They 
 were expecting him, and they entertained him well, and 
 showed him both the open and the hidden things. 
 So he got in the habit of going there every evening, and 
 he brought them presents, at one time a dress for the 
 maiden, at another one for the mother, and at another 
 again he gave them gold coins, and again at another as 
 many dresses as he could get (for he was a King's son). 
 
 ■^ Literally 'did not know where to seat him.'
 
 o 
 
 08 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 When his parents found out that he visited a washer- 
 woman, they said, ' My son, we will marry thee.' 
 
 'Why, father?' 
 
 ' Because I desire it, my son, the time has come, 
 and I have found thee a bride.' 
 
 The Prince submitted and said nothing. They 
 began to make preparations and invited all the city and 
 all the villages — ' Whoever wishes to come to the 
 wedding, to the Prince's wedding, may come and 
 welcome !' Consequently, your Honours, the washer- 
 woman and her daughter were invited among the rest. 
 They put on some of the fine clothes which the Prince 
 had given them, and went to the Court. Then they 
 placed in the midst the Prince and his bride ready for 
 the [marriage] blessing. But as the priest was going 
 to crown them with the wedding wreaths, the bride's 
 wreath turned into a snake and wound itself round her 
 head. Then the Prince cried, ' Bring the other who 
 has been pushed aside!' (it was the washerwoman's 
 daughter). And they gave her the marriage blessing, 
 and left the other to her worthlessness.^ And then they 
 
 held, 
 
 ' Wedding feasts and banquets gay, 
 And rejoicings many a day.' 
 
 The moral of this story is that everyone has his luck. 
 The luck of the washerwoman's daughter was to marry 
 a King's son. Will they, or nill they, she had to marry 
 him.'^ 
 
 » M7r6(ru-a, from the Turkish bosh, 'empty,' which since the 
 Crimean War has been adopted into English. 
 '' See vol. i., Annotations, No. 13.
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL PRINCESS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 [AeXriov, I., p. 533.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good-evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once a King, and he had a very beautiful 
 daughter. All the Princes sent matchmakers to her, 
 but she would none of them. At last her father said 
 she must marrv, as she had neither mother nor anvone 
 else. Still she was unwilling, for she was very fond of 
 her father. A summons came to the King to go on a 
 campaign. On leaving, he bade his daughter stay 
 quietly in the palace if she would have his blessing. 
 The Princess had with her her nurse when her father 
 left her and went on a campaign. 
 
 The Princess, when her father had gone, sat at the 
 window embroidering. At some distance from her 
 father's palace was the palace of another King. In 
 this palace was a Prince, and when he had finished his 
 duties, he took his spy-glass, and looked at all the 
 country round about. There his glass fell on the 
 window of the Princess. When he had once seen her, 
 he said, 
 
 ' Who can she be who is so beautiful ?' 
 
 He asked, and learnt that she belonged to the other 
 King, and that her father was at the wars. Then he 
 went under her window, and walked up and down to 
 get a closer view of her. Several days passed, but she 
 did not lean out of the window, and so he could not see 
 her, and he was devoured with longing and could not 
 rest. One day, as the Princess was cutting her thread,
 
 3IO Greek Foik-Prose. 
 
 her scissors fell into the street. She leaned out to look, 
 and saw a handsome Prince who was holding them in 
 his hand. Then she said to her nurse, 
 
 ' Go and fetch my scissors which have fallen into the 
 street.' 
 
 He told her [the nurse] that he would take them up 
 himself, for he was a Prince. But the Princess's nurse 
 said that no man might go in, because the King was 
 absent on a journey; and so he went away sorrowful, 
 for on a closer view she was more beautiful than from a 
 distance. On another day the Princess was twisting 
 silk, and she hung her spindle out of the window to 
 make a long thread. He runs up from afar, cuts the 
 thread, and the spindle falls down. The Princess again 
 leans out and sees the same Prince. 
 
 ' Ouf r said she to her nurse, ' he is for ever under the 
 window !' 
 
 \Vhat was she to do? She sent her nurse, and he 
 gave it to her. Afterwards she did not come out to the 
 .window. He walked, and walked, up and down, but 
 she did not come out. 
 
 What was he to do ? He lost his wits [because] he 
 could not see her. He had a friend. ' I love the Princess,' 
 he said to him, ' and don't know what to do.' 
 
 Said he, ' Build a bath, and send round a crier [to 
 invite] everybod}' to go during three days to the new 
 bath and bathe, and afterwards your mother must 
 invite all the princesses and viziers' daughters to bathe, 
 and tell the bathwoman-'^ she must find means to detain 
 her later than the others, and wash her later, and so she 
 will remain longer in the inner chamber. '^^ 
 
 ••' TeXd\i(rcra, literally the female crier or messenger who carried 
 the invitations, and afterwards acted in the capacity of bathwoman. 
 •' XciX^^rt, from the Turkish k/ialvet, 'retirement.'
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antenuptial. 311 
 
 The Prince was pleased with this plan. He set 
 masons to work, and built a splendid bath. One told 
 another, and she told yet another, and it came to the 
 ears of the nurse that the Prince was building the bath 
 for the sake of her mistress, so that he might see her. 
 
 The Princess had a dog, very small, but very wide- 
 awake. She said to it one day, 
 
 ' Go to the bath which the Prince is building, and 
 when he goes away from the bath, come and tell me 
 what coloured clothes the Prince wears.' 
 
 The dog went, and came back and told her that the 
 Prince wore green and gold velvet, and was riding on a 
 white horse. The Princess, without losing time, took 
 clothes of green and gold velvet and put them on, 
 mounted a white horse, went to the bath, and said, 
 
 ' I forgot to tell you something.' She took the archi- 
 tect aside and said to him, ' Here, in this inner 
 chamber, you must raise this slab, and make a 
 passage from hence to lead to the palace of the other 
 King. But the matter must remain a secret, you must 
 work secretly at night, and if anyone learns that this 
 passage has been made, off go your heads ! No one is 
 to know it. Not even to me are you to tell the same — 
 when the passage is finished or anything else ; for I 
 shall see when it is finished, and shall thank you without 
 your mentioning it at all.' She takes out and gives 
 him a bag of sequins, and says to him, ' That is to pay 
 for the passage.' And when she had again told him to 
 work in secret, she rose and went away. 
 
 She returned to the palace, undressed, put on her 
 women's clothes, and sat down to her work. Some 
 time passed, and she learnt that the bath was finished, 
 and that people could go and bathe. Says she to the 
 little dog,
 
 3 1 2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Go to the bath, and see what clothes the Prince is 
 wearing, and when he leaves, come and tell me.' 
 
 The little dog went, watched when the Prince left, 
 and came and said to her, ' Red and gold velvet, and he 
 rides a [black] horse.' 
 
 Without losing time, she put on red and gold velvet 
 clothes, mounted a black horse, and rode to the bath. 
 
 She goes in to the bath, sees the architect and 
 beckons to him ; he comes up and she asks, ' Is it 
 finished ?' 
 
 Says he, ' Not even the Princess knows of it !' 
 
 She gave him a handful of sequins, and says to him, 
 * Be silent, and thou shalt not repent it. Say nothing, 
 and forget that thou hast made the passage !' and she 
 whipped her horse and went off. She returned to the 
 palace, changed, and sat down. When it was dark, she 
 took a lamp, and went down below where she saw a 
 square slab. She raised it, and went straight to the 
 inner chamber of the bath. She saw that it was all right, 
 returned home, and went to sleep. When three days 
 had passed she received an invitation from the Prince's 
 mother begging her to go and bathe in the bath at the 
 same time as the other noble maidens. So she had to 
 go. She arose and went, and took her nurse, and she 
 went too. She went in ; there were other maidens 
 there ; they talked and sang, and laughed. Then she 
 noticed that the bathwoman washed all the others and 
 plaited their hair, and said to her, ' Now, my Princess, 
 now, my lady, have a little patience.' Then she set to, 
 and washed her, and put lots of soapsuds in her eyes, 
 and washed her. Afterwards she threw water on her 
 eyes, and she looked and saw that all were gone, not 
 one was there. The Prince only she sees coming into 
 the bath, and says to him.
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antemiptial. 31^ 
 
 o 
 
 ' Ah, my Prince, wait till I am washed and dressed, 
 and then I am thine !' And she darted into the inner 
 chamber and locked the door. She lifts up the slab, 
 and in the passage were two pigeons which she had tied 
 there. She puts them in the basin where the water 
 was, so that they might beat their wings, and that the 
 Prince might think that she had not fled. And so she 
 entered the passage, let down the slab softly, softly, and 
 went home to sleep. 
 
 Let us now leave her to sleep, and return to the 
 Prince, who was outside the inner chamber, and heard 
 the pigeons splishsplash, splishsplash, splishsplash, and 
 thought it was the Princess washing herself in there. 
 At last he lost patience to wait any longer. He called 
 to her, 
 
 ' Come, beautiful Princess, for I am maddened for 
 your sake!' But she — where [was she]? And many 
 other foolish things he said to her, but she was gone. 
 As he heard no reply from within, only the splash, splash, 
 splash of the water, he said, 
 
 ' Let us see what she is doing in there,' 
 He opens the door — what does he see ? Two pigeons 
 in the water, and nobody else! 
 
 ' Bre ! what the devil ? — what was she ? Was she an 
 Outside One,-^ and has she vanished ? What thing 
 was it ?' 
 
 He went away very sorrowful and returned home ; 
 and all night he could not sleep, and he thought to 
 himself that she had been metamorphosed into a pigeon. 
 He decided to spread a table in the open air, and invite 
 all the maidens, the Princesses, and to invite her with 
 them. The table was laid, he invited all the maidens, 
 and invited her too. When they had eaten, they sang ; 
 then they rose one by one, and went away. She, too.
 
 314 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 asked for her horse [in order] to leave, and it was 
 ' Now,' and ' Directly,' and still they delayed to bring 
 it. There remained only the Prince and herself. 
 
 ' Now, my Prince, I can go nowhere, I am yours,' 
 she said to him. ' Where can I go without a horse ?' 
 
 ' I fear,' said he, 'that you will flee again.' 
 
 ' Then tie me by the hand with a string, so that I 
 ma}' not escape.' 
 
 He ties her by the hand. Our good Princess goes 
 down''' and unties her hand, and ties it [the string] to 
 the tail of the Prince's horse, and goes to the stable and 
 takes her own horse, and Hi I straight she goes off 
 home ! 
 
 The Prince waits and waits — where [is she] ? [He 
 sees] nothing ; he pulls the horse's tail, and so hard did 
 he pull that it came off; and he pulled and pulled the 
 string till the tail fell plap ! on the floor. Then he 
 became very angry, so angry, that if he had had the 
 Princess [there] he would have killed her. Said he, 
 
 ' Bre, this is no human being ! [She is] either a 
 Nereid or some other Outside One !' 
 
 Then said to him all those who were there, his 
 friends, ' My Prince, why not get married, and leave her 
 who does you such despite ?' 
 
 So he resolved to marry. His mother sent match- 
 makers to a Princess ; they were betrothed ; and they 
 made ready for the wedding. The Princess heard of it, 
 and sent her little dog to find out which tailor was to 
 make the dresses for his bride. Then she said to the 
 dog, when he told her which tailor it was, 
 
 ' Go and see what clothes the King'' is wearing 
 
 to-day.' 
 
 ^ The table was probably spread in one of the wide verandahs 
 of the first tloor so common in the East. 
 
 '■ The Prince is occasionally referred to as the ' King.'
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antenuptial. 315 
 
 The dog went, and when he came back he said, ' He 
 wears white [and] gold velvet, and rides a white horse. 
 I saw him,' said the little dog, 'just now leave the 
 tailor's.' 
 
 The Princess, without loss of time, put on white [and] 
 gold velvet, and mounted a white horse, and went to 
 the tailor's. Said she, ' Listen to me. I came before 
 and told you about the clothes for my wedding, but 
 I have changed my mind — cut them into bits, and make 
 them into coats for my greyhounds and into tobacco- 
 bags, and say nothing to anyone, or — off goes your 
 head ! Say only, " They are ready " without being 
 asked what.' She gives him a handful of sequins, and 
 goes away. 
 
 The tailor, according to the [supposed] King's 
 orders, cut them up into tobacco-bags and coats for the 
 greyhounds, and said, ' What a pity, such stuff ! They 
 may well say, '■^ At the King's orders, dogs are tied up." '^ 
 
 Then he [the King] sends his servant to ask if the 
 things are ready. 
 
 'Certainly,' says he, 'and I was just about to bring 
 them to the palace.' 
 
 First of all he took out a tobacco-bag. 
 
 ' O, you made a tobacco-bag, too ?' said the King. 
 ' Well done !' 
 
 * Not one only ; as you commanded me, so I did.' 
 
 ' A'i, let us see the others !' 
 
 He takes out first a greyhound's coat. 
 
 Said he [the King], ' What is this that thou hast sat 
 down and made ? — for the greyhound only ?' 
 
 ' But no, my long-lived King, I made for the blood- 
 hound too.' 
 
 ' Bre, what saj'est thou ? Say, art thou well ? — or 
 art thou gone mad ?' 
 
 » A Greek proverb.
 
 2, 1 6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' But what dost thou say, my King ? Didst thou not 
 come and command me to make coats for the grey- 
 hounds, and for the bloodhounds ?' 
 
 ' When did I come ?' 
 
 ' Nd ! The same day on which you left you came 
 back again in your white clothes and on your white 
 horse, and ordered me to make them for the hounds, 
 and not to make them for the Queen.' 
 
 ' Well,' said the King, ' see that thou listen to no 
 one, whatever they may say to thee, but finish them 
 [the clothes] ; even if I myself should come, give no 
 heed to me again.' 
 
 The tailor went away. Then the King reflected and 
 said, 
 
 * Brc ! that skyla ! she went and gave the orders ! 
 But I will get married and she may burst !' 
 
 So when he had ordered the clothes for his bride, the 
 Queen set them to wash corn ; they filled sacks and 
 charged the millers not to grind because the royal [corn] 
 was going, for the wedding of the Prince was to be 
 held. So the millers stopped and waited for the King's 
 corn, to grind it. 
 
 Says she to her dog, ' Go and see what clothes the 
 Prince wears.' 
 
 ' Purple'*^ [and] gold velvet, and he rides on a red 
 horse.' 
 
 She loses no time, but dons purple velvet, [leaps] on 
 the horse, and off at a gallop. 
 
 ' Hi !' she calls to those who were carrying the corn, 
 ' Hi!' 
 
 They who were carrying the corn say, ' Stop, I say — 
 the King !' 
 
 ' Empty all of them into the sea, for we have found 
 
 " 'SleKiTiavM, the colour of the jneXtTi'dca, aubergine.
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antenuptial. 317 
 
 out that the corn is poisoned ; and come back and fill 
 them with sound grain to grind !' 
 
 They obeyed, poor fellows, and, one by one [the}- 
 emptied the sacks] into the sea. 
 
 ' Wash the sacks, too, in the sea, and return quickly !' 
 and she whipped her horse and came home. Said she 
 to herself, 
 
 ' Now I am in for it ! The King will be furious, and 
 he will come and kill me, and small blame to him. 
 But again, what could I do who love him, and don't 
 want him to marry another, and my father away from 
 home. Let me see now what I can do.' 
 
 She takes a skin and fills it with petimezi,^ places it 
 upright against a big cupboard, and dresses it as if it 
 were herself. She squeezes it and makes it a neck, and 
 round the neck hangs pearls, and puts on it her best 
 dresses ; on its head she placed a fez covered with pearls, 
 threw a veil over it, and covered its face with a kerchief 
 which fell low down. In the middle of the cupboard 
 was a knot which she took out, and passed a string 
 through the hole. The Princess locked the chamber in 
 which she herself was, and left open the door of the 
 room in which the skin was.'^ 
 
 When the Prince saw them coming back, he asked, 
 ' Where is the flour ?' 
 
 ' But we threw it away, my King, as you ordered us, 
 because it was poisoned, and we washed the sacks and 
 ha\'e come back to take the sound corn.' 
 
 ' Bre ! I told you that the corn was poisoned ?' 
 
 ' Yes, my King, you called to us and told us that it 
 
 a A syrup made from grape-juice, and much used instead of sugar 
 for the commoner kinds of preserve. 
 
 '' One of the large wall cupboards, used for storing bedding in 
 the daytime, and communicating with two rooms, is evidently indi- 
 cated.
 
 3i8 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 was poisoned, and that we must come back and take 
 more.' 
 
 'A'il Well!' He sent them away. 'But this is 
 not to be borne with ! I will go and kill her !' And he 
 rushed off, so angry was he, and went to the palace. 
 He mounted the staircase on all fours,'* and rushed in 
 and went straight to the room where the skin stood. 
 
 ' Stop, stop !' he cried. ' You needn't try to hide in 
 the cupboard ! I have come to kill you, you shall not 
 escape me again !' 
 
 She pulls the string from within, and the skin makes 
 a bow. 
 
 ' Was it not thou whom I locked in the inner chamber, 
 and thought was bathing, and thou didst leave two 
 pigeons in the basin, and I knew not how the devil thou 
 didst arise and flee ?' 
 
 She pulls the string, and the skin bows its head, as if 
 to say — ' Yes !' 
 
 ' Was it not thou who told me that thou wert mine 
 when I spread a table, and didst arise and flee, and tied 
 the tail of my horse, and I pulled, and pulled, from 
 within, and it came out ?' 
 
 Again she pulls the string from within, and again the 
 skin bowed. 
 
 ' Was it not thou who went to the tailor's and told 
 them to rip up the clothes of my bride and make them 
 into tobacco-bags and coats for the hounds ?' 
 
 ' Yes !' again [said] the skin. 
 
 ' Was it not thou who went and told my people to 
 throw away into the sea the corn, and they came back 
 to me with empty sacks, swinging their legs on the 
 horses and asking me for corn to grind ?' 
 
 She pulls the string — ' Yes !' 
 
 ■> Vrd Tiaaepa, a popular expression to indicate speed.,
 
 //. Social — (/.) Antenuptial. 319 
 
 ' Now I have a right to kill thee.' 
 
 ' Yes !' 
 
 He makes a stroke with his sword and cuts the skin 
 right across. 
 
 ^ Ach I the skyla ! Her blood is black !' 
 
 Then she opens the door and says, ' Stay ! Thou 
 hast just made thy complaint, and now 1 will make 
 mine.' 
 
 He hears her words, and in his fright lets his sword 
 fall. 
 
 ' Bd ! she is still alive !' says he. 
 
 ' Was I so silly as to let thee marr}-, while I love thee 
 so much ? — and let thee take another ? Wait a little 
 while till my father comes back, and thou shalt wed me. 
 For I shall be a queen, and come with great pomp to 
 thy house.' 
 
 So they embraced, and exchanged rings. And he 
 went and told his mother to send the presents back to 
 his betrothed, because he was going to take for his wife 
 the Princess he loved. After a short time her father 
 returned from his journey, and they held the wedding 
 with many rejoicings and feastings. And they lived 
 happy. And we happier \^ 
 
 ■'<■ As the only magical element in this story is the clever dog, 
 which has, doubtless, been substituted for a servant, this Section 
 has been thought the most suitable place for it.
 
 SECTION (II.) 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF FAMILY LIFE. 
 
 L MARITAL LIFE. II. NURSERY STORIES. 
 III. FILIAL LIFE. 
 
 SUBSECTION I. STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF 
 MARITAL LIFE. 
 
 THE SILENT BRIDE. 
 
 Naxos. 
 {NeoeX. Ai>a\., B. 12.) 
 
 A GIRL was once married against her will by her kindred 
 to a good and worthy young man, and on that account 
 she held her peace, and would sit mute at the window, 
 and neither sleep with him nor anything else.* The 
 youth was near falling into a consumption. What 
 does he devise ? He carves a piece of marble as it were 
 [a piece of] cheese, and gives it to her, so that she may 
 be angry and say, ' What is this that you give me ?' 
 
 She put it to her mouth, and when she found that it 
 was marble, she spit it out again without uttering a 
 
 •'' A Turkish husband is not entitled to exercise any authority 
 over his wife until she pleases to speak to liim ; relics of similar 
 customs arc also found among the Christians of Turkey.
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 321 
 
 syllable. What can he do to make her kind ? A few 
 days afterwards, he takes an unclean vessel and fills it 
 with dung, and says to her, ' Come and eat !' so that 
 she might at least be angry and say, ' Are you not 
 ashamed ?' But she did not. 
 
 A few days later, he hid himself behind the door to 
 startle her, so that, being frightened, she might call 
 ' Mother !' He lies in wait, and as she passes the door 
 he calls ' Ba /' Her blood ran cold, but not a sound 
 escaped her. 
 
 As a last resource he said, ' I will pretend to be dead, 
 and she will weep for me and sing dirges, and so her 
 tongue will finally be loosed.* So he said, and so he 
 did. He stretched himself on a bed, and closed his 
 eyes ; his relatives came, and also the neighbours who 
 had been informed [of his death] ; they crossed his 
 hands and bound them, and sat round in a circle ;a and 
 lamented him in dirges. Then they said to his wife, 
 
 ' Well, perchance you will weep for your husband 
 whom you have thus untimely lost before the end of 
 forty days ?' 
 
 So she began to chant falteringly, ' My husband, my 
 good husband, what should remind me of thee ? — the 
 marble cheese ; the vessel and its contents ; and, from 
 behind the door, "BaT' 
 
 Then he gets up and embraces her, ' My Eyes ! 
 Thou hadst a mouth, but no voice !' 
 
 And then they kept the wedding with 
 
 Songs and feast and laughter gay, 
 And rejoicings many a day. 
 
 ^ It is usual for the women to sit on the floor of the death 
 chamber while chanting the customary dirges. 
 
 VOL. II. 21
 
 THE FOOLISH WIFE. 
 
 Naxos. 
 {Neoe\X7]VLKa 'AvdXeKra, B. 8.) 
 
 Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, there 
 was a man, and he thus charged his bride : 
 
 ' Now hsten to me who am going to marr}- thee, and 
 don't eat much !' 
 
 ' Very good,' said she. 
 
 When they were married, and she had cooked his 
 dinner for him at noon, he said to her, ' Come, sit 
 down, and let us eat.' 
 
 ' I am not hungry.' 
 
 Two hours afterwards, when she saw that her 
 husband had gone out, she sat down and ate till you 
 might have walked on her ! In the evening her 
 husband comes home, she sets the table for him, 
 and again he says, ' Come and eat at least at even, 
 after fasting since God's dawn !' 
 
 ' I will not eat ; I am not hungry.' 
 
 Not to make a long story of it, she did thus every 
 day. She refused to eat with her husband, and when 
 he had gone out, she stuffed herself with victuals. 
 After a time, however, he began to guess how matters 
 were, and he took her out with him one day to the 
 fields. 
 
 When it was near noon, he threw himself on the 
 ground and said, ' Come and take pot luck, we'll 
 picnic here.' 
 
 ' I am not hungr}' ; I will not eat.' 
 
 When two or three hours of the afternoon had passed.
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 323 
 
 and she saw that her husband had no intention of 
 taking her home, gnawed with hunger, she cried, 
 making beheve, 
 
 'Neighbour, neighbour, I'll come at once, so that 
 you may give me the wool !' (her idea was to go to the 
 village to eat). 
 
 Says her husband, * Wait, there will be plenty of time 
 to do that in the evening.' 
 
 Soon she began again, ' Well, what do you want, 
 neighbour, the washtub ? Now I will come and give it 
 to you.' 
 
 Said the husband, ' Nonsense ! Where is the 
 neighbour ? — I don't see any neighbour. Stay here, 
 and at even we'll go together to the town.' 
 
 When at last they were on their way home, the 
 woman couldn't see for hunger, and she took up some 
 black beetles crawling on the road, and ate them, 
 saying, ' O my little olives, my little grolives,^^ you had 
 no feet, and yet you got feet to come and meet me that 
 I might crunch you !' 
 
 And from that time forward she sat down to table 
 with her husband, and was guilty of no more such 
 absurdities. 
 
 And tales like these but fables are, 
 The stomach's but an empty jar.
 
 THE IDLE WIFE. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeWrjvLKO, ^AvdXeKTa, B. g.) 
 
 There was another idle woman, who would neither 
 cook, nor sweep, nor do anything else. She would put 
 a sheep on the table, and when her husband came in 
 with meat which he had bought, she would put her 
 elbows on the table and say, ' Do you hear, Sheep, 
 cook it !' And when her husband came home at noon, 
 and found fault with her because she was too lazy to get 
 the dinner ready, she would scold the Sheep, saying, 
 ' Why, Sheep, dost thou not cook?' and give it a few 
 slaps. 
 
 ' Bre ! my wife, my Eyes ! the Sheep cannot cook, 
 thou must cook!' At last, on the third day, he said, 
 ' Well, enough of the Sheep, put it down, and I will 
 beat it.' He throws it on her back, saying, ' There, 
 Sheep, I give thee this, and this, why wilt thou not 
 cook. Sheep ?' And he struck so that the Sheep had 
 less than she who was under it, and when she had got 
 many a wale, she cried, ' Enough, husband, enough ! 
 I will cook the food, and not leave it to the Sheep !' 
 
 And this is the origin of the saying — the Stick came 
 out of Paradise.
 
 SUBSECTION IL— NURSERY STORIES. 
 
 THE TRICKS OF MISTRESS FOX. 
 
 Smyrna. 
 
 (Lenormant, An. Mus. Guimet, X., 78.) 
 
 There was once a Priest and he was returning from 
 saying Mass in the various churches of which he had 
 charge. He had received offerings of all kinds, loaves, 
 fowls, turkeys, and even fish. Well, he was on his way 
 home, mounted on a donkey, and singing verses to pass 
 the time. A Fox who happened to be about, seeing 
 the poultry suspended from the pack-saddle, made up 
 her mind to steal them. She went and stretched her- 
 self in the middle of the road as if she were dead. 
 
 When the priest saw her, ' Hallo !' he said to himself, 
 ' if I take her home and skin her, her fur will make a 
 nice jacket for my wife.' So he picked her up and put 
 her in one of the saddle-bags. 
 
 He had hardly set off again when the Fox began to 
 drop quietly on the road, one by one, the loaves which 
 were in the saddle-bag. She next threw down the 
 poultry, and presently the cunning animal leaped lightly 
 down without the Priest's knowing anything at all about 
 it. When the good man got home, it was quite dark, 
 and he called to his wife, 
 
 ' Come quick, and help me to unload the provisions. 
 I have brought a splendid foxskin to make you a 
 jacket of!' 
 
 The papadhid was delighted to hear this, and she
 
 •;2 6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 o 
 
 dived first into one saddle-bag, and then into another, 
 here and there, but could find nothing. The poor papa 
 lighted a candle, and looked in his turn, and then he 
 understood that the wicked Fox had cheated him. He 
 was quite crestfallen, but what could he do ? 
 
 The Fox in the meantime had set to, and carried 
 loaves and poultry home to her earth. She was just 
 carrying her last load when a Wolf caught sight of her. 
 She ran her fleetest, but in vain, for the Wolf overtook 
 her and seized her by the leg. 
 
 ' Go on ! pull up the root,' cried the cunning gossip. 
 
 Believing that he had got hold of a root, the Wolf 
 immediately let go, and the Fox made off crying, 
 ' O my poor little foot, my poor little foot ! what a 
 lucky escape thou hast had!' And she ran and hid 
 herself in the far end of her earth. 
 
 The Wolf tried to get at her, but he was so fat that 
 he could not enter. So he thought he would excite the 
 Fox's pity by saying, ' Dear Fox, have pity on a poor 
 old Wolf who has nothing to put between his teeth ! 
 Out of your charity give me one of your hens !' 
 
 'Not I,' replied the Fox, ' I have been at too much 
 trouble to get them. Work as I do, and you will earn 
 some too.' 
 
 ' And what work hast thou done ?' 
 
 'What have I done, dear Mister Nikola? I have 
 been to church and helped the parson sing Kyrie 
 Eleison, and in return he has given me these loaves 
 and birds. Go thou, and sing the Kyrie Eleison, and 
 thou wilt surely receive good pay for thy trouble.' 
 
 ' Is that all true, Mistress Fox ?' 
 
 ' Why, my dear Mister Nikola, do you think I would 
 tell thee lies ? It is the simple truth !' 
 
 The poor Wolf ran straight to the church and began
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 327 
 
 to sing. But they threw stones at him and chased him 
 with sticks. Quite crestfallen, Mister Nikola came 
 back to the deceitful Fox, reproached her bitterly with 
 having misled him, and told her that he had no sooner 
 entered the church than there had been a hue and cry 
 after him. 
 
 The Fox pretended to be greatly surprised at this, and 
 she said to the Wolf, 
 
 ' Let me hear how thou didst sing.' 
 
 ' Kyvgoude dai'son ! Kyvgoude ddison !' howled the 
 Wolf. 
 
 ' A'i, my dear Mr. Nikola,' cried the Fox, 'thy 
 tongue is much too thick. That is why they drove thee 
 away. They like a clear and delicate voice.' 
 
 ' Well, what must I do to make mine so ?' asked the 
 Wolf. 
 
 ' Go and stretch out thy tongue over an anthill ; 
 a host of ants will come out and make it more slender.' 
 
 The idiot of a Wolf followed the advice of his sly 
 gossip, and the ants riddled his tongue till it was like a 
 sieve. He then went to the church and sang in a 
 hoarse voice his Kyrie Eleison : and again they drove 
 him away with sticks. 
 
 He went once more to complain to Mistress Fox of 
 this treatment. The Fox, anxious to get rid of him at 
 any price, said, 
 
 ' Thy tongue is still too thick, dear Mr. Nikola. 
 The people at the church didn't like thy voice, and 
 that is why they drove thee away. But listen to the 
 wise counsel of a friend. If thou really wouldst have a 
 tongue slender enough for that, go into the village and 
 look for a blacksmith. Place thy tongue on the anvil 
 at the moment when he is going to strike the iron, and 
 he will flatten it with his hammer.'
 
 o 
 
 28 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Again the Wolf took the Fox's advice, and without 
 stopping to reflect— Hke the big silly he was — he went 
 to the blacksmith's. When the blacksmith turned 
 round to see who had entered his shop, he saw a great 
 Wolf with his tongue stretched on the anvil. He 
 immediately seized his biggest hammer, brought it 
 down cra^h ! on the poor beast's head, and stretched 
 
 him dead on the ground.
 
 THE BALDHEADED YOUTH^^ 
 
 Messenia. 
 
 {AeXriov, L, p. 273.) 
 
 There was once an old man and an old woman, and 
 they had a baldheaded son. When he grew up they 
 married him. So there he sat, a bridegroom, as prim 
 as you please."' 
 
 When they had eaten up all the wedding loaves, they 
 kneaded a cake and sent it to the bakehouse. The old 
 man bade the bald youth go fetch the cake home. 
 Said he, 
 
 * A bald boy am I, and affected and shy, 
 With my nose to the ground. 
 Which I sweep all around !' 
 
 Said the old man, ' Go thou, bride, and bring the 
 cake !' 
 
 ' A brideling am I, and affected and shy, 
 With my nose to the ground. 
 Which I sweep all around !' 
 
 replied the bride. 
 
 * Go thou, old woman !' 
 
 * An old woman I, and affected and shy. 
 With my nose to the ground. 
 Which I sweep all around !' 
 
 replied the old woman. 
 
 After a little while the bald youth went. He brought 
 the cake, and set it down to cool. 
 
 -' The affectedly constrained manners which custom imposes on 
 Greek brides and bridegrooms are here caricatured. ' As affected 
 as a bride ' is a proverbial saying.
 
 330 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 A Fox, passing by, saw the cake, seized it, and fled. 
 She ate the crumb, and left only the crust. She found 
 also a skin of wine, and drank it all. She then filled 
 the cake-crust with mud, and the skin with water,'^ and 
 went on and on, till she came upon a Shepherd with his 
 sheep. The Fox called to him, 
 
 ' Shepherd, Shepherd ! call up your dogs and your 
 hounds so that they may not worry me ! For I have 
 brought you a new cake and a skin of wine in exchange 
 for your fattest Lamb !' 
 
 Said he, ' Hang them up on the hook.' 
 
 The Fox goes and chooses the best Lamb, takes it, 
 and makes off. The Shepherd goes to eat the cake, and 
 finds it full of dirt, and the skin full of water. 
 
 ' Ah ! how she has done me !' 
 
 He calls his dogs and his hounds, but how is he to 
 catch her now that she has got such a start ? 
 
 The Fox goes to her earth, leaves there the Lamb, and 
 says to it, 
 
 ' I am going to fetch you some nicey, nicey, coldy 
 water, and freshy, freshy grassy ' (for the Fox was a 
 fibber). And she forbade it to open the door to anyone, 
 and went away. 
 
 Presently a Wolf, scenting the Lamb, went and 
 knocked at the door, and said in a very gruff voice, 
 
 ' Open, for your mother has come, and she has 
 brought you nicey, nicey, coldy water, and freshy, 
 freshy grassy.' 
 
 The Lamb heard the Wolf's gruff voice, and knowing 
 it was not the Fox, it replied, * You are not my mother, 
 but the Wolf who would eat me. I shall not open.' 
 
 The Wolf goes to the Gipsy, and gets him to cleave 
 his tongue, and then comes back again to the Lamb. 
 
 •' A coarse detail is here omitted.
 
 //. Social — {//.) Family. 331 
 
 ' Open, for your mother has come !' 
 
 * Put your little foot through the little hole that I 
 may see.' 
 
 The Wolf tries, but his foot is too large. 
 
 ' You are not my little mother, but the Wolf who 
 would eat me !' 
 
 He sets off again to the Gipsy, and gets him to split 
 his foot. When he came back he put it through the 
 hole, and the Lamb opened to him. When the Wolf 
 was in, he said, 
 
 ' Come now, and let us dance, and whoever wearies 
 first, the other shall eat him.' 
 
 What could the Lamb do ? She set to, and they 
 danced, and danced, till she was tired. The Wolf ate 
 one of her little feet. They danced again, and the 
 Lamb grew tired, and the Wolf ate another ; and so on 
 until he had eaten all four. Then he sat down and ate 
 her up, put the bones in the skin, stuffed it with straw, 
 set it up on the settle, and went off. 
 
 Presently the Fox comes home. She knocks and 
 shouts, but who was there to open ? Finally she 
 resolves to get in through the roof. She looks about, 
 and when she sees her Lamb eaten, she comes out and 
 goes to seek the Wolf in order to pay him out. She 
 meets him on the road. 
 
 ' Hallo ! Dame Maria !' 
 
 ' Glad to see you, gossip Nikola. Let us go, gossip, 
 to the Parson's cellar where there is no end of dried 
 meat, and we may eat till we are satisfied.' 
 
 ' Hearest thou that ?'^ replied the Wolf. 
 
 So they went to the Parson's cellar, crept in at a little 
 hole, and were soon busy with the parson's dried meat 
 and his fine flour. The Wolf fell upon the meat, and 
 ^ 'Ako[;s e/cei ; meaning, ' I should think so !' or 'rather !'
 
 ^^2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 OJ 
 
 ate, and ate till he was so stuffed that he couldn't 
 move. The Fox ate a little flour, put some in her sack, 
 and then began to dance about, singing, 
 
 ' In the Parson's well-stocked cellar. 
 Is the place where I would find me. 
 See the Wolf the meat devour, 
 And the Fox enjoy the flour !' 
 
 The Papa, hearing the noise and the singing, awoke 
 the Papadhid. They each seize a club and hasten to 
 the cellar. As soon as the Fox saw them, she gave a 
 spring, crept through the hole, and made off. The 
 Wolf was about to follow her, but how could he get 
 through when he was so stuffed? They began upon 
 him, first one, and then the other, till they had made 
 salt meat of him, and at last he got out at the door, but 
 in a sorry state. 
 
 When the Fox had got out, she went and bathed in 
 a pool, and then rubbed herself in some red earth so 
 that she might appear bloody. She then went to her 
 hole, heated water in a cauldron till it was boiling hot, 
 and then put the cauldron outside the door, spread over 
 it a covering to make it look like a sofa, and then went 
 to seek the Wolf. 
 
 ' Why, gossip ! what a mishap we had !' 
 
 ' What happened to thee ? They made me into salted 
 meat !' 
 
 ' Me ? — seest thou not the state I am in ? But let us 
 go outside and sit on the sofa.' 
 
 They went out, and the Fox with much politeness 
 said, ' There, pray get up on the sofa.' The Wolf went 
 to seat himself, and fell into the boiling water, and was 
 scalded to death. The Fox looked in [and said], 
 
 ' Art thou comfortable now ? It was thou who ate 
 my Lamb !'
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 2iZ2) 
 
 [Another version terminates as follows. As the Fox 
 is going to seek the Wolf, she sees coming along the 
 road a cart laden with fish. She lies down and pre- 
 tends to be dead. The driver sees her.] 
 
 ^ Bve,' says he, ' I'll make a fine fur jacket out of her 
 skin !' and he throws the Fox on the cart. She ate, and 
 ate of the fish, and filled her little sack, and after a while 
 took a spring — and catch her if you can ! She went 
 home to her earth and hung the fish up over the door. 
 Going out, she meets the Wolf. 
 
 ' Hallo, Dame Maria, how art thou ? I hope thou art 
 well ?' [said the Wolf]. 
 
 ' Pretty well, gossip Nikola, wilt thou come to my 
 house ?' says she. ' But mind thou look not up when 
 thou art inside, or needles will fall into thine eyes !' 
 
 So they go to her earth, but the Wolf was not able 
 to refrain, and raising his eyes, what did he see ? 
 
 ' Why, gossip,' said he, ' where didst thou get those 
 fish?' 
 
 ' I went to the sea and caught them.' 
 
 ' How didst thou catch them ? — Could I catch some 
 too?' 
 
 'Why not,' said she. 'Come, and Fll show thee 
 how\' 
 
 She leads our good Wolf down to the seashore, hangs 
 a jar round his neck — to put the fish in, perhaps — and 
 pushes him into the water. The Wolf shouts, 
 
 ' Dame Maria ! where are the fish ?' 
 
 ' Further out, go where it is deeper,' replied the Fox. 
 
 The Wolf went further, and was drowning, and the 
 Fox called out to him, ' It was thou who ate my Lamb, 
 and now I have paid thee out !' 
 
 [In some versions the story ends here. Another 
 version continues:]
 
 334 Greek Folk-Prose, 
 
 The Fox left the Wolf in the sea, and went away. 
 There passed by a Raven, the Wolf shouted to him, 
 ' Come, Raven, and save me !' But the Raven went 
 on his way. There passed by a Donkey. ' Come, 
 Donkey, and save me !' The Donkey went near, gave 
 a kick to the jar and broke it into a thousand pieces. 
 Then the Wolf came out and ate the Donkey !
 
 BIG MATSIKO. 
 
 A thens. 
 {AeXriov, I., p. 68i.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King who had three 
 daughters. Word came to him to go to the wars, and 
 he was very anxious about leaving his daughters alone. 
 
 Said his daughters to him, ' What is the matter, 
 father, that you are so sad ?' 
 
 ' What is the matter, my children ? — word has come 
 to me to go to the wars.' 
 
 ' Go, father, with an easy mind. There lives close 
 by here an old woman, who is great at jokes, and some- 
 times she tells us stories and amuses us. We will 
 invite her to come and stay with us till you come back 
 from the wars, and the time will not seem long.' 
 
 The King sent and called the old woman. He said 
 to her, ' Mother, wilt thou stay here with my children 
 till I come back from the wars ?' 
 
 ' Bd ! what do I hear, my long-lived King ? — will I 
 stay ? — of course I will stay ! Go, my King, and have 
 no anxiety about your daughters. I will amuse them, 
 and take them to walk in the garden, only go, my King, 
 with your mind at ease !' 
 
 The King went and made ready, and set off to the 
 wars. The old woman came and stayed with the girls. 
 She stayed two or three days, and then she got bored. ^ 
 One day she arose, and went down to the garden, and 
 walked about here and there, and was a long time before 
 she went upstairs again to the Princesses. They waited 
 
 ^ Se/cXeTtTw from the Turkish s/t^/t'i verme/c, ' to be bored.'
 
 336 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 dinner for her, and waited long. Where could she be ? 
 Presently she came. 
 
 ^ Ach ! mother,' said they to her, 'why are you so 
 late, and we dying of hunger ?' 
 
 ^ A'i ! what shall I say, my children ? — I can't always 
 stay here ; I am bored ; but if I don't come at the 
 proper time, do you eat, and keep some for me.' 
 
 So every day, whenever she wanted to go out walking, 
 she came back when she liked, and the Princesses made 
 no remark. One day, when she had gone into the 
 garden, she walked down to the very end, and there she 
 stepped on a stone which moved under her. 
 
 ' Vi /' cried she, ' what can there be here that the 
 stone moves ?' 
 
 She raised the stone, and saw a staircase. She went 
 down a few steps, and saw that there were many more. 
 But it was already late in the day. 
 
 ' ril go back now,' said she, ' and get up very, very 
 early in the morning, and go down here and see what 
 there is.' 
 
 She goes up into the palace, finds the Princesses, tells 
 them stories, and passes the time charmingly for them. 
 They went to sleep early ; and she got up very, very 
 early, went down into the garden and found the stairs, 
 went down, down several steps and came to a great 
 courtyard ; she walked a few paces along the courtyard 
 and then saw at a distance a palace. 
 
 ^ Bd !' said she, 'what palace is that ? — I'll go nearer 
 and see.' 
 
 She went nearer, and saw that the palace was very 
 splendid, but no human being was to be seen. She 
 went up, and called out, 
 
 'Ai! masters! is there no one here?' Then she 
 peeps about, and sees in a corner an old man cooking.
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 337 
 
 ' Bd ! Good da}', gaffer !' she says to him. 
 
 ' Welcome !' rephed the old man. ' How didst thou 
 get here ?' 
 
 ^ A'i ! my Fate brought me, what does it matter? 
 What's thy name, my gaffer ?' 
 
 ' Big Matsiko,' said he. 
 
 * Vi ! Big Matsiko, mayst thou live long ! What a fine 
 name, poor fellow ! But what art doing here ?' 
 
 * Dost not see ? — cooking !' 
 ' But who is to eat ?' 
 
 ' Ai'! who is to eat ? — my masters !' 
 
 ' But who are thy masters ?' 
 
 ' Three Princes, very handsome ones.' 
 
 ' And where are the Princes now ?' 
 
 ' They are out hunting.' 
 
 ' But, my Big Matsiko, let us have something to eat, 
 for poor I am hungry.' 
 
 He served some food, and the two sat down to eat, and 
 they drank a little wine besides. Then she said to him, 
 
 ' Hastn't thou a little honey to give me ?' 
 
 ' Well, I have, but it is down at the bottom of the 
 jar, for it is about finished.' 
 
 ' Ai' ! let us go now, and thou can give me a little to 
 eat!' 
 
 He went and took a spoon and a plate. He went in 
 front, and she followed behind to see where he would 
 go. He came to the place where the honey was, and as 
 he was scraping up the honey, she gave him a push, 
 and he fell head foremost into the jar.^ She ran off as 
 fast as she could, and went up to the Princesses. They 
 asked her why she was so late. 
 
 ' Ai' / what can I do, my children ? I met some of my 
 
 * Such immense jars are still used in the East for storing olive- 
 oil, etc. 
 
 VOL. II. 22
 
 ^PtS Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 oo 
 
 gossips, and they kept me talking, and we had some- 
 thing to eat. But now take your frames and em- 
 broider, and I will take my spindle and tell you stories.' 
 
 Let us now leave these, and let us go to the unlucky 
 old man. The Princes came home, and called, 
 
 ' Big Matsiko. Big Matsiko !' 
 
 But where was Big Matsiko ? They searched here, 
 and searched there, and after a time they came to the 
 place where the honey jar was, and saw him stuck in 
 it. They pulled him and got him out. 
 
 * Bre, Big Matsiko ! how didst thou fall into the jar ?' 
 ' Nd ! how did I fall ? I went to get some honey to 
 
 make you a sweet dish, and my foot slipped and I fell 
 
 into the jar.' 
 
 ' Come then, go wash thyself, and serve the dinner.' 
 He went and got ready the dinner for them, and they 
 
 lay down and slept. In the morning they arose and 
 
 went a-hunting. When a little time had passed, back 
 
 comes the old woman again. 
 
 * Good day to thee, my Big Matsiko !' 
 ' Mayst thou perish, Witchhag !' 
 
 ' F// my Big Matsiko! as if I did it on purpose! 
 When I saw thee slip, could I pull thee out ? I — an 
 old woman ?' 
 
 ' At ! but don't do such a thing to me again !' 
 
 ' Certainly not, my Big Matsiko. What did thy 
 masters say ?' 
 
 ' Nd ! they scolded me — what should they say ?' 
 
 ' Come now, let us have something to eat, and let us 
 drink a little wine, and then I will go.' 
 
 When they had eaten well, and drunk some wine, she 
 said to him, 
 
 ' Tell me true. Big Matsiko, where dost thou see thy 
 masters from when they are coming back ?'
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 339 
 
 ' "Sd I Let us go upstairs and walk about the palace, 
 and I will show thee whence I see my masters when 
 they are coming,' 
 
 She went upstairs, and what did she see ? — three 
 chambers in a row, splendidly furnished, with their 
 beds, the Princes' beds, with silken sheets and golden 
 coverlets. 
 
 ' Ai ! now I have seen so many wonderful things, 
 take me and show me whence thou seest thy masters 
 when they are returning home.' 
 
 ' Nd ! dost see that little window high up there ? I 
 put a ladder there and see them coming.' 
 
 ' O do get up now, and see if they are coming, lest 
 they happen to find me here !' 
 
 He placed the ladder, and climbed up to the window. 
 But when he had taken hold of the window-sill to look 
 out, she knocked down the ladder, went downstairs, 
 threw a handful of salt into every dish, and arose and 
 fled. 
 
 The Princes came home and called, 
 
 ' Big Matsiko ! Big Matsiko ! Where art thou ?' 
 
 'He-e-e-re!' he replied from w^here he hung on the 
 window. 
 
 ' Where can he be calling from ?' They look here, 
 and look there, and presently they see him hanging 
 from the window. 
 
 ' Brc ! how didst thou get up there ?' they ask him. 
 
 ' Why, I got up to see if you were coming, and the 
 ladder fell down, and I remained hanging up here.' 
 
 'Ah? — well, serve the dinner,' they said, as they 
 placed the ladder for him to come down. 
 
 He served the dinner. But the dishes were so 
 horribly salt, that they were uneatable. 
 
 ' What has happened to that Big Matsiko ?' said the
 
 340 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Princes, ' now he tumbles here, and now there ; we 
 must look out for someone else, he is useless, he is in 
 his dotage.' 
 
 They dined as well as the}- could, and lay down and 
 slept. 
 
 Said the old woman to the Princesses, ' My Princesses, 
 will you give me a bundle-wrapj^" a shirt, a girdle, and 
 a gold broidered scarf, as my niece is going to be 
 married, that the bride may wear them, and afterwards 
 I will bring them back.' 
 
 ' Bd, never mind that, mother, take them as a present 
 from us to your niece.' 
 
 They gave her all she asked for ; she took besides 
 a razor, a jar of cosmetic, a jar of rouge, and a little 
 glass of sleeping draught, and arose and went to the 
 steps. She left the bundle on the steps and went down 
 and came to Big Matsiko. 
 
 ' Good day, my Big Matsiko ! How art thou ?' 
 
 ' Mayst thou perish, old Witchhag !' 
 
 ' Ou I Ox\ I my Big Matsiko ! Dost not know ? — 
 When I heard the ladder fall, I thought it was thy 
 masters firing their guns, and coming home, and I 
 scratched my head and made for m}^ own vineyard ; 
 and now I hardly liked to come, I was so ashamed, but 
 I said, " ril go and beg his pardon !" ' 
 
 'Well, come, but don't do such crazy things again !' 
 
 ^ A'i I now, my Big Matsiko, let us eat, and drink a 
 little wine, and then I will go, for I am quite faint.' 
 
 She got over him, and he served some food. While 
 he was serving the food, she found means to pour the 
 sleeping draught into Big Matsiko's wine. As soon as 
 he had drunk his wine, he grew stiff, and fell stretched 
 on the floor. She lifted him gently in her arms, and 
 
 => The Turkish boghkha^ the primitive portmanteau.
 
 //. Social — (//•) Family. 341 
 
 laid him in the bed of the youngest Prince. This done, 
 she went and fetched the bundle which she had left [on 
 the stairs], shaved off his moustaches, whitened his face, 
 rouged his cheeks, dyed his eyebrows, decked him out in 
 the gold embroidered clothes she had brought, covered 
 him with the embroidered kerchief, and went away. 
 
 The Princes came in the evening, and called, ' Big 
 Matsiko ! Big Matsiko !' But no Big Matsiko was to 
 be seen. 
 
 ' Brc ! what the devil can have become of Big 
 Matsiko ? — he can't have fallen into the well, surely ?' 
 They searched here and they searched there, till they 
 wearied; and then they supped and went to bed. They 
 began, according to a custom they had, the second to 
 undress the eldest, the youngest to undress the second, 
 while the third was undressed b}^ Big Matsiko. But 
 since Big Matsiko was not to be found, he resolved to 
 undress himself and go to sleep. He took the candle 
 to go to his chamber, but as soon as the light fell on the 
 bed, something sparkled. 
 
 ' Bre ! what can this be ? — perhaps a Nereid who has 
 come to sleep in my bed ?' He went out again, for he 
 was frightened. He went to his brothers, and said, 
 ' There is something in my chamber, and I am afraid 
 to go in.' 
 
 ' Bd ! what is it ?' asked his brothers. 
 
 ' Nd ! it must be some Nereid.' 
 
 His brothers got up and went in. They lifted the 
 sheet, and what did they see ? — Big Matsiko ! At first 
 they were angry, but soon they began to split their sides 
 with laughing, and they said, * We must find out what 
 this mystery is. Now we find him in the honey-jar, 
 now hanging on the wall, and now in this state — some- 
 thing is going on.'
 
 342 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 They took hold of him, the one by his arms, and the 
 other by his legs, and put him in his own room. The 
 Princes threw him down there somewhere, and went to 
 sleep. In the morning Big Matsiko got up, stared 
 at the golden clothes he was wearing, and was going 
 to stroke his moustaches, but — where were his 
 moustaches ? 
 
 * Ah !' said he. ' Did my masters see me in this 
 state ? If that horrid old woman comes again, Fll kill 
 her r 
 
 The Princes awoke in the morning, and called to Big 
 Matsiko, ' Come here and tell us what is all this which 
 has been going on so long?' 
 
 ' What shall I tell you ? — There is an old woman who 
 comes, and with her wheedlings she, one way or another, 
 does what she has done to me. But now, if she comes 
 again, I have a great mind to beat her and drive her 
 away.' 
 
 * No !' said the Princes, ' don't beat her, or drive her 
 away. At what hour does she come ?' 
 
 ' Nd ! in about an hour she may come.' 
 
 * Then we won't go out hunting to-day. We will 
 stay at home and see where she comes from, and why 
 she pla3^s thee these tricks.' 
 
 So the Princes remained at home, and hid themselves. 
 The old woman came down, and came in. 
 
 ' Good day, Big Matsiko [' 
 
 ' Good day, indeed ! and very good day ! Thou hast 
 made me a laughing stock, and I haven't the face to 
 look at my masters !' 
 
 * There thou art again ! Face or no face, I only did it 
 to make those poor Princes laugh. All day long they 
 are all alone without a woman in the house, to say 
 a sweet word to them. That is why I did it — to make
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 343 
 
 them laugh, and not because I had any grudge against 
 thee, only so as to make thy masters laugh.' 
 
 When she had said this, pop ! out came the three 
 Princes and surrounded her. 
 
 ' Come now, dame, and we will judge thee,' said the 
 eldest. When she saw him, she trembled. ' Whence 
 comest thou, and why art thou always pulling Big 
 Matsiko's nose ?' 
 
 ' I will tell you, my long-lived King, plainly and 
 frankly, for I don't know fine phrases. Such and such 
 a King who has gone to the wars, left me to take care 
 of his daughters, for they are three Princesses the sight 
 of whom would make you lose your wits. They read, 
 and embroider, and I walk about here and there, for 
 I get bored. One day, when I was walking in their 
 garden, I went very near the end and saw a stone which 
 rocked ' And she told them all the story. 
 
 * Canst thou trick the Princesses and bring them 
 here, that we may see them ?' 
 
 ' Bd I I will bring them, only you must hide your- 
 selves, and see them without their seeing you.' 
 
 * Very well, we will hide, but we shall expect thee to 
 come back with the Princesses, that we may see them.' 
 
 Then the old woman went up to the palace, and one 
 way or another she got over them — ' My Princesses ! 
 get up and let us go and walk a little, it is so fine ' — 
 and she persuaded them, and they went down to the 
 garden. As they were walking there, she contrived to 
 tread on the stone which moved. 
 
 * Bd ! this stone moves ! What can it be ? Let us 
 go and see what is going on below !' 
 
 * Po ! po ! po ! we are afraid to go !' said the Princesses, 
 ' do you go !' 
 
 ' Ai'f let us all go ; I will go with you ; what is there
 
 344 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 to fear, if I am with you ?' and at last she quite per- 
 suaded them, and they all went down, and walked in 
 the great courtyard, and went up to the palace. 
 
 ' Pa ! po ! po /' cried the Princesses, ' let us go back, 
 we are afraid !' 
 
 ' Kale, no ! let us go in, there is nobody there !' 
 
 The Princes saw them from a distance, and were 
 amazed at their beauty. When they had gone upstairs 
 and were walking about, pop ! the Princes appeared. 
 Then they were frightened. But the Princes said to 
 them, 
 
 ' Don't be afraid, for we are Princes, and know how 
 to behave to Princesses.' 
 
 Then said the old woman, ' Listen to me, and let me 
 tell you. The eldest [Prince] must marry the eldest 
 [Princess], the second the middle one, the youngest the 
 little one, and I will marry my Big Matsiko ! Not at 
 once, however, but when the King comes back from the 
 wars.' 
 
 The King came back from the wars ; and the Princes 
 went and asked him for the Princesses. Then music 
 and drums and great rejoicings, and the three Princesses 
 kept four weddings. And they lived happy and con- 
 tented. And we happier !
 
 THE TRIPE. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {NeoeXXrjviKa ^ AvdXeKra, B. 17.) 
 
 Once upon a time, and a long time ago, there was an 
 old man and an old woman. Said the old woman to 
 the old man, 
 
 ' It is now many months that we have eaten nothing 
 but bread and olives. Go, my dear, this evening and 
 buy a little tripe that I may cook it to-morrow, which 
 is Sunday, and we will feast like lords, and forget our 
 poverty.' 
 
 So the old man goes to the shambles to buy it for 
 her. She puts it in a dish, and goes down to the sea 
 to clean it. While she was washing it, there swooped 
 down an eagle, took it out of the dish, and flew away, 
 without her seeing who had taken it. The poor old 
 woman looked on this side and on that, sought the 
 tripe here, and sought it there, but couldn't find it. At 
 last she sees the Eagle carrying it off to the mountain 
 to eat it. So frightened was she lest her husband 
 should beat her, that she bit her nails to get it back. 
 But she had to be careful how she set about it. She 
 goes to the Eagle. 
 
 * Eagle mine. Eagle mine, give me back my tripe, so 
 that my old man may not beat me !' 
 
 ' Didst thou ever give me a chicken to eat ?' said he. 
 
 The old woman goes away to the Hen. 
 
 ' Henny mine, Henny mine, give me a chicken to 
 take to the Eagle, and the Eagle will give back my 
 tripe, so that my old man may not beat me !' 
 
 ' Didst thou ever throw corn to me ?' said she.
 
 34^ Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 So she goes away to the Miller. 
 
 ' Miller, Miller, give me a little grain. The grain is 
 for the Hen, that the Hen may give a chicken for the 
 Eagle, and the Eagle give me back my tripe so that my 
 old man may not beat me !' 
 
 ' And didst thou ever bring me a broom to sweep out 
 my mill with ?' 
 
 So she went to the Broom-tree. 
 
 ' Broom-tree mine ! Broom-tree mine ! Give me a 
 branch or two to make a broom. The broom is for the 
 mill, that the Miller may give me grain ; the grain is for 
 the Hen, that she may give me a chicken ; the chicken 
 is for the Eagle, that he may give me back my tripe so 
 that my old man may not beat me !' 
 
 ' Didst thou ever water me ?' 
 
 She goes away, and climbs a high mountain, and 
 says, ' O Skies ! O my dear Skies ! throw me down a 
 little water for the Broom-tree that she may give me a 
 branch or two. The branches are for the Miller, that 
 he may give me grain ; the grain is for the Hen, that 
 she may give me a chicken ; the chicken is for the 
 Eagle that he may give me back my tripe, so that my 
 old man may not beat me !' 
 
 * Didst thou ever burn incense to propitiate me ?' 
 asked the Skies. 
 
 So she went to the Incense-seller. 
 
 ' Incense-seller ! Incense-seller mine ! Give me a 
 little incense for Heaven, that it may give me water for 
 the Broom-tree and the Broom-tree may give me a 
 branch or two. The branches are for the mill, that the 
 Miller may give me grain ; the grain is for the Hen, 
 that she may give me a chicken ; the chicken is for the 
 Eagle that he may give me back my tripe, so that my 
 old man may not beat poor me !'
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 347 
 
 * And didst thou ever bring me a Maiden to kiss ?' 
 She goes away to the Maiden. 
 
 * Maiden mine ! Maiden mine ! give me a kiss for the 
 Incense-seller, that he may give me some incense. The 
 incense is for Heaven,' etc. 
 
 ' And didst thou ever bring me a pair of sHppers to 
 wear ?' said she. 
 
 So the old woman goes away to the Shoemaker. 
 
 ' O Cobbler mine ! Cobbler mine ! give me a pair of 
 slippers to take to the Maiden, that the Maiden may 
 give me a kiss. The kiss is for the Incense-seller,' etc., 
 etc. 
 
 ' Am I to give them to thee without payment ?' 
 
 So she goes to the Coiner. 
 
 ' O Coiner mine, Coiner mine ! give me two or three 
 paras'^ for the Shoemaker, that he may give me the 
 shoes for the Maiden,' etc., etc. 
 
 ' And didst thou ever bring me a whetstone to sharpen 
 my tools, that I should vaake paras for thee ?' 
 
 Then the old woman gave it up, and went home to 
 her old man, and he laid the stick on her. 
 
 ^ The fortieth part of a piastre, the smallest Turkish coin, worth 
 about a quarter of a farthing.
 
 THE TWELVE MONTHS. 
 
 Milos. 
 {NeoeX. 'AvuX., A. 2.) 
 
 Here begins the story, good-evening to you ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a poor old woman, and 
 she set out to gather sticks, so as to have a store for the 
 winter, poor creature. As she went looking for sticks 
 she came out on some untilled land, and on the edge of 
 the untilled land at the foot of a mountain she saw a 
 house. While she picked up wood, a shower came on, 
 so the poor old woman, not to get wet, ran into that 
 house. No sooner was she inside, than she saw Twelve 
 most beautiful Youths. 
 
 ' Good day, pallikars,' said she to them. 
 
 'Welcome, old woman,' say they, 'how dost thou 
 happen to be here in such bad weather ?' 
 
 ' Alas, my sons, I am a poor woman, and I came to 
 gather two or three sticks for the winter which is 
 coming ; for, my sons, mine is a poor tumble-down 
 cottage, and the wind comes in, and the rain, and the 
 cold.' 
 
 Then says one of them to her, ' Wilt not tell us, 
 dame, which of all the months is the worst ?' 
 
 ' Ah, my son, none of the months is bad. Each has 
 its fair and its foul [side]. 
 
 All the months are good [believe] ; 
 All my blessing shall receive.' 
 
 * But that cannot be, dame. Tell us now if January 
 is as good as May, for instance ?'
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 349 
 
 * My sons,' says the old woman, ' if January did not . 
 rain and make bad weather. May would not have his 
 flowers. Why shall I say ? — 
 
 All the months are ^po^ [believe] ; 
 
 All my blessing shall receive.' 
 
 Then they say to her, ' Hast thou not a double sack,* 
 my old woman ?' The old woman gave them the sack 
 which she had brought to put wild herbs in, and they 
 filled it for her with gold coins up to the mouth. The 
 old woman takes it and goes back to her village. When 
 her sister saw that she no longer lived in poverty, but 
 spent gold pieces, she said to her, 
 
 ' I say, sister, wilt not tell me where thou found all 
 those sequins ?' 
 
 She sat down and told her all the stor3'. The next 
 day, she gets up, looks for the biggest sack, and takes 
 it as if she were going to gather wild herbs. She goes 
 — not to make a long story of it — and finds the same 
 house and the Twelve Youths within. She enters, 
 salutes them, and sits down. Say they, ' What has 
 brought thee here, dame ?' 
 
 'I came,' said she, 'to gather two sticks, for now 
 comes the bad and cold month of January, which I 
 would that never came, for it makes me shrink into my 
 shell.' 
 
 ' But which month pleases thee, dame ?' they ask 
 then. 
 
 ' None, they are all bad and cold to me ! Which can I 
 call good ? — hirplin February P^" — or fickle March — March 
 the stake-burner ?c — All the rest are fire and flame !' 
 
 •'' A kind of saddle-bag carried over the shoulder. 
 
 1' \\ovT(jo^ lame of one leg. So called because shorter than the 
 other months. 
 
 c The store of winter fuel being exhausted by February, a cold 
 March obliges the peasants to burn their fences.
 
 350 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Then said they, ' Hast thou a sack ?' 
 
 She joyfully replied, ' I have.' 
 
 ' Give it to us.' They took it and filled it to the 
 mouth with every kind of reptile — vipers, frogs, and 
 lizards, and all that the black earth possesses. They 
 give it to her and say, 
 
 ' When thou comest to thy house, shut the doors and 
 windows, and then open the sack.' 
 
 The old woman takes it with great joy, goes to her 
 house, shuts herself in, and opens the sack. Immedi- 
 ately all the snakes spring out, and tear in pieces the 
 unhappy woman for being an impertinent chatterbox. 
 
 I was not there, and neither were you, so you need 
 not believe it !
 
 THE CATS. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AeXjiov, I., p. 335.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 There was once upon a time a poor old beggar-woman, 
 and all day long she wandered about asking for alms, 
 and at night she went home to her little hut, and rested. 
 But one day it happened that no one gave her anything, 
 it was all — ' May God relieve thee !''"• It grew dark, the 
 poor creature returned home, went in, it was all dark ; 
 hungry and weary, what was she to do ? She tossed 
 and turned, she could neither lie still nor sleep, and her 
 stomach played the drum. So she took her stick, and 
 determined to go out again. She tramped, and 
 tramped, and knew not where she went ; all the doors 
 were shut, and there was darkness everywhere. At a 
 distance she saw a light, a long way off. Said she, 
 
 ' What can there be there, perchance it is some 
 wedding. I'll go and see !' 
 
 She goes up and sees a great door ; she knocks and 
 knocks, but nobody opens, and not a soul speaks. She 
 begins to knock louder still. Then the door opens, and 
 she sees appear before her a black Tom-cat. He said 
 to her, 
 
 ' Mar-inour, mar-mar ?' 
 
 ' Give me an alms, my gentleman !' 
 
 Another Tom-cat rushes up, and says to the porter, 
 the black cat, 
 
 => '0 deos va c' iXey^ar] ! The commou formula when refusing alms 
 to a beggar.
 
 352 Greek Folk- Pilose. 
 
 ' Maou I maou /' 
 
 The old woman hurries up, ' Give me an ahns, my 
 gentlemen !' 
 
 Said the Tom-cat who was on the stairs, ' Mar-mar- 
 nmr-mar /' She made as if she would go upstairs, and 
 as no one spoke to her, she went up. She came into a 
 great room, and there were opposite two sofas all 
 embroidered with gold, and on each sofa sat a great 
 Tabby-cat ; the one on the one sofa was white, and the 
 one on the other was brindled. One, the white one, 
 had a beautiful tchibonk of jasmine, and was smoking ; 
 and the other, the brindled one, had a narghileh set 
 with diamonds and coral, and she was smoking. When 
 the old woman came in she made a reverence and said, 
 
 ' Give me an alms, my ladies, for I am dying of 
 hunger.' 
 
 Said one of the Cats to the other, ' Mar-mar ? Mar- 
 inonr ?' 
 
 Then, ' Mar -mar -mar,'' said the other. 
 
 Then said the Cat which was on the stairs, 
 
 ' Go and bring a sack from thy house.' 
 
 The poor creature went ; she had no sack at her 
 house, and she went to a poor neighbour and begged 
 hers. 
 
 ' What dost want it for ?' she asked. 
 
 ' They are going to give me a little flour, and I want 
 a sack to put it in.' 
 
 She took the sack, went back, and they put some 
 sequins in it and gave it back to her. She put it on 
 her shoulder, thanked them, and left. She went home, 
 emptied out the sequins into an old chest which she 
 had, took back the sack to her neighbour, and went 
 away. Then the old woman puts her hand into the 
 sack to see what it had had in it, and finds in the run
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 353 
 
 of the sack a sequin. She takes the sequin and goes to 
 the old woman, and says to her, 
 
 ' Where didst thou find the sequins ?' 
 
 ' What sequins ?' she repHed. 
 
 * A'^^ / those thou put'st in the sack.' 
 
 ^ Kale I I didn't put any sequins in, ni}' Christian,' 
 said she. 
 
 ' Either thou'lt tell me where thou found'st them, or 
 I will go and say at the Court that thou art a thief.' 
 
 Then the old woman was afraid, and said to her, 
 ' There, in that house,' which she pointed out, ' I went, 
 and they gave them to me.' 
 
 Then she lost no time, folded up her sack, and — one, 
 two, three, — she was at the palace. She knocks and 
 knocks at the door ; the black Tom-cat opens. 
 
 'Vil May'st thou burn! Ndl'' How he startled 
 me, opening the door like a human !' 
 
 Then up comes the other Tom-cat who was on the 
 stairs — ' Mar 7 Mar ? Mar ? Mar ?' 
 
 ' Vi ! and be hanged to you!' Then she came in 
 and mounted the stairs and entered the room where 
 the great Tabb}^ Cats were, and when she saw them 
 smoking tchiboiiks [she cried], ' Vi ! Here's a go ! Why 
 — they're smoking nars^hilchs, tchiboiiks ! But who will 
 catch mice in here ?' 
 
 Said the big Cats, ' Mdon ! mdou ! mdou ?' 
 
 Said she, * Now I will go and learn cat-language, and 
 come and talk to you!' and she split her sides with 
 laughing. 
 
 Then the other Cat who was on the staircase turned 
 and said to her, ' What dost thou want ?' 
 
 * Nd ! I want you to fill my sack full of liras, as you 
 
 filled the other old woman's, or else I will go and 
 
 ^ The gesture of the phaskeloti accompanies this exclamation. 
 See p. 154. 
 
 VOL. II. 23
 
 354 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 accuse her at the Court with being a thief, and have 
 her put in prison.' 
 
 Then said the big Cats to the Cat on the stairs, 
 ' Mdou, mdou, mamdou /' 
 
 The old woman did nothing but laugh and split her 
 sides, and say, ' Ah, my son, let them look out when 
 such a cat as thou goes for them !' 
 
 Said the Cat on the stairs to her, ' Give me thy sack, 
 and I will go and fill it with sequins.' 
 
 He took it, and went down to the cellar, and put in 
 what his mistresses had bidden him, tied it up tightly, 
 and gave it to her, saying, 
 
 ' Here, dame, are sequins, but it will not do for the 
 stars to see them ; thou must go alone into thy house, 
 shut the door well, undress thyself, and then open the 
 bag with the sequins.' 
 
 She took them, said ' Good-night,' burst out laugh- 
 ing, and went off. She went into her house, fastened 
 her door and window, undressed herself as he bade her, 
 and then untied her sack. As soon as she had untied 
 it, there rushed out snakes, creeping things, and 
 beetles ; and the snakes wound themselves round her 
 neck and throttled her, and devoured her, and there 
 remained only her skeleton. 
 
 The other poor woman could not sleep all night for 
 fear that this one might accuse her. So she waited for 
 her neighbour to open her door and her window ; but 
 neither door nor window was opened. Then she went 
 softly, softly, and opened the door, and saw her 
 stretched dead on the floor. Then she pulled-to the 
 door softly again, and shut it, and arose and fled to her 
 own little house. And she took her sequins, and all her 
 clothes, and left that house and went to another place, 
 and built another little house, and spent a golden old age. 
 But neither you nor I was there, so you needn't believe it !
 
 THE STORY OF THE BAD COMPANIONS. 
 
 (Sakellarios, II., p. 357.) 
 
 Once upon a time the Cock determined to go to the 
 Holy Sepulchre and become a Pilgrim, and he said to 
 the Hen, 
 
 ' Shall we go and become Hadjis ?' 
 
 * Let us go,' said the Hen, ' Cock the prior, Hen the 
 prioress, let us set off and go.' 
 
 They went a little way, and met a Partridge. 
 
 * Good day, Partridge !' 
 
 * Glad to see you. Cock and Hen, and where may 
 you be going for your good ?' 
 
 ' We are going to become Pilgrims ; wilt thou come 
 too?' 
 
 * I'll come ! Cock the prior, Hen the prioress, and 
 the singing Partridge, let us set off and go.' 
 
 They went a little further and met a goose. 
 
 * Good day. Goose !' 
 
 . * Good day to you, and where are you going ?' 
 
 ' We are going to become Pilgrims ; wilt thou come 
 with us ?' 
 
 ' I will. Cock the prior, Hen the prioress, the sing- 
 ing Partridge, and the fluffy Goose — let us set off and 
 
 go.' 
 
 They went a little further and met a Fox. 
 ' Good day. Fox !' 
 
 * Good day to you, and where are you going for your 
 good ?' 
 
 ' We are going to become Pilgrims ; wilt thou come 
 with us ?' 
 
 ' Indeed I will. Cock the prior. Hen the prioress,
 
 ;56 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 the singing Partridge, the fluffy Goose, and the cunning 
 Fox — let us set off and go.' 
 
 As they went, night came on, and the Fox ate the 
 Goose. 
 
 ' Where is the Goose ? Where is she ?' they asked. 
 
 ' She has flown away,' repHed the Fox. ' Come, let 
 us set off and go.' 
 
 The next night he ate the Partridge. 
 
 * Where is the Partridge ? Where is she ?' again they 
 asked. 
 
 ' She has flown away,' again replied the Fox. ' Come 
 along and let us be off.' 
 
 The next night he ate the Hen. 
 
 * Where is the Hen ? Where is she ?' asked the 
 Cock. 
 
 ' She has flown away,' again replied the Fox. 
 
 * But does a Hen fly ?' 
 
 ' She does,' said the Fox to him, 'and now thou wilt 
 see that thou wilt fly too !' And he fell upon him and 
 ate the Cock too. 
 
 The moral of this story is that one should be careful 
 in choosing one's companions.
 
 SUBSECTION III.— STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF 
 
 FILIAL LIFE. 
 
 THE RIDDLES, OR, THE DEVOTED 
 DA UGHTER. 
 
 Pcloponncsos. 
 
 (N eoeWrjviKCL AvdXeKra, A. 8.) 
 
 Once upon a time and a long time ago, there was a 
 King. This King had an elder brother who was 
 married, and this King's brother had a daughter, 
 beautiful as an angel, and both clever and witty. One 
 day the Devil put it into the head of the King that 
 this elder brother of his sought to kill him, and take 
 away his kingdom from him. As soon as this idea had 
 taken possession of him, he ordered his soldiers at once 
 to seize his unfortunate brother, and cast him into a 
 dark tower ; and there keep him without food till he 
 should die of hunger. 
 
 As he bade them, so they did. They took him, and 
 threw him into a dark prison in which he could not see 
 even his finger. 
 
 The daughter of the King's brother, seeing that her 
 father was put without cause and unjustly into prison, 
 at once suspected that the King designed some evil 
 against him ; and she gave here, and she gave there'^ till 
 she learnt that the King had made up his mind to let 
 her father die of hunger in the prison. At once she 
 hastens to the King, and says to him, 
 
 ■' 7.6'., bribed.
 
 358 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' My lord King, I will ask thee to do me but one 
 favour — let me go twice a day to see my father in the 
 prison where they have placed him.' 
 
 The King, (thinking that) no harm could result, 
 granted her leave, but gave at the same time orders to 
 his soldiers to search her well whenever she came into the 
 prison, lest perchance she might bring bread or other 
 food to her father ; and he told them to make a hole in 
 the prison wall through which the father and daughter 
 might talk. 
 
 The maiden, seeing that she had succeeded in saving 
 her father from death, went at once to the bath and 
 bathed. This brought out her milk,^^ and she went to 
 her father in the prison. She put her breast through 
 the hole, and told him to suck. Thus she did every 
 day and her father had need of no other food. 
 
 When the King saw that so much time had passed, 
 and his brother had not died of hunger, he suspected 
 that his niece must do something magical to nourish 
 him. So he gives orders to his gens d'armes^ not to let 
 the maiden come to see her father at all, in spite of all 
 she might say to them. 
 
 When the girl heard that the King had forbidden her 
 to see her father, she was ready — what shall I say ? — to 
 burst with grief, for she saw that all her efforts were 
 useless ; her father to-day or to-morrow would die of 
 hunger. 
 
 As she was walking sorrowfully along the road, not 
 knowing what to do, she came a little way out of the 
 town, and there she saw a farrier busy cutting open 
 a dead mare. 
 
 ' Health to you !' says she, ' what are you doing there, 
 gossip ?'
 
 //. Social — (//.) Fa)) lily. 359 
 
 ' Eh, my lady,' says he to her, ' I am a poor man, 
 and yesterday my mare, which was near foaling, died. 
 I am taking the foal out, and then I shall skin the 
 mare, and so gain a little money to buy another.' 
 
 ' But,' says she, ' can the foal live ?' 
 
 ' Bdi' says he, ' do you see that pony down there 
 running about like a fawn ? I took him out in the 
 same way now four years ago, from his mother's 
 womb.' 
 
 The maiden, like a wide-awake girl as she was, when 
 she heard this was ready to jump for joy, for a plan 
 occurred to her for saving her father. So she takes 
 and gives a hundred sequins to the farrier and buys the 
 pony which had been taken out of its mother, and its 
 mother's hide, and takes them as a present to the King, 
 the pony for him to ride on, and the skin for him to 
 sleep on,^* asking the favour to be allowed to go again 
 and see her father. The King, when he saw the pretty 
 pony, gave her leave. One day when the King was out 
 for a ride mounted on that little horse, lo ! the maiden 
 appears before him, takes the pony by the bridle and 
 stops it, and says to the King, 
 
 ' If thou sittest on one unborn, thou liest on his 
 mother !' 
 
 When the King heard these words, he could not 
 understand what they meant, and he begged the girl to 
 explain them. 
 
 ' I will, my King, explain my words if thou wilt give 
 me my child, the husband of my mother ; and when 
 thou hast given him he will be my father ; but if thou 
 give him not he will still be my nursling.' 
 
 The King, being still more puzzled, told her to ask 
 any favour she liked and explain her words. Then she 
 asked him to let out of prison her father who unjustly
 
 360 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and without cause had been shut up so long. The 
 King could not go back from his word, and he let her 
 father out of prison ; and then she sat beside him [the 
 King] and, one thing after another, she told him all the 
 story. The King marvelled at her wit, and repented 
 that he had put his brother in prison, for he now under- 
 stood that all he had heard against him was falsehood 
 and devilry. And so they lived happy. And we 
 happier !
 
 MODA.^ 
 
 Athens. 
 
 {AeXTiov, I., p. 544.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! Once upon a time, there was a wealthy 
 merchant, and he had a wife and two very handsome 
 sons. But there came a time when he lost on every 
 transaction. Said he to his wife, 
 
 ' I don't know what to say, wife, everything goes 
 now from bad to worse. The boys are growing up ; I 
 will leave them to keep thee company, and I will collect 
 the little money we have left, and go and trade abroad. 
 When I have gained some money, I will come back and 
 settle our boys.' 
 
 So he decided, and sold all that he had. He left 
 them some money to go on with, bade them good-bye, 
 and set off. They waited, but neither did they hear 
 news of him, nor yet did he return. Some years passed, 
 and, careful though his wife was, they had eaten all 
 they had. But the boys did not tell her that they were 
 in such misery, for they did not wish to distress her. 
 She was grieving for her husband, and if she should 
 have to grieve for their poverty besides, she might die 
 of sorrow. They told her that they went to school, but 
 they went instead into the city, and worked, and in the 
 evening they took home their purchases. But how 
 could they earn enough to live well and also to buy 
 themselves clothes ? Much money was necessary. 
 
 ■* ;\I(55a=:/x,65ios=the sixth part of the Attic iJ.eoi/xi'os = a. bushel, the 
 nickname of the hero of this story.
 
 362 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 They pondered— what could they do ? what could they 
 
 do ? At last the elder said to the younger, 
 
 ' Thou must bind me, and sell me as a slave, so that 
 
 we may get much money, and our mother may live 
 
 comfortably. When our father comes back fortunate, 
 
 he will redeem me.' 
 
 The younger wept, and was unwilling. He said, 
 
 ' Thou hadst better sell me, and remain with our 
 
 mother.' 
 
 ' No,' said the elder, ' because thou hast coaxing 
 
 ways, and the mother will be consoled by thee, for I 
 
 am not good at coaxing.' 
 
 So they settled to go and tell their mother that the 
 
 elder brother was going to seek his father. The old 
 
 lady cried, and made a great fuss, but she gave him her 
 
 blessing. 
 
 ' Go, my boy, and come back with thy father.' 
 
 He took his mother's blessing, and his brother led 
 
 him away and they went to the city. Then his brother 
 
 bound him, and called out, 
 
 * Buy-y-y slaves !' all along the streets. 
 
 But nobody came out to ask for him, and they got 
 
 tired and hungry. They passed by the Vizier's palace, 
 
 and the brother cried, 
 ' Buy slaves !' 
 
 The Vizier puts out his head upstairs, and says, 
 ' How much dost thou want for the slave ?' 
 He starts up and says, ' A bushel of sequins !' 
 ' BdV said the Vizier, ' I'll give thee forty piastres.' 
 Up jumps the slave and says, 
 ' Donkey ! Buy thy father for forty piastres !' 
 When the Vizier heard the boy call him ' Donkey,' 
 
 he wanted to cut off his head. But in order to cut off 
 
 his head he must first buy him. So he gives a bushel
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 363 
 
 of sequins to his brother and buys him. He whispered 
 to his brother not to let it be known that he was his 
 brother, but to come sometimes and tell him how his 
 mother was and his father. So he said good-bye, took 
 the sequins, and went away, and his brother they took 
 into the palace. They sent him to work in the garden. 
 He worked hard, and they were all much pleased with 
 him, and he became the gardener's right hand. 
 
 The Vizier had a very beautiful daughter. When she 
 went down to walk [in the garden] Moda gave her the 
 best of everything, and she liked him very much, and 
 came often into the garden. And thus some time 
 passed, and the Vizier's daughter became very fond of 
 Moda. And it was Moda here, and Moda there, till the 
 gardener began to understand, and he said to the 
 Vizier, 
 
 ' My Vizier, I would reveal something to you, but 
 I fear that 3-ou will kill me. I must tell you that your 
 daughter has taken a fancy to Moda.' 
 
 Then the Vizier called him, and gave him a basket 
 of seeds of different kinds of fruit, pomegranates, and 
 apricots and all sorts, and sent him to a far-away place 
 in the midst of precipices, where he had an estate. 
 Such a wild place it was, and such high mountains were 
 there around that even a serpent would be torn in 
 getting there. Said the Vizier then to Moda, 
 
 ' Thou must take these seeds, and dig the ground and 
 plant them, and in a year's time thou must bring me 
 the fruit of every kind of which I have given thee. And 
 if thou bring me not a basket filled with all those fruits, 
 do not set foot in my palace, or th}- head will go — I 
 will cut it off !' 
 
 The unlucky Moda took the basketful of seeds with a 
 cloth sewn over it, and went awaw He had neither
 
 364 Greek Folk-P7'ose. 
 
 money, nor tools, nor anything. He went on, and on, 
 and on, and still on. By-and-by he grew weary, and 
 went into a lovely church which was there, and slept. 
 Then he saw in his dream an Old Man who said to 
 him, 
 
 ' Where goest thou, Moda ?' 
 
 ' Ai I where should I go ?' and he told all his story. 
 
 Then he [the Old Man] said to him, ' When thou hast 
 gone ten paces thou wilt see a mountain, and at the 
 foot of the mountain a white slab. Raise this slab, and 
 under it thou wilt find tools, take them, and go about 
 thy business. I am thy mother's blessing, and I will 
 be always near thee.' 
 
 Moda awoke, he looked around, like one dazed, for 
 the Old Man, but saw no one. He got up, took his 
 basket with the seeds, and set off. He went to the 
 mountain, raised the slab, and there were the tools — 
 axe, and saw, and everything. He took them just as 
 they were, in the basket, on his shoulder, and went 
 whither the Vizier had sent him. He saw a spot 
 exceedingly rocky, which neither spade nor anything 
 else could dig. Up above this spot there was plenty of 
 earth, and he determined to throw it down, for remove 
 the stones he could not. He worked day and night, 
 and lighted fires to see by. Now and again the Old 
 Man went and left him bread to eat without the boy's 
 seeing him, and sometimes the youth found bread and 
 sometimes other food, and he ate. 
 
 Let us now leave him to work, and let us go to the 
 Vizier's daughter. She, when Moda left, had laid down 
 to die of grief. Doctors and doctresses [came], but 
 none of them could do her any good. Whenever the 
 door gave a kirv and creaked [she would cry], ' Moda !' 
 if anyone stepped in her room ' Moda!' At last it was
 
 //. Sociac — (//.) Family. 365 
 
 all * Moda !' nothing else did she say. At the end of a 
 year you might have seen dayhght through her, she was 
 so wasted ! What to do they didn't know. For her 
 parents had no other children. Moda they looked upon 
 as lost, and said, 
 
 ' There where he is gone, the wild beasts must have 
 eaten him, and there's an end of him.' 
 
 As Moda was digging to plant the seeds which his 
 master had given him, he saw a great vessel on the 
 edge of the chff. He threw a rope up to the vessel, 
 and began to pull, pull, to throw it down. When the 
 vessel fell, gold pieces rolled out of it. Moda looked 
 more closely, and what did he see ? 
 
 ' Bre /' said he, ' now I have made my fortune !' 
 
 When he had laid out the garden, his first work was 
 to plant the seeds, and they grew, and gre\\-, till they 
 were as tall as he. He picked up all the coins which 
 had fallen out of the vessel and put them in a cave, and 
 rose and went to a city, took tools, and masons, and 
 set to and built a beautiful little palace. When the 
 palace was built, he bought horses, and built stables. The 
 trees he had planted bore fruit, and he gathered of them 
 all and set off to return to the palace. When he 
 arrived at the palace, and the Vizier's daughter heard 
 the door creak, she cried, ' Moda ! Modal' and then 
 indeed all the servants ran and said ' [It is] Moda !' 
 
 The maiden who for so long had not moved now sat 
 up in her bed for joy. 
 
 Then Moda went and offered the basket of fruit to 
 the Vizier. When the Vizier saw him he was amazed. 
 
 ' Bre, Moda !' he cried, ' art thou still alive ?' 
 
 ' I am alive, Affendi, and I have brought you the 
 fruits from your garden,' 
 
 ' Are those from the seeds I gave thee ?'
 
 ^66 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 J 
 
 ' Certainly, from the seeds you gave me.' 
 
 ' Thou hest, where didst thou plant them ? — on the 
 rocks belike, and they have grown into trees, and borne 
 fruit ?' 
 
 ' If you don't believe me, Affendi, let us go, and you 
 will see for yourself.' 
 
 Then his wife said to him, ' I will go, too, with my 
 daughter for change of air.' 
 
 Then he said, ' I will come here to-morrow and we 
 will go.' He went out, got into a carriage, and found 
 to his surprise his mother, his father, and his brother at 
 the little palace. The Old Man had taken them there. 
 When they saw him at last they fell on his neck and 
 said, 
 
 * Ah, my boy, what hast thou suffered for our sakes ! 
 But again thou seest how our blessing has brought thee 
 luck.' 
 
 He said to them, ' Do you now make ready, and I 
 will give you money, while I go to bring the Vizier and 
 his daughter to dine here to-morrow.' 
 
 He took two golden coaches with four horses to each, 
 and said, 
 
 ' My Vizier, everything is ready for you to come to 
 our poor house.' 
 
 The Vizier leant out of the window to look and what 
 did he see ? — golden coaches with four horses. He 
 went downstairs with his daughter and with his wife 
 into one coach, and Moda got into the other with two 
 other men belonging to the palace, and they drove off. 
 
 Then the others came out to receive them. ' You 
 are welcome !' The table was laid, and everything 
 ready. 
 
 * Thou wert right,' said the Vizier, ' to ask a bushel 
 of sequins.'
 
 //, Social — (//.) Family. 367 
 
 Then said his [the youth's] mother, * What can I say, 
 niy Vizier ? We were wealthy folk, and when my son 
 was born, a Witch told me that if I wished him to live 
 to twenty-two, I must sell him as a slave, otherwise he 
 would die. So I put a stone in my heart, and resolved 
 to sell him for a slave, and that has happened which 
 has happened, as you know.' 
 
 His mother said all this because she had been 
 advised to do so by the Old Man whom Moda had seen 
 for the first time in his sleep, and afterwards saw when 
 he was awake. 
 
 Then the Vizier turned and said to Moda's parents, 
 ' I know not whether you will condescend to make my 
 daughter your child.' 
 
 And so it was settled, and they held the wedding 
 there, and they spent a happy life. But they did not go 
 into the town, but remained in the country on the 
 estate which the Vizier gave them for dowry. 
 
 Said the Vizier, ' This world is a wheel ; lucky he who 
 can turn it P
 
 THE HANDSOME HALVA SELLER. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {AekTLov, I., p. 540.) 
 
 This is the beginning of the story. Good evening to 
 your Honours ! 
 
 Once upon a time there was a King and a Queen, and 
 they had no children. At last they prayed to God to 
 give them a child to comfort them in their old age. 
 The Queen said, 
 
 ' Let me have a child, and the next hour let me die.' 
 
 The Queen chanced to become pregnant in an evil 
 hour, and after the child was born she died. The 
 child was as beautiful as an ange^., but scarcely had she 
 seen it than she died. Imagine the grief of the poor 
 King, who had not had time to rejoice at the birth of 
 his child before he lost his wife. A'i ! what was he to 
 do now ? — but, for the sake of his daughter, he took 
 heart. As the girl grew up she became very lovely, and 
 resembled her mother. The unfortunate King took 
 care that she had nurses and nursemaids to bring her 
 up and ever so many things. The King had a young 
 Councillor, and this Councillor gave the Princess 
 lessons, for she was always in her father's study. So 
 fond was the King of her, and so good a daughter was 
 she, that she could neither be happy without her father, 
 nor her father without her. 
 
 But, you see, Kings cannot do all that they like, any 
 more than their people can. And so there came a 
 message to this King that he must go on a campaign, 
 and he could not but go. When his daughter heard of 
 it, she threw herself on his neck.
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 369 
 
 * My father ! m}^ father ! thou canst not leave me, 
 thou must take me with thee !' 
 
 ' Bre ! my good girl ! bre ! my naughty girl, that 
 cannot be,' said her father. ' But I will leave thee my 
 Councillor, and he will hear thee read and do every- 
 thing else that is necessary for thee, and I will return 
 safe, if it is God's will.' 
 
 When he had said this, he begged his Councillor to 
 love her, and be kind to her ; he embraced her, kissed 
 her, and went away with a sorrowful heart. 
 
 As soon as the King had left, and gone about his 
 business, the Devil told the Tutor in his ear to ruin the 
 girl. At first the girl thought that it was petting and 
 kindness to prevent her fretting after her father ; but 
 afterwards she perceived that her Tutor had evil inten- 
 tions. So she went to him and told him that, if he 
 continued [to act] thus, she would write to her father 
 about it. She said to him, 
 
 ' Thou mayest stay in the palace, if thou wilt, but let 
 not mine eyes see thee !' 
 
 Then he was afraid that she might write to her 
 father ; so he set to, and wrote himself to her father, 
 
 ' To my great grief, my longlived King, the Princess 
 has become unrecognisable. She brings youths into 
 the palace to amuse herself with, and afterwards she 
 takes these youths and goes with them into the countr}', 
 and stays away for days. She will hear no counsel. 
 Not even me ? you will say. Me she has driven out of 
 the palace. When you left I hung the Princess round 
 my neck to take care of her, and was watchful of your 
 honour and hers. Everyone here wonders at the 
 doings of the Princess. Give me orders, my King, 
 what I must do.' 
 
 When the King received such a letter about his 
 
 VOL. II. 24
 
 370 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 daughter, he was Hke to lose his wits. Thinks he, how 
 can he go and see her in such a state ? At last he 
 made up his mind and wrote to the Tutor, 
 
 ' I love my honour better than my life, or the life of 
 my daughter. Kill her, and cleanse the palace from 
 shame.' 
 
 When the Councillor received the letter, he read it to 
 her, and said, ' Thy life is in my hands, either thou 
 must love me, or I will kill thee.' 
 
 And she said, ' I am my father's child, and I love my 
 honour better than my life ; so kill me, that I may 
 escape from thy hands.' 
 
 Then he called one of his own men, and said to him, 
 ' Take the Princess and kill her.' 
 
 So he took the Princess and went far away into the 
 forests, but he said to her, 
 
 ' I have not the heart to kill thee ; I will only leave 
 thee here in the wilderness, and may God help thee. 
 But come not near the city, lest someone see thee, for 
 then thy father's Councillor would kill me.' 
 
 He left her, and the unlucky girl heard, all alone as 
 she was, the roar of the wild beasts, and she was afraid. 
 She crouched under a rock and passed the night. God 
 dawned the day, and she found a shepherd's hut. She 
 went in, and the dogs rushed at her. The shepherd's 
 wife ran up, and drove out the dogs. She said, ' What 
 do you want here, my lady ?' 
 
 ' I came that thou might'st give me thy clothes and I 
 give thee mine.' 
 
 Then the shepherdess gave her a clean suit of clothes, 
 and took her royal clothes. Then the Princess, when 
 she had also taken a crook, set off, and went, and went, 
 and went, to try to hear something about where her 
 father was. Here and there she learns that in a certain
 
 //. Social — (//. ) Family. 371 
 
 place there is a very sorrowful King, whom everyone 
 tries to console, but for whom there is no consolation. 
 She said to herself, 'That must be my father!' She 
 learnt where he lived, and where his palace was, and 
 that under it there was a seller of halvd ;a and she went 
 to him and hired herself as a shop-boy. She made a 
 very handsome boy ; she took off her shepherdess's 
 clothes and put on male attire. All day long he had 
 his business to attend to, a thing to which he was not 
 accustomed, and in the evening he told stories, and 
 the earth and the world came together to hear him. 
 And because he was a very handsome youth they called 
 him Guzel Halvadji — ' The Handsome Halvd-seWev.'' 
 Up above sat the King with those who desired to 
 comfort him, and he heard the uproar going on below 
 in the halvd shop. He asked, 
 
 ' What is all that noise about below in the halvd-shoTp, 
 what is going on ?' 
 
 ' It is Guzel Halvadji,' they told the King, ' and he is 
 telling stories, and that is why there is such an uproar 
 below.' 
 
 Up jumps the Councillor, and says, ' My longlived 
 King, let us bring him up to tell us a story, and pass 
 t!ie time ?' 
 
 The King did not answer, and the others said, ' If he 
 likes to come, let him.' 
 
 So, as they called him, he went, and sat him down 
 in a corner. They told him to tell them a story to 
 amuse them. 
 
 ' My Gentlemen,' said Giizcl Halvadji — for he pre- 
 tended that he did not know there was a King there — 
 ' if you will accept my conditions, I will tell you not one 
 story, but ten.' 
 
 * A sweetmeat made of sesame-seeds and honey.
 
 ■^']2 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' And what are thy conditions ?' they asked. 
 
 ' That whoever wishes to go out should go out now, 
 and whoever wishes to hear my story must hear it to the 
 end. I will lock the doors and put the keys in my 
 purse, and no one must budge from hence.' 
 
 Then they laughed and said, ' Very well, lock us in 
 and take the keys !' 
 
 Then he began the tale, and the King heard the whole 
 of his own history ! And he said to himself, ' Bvc ! 
 has my history become a tale ?' But when he went on 
 and said 'Tutor,' and ' maiden,' and so on, the Tutor 
 grew pale, and in his fear he cried, ' I feel ill ! I want 
 to go out V^ 
 
 Then the halvd-seWer said that the doors would not 
 be opened till the story was finished. As the story 
 went on, the Tutor cried, ' O dear ! O dear, your 
 majesty, let me go out !' But the King had clasped his 
 head in his two hands, and was weeping rivers of tears. 
 He turned and said to Gnzel Halvadji, 
 
 ' Tell me, my boy, who taught thee that story !' 
 
 ' A girl in a shepherd's hut.' 
 
 ' Is she alive, this girl ?' asked the King. 
 
 * The girl is alive and the evil doer is alive." 
 
 ' And where are they ? If thou canst show them to 
 me I will give thee the half of my kingdom !' 
 
 ' Behold the girl !' said the halvadji, and he tore off 
 his clothes, and left only the woman's garments. She 
 kissed her father, and then said, * And behold the evil 
 doer — (' Let me go out !' cried the Tutor) — who has 
 done all this to me. And there is he who pitied my 
 innocence and saved my life.' 
 
 They all turned and gazed at the Tutor, who was 
 dead, but unburied. Then they bound him tightly, and 
 " A somewhat coarse Turkish expression is here used.
 
 //. Social — (//.) Family. 'i^']-^ 
 
 asked him if he had anything to say. Then he con- 
 fessed that the story was true, and prayed them to 
 forgive him. But they hanged him. 
 
 There was also there a handsome Prince among those 
 who were comforting the King, and he begged him to 
 give him his daughter to wife. The King gave her to 
 him ; and from being the most miserable man on earth, 
 he became the happiest King in the world.
 
 Sr/'imiifilif 11ir->;il"irT/1lirill/lTiniirMi^^M^T]^iyr^i^Tnr^iifvj7^i[F^TTrMirTTirTTyrj 
 
 SECTION (III.) 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF COMMUNAL 
 
 LIFE. 
 
 THE THREE PRECEPTS.^' 
 
 Upper Syr a. 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeX. Ilapafi., p. 222.) 
 
 Once upon a time there was a man, and he was so poor 
 that he had nothing to eat. One day this man says to 
 his wife, 
 
 ' Wife, I will go to the Cit}-" to seek work, so that 
 I may earn my bread and send you [something] now 
 and again, so that you may live.' 
 
 So the man set out, and went to the City ; but, as 
 he knew no trade to work at, he hired himself as 
 servant to a gentleman, and worked every day with a 
 right good will. His mistress was kind to him, and 
 every now and again would give him something to send 
 to his wife ; but his master was niggardly, and never 
 gave him anything. So he was patient, and waited 
 until his master should give him his hire. He waited a 
 year, two years, three years, four years, ten years, 
 
 ^ I.e., Constantinople.
 
 //. Social — (///.) Communal . 375 
 
 twenty years ; but his master did not pay him/' Then 
 one day he went and said, 
 
 ' Master, pay me my wages, because I want to go 
 home to my wife.' 
 
 The master pulls out and gives him three hundred 
 piastres^ for twenty years' service ! When Phrindirikos 
 — for that was his name — saw his niggardliness, how 
 for twenty years' labour, look you, he gave him but three 
 hundred piastres, he said nothing, but wept. He took 
 them, and was going away. But his master called, 
 'Phrindirikos, Phrindirikos, come here!' 
 He turns round, and says, 'At your orders, master.' 
 Says he, ' Give me back a hundred piastres, and I 
 will give thee a precept.' 
 
 Said he, ' But, master, I don't want ' 
 
 ' No,' said his master, ' give them back to me !' 
 What could he do ? He gave them back ; and the 
 master said, 
 
 ' A^k no questions about what does not concern thee.'' 
 Again he was going away when his master called him 
 back, saying, ' Come here, come here, give me back 
 another hundred piastres, and I will give thee another 
 precept !' 
 
 He gave back another hundred. 
 ' Change not the direction in which thou hast set out.'' 
 He was going away again, sore at heart, when his 
 master called him a third time, saying, ' Give me back 
 the other hundred piastres, and I will give thee another 
 precept.' 
 
 He gave them. Said his master, 
 
 ' Anger tJiat thou feeVst at night, 
 Keep until the mortiifig light !' 
 
 " As it is customary in the East for ser\ants to be supplied with 
 clothes and all other necessaries by their employers, tlieir wages 
 are often allowed to accumulate for years. 
 
 '' About £2 14s.
 
 ;76 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Well, what would you ? — he went away without a 
 para, and wept as he went. When he got out into the 
 country, he saw a withered tree, and a Negro who was 
 covering it with gold coins instead of leaves. It seemed 
 to him a very extraordinary thing ; but, recollecting his 
 master's precept, he went about his business without 
 saying anything. When he had gone a little way, the 
 Negro called to him, ' Come here ! Come here !' 
 
 ' What do you want ?' 
 
 Said he, ' It is now two hundred years that I have 
 been here to see if anyone would pass by without asking 
 me what I am doing ; and I said that whosoever should 
 pass without questioning me, I would give him all these 
 sequins, and whoever should question me, I would 
 take his head. I have built a tower of heads, and I 
 had hoped that thou also wouldst question me, so that 
 I might finish it, for only one is lacking. But as it was 
 written that it is not to be finished, take these sequins 
 and go !' 
 
 He takes and loads forty camels with the sequins, 
 and goes his way. On the road he overtook forty other 
 camels laden with sequins, and these were carrying the 
 tithes. Says he to the men who were in charge of 
 them, ' Good day, boys !' 
 
 'Well met, my pal likar.'' 
 
 Said he, ' Where are you going ?' 
 
 ' We are taking the tithes to the King,' they replied. 
 And they went along the road together. Presently 
 they came to a cross road, near which was a tavern. 
 Said they who had the tithes, * Let us go and drink 
 a glass.' 
 
 But Phrindirikos recollected his master's second 
 precept- — ' Change not the direction in which thou hast set 
 out ' — and said [to himself] ' Well was I repaid, and so
 
 //. Social — (///.) Communal. t^jj 
 
 it may be a second time !' So he replied, ' I will 
 not go !' 
 
 They said to him, ' Then take care of our camels 
 while we go.' 
 
 So they went. But there they met with two robbers, 
 who killed them and fled. And our man took the 
 camels and went home. He knocked at his wife's 
 door, and she opened ; she did not know him, but 
 he knew her. Said he, ' Will you do me the favour to 
 let me lodge here to-night, for I am a stranger ?' 
 
 Said she, ' My husband is absent, and I cannot take 
 you into the house ; but you are welcome to sleep in 
 the stable.' 
 
 So he went to the stable, and sat down. As he was 
 taking out his bread to eat, he saw a man come up and 
 enter his wife's house. Presently he comes down to 
 the stable, leaves his sack there, and returns to the 
 house. Said Phrindirikos to himself, 
 
 'Bre! my wife is deceiving me! Eh? She would 
 not let me into the house, and he is going in to sleep 
 there !' 
 
 He took up his gun and was getting it ready to shoot 
 
 them both, when his master's third precept came into 
 
 his mind — 
 
 ' Anger which thou feeVst at night, 
 
 Keep nntil tJic morning light ' — 
 
 and he put down his gun and lay down to sleep. In 
 the morning he rises and comes out of the stable, and 
 sees a youth of twenty, and he hears him say to his 
 wife, ' Nene [Mother] I am going out, and at noon I 
 will send you some beans to cook.' And the youth rose 
 and went out. And then our man made himself known 
 to his wife ; and from that time they lived happily. And 
 we more happily still !
 
 THE LITTLE PIG. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 [NeoeWrjviKa 'AvdXeKra, B. 26.) 
 
 There was once a Papd^ and a Papadhid, and they had 
 a httle pig. One day the Papadhid said to the Papd, 
 
 ' Let us kill the little pig.' 
 
 ' No, Papadhid mine, not till the fat hangs down.' 
 
 After a few da3-s, she says again, ' Papd, let us kill the 
 little pig.' 
 
 ' No, Papadhid, not till the fat hangs down.' 
 
 She takes a bit of cotton wool, fastens it under piggy's 
 tail, and then says, 
 
 ' Papd ! Papd r 
 
 ' Well, Papadhid ?' 
 
 ' See, the fat is hanging down !' 
 
 The Parson looks, and says, ' We will kill the little 
 pig. I will go and seek a man.' 
 
 He goes, and goes, and he meets a man. 
 
 'Good day!' 
 
 ' Well met !' 
 
 ' Dost thou eat pork ?' 
 
 ' Hearest thou there ?'^ says he. 
 
 ' Then thou art not the man to kill my pig for me !' 
 
 This man was cunning ; he takes a turn down another 
 street, puts on his coat inside out, and again there he 
 stands before the Papd. The Papd does not recognise 
 him, and asks again, ' Dost thou eat pork ?' 
 
 " Papd and PdpadJtid are the titles given to a Greek village priest 
 and his wife. 
 
 ^' See p. 331, note '.
 
 //. Social — (///.) CojJtinunal. 379 
 
 ' Never, never do I [eat] anything of the kind. No 
 flesh do I ever put in my mouth ; but at pork my gorge 
 rises.' 
 
 ' Thou art the man to come and kill my little pig !' 
 
 He takes him to his house, and he kills it. The 
 Papadhid dresses the fry, and eats it with the Papa. 
 For him they cook a couple of eggs, and he eats them ; 
 but his mouth waters when he sees them eating the 
 pig. Then the Papa says to the Papadhid, ' Put on 
 the head and the trotters to-night to boil, and we will 
 eat them in the morning. Spread a mattress for the 
 man to sleep on to-night, and to-morrow he will go 
 away." 
 
 She puts on the head and trotters, spreads the 
 mattress, and the man hes down. Early in the morning 
 the stranger gets up, uncovers the pot, eats the head 
 and trotters, which were cooked, cuts off half the pig 
 which was hanging up, takes it, and makes off. After- 
 wards the Papa and the Papadhid get up, go to the pot, 
 and — if your lordships and ladyships see the head and 
 trotters — well, they saw them too ! They saw besides 
 that half the pig was missing, and the stranger gone. 
 
 ' A nice trick he has played us !' 
 
 The Papa saddles his white horse, and gallops about 
 seeking for him. He meets him again in other clothes. 
 
 ' Good day !' 
 
 ' Well met !' 
 
 ' Dost thou happen to have seen anyone carrj-ing half 
 a pig ?' says he. 
 
 ' He has just passed by. But while th}- horse is 
 lifting up and down his four legs, the man will be far off 
 with his two only ; to catch him thou must dismount, 
 and I will hold thy horse while thou goest.' (In those 
 times people were very silly, and if one had the least
 
 380 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 bit more sense than another he made a gull'^ of him.) 
 The other beheved him, and did as he bade him. 
 When he was gone out of sight, the thief mounted the 
 horse, and went to the rapadhid. 
 
 ' What dost want ?' she asked. 
 
 ' The Papci has caught the thief with the half of the 
 pig, and he gave me his horse to come and fetch the 
 other half to compare them, for the thief won't admit 
 that it is the same.' 
 
 The Papadhid unhooks the other half, and he takes 
 it where he had taken the other. The Papd comes 
 back, looks for his horse, goes home on foot, but no 
 horse. Says he, ' Set on half a quarter of the pig, and 
 let it be ready when I have found the horse.' 
 
 Says she, ' What quarter ?' 
 
 ' Of the half which was left,' says he. 
 
 ' But didn't thou send the man on thy horse who 
 came and took it, as thou had found the thief, and 
 wanted to compare it with the other half, [to see] if they 
 matched ?' 
 
 ' What is all this fine story ?' 
 
 ' Do I want to deceive thee ?' 
 
 Finally the Papd understood that it was the same 
 [man], and he said, ' Let nothing worse happen to me !' 
 and went neither to find the pig nor the horse. So he 
 goes still on foot, and all through his own fault. For 
 he grudged that the man who was to kill the pig should 
 eat a bit of it, and got nothing himself but the fry ! 
 
 ^ Literally 'a mare.'
 
 THE CONTENTED POOR MAN. 
 
 Naxos. 
 
 {Neo6\. 'AvdX., B. 8.) 
 
 There was once a poor man with many children, and 
 he and his wife worked all day long. Every evening, 
 when they were weary, they would eat their bread in 
 peace and without a care. Afterwards the father w^ould 
 play on his fiddle, and the children would dance, and 
 they lived the Hfe of angels. Hard by there lived a rich 
 man, and hearing every evening the sound of laughter 
 and dancing in the poor man's house, he wondered, and 
 said, ' Why am not I, too, as happy and careless as he ? 
 All day long he chops wood, and at evening he fiddles. 
 I will give him some money, and see what he will do 
 with it.' 
 
 So he goes to the poor man, and says to him, ' As I 
 know thee to be a worthy man, I will give thee a 
 thousand piastres, so that thou may'st open a shop. If 
 thou succeed, thou canst pay me back ; if not, I make 
 thee a present of it.' 
 
 All that day the poor man pondered what he should 
 do with so much money. He thought of one thing, 
 and then of another. ' Should he open a little shop ? 
 — Should he put it out to usury ? — Should he buy a 
 vineyard with it ?' The evening came, but he neither 
 played the fiddle nor talked to his children ; and, if they 
 laughed, he scolded them. All night he could not close 
 his eyes for thinking. Next day he neither went to his 
 work, nor to any other place, so absorbed was he. His
 
 382 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 wife asked him what was the matter, but he only told 
 her to leave him in peace. 
 
 The rich man listened as he passed by one evening, 
 and he turned and passed again, but heard neither 
 fiddling, nor laughter, nor children dancing. 
 
 One morning he sees the poor man coming to him. 
 
 ' There, Christian, take thy money, I want neither it 
 nor its shadow !' 
 
 And he went joyfully home again, and played on his 
 fiddle, and his children danced as before when the da}''s 
 work was done.
 
 THE DERVISHES. 
 
 A thens. 
 
 {Aekrlov, I., p. 703.) 
 
 There was once upon a time a very rich merchant and 
 he had one son. This merchant could play on the 
 fiddle. So beautifully did he play the fiddle that who- 
 ever passed by stood still to listen to him. One day as 
 he was playing a charming air in his warehouse, there 
 passed by a great lady, and she stood to listen. This 
 lady was a young and very beautiful woman, and her 
 husband was very wealthy, but exceedingh' jealous. 
 Whenever this great lady passed by the merchant's 
 place of business, she stood and listened if he happened 
 to be playing the fiddle. An enemy of the merchant 
 went and told this lady's husband that his wife was in 
 love with the merchant who played so beautifully on the 
 fiddle, and if he did not believe it, he advised him to 
 watch and see for himself. One day the merchant was 
 making merry in his office, and he had some of his 
 friends with him, and they were amusing themselves. 
 Then he played very charming pieces, and the great 
 lady stopped and looked without observing that her 
 husband was secretly watching her. This was the 
 cause of the merchant's ruin. The husband of the 
 great lady made an accusation against him, and had 
 him put in prison, and so he was ruined. The mer- 
 chant could not imagine what he had done to be thus 
 treated, for he was a very good man. Then he who 
 had informed against him, pretended to be the mer- 
 chant's friend, and said to him,
 
 384 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Dost thou know why such a one persecutes thee ? — 
 Because thou play'st so well on the fiddle, and his wife 
 has taken a fancy to thee !' 
 
 Then the merchant played no more on his fiddle, 
 and he laid this charge on his wife : ' Never let thy son 
 1 lay on the fiddle — blessing and cursing V^ 
 
 One misfortune brought another, and finally the 
 merchant sickened and died, leaving his wife and son in 
 great poverty. 
 
 As the boy grew up, he heard that his father had 
 played beautifully on the fiddle, and he asked his 
 mother, 
 
 ' Did my father play beautifully on the fiddle ?' 
 
 ' Yes, my boy,' replied his mother, ' but it was his 
 ruin ; and on that account he left blessing and cursing 
 that thou shouldst never take a fiddle in thy hand, m}^ 
 boy.' 
 
 But the youth had a great fancy for the fiddle, and he ' 
 begged his mother, ' Let me play a little in the house, 
 mother, and nowhere else.' 
 
 One way or another he managed to persuade her, and 
 she gave him leave to play the fiddle, but only in the 
 house, and he learnt to play it even better than his 
 father had done. 
 
 The unfortunate woman had sold her diamonds and 
 all her ornaments in order to live, and now none re- 
 mained to her. When the boy was grown up, he said, 
 
 ' Mother, how are we to li\-e now ? We must work 
 at something in order to live.' 
 
 Said she, ' We will sell the few things that we still 
 have. When we have sold them we shall have a little 
 money, with it thou must trade and so we may live.' 
 
 ^ A brief way of saying, ' You will have my blessing, if you obey 
 me, my curse if you do not.'
 
 //, Social — (///•) Coinm7inal. 385 
 
 So the mother and son agreed, and the poor woman 
 sold all that she had, and he went to Stamboli. He 
 arrived, and made inquiries, and stopped at the shop of 
 a halvadjiS" He stayed there a few days ; he was a 
 clever lad, and helpful, and he made halvd, and rahcit 
 loiikoinn, and when he [the master] saw how intelligent 
 the youth was, he said to him, 
 
 * What hast thou come here to do, my boy ? If thou 
 hast come as a shop-boy, I will keep thee here, for thou 
 art a wideawake lad.' 
 
 ' No,' rephed the youth, ' I cannot stay here, for I 
 have a mother who has no one else in the world, and 
 she cannot do without me.' And he related to him how 
 his mother had sold all that she had, and that he had 
 come there to trade. Then the halvadji said to him, 
 
 ' Where hast thou thy money ? Take great care of 
 it, for there are many bad people here !' 
 
 Then the youth gave his money to the halvadji to 
 keep for him until he should find a favourable oppor- 
 tunity for buying and returning to Athens. One day, 
 when he was in the shop, the youth heard that a big 
 ship was about to sail for Athens. He went and said to 
 the halvadji, 
 
 ' Give me my money, for I am going to buy.' 
 
 He took the bag with the gold pieces and coppers all 
 mixed together, and went to buy. On the way, at a 
 place where three roads met, sat a blind Dervish, 
 begging for alms. As the youth passed, he said, 
 
 ' Whoever thou art, may thy youth be blessed with 
 all thou desirest, if thou give me an alms !' 
 
 The youth pitied the Dervish, and put his hand in his 
 bag to find some coppers to give him. As he was 
 searching, the coins jingled. 
 
 ^ See p. 371, note ^ 
 VOL. II. 25
 
 386 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' What hast thou there,' he asked, ' that jingles — 
 gold pieces ?' 
 
 ' Yes. I have come from Athens to buy, and I am 
 going back to my country.' 
 
 ' Let me, my boy, finger them a little, it is so many 
 years since I had a sequin in my hand. Alas ! I too 
 was once rich !' 
 
 The youth held the bag down to him, that the 
 Dervish might finger them. As he pretended to put his 
 hand in to play, as he said, in the bag, he seized hold 
 of it, put it between his legs and shouted, 
 
 ' Ah ! I am robbed ! This youth would rob me ! 
 Help !' 
 
 There were some policemen hard by, and hearing the 
 old man cry out, they attacked the youth with sticks. 
 
 ' Bre ! vile Giaour, wouldst thou rob an old man and 
 blind ?' 
 
 The unlucky youth cried out that the money was his, 
 but as the policemen did not understand Greek, or pre- 
 tended they didn't, he ate the stick, and away went the 
 money ! He returned to the halvadji, but weeping and 
 beaten, instead of with merchandise. Said his master, 
 
 ' What has befallen thee ?' 
 
 He related to his master all that had happened to 
 him. Said his master, 
 
 ' I am sorry for thee, my boy, but what can I do ? 
 Dost thou know any trade at all ?' 
 
 ' I can play the fiddle, but with the fiddle how should 
 I gain money ?' 
 
 ' Play the fiddle then, my boy, and let me hear how 
 thou playest.' 
 
 The boy at once began to play a tune, and everybody 
 came together at the halvd shop, and the halvadji did a 
 roaring trade. A few days passed thus, but the youth's
 
 //. Social — (///.) ComimLiial. 'iy'^'j 
 
 grief overcame him. The halvadjz was sorry for him, 
 and he said to him, 
 
 ' My boy, wouldst thou know that Dervish ?' 
 
 ' Know him ? — I should think so !' 
 
 ' Then I will provide thee with a suit of Dervish 
 clothes, and a staff like those of the Dervishes, and 
 thou must bind thine eyes with a large piece of cloth, 
 as if thou wert blind and could not see. Thou must 
 follow behind him, and when he goes into his tekkeli,^ 
 thou must go in too. All round the tekkch are the cells 
 where the Dervishes live, and thou must enter the cell 
 of him who stole thy money, and notice where he keeps 
 his hoard — for these Dervishes have money. Tie a towel 
 in front of thee and fill it with the money ; and when 
 he comes out, do thou too come out with him. Only be 
 careful, my boy, when thou goest in, to climb up into 
 the loft which crosses the rafters of the roof. For when 
 the Dervishes come in and undress, they take an iron 
 bar and draw it all round the walls, and when they 
 have drawn it all along the walls they begin to poke it 
 about, in case there should be anyone hidden ; and when 
 they have done that, the Dervishes say their prayers 
 and go to sleep. Do thou look well where he has thy 
 money, — for he will put with it that which he brings 
 in in the evening. Then come down, take thy money, 
 and climb up there again, and rise in the morn- 
 ing when they are opening their tekkch, and go thou 
 out with them, for they are all blind and will not see 
 thee.' 
 
 So the youth went. He put on the clothes, followed 
 behind the Dervish who had robbed him, and when he 
 entered the tekkch, the youth was by his side, and so 
 into his cell. And the boy looked, and saw the loft, 
 
 ^ A Dervish monastery.
 
 388 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 and as soon as he got in he climbed up and sat on the 
 loft which was laid across the rafters. Then he saw 
 the Dervish lock the door well, and open the cupboard 
 and take out a great pot with gold coins in it. As he 
 threw them in, he said, 
 
 'Go and join your fellows, ha! ha! ha!' and he 
 played with them. 
 
 The youth saw the sequins, but he said nothing. 
 When the Dervish had fondled the coins, he went 
 and took the bar, and hang ! he went at the wall with 
 it. He drew it round once, and then began to poke 
 with it all round, and when he had made sure that there 
 was no one within, he laid down and went to sleep. At 
 midnight he got up again, and again he fondled them 
 [the coins], ' Ha ! ha ! ha !' and chuckled, and laid him- 
 self down again, and slept. After the second caressing 
 of the coins, when a deep sleep had fallen upon him, 
 the youth arose softly, softl3^ He climbed down, 
 emptied the pot into the towel which he had tied 
 round his waist, and clambered up again into the loft, 
 and sat there. Towards morning the Dervish opened 
 the cupboard again, just as day was breaking, and when 
 he was about to caress the sequins again what did he 
 find ? — neither sequins, nor anything else ! He opened 
 the doors and began to shout, 
 
 ' Thieves ! Run ! I am ro-obbed ! My sequins are 
 gone ! Gone !' 
 
 All the Dervishes run up and enter the cell of this 
 Dervish, who shouted and yelled and made such an 
 uproar as roused the whole community. 
 
 ' You have robbed me — you Dervishes !' 
 
 ' Bd, hd, who comes in here ?' 
 
 Then one Dervish came forward and said to him, 
 ' Bre, where didst thou keep thy money that has been 
 stolen ^'
 
 //. Social — (///.) CoimiiJinaL 389 
 
 * Here, in this pot I had it — where should I have it ?' 
 
 ' Bri, dost thou go and put thy money in a pot ? I 
 have some too, but I keep it in my turban !' and tap ! 
 he strikes his turban. The youth loses no time, but 
 catches hold of the turban, throws his own down, and 
 dons that of the Dervish. 
 
 ' Aindn r he cries, ' anian ! amdn ! amdn ! There 
 goes my turban ! there go my sequins!' and he struck 
 out right and left, and deafened everyone with his noise 
 and uproar, but the sequins were gone ! 
 
 ' Why dost thou behave thus, hre ?' said another 
 Dervish to him, ' what is all this, bre ? See what 
 simpletons you are ! I have sequins too, but nd ! I 
 have them here in my staff !' and he lifts it up. S^iap ! 
 He from above catches hold of the Dervish's staff, and 
 throws down his own on the floor. The Dervish hears 
 the bang ! and thinks his own staff has fallen. He 
 stoops to pick it up ; one tumbles over him, such a noise 
 he made ! Plump ! falls another on the top, then — 
 plump ! — another on the top of them ; they kicked, and 
 pinched, and cuffed each other ; the youth saw his 
 opportunity, and came down, and slap ! he gives one a 
 box and then another, and darts out at the door, and 
 the others rush in the opposite direction. 
 
 He goes home to his master, knocks at the door, the 
 door opens, and he goes in. Says his master, 
 
 ' What hast thou done ?' 
 
 ' Hush ! Look — sequins and mischief !' 
 
 ' By^ I how didst thou manage it ?' 
 
 ' Don't ask ! I have just left them beating and kick- 
 ing each other, and they are at it still !' and he related 
 all the story from beginning to end. 
 
 They took the sequins out of the turban, and burnt 
 the staff, and the next day they heard that the Dervishes
 
 2,go Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 had been fighting in the night, and nothing more. They 
 kept the sequins until the youth should find an oppor- 
 tunity for going to Athens. His master said to him, 
 
 ' I fear to have so much money in the shop lest there 
 should be a fire, or a robbery. But the Vizier's son-in- 
 law is here, and if you like we will give it to him 
 on interest, and whenever thou wantest it thou canst 
 have it again.' 
 
 ' Do you know the Vizier's son-in-law ?' asked the 
 youth. 
 
 ' Why, he comes here every evening, and I will point 
 him out to thee.' 
 
 So in the evening the 3'outh played on the fiddle, and 
 with the rest came the Vizier's son-in-law to amuse 
 himself. Said he [the halvadji], 
 
 ' My Affendi, this youth has some money which he 
 has brought from Athens to make purchases ; if you 
 like he will lend it to you.' 
 
 The Vizier's son-in-law made a note of it, and the 
 youth gave the money to him, and he gave him a 
 receipt for it. One day the youth heard again that a 
 ship had come from Athens. He went to the Vizier's 
 son-in-law and asked for his money. His wife saw 
 a handsome youth come into the palace, and she hid 
 herself behind the lattice"" and looked at him, for he had 
 taken her fancy. The youth went and said to the 
 banker, 
 
 ' I beg you to give me back my money, for I am 
 going away to Athens.' 
 
 ' What money ?' asked the banker. 
 
 ' The money I lent you !' 
 
 ■■* Kal3dai, or Karpdm, the Turkish knpJics^ a latticed aperture in 
 the wall between the harenilik and scla/itlik, or private and public 
 apartments of an Osmanli mansion. .
 
 //. Social — (///.) Communal. 391 
 
 * Have you a receipt ? Did I give thee a receipt 
 for it ?' 
 
 ' Certainly I have,' and he takes out the receipt from 
 his bosom and gives it to him. As the banker took it, 
 he pretended to read it, and then threw it on the 
 brazier and burnt it. The youth shouted, and cried, 
 and yelled. 
 
 ' Hush !' said he, *or I will call them to hang thee !' 
 The banker's wife, the daughter of the Vizier, saw it 
 all, and she was sorry for the youth. When the youth 
 heard what he said, he arose and went back to his 
 master, weeping afresh. Well, the halvadji was trying 
 to comfort him, when they saw a Negress coming, and 
 she said to the boy, 
 
 ' Come in the evening to the palace where they burnt 
 thy receipt, for someone wishes to speak to thee there.' 
 In the evening he arose and went to the door. A 
 Negress was there awaiting him. She was the same 
 who had bidden him, and she took him and led him 
 upstairs to her mistress. Her mistress was a very 
 beautiful woman, quite young and lovely, and she waj 
 the Vizier's daughter. Then when she had told him 
 how much she liked him, she said, 
 
 ' Never mind, don't be grieved, for, little by little, I 
 will give thee back all thy money.' 
 
 Then when they had entertained each other very 
 pleasantly, she gave him some money and he went 
 away. He returned to his master, and told him that 
 his mone}' was coming back by degrees. The next da\' 
 the Negress came again and said to him, 
 
 ' Be ready in the evening, for I will come and fetch 
 you again.' 
 
 That day as she [the lady] ate with her husband, they 
 had a bird, and she said to her husband,
 
 392 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' Shall we have a yiddes P^*^ — whoever loses shall give 
 to the other two hundred sequins ?' 
 
 Said her husband, ' I am willing.' 
 
 So they had the yiddes, and her husband went out ; 
 and she, when evening came, sent again to fetch the 
 youth to divert her. The Negress came in and said, 
 ' Mistress, the master is coming !' 
 
 What was she to do ? She opened a great cliest 
 which she had, locked him in, and put the key in her 
 purse. When her husband came in she lost no time in 
 saying, 
 
 ' Do you know, a man came in here, and I have 
 locked him up in that chest, so that I might give thee 
 the key to open it !' 
 
 Imagine the terror of him in the chest ! But the sly 
 rogue, immediately her husband took the key, clapped 
 her hands and cried, ' I've played you a trick ! Yiddes /' 
 and she went off into a fit of laughter. 
 
 Then he threw the key on the floor, and said, ' Curse 
 it ! I forgot, and thou hast tricked me !' 
 
 Said she, ' Come now and give me the money !' 
 
 Said he, ' Wait a bit, and let us sit down — presently.' 
 
 But not she. ' Come and give me the money !' [she 
 cried]. 
 
 Then her husband went to fetch the money, and she 
 made a sign to the Negress, and the Negress took him 
 [the youth], and led him away. So he went to his 
 master, who asked him, 
 
 ' What hast thou been doing this evening ?' 
 
 ' I have been ready to burst with anger, and my heart 
 has trembled like that of a hare,' and he related how he 
 had been shut up in the chest, and the rest of it. 
 
 The next day the banker came to the halvadjVs shop 
 and asked him,
 
 //. Social — (///.) Comnmnal. 393 
 
 'Where wert thou last evening? I came here to 
 hear thee play on the fiddle, and thou wert not here.' 
 
 ' Ah ! The night before last I was well entertained ; 
 but last night my heart beat like that of a hare !' 
 
 ' But why ? What happened to thee ?' asked the 
 other. 
 
 ' What happened to me ? — I went to visit a beautiful 
 lady, and she locked me up in a great chest and gave 
 the key to her husband, and said to him, " Yiddcs," and 
 went out with her husband, and the Negress unlocked 
 me and led me out, and I went away.' 
 
 'But art thou going this evening also?' asked the 
 banker. 
 
 ' If I am sent for, I shall go — how should I not go ?' 
 
 When the banker had gone, the Negress came. ' Be 
 ready in the evening, I will come and fetch you again.' 
 
 So in the evening she came again and fetched him, 
 and he went. A little while afterwards, the husband 
 comes home. The Negress goes and cries, ' The Agha 
 is coming!' She [the lady] opens a big cupboard, 
 locks him in, and puts the key in her pocket. Her 
 husband comes and says, 
 
 ' Give me the key of the chest. I want to open it.' 
 
 Says she, throwing the key on the floor, ' There, take 
 it ! Thou art jealous, thou art a miser, I cannot put 
 up with thee any longer — I shall go and ask my papa 
 to divorce thee !' 
 
 He opens the chest, and finds nothing inside. She 
 begins to abuse him ; he leaves the key, and her to 
 abuse, and goes to his own apartments. His wife 
 follows him with abuse, and gives the key to the Negress 
 who lets him [the youth] out, and he goes away. 
 
 The next day the banker goes again to the halvadji's, 
 and says.
 
 394 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 ' Ha ! didst thou go again to the beauty's ?' 
 
 ' Ah ! last night it was famous ! How we laughed ! 
 He asked for the keys of the chest, and I was hidden in 
 the cupboard !' 
 
 ' Indeed ! Art thou going again this evening ?' 
 
 ' Do I know ? — if they send for me.' 
 
 The beauty wrote him a letter : — ' Come this evening, 
 and I will lay a bet with my husband — whoever hits a 
 gourd which will be in the fountain of our palace shall 
 receive from the other three hundred piastres. I will 
 bid the Negress put a pith helmet^'^ on thy head, and 
 thou must get into the fountain. When my husband 
 throws, thou must move aside, so that he may not 
 hit thee ; and when I throw, thou must stand still so 
 that I may hit thee and win the bet, and give thee the 
 three hundred piastres.' 
 
 So the Negress took him and put him in the basin 
 with the pith helmet on his head. Says she [the lady] 
 to her husband, 
 
 ' Let us go and dine in the garden.' 
 
 He was a little surprised [at this invitation] as she 
 had not spoken to him all that day, and replied, 
 ' Certainly, whatever thou pleasest.' 
 
 They went to the kiosk, and as they were eating, she 
 turns round — so ! — towards the fountain, and pretends 
 to catch sight of the gourd. 
 
 ' Bd /' said she, ' come now, whoever hits it, the 
 other shall give him three hundred piastres.' 
 
 He throws a stone first, and the stone falls into the 
 water. Then she throws. Tap ! it hits the gourd ! 
 She claps her kands, and is very delighted and happy. 
 She takes her husband upstairs to get him to give her 
 the money. Then the Negress lets him [the youth] out 
 of the well, dresses him handsomely in furs, and he
 
 //. Social — {J 11-^ Communal. 395 
 
 goes home to his master. The next day the banker 
 comes again. 
 
 ' Well, how didst thou amuse thyself yestre'en ?' he 
 asked. 
 
 ' Well, last evening I caught a slight cold ; for they 
 put me in the fountain, and when he threw into the 
 basin I moved aside, and the stone fell into the water ; 
 and when she threw, I stood still, and she hit me, and 
 won the three hundred piastres which she sent me by 
 the Negress.' 
 
 ' Listen. To-morrow I give a dinner to some of my 
 friends, and if I ask thee to come with thy fiddle, wilt 
 thou come ? I will give thee back the money which I 
 took from thee. And if I say to thee — " Tell a story !" 
 — relate all this, wilt thou ?' 
 
 ' Bd, I will, why shouldn't I ?' 
 
 So the next day the banker invited to his table the 
 Vizier, his wife's father, his wife's brothers, her uncles, 
 and the youth with his fiddle. Said he to his wife, 
 
 ' I am giving a dinner to-day to thy father and thy 
 relatives, and I have got someone who plays beautifully 
 on the fiddle ; if thou wilt, come to the lattice and 
 listen.' 
 
 So all the guests assembled, and ate, and drank. 
 Then the banker said to the fiddler, 
 
 * Wilt thou not tell us a story ?' 
 
 Then the youth sits down and tells all the story as 
 we know it — how a lady had taken a fancy to him, and 
 had put him in the chest, and in the cupboard, and in 
 the fountain ; and when he had told all this, he threw 
 away his fiddle as if he were mad, and cried, 
 
 ' Ah, Affendi mine, give me my money ! He has 
 taken it from me, and burnt the receipt, and told me to 
 say all that I have related. But it is all false, and I am
 
 396 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 a poor lad ; and, because he promised to give me back 
 my money, I have said what I have said !' 
 
 Then the Vizier turned to the banker, and said, 
 ' Thou art a money changer, and a Jew.^^ Thou art 
 not fit for my daughter. I have a great mind to hang 
 thee, but to show thee favour, I will only send thee into 
 exile,' 
 
 Then he exiled him, and took his daughter home, and 
 divorced her from her husband. The youth he com- 
 pensated, and repaid him his money. He went to his 
 master the halvadjz, received back from him the rest of 
 his money, and returned to his mother in Athens. 
 There he opened a shop, and lived happy and con- 
 tented.
 
 THE FRIENDS. 
 
 Upper Sy7'a. 
 
 (Von HahN, NeoeWrjviKa Uapa/jivdia, p. 220.) 
 
 Once upon a time there were two youths who were 
 such great friends that they only left each other to 
 sleep. But there came a time when one of them got 
 married ; and after that he avoided his friend, and did 
 not so much as wish him ' Good day,' lest perchance 
 he should come to his house and speak to his wife. 
 
 So what does he do then ? He goes and builds a 
 house of three stories, puts his mother in the lower 
 story, his mother-in-law in the second, and his wife in 
 the third ; and commands his mother on no account to 
 open and let anyone in. 
 
 Well, how does his friend outwit him ? He goes and 
 changes his clothes, and dresses himself up like a lord,^^ 
 and when he knew that the husband had gone out to 
 his work, he went and knocked at his door, and out 
 came his friend's mother. 
 
 ' Eh, good day, dame !' 
 
 'You are welcome, young man!' Then she asks 
 him, * What seek you here ?' 
 
 ' I, dame,' he replied, ' am a lord. I like your house 
 very much, and if you will have the goodness to allow 
 me, I should like to take its measurements.' 
 
 ' God forbid, my boy, my son does not allow me to 
 let anyone in.' 
 
 * I will give you a hundred piastres if you will let me 
 in.' 
 
 When the good woman heard of the hundred piastres.
 
 398 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 she took them and said, ' Come in, but depart quickly, 
 so that my son may not find you here.' 
 
 So, will she, nill she, he goes up to the second floor, 
 when the mother-in-law sees him. 
 
 Says she, ' What seek you here ?' 
 
 Says he, ' I have come to measure the house.' 
 
 She tried to prevent him, and would not let him 
 come in ; when he takes out and gives her a hundred 
 piastres. She was wise, and took them, and what her 
 son-in-law's mother had done, why should she not do 
 too ? In a word, he went up to the top story. 
 
 When the young wife saw him, she was afraid, and 
 asked him what he wanted. 
 
 ' I wish to take the measurements of the house.' 
 
 When he had taken them, he came down again to 
 the second floor, and sat down. Said the mother-in-law, 
 ' Go away at once, for fear my son-in-law should come.' 
 
 ' I shall not go,' he replied, ' until you give me back 
 my hundred piastres.' 
 
 Well, what could she do ? She was afraid that her 
 son-in-law might come back, so she gave him the 
 hundred piastres. When he had got them, he went 
 down to the first floor, and in the same way he got 
 back there his other hundred piastres. And he left, and 
 went and stopped at a place where he knew his friend 
 would pass, and waited. 
 
 Soon his friend came by, saw him, and said, ' Good 
 day !' 
 
 ' What said'st thou ?— " Good day ?" Know'st thou 
 not that the King has commanded us to say not " Good 
 day !" but " Good day, and I know all about it." ' 
 
 ' Good day, and I know all about it, then !' And he 
 goes away and comes to his house. Says he to his 
 mother, ' Good day, and I know all about it !'
 
 //. Social — {III.) Communal. 399 
 
 She made no reply, and he went up to the second 
 floor, where he finds his mother-in-law. 
 
 ' Good day, mother-in-law,' says he, ' and I know all 
 about it.' 
 
 ' Well,' says she, ' if thou knowest all about it, it was 
 thy mother's doing, for she opened the door and let 
 him in !' 
 
 So down he goes again to his mother, and asks her, 
 ' To whom didst thou open the door, and whom didst 
 thou let in ?' 
 
 ' My dear son, it was a lord who wanted to take the 
 measurements of our house.' 
 
 Then he rushes upstairs to his wife, and questions 
 her. Said she, ' What shall I tell thee ? Thy friend 
 was grieved that thou wouldst no longer speak to him, 
 and could think of no other way of outwitting thee.' 
 
 Then the husband came to the decision that it is 
 useless for a man to shut up his wife. So he gave her 
 her liberty, and when he met his comrade again, they 
 became greater friends than ever.
 
 THE STORY OF THE BORN THIEF. ^ 
 
 Cyprus. 
 (Sakellarios, II., 6.) 
 
 There were once two brothers, the one was poor 
 and had three children, and the other was rich but had 
 no heir. The rich man, in order to help the poor one, 
 asked him to give him one of his sons and he would 
 adopt him ; and he sent him the eldest. When the 
 uncle had got him he took him to the top of a mountain 
 and asked him, ' What is the best thing we could do 
 from up here ?' 
 
 The boy replied, ' Roll down stones to amuse our- 
 selves.' 
 
 ' Is that all ?' said he. 
 
 The boy was silent. 
 
 On the following day he sent the boy to his father 
 and said, ' Send me another, for this one does not suit 
 me,' 
 
 The father sent the second, and he did the same. 
 When he, too, was sent home, he sent him the youngest. 
 The uncle, instead of taking him up the mountain, shut 
 him up in a chamber, hung up a ringcake from the 
 crossbeam, and went away. When the boy got hungry, 
 he raised his head and saw the cake, but as it was high 
 up he set his wits to work to get it down. He made a 
 sort of squirt, and squirted water at the cake, so that 
 as it got wet it fell down and he ate it. At night his 
 uncle went to see him, and said, ' How have you got 
 on, my boy, all the day ?' 
 
 ' Very well, uncle,' he replied.
 
 //. Social — (///•) Coiinminal. 401 
 
 Said his uncle, ' But wert thou not hungry ?' 
 
 ' No,' he repHed, 'for I wetted that cake which was 
 hanging from the crossbeam with a squirt, and so I 
 satisfied myself.' 
 
 Then the uncle took the boy and led him to the top 
 of a hill, and asked him, ' What is the best thing we 
 can do here, my boy ?' 
 
 Said the boy, ' Let us steal and eat.' 
 
 His uncle asked him, ' How?' 
 
 ' This way,' he said. ' Do you see down below there 
 a man with a sheep on his shoulder which he is going 
 to carry away ? Let us go and take it from him.' 
 
 His uncle asked how, as he was carrying it on his 
 shoulder. . 
 
 Said the lad, ' I will go in front, and when you see 
 the sheep on the ground, seize it and carry it up to the 
 mountain here.' 
 
 The boy let fall one of his shoes on the road and 
 again after a little way he let fall another. When he 
 who had the sheep saw the one shoe he did not stoop 
 to pick it up, but when he saw the second, he tethered 
 the sheep with a cord and turned back to take the first 
 shoe ; but the lad had already picked it up again, and 
 the man ran looking for it. The uncle on the other 
 hand picked up the sheep together with the shoe, and 
 went off to the mountain. There the two met and sat 
 down and ate the sheep. 
 
 When they had eaten the sheep, the uncle said, 
 ' Now what shall we do, my boy ?' 
 
 ' Look !' said the lad, ' there's the same man carrying 
 another sheep ; let us go and take that too.' 
 The uncle asked, ' How ?' 
 
 'The same way as before, my uncle,' he replied. 
 ' As soon as you see it tethered, take it, that's all.' 
 
 VOL. II. 26
 
 402 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 The boy went and hid himself in a ditch and began 
 to cry ' Baa ! baa /' The peasant, thinking that it was 
 the sheep he had lost, tied this one to a stake and went 
 to look for the other ; but he lost also the one he had, 
 for the uncle seized and carried it off to the hills. 
 
 When they had eaten that too, the uncle asked, 
 * What shall we do now, my boy ?' 
 
 The lad replied, ' Do you see, uncle, a man yoking a 
 team ? Let us go and take one of the oxen.' 
 
 Said the uncle, ' But how can that be managed, 
 seeing that he has the oxen in front of him ?' 
 
 The lad replied, ' Come along with me, and don't 
 fash yourself.' 
 
 When they were come down from the mountain the 
 boy stood at a distance and shouted ' O wonderful ! 
 wonderful !' 
 
 The teamster, fancying that the lad had found some- 
 thing, left his oxen and ran towards him, and the uncle 
 behind unyoked one of the oxen, and led it off to the 
 hills. And when the teamster came up to the boy and 
 asked where was the wonder he shouted about, the lad 
 replied that he had never before in his life seen a man 
 drive a pair with one ox ! Then the teamster turned 
 him and saw that he had but one ox. He went to look 
 for the other, but did not find it, and the lad went by a 
 roundabout way up the mountain and slew the ox, and 
 ate it with his uncle. 
 
 ' Now, my boy,' said the uncle, ' what shall we do ?' 
 
 Said the boy, ' Let us have done with these trifles, 
 and let us go and open the King's treasury.' 
 
 ' But how can we do that, my boy ?' 
 
 ' Come with me, and I will manage it. Buy me only 
 a sack, some cord, and a couple of hooks, and with 
 them I shall climb up.'
 
 //. Social — (///.) Comrmmal. 403 
 
 So they went by night, and the lad cHmbed up upon 
 the roof, and afterwards drew up his uncle and placed 
 him there also. The boy then raised a flagstone and 
 went below and iilled his sack with dollars. And this 
 they did three nights running. 
 
 A few days afterwards, the King went to his treasury 
 to get some money to pay his workmen. But when he 
 saw his treasury empty, he called all the people in the 
 palace and began to examine them. The Vizier said 
 that they had better consult a robber whom they had 
 in the prison. So they called the robber, and asked 
 him, and he said, 
 
 ' Shut all the doors and windows and observe where 
 light comes in, and then I will tell you what to do.' 
 
 When they had done as the robber said, they saw 
 that light fell from above, and told the robber. The 
 robber advised them to place beneath the hole a 
 cauldron full of boiling pitch. They at once did as he 
 bade them. 
 
 At night the two thieves came, but the lad would not 
 descend, for he smelt the pitch, so his uncle went down. 
 As soon as he was down he stuck in the pitch and 
 called to his boy to pull him up, but he couldn't. He 
 called to his uncle, but he was burning and did not 
 speak. Then the lad descended, cut off the head of his 
 uncle, took it, and fled. 
 
 When he got home, he told his aunt the evil which 
 had befallen, and advised her to have her wits about 
 her, and not to weep, or the}- would both be lost. The 
 next day the King went to his treasury and saw there a 
 headless body. He went immediately to the robber, 
 and asked what he should do now ? The robber 
 advised them to take this body and hang it in the 
 bazaar, and to send men secretly into all the streets to
 
 404 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 observe who was lamenting, and to seize any whom 
 they saw weeping. The lad passed by there and saw 
 his uncle hanging, and went home and said to his 
 aunt, 
 
 ' My aunt, take care you don't go into the bazaar 
 where they have hung my uncle, and weep, or we shall 
 all be lost ; but I will tell you what you must do, if you 
 wish to weep for relief : Take some pots of yiaourt,^ and 
 cry in the streets " Yiaourti /" and, as you pass by the 
 body of m}' uncle, throw them down so that \hey may 
 break, and sit down there and cry as if you were crying 
 for your pots till you are relieved.' 
 
 The aunt did as he advised her. At night they began 
 to question those who had been watching. They said 
 that they had seen no one but an old woman who had 
 broken her dishes and was crying over them. Then 
 the robber said that this was the man's wife, and that 
 they had done ill not to have arrested her. 
 
 Then the King asked the robber, ' What dost thou 
 advise us to do now ?' 
 
 The robber said to them, ' Put some gold pieces 
 beneath the dead man's body, and his comrade will not 
 be able to resist, but will steal them ; then do ye open 
 your eyes and seize him.' 
 
 The lad on the next day passed by there and saw the 
 coins, and went immediately and found another boy, 
 and said to him, 
 
 ' Let us play at horses, and every time thou passest 
 under the dead man's body I will give thee ten paras.' 
 
 He put some sticky stuff on the soles of his shoes, 
 and every time they passed under the body he carried 
 away on his shoes some half-score of the coins. Those 
 who were watching saw two lads running about and 
 
 * Curdled milk. ,
 
 //. Social — (///.) Coimimnal. 405 
 
 passing under the dead man's body, but they had no 
 suspicions of two Httle rascals Hke them. When nij:^ht 
 came, they counted the gold pieces, and found that 
 some were missing. The King punished the guards for 
 letting the boys outwit them, and again immediately 
 asked the robber what he advised him to do. The 
 robber told them to take a camel and load it with 
 various kinds of precious things, and have their wits 
 about them, for the thief would not be able to resist it. 
 
 When they had loaded the camel and led it into the 
 town, the lad saw them, and at once changed his 
 clothes, and became a vendor selling wine, and met 
 them on the road. 
 
 ' W^hat wilt thou take, my boy,' they said, ' for a 
 drink ?' 
 
 The lad replied, ' One para a cup.'"" 
 
 Finding the wine so cheap, they set to and got 
 drunk, while the camel went on in front and the aunt 
 opened her gate and took it inside. When they were 
 drunk, they lay down in the street and slept. The lad 
 took out his razor, shaved the half of their heads and 
 the half of their beards, and left them wallowing like 
 swine, dead drunk. He went home, unloaded the 
 camel, took all the goods, killed the camel, melted down 
 its fat, and filled two jars with it. When the men 
 woke up from their slumber they returned to the King 
 quite shamefaced. He questioned them and put them 
 in prison. Then he went again to the robber, and 
 asked what he should do. 
 
 Said he, ' Get an old woman, and send her from 
 house to house asking for camel's grease to use as 
 medicine, and wherever she finds it, there will be the 
 thief.' 
 
 ■'' UoTiKov, a measure of a hundred drachms.
 
 4o6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 So they sent an old woman, and she went from house 
 to house asking for camel's grease ; and she came to 
 the lad's aunt, and she gave her a crockful. The 
 old woman, not to forget [the house], as she came out 
 dipped her hand in the grease, and marked the door 
 with it. Soon after she had gone the lad returned and 
 saw the camel's grease on the door. 
 
 ' Ah, my aunt,' he said to her, ' thou hast given away 
 of the camel's grease, we are lost ! Give me, too, a 
 crockful of the grease, and I will go and mark all the 
 doors in the town.' 
 
 Then the King, when the old woman came back, 
 went out with all his court. But what did he see ? All 
 the doors of the town marked ! So he couldn't find out 
 anything and went back to the robber. Then the 
 robber said to them, 
 
 ' He is a cleverer robber than I, and I cannot counsel 
 you any more.' 
 
 Then the King collected all his troops in an open 
 space and set a crier to proclaim that if the thief would 
 present himself he should receive great gifts from the 
 King. The lad dressed himself in soldier's clothes, and 
 when the crier proclaimed, he answered, ' Here am I !' 
 But when he heard ' Arrest him !' he mingled with the 
 soldiers and cried also 'Arrest him! Arrest him !' so 
 that this time, too, he escaped them. 
 
 Then the King proclaimed that he who should confess 
 fully to his daughter all his crimes, should take her for 
 his wife, and he would make him his heir. Then the 
 lad went to the cemetery, cut off the hand of a corpse, 
 hid it in his clothes, made his way under cover of the 
 darkness to the King's daughter, and began to relate 
 to her all his exploits. She took him by the hand, and 
 called to them to come to her help, for she was holding
 
 //. Social — (///.) Communal. 407 
 
 thu robber by his hand. When the men came in with 
 hghts, they found in the hand of the King's daughter a 
 dead man's hand. 
 
 Then the King swore that he would in truth give his 
 throne to the robber, and then the robber presented 
 himself, and he married him to his daughter, and he 
 inherited his kingdom.
 
 THE JUST ONE. 
 
 Asia Minor. 
 
 (Carnoy and Nikolaides, Les. Lift. Pop., xxviii., 
 
 p. I44-) 
 
 A PEASANT had just welcomed his firstborn. 
 
 ' Whom shall we ask to be our son's Godfather ?' 
 asked the mother. 
 
 ' His Godfather shall be the most just man I can 
 find. To-morrow I will set out to seek this supremely 
 just person.' 
 
 So the next day the peasant set out. Towards even- 
 ing he met on the road a handsome Old Man. 
 
 'Whither art thou bound, traveller?' asked the Old 
 Man. 
 
 ' My father, I am seeking a Godfather for my child." 
 
 ' I can render thee that service.' 
 
 'But I require a person whose justice is without 
 equal.' 
 
 ' I am that person.' 
 
 ' What is thy name, my father ?' 
 
 ' My name is God.' 
 
 ' Then thou art not he whom I seek.' 
 
 ' That is strange. How ? Is not God Sovereign 
 Justice itself?' 
 
 ' No, Lord ! Thou art not the most just. The good 
 things thou bestowest on mortals are ill-distributed. 
 To the righteous thou givest poverty, to the wicked, 
 riches. Thou art all injustice — Addio /' 
 
 The peasant continued his journey, and passed that 
 night in a cave. Next day he met another traveller 
 with a venerable and kindly face.
 
 //. Social — (///.) Coinmunal. 409 
 
 ' Whither goest thou, O peasant ?' was his question. 
 
 ' I seek a man supremely just as Godfather to 
 my son.' 
 
 *I am that just man. Take me to thine abode. I 
 will be Godfather to thy son.' 
 
 ' And what may be your Honour's name ?' 
 
 ' I am the good Apostle, the beloved disciple of 
 Christ — Saint Peter, in fact.' 
 
 ' Then you are not he whom I seek.' 
 
 ' How is that ?' 
 
 ' I said that I required a man supremely just, and you 
 say you are Saint Peter ?' 
 
 ' Well ! what then ?' 
 
 ' Then you are not a just man. Every day you admit 
 into Paradise the wicked, the misers, and the drunkards 
 who have never done a good deed, under the pretext 
 that the Pope has pardoned them. Yes, indeed ! and 
 you refuse entrance to heaven to the good and upright 
 if unfortunately they have no money. Decidedly you 
 are not the person I seek !' 
 
 On the third day, the peasant met another traveller 
 who also asked him, 
 
 ' Whither goest thou, gaffer ?' 
 
 ' To seek a sponsor for my child. I have now been 
 walking for three days without finding a suitable one.' 
 
 ' What kind of man seekest thou then ?' 
 
 ' A being supremely just.' 
 
 ' I am just, and I will be Godfather to thy child.' 
 
 ' I have met God, and also Saint Peter. Are you 
 more just than they ?' 
 
 ' I am more just than the Lord and his Apostle.' 
 
 ' Who are you then ?' 
 
 * I am Death.' 
 
 ' Then you are right. You respect neither rich nor
 
 4IO G7'cek Folk-Prose. 
 
 poor ; you strike alike the Kinp: on his throne and the 
 beggar in his hovel ; you take the child from its mother's 
 breast and the old with their crown of gray hair. You 
 are supremely just. Will you, then, be Godfather to 
 my child ?' 
 
 ' I will. Let us go.' 
 
 And the peasant, followed by Death, returned home. 
 
 The christening took place with great ceremony, and 
 Death was, as he had promised, the infant's sponsor. 
 When the festivities were over, Death said to the 
 peasant, 
 
 ' Thou hast done me great honour, my friend, in 
 choosing me as Nono to thy son. I would reward thee. 
 Perhaps an honourable calling would please thee. Sa}-, 
 would it not ?' 
 
 ' Yes, your Honour, but ' 
 
 ' But what ? There is nothing I cannot do. Listen. 
 I could easily give thee riches ; I have but to say the 
 word, and that chest would be full of gold. But fortune, 
 without credit and renown, is worthless. Thou shalt 
 have all these things.' 
 
 ' I — a poor peasant ?' 
 
 ' Yes. From this moment thou art an eminent 
 physician — the first physician in the world.' 
 
 ' But I have never studied ! — I can hardly read and 
 write !' 
 
 ' That matters not. Listen. The rich banker, 
 Abraham, is ill. Go thou boldly to him, prescribe him 
 what thou wilt, and assure him of recovery. He will 
 not die, and will of course deem that thou hast saved 
 his life and reward thee generously, and thy fame will 
 spread.' 
 
 ' But the other patients ?' 
 
 ' Whenever thou art called to anyone, do but look at
 
 //. Social — {III.) Comnmnal. 411 
 
 the head and feet of the patient. If I stand at his feet, 
 he will recover, if at his head, know that his days are 
 numbered. All thy drugs and salves will make no 
 difference.' 
 
 So the peasant went to the Jew, Abraham, and cured 
 him, after all the other doctors had given him up. His 
 fame spread apace, and very soon everyone was talking of 
 the wonderful doctor who could tell at a glance whether 
 sick persons would live or die. 
 
 In a short time the peasant-physician became one of 
 the richest men in the country. All the rich men, the 
 merchants. Bishops, Kadis, Pashas, even the Sultan 
 himself sent for him for the smallest ailment, and 
 would, if it had been possible, have kept him always in 
 attendance. 
 
 Years passed. The doctor grew old, but was rich 
 and respected, and continued to bless the lucky day on 
 which he had set out to seek a just Godfather for his 
 son. 
 
 One day as he was sitting under the great olive-tree 
 in his garden, a stranger suddenly stood before him. 
 
 ' Who are you, Affendi ?' he asked. 
 
 ' Dost thou not, then, know me ?' 
 
 ' My eyes are growing dim.' 
 
 ' And yet thou still knowest me when I am beside thy 
 patients.' 
 
 ' Ah, is it you ? Forgive me, Affendi. What are your 
 commands ?' 
 
 * The number of thy days is nearly fulfilled. Thou 
 must prepare to depart.' 
 
 ' Depart ? Die ? Now ?' , 
 
 ' Yes, now.' 
 
 ' Ach ! Mercy! mercy! Grant me a few years 
 more ! — a few da3's only ! — To-morrow !' And the
 
 412 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 doctor threw himself at the feet of Death and wept like 
 a child. 
 
 ' For the sake of your godson ! Let me but see him 
 married ere I die ! Ach ! Mercy ! mercy !' 
 
 ' Come, come, my friend, I cannot wait.' 
 
 So the doctor had to follow Death through valleys 
 and forests, across rivers and seas, and over mountains 
 and hills. They hurried on until they came to an 
 immense plain in the middle of which stood a wonder- 
 ful palace. 
 
 ' We have come to the end of our journey,' said 
 Death. 
 
 As they came near, the doctor saw that the windows 
 of the palace were as numerous as the stars of the sky. 
 Some were dark, others brilliantly lighted. They went 
 in, and Death led the way to one of the lighted 
 chambers. A number of tapers were burning there, 
 and one of them was nearly burnt out. 
 
 ' That taper,' said Death, ' pictures thy life. Dost 
 thou not see how wasted it is ?' 
 
 ' I pray thee, O Death, let me put one of these tapers 
 in its place !' 
 
 ' They are those of thy relatives.' 
 
 ' This one, then ?' 
 
 ' It is the life-taper of thy son — of my godson.' 
 
 'What matter!' 
 
 '"What matter!" sayest thou? Come, come, look 
 at thy taper ! See — the flame flickers — it dies — it is 
 gone !' 
 
 And at the same instant, the old man fell dead at 
 the feet of the supremely just Being who shows favour 
 to none !
 
 CLASS III. 
 HISTORICAL FOLK-LEGENDS. 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HISTORICAL 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 SECTION (I.) 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF BYZANTINE 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 THE LAST OF THE OLD HELLENES. '^^ 
 
 Khrysovitza. 
 
 (Heuzey, Le Mont Olympe, p. 264.) 
 
 Very long ago, in the times of the grandfathers of our 
 grandfathers, some people of our village went to Con- 
 stantinople. While there they heard that one old 
 woman of the race of the ancient Hellenes was still 
 living in that city, and they went to visit her. She 
 was very tall, taller than any man of our day, but had 
 become blind from old age. She asked her visitors 
 about their country, and, addressing one of them, 
 'Give me thine hand,' said she. He was afraid; so, 
 taking up the fire-shovel,, he held it towards the old 
 woman, who bent it with her fingers till it broke. 
 
 ' You are pretty strong,' she remarked, ' but not so 
 strong as we used to be.'
 
 SINTSIRLI, AND MINTSIRLI, AND LITTLE 
 SINTSIRLAKL^ 
 
 Epeiros. 
 
 (Von Hahn, NeoeWrjvtKa TlapafivQia.) 
 
 There was once a youth who was called Sintsirli and 
 Mintsirli and Little Sintsirlaki, One day he was 
 passing along a narrow street, and he saw at a window 
 a maiden named Helioyennete, and the moment he saw 
 her he was seized with such a pain that he could 
 scarcely walk. And when he reached home, there fell 
 from his lips these words, 
 
 * Mother, my soul ! Mother, my heart ! and my poor 
 
 head, O mother ! 
 Mother, such pain has seized on me, I shall be dead at 
 
 even ! 
 Mother, fair Helioyennete was at her lofty window !' 
 
 And he repeated them a second and a third time, and 
 cried, and raved. Then his mother asked what ailed 
 him that he cried thus ; and when she heard that 
 Helioyennete was the cause of his woe, she at once told 
 her husband, who sent servants to her house. And 
 when they arrived and knocked at the door, she asked 
 ' Who is it, and what is it, and who knocks ?' 
 
 And they answered, * We are the servants of Sintsirli 
 and Mintsirli and Little Sintsirlaki.' 
 
 Then said Helioyennete, ' Hasten, servants and 
 maidens, and open !' 
 
 And quickly they opened the doors and the people 
 came in. Now among them was Sintsirli and Mint- 
 ^ See Vol. I., Annotation No. 48.
 
 ///. Historical — (/.) Jiyzautine. 415 
 
 sirli and Little Sintsirlaki, who had disguised himself as 
 a servant in order to hear for himself what Helioyen- 
 nete would say. When they went upstairs, golden scats 
 were set for them to sit upon ; and when they had sat 
 a little while,"" the servants began to tell her that they 
 were sent by Sintsirli, who wished to make her his 
 wife. 
 
 Then Helioyennete said that Sintsirli's hands were 
 [only fit for] hoes to dig her garden ; that his feet were 
 [only fit for] spades to dig her fields with ; and that his 
 tongue was [only fit for] a shovel for her dunghill. And 
 this she bade them tell him, and so they went away. 
 And Sintsirli, grieved and angry, left with them ; and 
 there fell from his lips these words, and he cried them 
 louder than before, 
 
 ' Mother, my soul ! Mother, my heart ! and my poor 
 
 head, O mother ! 
 Mother, that Helioyennete ! — I shall be dead at even !' 
 
 Then his mother bade him go to the Witches, and 
 do whatever they might advise. So he went to the 
 Witches, and said to them, ' Such and such things 
 have happened to me — what shall I do ? What shall 
 I take?' 
 
 ' Nothing at all,' they replied. ' Go, get a suit of 
 women's clothes and put it on, and hie thee and knock 
 at her gate; and when she asks from within, "Who 
 is it, and what is it, and who knocks?" thou must 
 reply, 
 
 ^ This little touch is exceedingly characteristic of Eastern as 
 contrasted with Western manners. In the West, if a stranger called 
 unexpectedly, he would at once either mention, or be requested 
 to mention, the cause of his visit. In the East, however, all the 
 polite formalities of service \s\x\\ o^lyko^ cofitee, and pipes must first 
 be gone through. And so it was only after 'they had sat a little 
 while' that the object of this visit was broached.
 
 4i6 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ' " I am thy cousin come to thee from far-off St. Donato ; 
 Of golden broidery nought I know, of thee I've come 
 to learn it!'" 
 
 Then the Witches gave him magic [ointment], and 
 said to him, 
 
 ' Take this magic [ointment], and when thou art 
 come in, kiss her first and anoint her, and then kiss 
 the servants and anoint them ; and, as you are eating 
 bread, the magic will, little by little, take hold of them, 
 and then thou must begin to say, 
 
 ' " Ah ! all the birds, the little birds, in golden pairs are 
 sleeping, 
 And I, poor solitary bird, to-night where shall I rest 
 me?" 
 
 And she will answer, " Hush, hush ! my cousin, thou 
 shalt bide with my servants." Then thou must again 
 reply, " Ah ? I am a King's daughter ! Should I lodge 
 with servants ?" Then she will say, " With the nurses," 
 and thou must give the same answer. And she will 
 then say, for the third time, " Hush, my Cousin, thou 
 shalt bide with me." Then thou must be silent, and 
 leave her a little while until bedtime, and afterwards 
 thou must seize her and carry her off.' 
 
 So Sintsirli went and did as the Witches told him. 
 He took her and carried her home to his house. And 
 as he held her in his arms — ' Oiikh /' she said, ' where 
 are you, nurses and maidens, that I may tell you what 
 I have been dreaming ? It seemed to me that I was 
 in the arms of that donkey of a Sintsirli !' 
 
 ' That is precisely where thou art,' said he. 
 
 And perhaps Helioyennete didn't scream at all when 
 she found that it was true ! Afterwards they were 
 married, and lived happily. And we more happily still !
 
 THE ACCURSED ONE^^ 
 
 {Circa 1370.) 
 
 Thyace. 
 
 In the olden time, the town of Stenemacho and the 
 surrounding country belonged to the King of Kale who 
 lived in the Castle there in great pomp and splendour. 
 Sallying forth at the head of his army of mighty 
 warriors he vanquished and slew myriads of his enemies, 
 returning with rich spoils which he distributed among 
 his followers, reserving for himself only the glory of his 
 exploits. 
 
 But times changed. For the hated enemy of the 
 Greek faith and nation, the conquering Sultan Amurath, 
 had seized town after town, and castle after castle, 
 until the great city of Adrianople had fallen into his 
 hands. There he had raised his throne, and from this 
 new stronghold was threatening the neighbouring 
 Princes. Long and valiantly did the King of Kale 
 defend his country against the invader, but he was 
 at last compelled to shut himself up in his Citadel. 
 This fortress was built on the top of a precipitous 
 rock, and so well was it defended by nature and art 
 that, when prepared for a siege, a bird of the air only 
 might approach it. Nor was this all. For the King 
 had had constructed a secret mechanism by means of 
 which he could at will dam up the torrent that rushed 
 below the rocky foundations of his Castle, until its 
 waters rose to the summits of the surrounding hills. 
 Then, as the enemy advanced unsuspectingly up the 
 dry bed of the torrent, the besieged opened the huge 
 
 VOL. II. 27
 
 41 8 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 flood-gates, and the waters rushed forth, like another 
 Red Sea, and overwhelmed them. 
 
 At the beginning of these troublous times there 
 had come to Stenemacho from beyond the Balkans a 
 Bulgarian family who gave out that they were relatives 
 of the Krai of Bulgaria, but having found the Ottoman 
 yoke insupportable, the}- had left their country to seek 
 an asylum with the Christian King of Kale. 
 
 Some doubted the truth of this story, and feared that 
 the good town of Stenemacho might be harbouring 
 spies and traitors in the guise of refugees from Moslem 
 tyranny. The King, however, received the strangers 
 kindly, and promised them his protection. The family 
 consisted of an old man, whose lips were never seen 
 to smile ; a young and beautiful woman ; and a fair- 
 faced youth. People said that this beautiful foreign 
 woman had tried hard to win the love of the King, but 
 in vain : for he was betrothed to a daughter of the 
 Emperor of Constantinople, and his heart was as im- 
 pregnable as his Castle. 
 
 But more and more evil grew the times for the 
 Christian dwellers in those parts. Twice had the 
 Moslems besieged the fortress of Kale, and twice had 
 the waters swept away the besiegers, strewing the 
 Thracian plain with their dead bodies. The Ottomans 
 at length seemed to be outworn, their camp was broken 
 up, and they retired from Kale towards the East. The 
 King received this glad news on a Saturday afternoon, 
 and immediately commanded that a solemn thanks- 
 giving service should be held the next day in the 
 citadel church of the Panaghia. All the notables of 
 Stenemacho were bidden and with them the Bulgarian 
 family. 
 
 Early on the following morning, the paths leading
 
 ///. Historical — (/.) Byzantine. 419 
 
 to Kale were thronged with the townspeople ; the 
 great iron gates were thrown open ; and as the solemn 
 Mass was chanted by the priests, the people gave heart- 
 felt thanks to God and the Panaghia for their deliver- 
 ance from the enemy. 
 
 But before the service was over a loud cry of alarm 
 from the sentinel startled the worshippers, and a soldier 
 forcing his way through them to where the King stood 
 hurriedly informed him that a numerous band of the 
 enemy were advancing on the Castle by the secret 
 path, now undefended. The service ceased, the bugles 
 sounded, all flew to arms. The King girded on his 
 two-handed sword and hurried to the battlements. 
 But the enemy came on. Presently a messenger 
 arrived breathless at the foot of the tower, and was 
 drawn up by a rope. He brought a letter for the King 
 containing these words : ' Beware of the Bulgarian 
 woman — she is a spy.' Looking up, and across the 
 ravine the King beheld standing on a jutting rock 
 above the torrent the figure of a woman who, with out- 
 stretched hand, pointed out to the enemy the secret 
 path. 
 
 'Accursed be the Bulgarian!' he cried. And at the 
 same moment a well-aimed arrow pierced him to the 
 heart. As the soldiers standing near received the 
 dying hero in their arms, and looked with rage and 
 grief in their hearts towards the traitress, they saw 
 that the King's curse had indeed fallen upon her. For 
 what had been the figure of a woman was now but a 
 black and motionless pillar of stone. And there, to 
 the present day, above the rushing torrent, stands the 
 Anathematismenc — bound there b\- the dying curse of 
 the King of Kale.
 
 SECTION (II.). 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF OTTOMAN 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 THE MONK OF ST. SOFIA. ^^ 
 
 (1430.) 
 
 When the Turks conquered Salonica, one of their first 
 acts was to take possession of all the pubHc buildings, 
 and especially the churches, and with this object they 
 approached St. Sofia. All the monks had fled save 
 one, who, boldly addressing the invaders, announced 
 to them that he was the guardian of the church and 
 would die rather than abandon his charge. After a 
 determined resistance at several points which were 
 successively assailed, the brave monk finally took 
 refuge in the bell -tower, where he again performed 
 prodigies of valour. But the Turks, ashamed and 
 infuriated at being thus held at bay by one man, and 
 that man a monk, put forth their utmost efforts, and 
 at last succeeded in making him prisoner. As an 
 example to the rest of the inhabitants, they cut off his 
 head, which they threw out of one of the tower windows. 
 The monk's head rolled down the side of the wall.
 
 ///. Historical — (//,) Ottoman. 421 
 
 leaving a streak of blood from top to bottom. The 
 Turks, who soon transformed this church into a mosque, 
 did everything they could think of to efface the stain. 
 They scraped and limewashed the wall a hundred 
 times, but all in vain. For centuries afterwards the 
 red streak remained a source of secret exultation to the 
 Christians and of vexation to the Osmanlis.
 
 MAVROMICHAELIS AND MOURZINOS.^'^ 
 
 Main a. 
 
 (SouTzo, Scenes et Recits, p. 301.) 
 
 One day Mavromichaelis and Mourzinos met on a high 
 rocky platform overlooking the sea where there is now 
 a little chapel of the Panaghia. The two rivals, after 
 some angry and defiant words, began a furious combat. 
 For two whole days they fought ; the blows they dealt 
 each other shook the very ground, the blood from their 
 wounds reddened the very sea ; but neither of them 
 was mortally wounded. The sun was setting for the 
 second time since the beginning of the fearful duel, 
 when suddenly the figure of a woman appeared before 
 the combatants, and said, 
 
 ' My children, cease j'our strife ! Fall upon the 
 Turks — they are burning your villages !' 
 
 When she had said these words, she disappeared. 
 But the red glow of distant fires could be seen on the 
 horizon, confirming this divine warning. Mavromichaelis 
 and Mourzinos made the sign of the Cross, shouted 
 loudly to their followers, and hastened to attack the 
 enemies of the nation.
 
 GIOVANNI AND THE DAUGHTER OF 
 lATRAKIS.^^ 
 
 Maina. 
 
 (SouTZO, Scenes et Recits, p. 302.) 
 
 The family of the Mavromichaelis had gone to keep 
 Easter in one of their manor-houses to the north of 
 Vitulo, the ruins only of which now mark its former 
 site. The Mourzinos took advantage of their occupa- 
 tion in fasting and prayer to scale the walls of the 
 castle, and surprised their enemies while unarmed and 
 defenceless. They carried off with them Giovanni, 
 then twelve years old, and gave him up to the Turks, 
 who shut him up in one of the prisons of the Seven 
 Towers, thinking that the hope of ransoming this 
 precious hostage might make the Mavromichaelis more 
 tractable on some future day. 
 
 Some years afterwards, latrakis, the chief of Bar- 
 dounia, was on his way to Zante with his daughter, 
 who was very beautiful, when they were taken by 
 Maltese pirates. The father was killed, and the girl 
 sold as a slave to the Sultan's Serail. The latraki 
 family possessed from time immemorial certain medical 
 secrets which were carefully preserved and handed 
 down from generation to generation as heirlooms. At 
 the time when the young girl was brought into the 
 Serail, the Sultan was ill with a fever which all his 
 physicians had failed to cure. The maiden offered to 
 cure him on the condition that, when the Sultan 
 recovered, she might have any boon she chose to ask. 
 Her offer was accepted. She brewed a draught accord-
 
 424 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 ing to her family prescriptions, and succeeded in saving 
 the life of her Imperial patient. In return she asked 
 for her own liberty and also for that of the Greek 
 captive whom she would choose as her husband. On 
 being led to the prisons where languished so many of 
 her countrymen, she recognised the son of Mavro- 
 michaelis by his tall stature, handsome features, and 
 proud bearing. Giovanni's chains were struck off, and 
 the young couple were sent away with every mark of 
 honour to their own country.
 
 SECTION (III.). 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HELLENIC 
 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 Y I ANN I STATHAS. 
 
 A rgos. 
 
 (Yemeniz, Voyage en Grece, p. 62.) 
 
 Soon after Ypsilanti had uttered the first cr}- of in- 
 surrection in the Morea, Yianni Stathas gathered round 
 him his relatives and friends, and telHng them that he 
 was going to join the defenders of Greek national 
 freedom, he chose from among them the bravest and 
 hardiest, leaving the rest to guard their native village. 
 In a few months he had gained a great reputation by 
 deeds of daring which he again and again repeated. 
 The terror which he caused among the Turks was also 
 mingled with superstitious dread. Followed onl\- by 
 a small band of men, he fought with whole armies, 
 which took to flight, panic-stricken by the suddenness 
 and unexpectedness of his onslaught upon them. Even 
 the very elements he made use of as his weapons. For 
 with more than superhuman strength he would dis- 
 lodge and roll down upon his foes great masses of rock
 
 426 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 from the mountain side, and precipitate them into 
 torrents or abysses. With his intimate knowledge of 
 the country it was impossible to seize him. Appearing 
 suddenly when believed to be at a distance, he dealt 
 his stroke, and vanished without leaving any trace by 
 which he could be followed. 
 
 Now and again he would visit his native village to 
 see his kindred, bring back one son and take another, 
 or recruit fresh followers to replace those who had 
 fallen. These visits, though rare, and carried out with 
 great precaution, did not escape the knowledge of the 
 Turks, who determined to lay an ambush for him there, 
 and crush him and his men by overwhelming numbers. 
 
 So one day when they had been informed by their 
 spies that Yianni was at Kastro with all his band, the 
 Turks went by night to the number of 1,000 and sur- 
 rounded the village, which could then muster but fifty 
 fighting men, but each pallikar was a match for ten 
 Turks. The Moslems surrounded the houses of the 
 sleeping Greeks, and their chief summoned the villagers 
 in these words : 
 
 ' Give us up Yianni Stathas ! Your heads are pro- 
 mised to the Pasha, but he will give you yours if you 
 will give him Yianni Stathas ! We are a thousand, 
 you but fifty !' 
 
 At these words a shutter was thrown open, and 
 Yianni's wife, armed with a long iophaiki, appeared and 
 cried in answer, 
 
 ' O merciful Turks ! We grieve to refuse you, but 
 Yianni Stathas is gone, and we are here but his wife, 
 his three sons, and fifty pallikars /' 
 
 While speaking, she takes aim at the Turkish leader, 
 and stretches him dead in the dust. 
 
 Yianni Stathas had in fact left the preceding night,
 
 ///. Historical — (///•) Hellenic. 427 
 
 he having by a lucky chance been summoned to the 
 Greek camp to meet and confer with Ypsilanti. 
 
 The day was just beginning to break that was soon 
 to see one of the most cruel and bloody combats 
 imaginable. The fifty pallikavs, entrenched in houses 
 or behind trees and rocks, kept up an uninterrupted 
 fire, the old men and the women loading guns for them. 
 The Turks, whose numbers were being gradually thinned 
 by the balls of the Greeks, filled the air with their cries 
 and imprecations. When the combat had lasted five 
 hours, ten Christians had fallen — a terrible loss, con- 
 sidering their numbers ; while the Turks made a 
 rampart of the dead bodies of their comrades, so 
 numerous were these. Exhausted by the heat and 
 fatigue, both sides were slackening their fire, when a 
 woman appeared on the roof of a house, her hair dis- 
 hevelled and face and dress blackened with powder and 
 smoke. It was the wife of Yianni Stathas. 
 
 ' Sons of Mohammed !' she cried, ' and you. Children 
 of Christ, cease for an instant your firing that the dust 
 and smoke may disperse and both sides count their 
 dead and wounded. Pallikars, give me news of my 
 three sons — how have they borne themselves, and where 
 are they ?' 
 
 A voice replied, ' One has gone for water, and the 
 second is cleaning his tophaiki.'' 
 
 'And the third?' 
 
 There was no answer. But a finger pointed to her 
 third son, the handsomest, bravest, and best beloved, 
 who lay stretched on the earth with his face to the sky, 
 riddled with bullets, his unclosed eyes glazed in death, 
 his fingers still clutching the stock of his long tophaiki. 
 
 The wife of Yianni Stathas hastened down from the 
 housetop, and throwing herself upon the corpse of her
 
 428 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 son, divided the black curls that lay matted on his 
 brow, and spoke to him some words in a low tone. 
 Then, seizing the arms he had used, she rallied the few 
 remaining pallikars, and followed closely by her two 
 sons, who while shielding her with their bodies, dealt 
 around them blows worthy of giants, led them again to 
 the assault .'^'^ 
 
 When evening came, silence reigned in the village 
 of Kastro. The streets were filled with heaps of the 
 slain — six hundred Turks, fifty pallikars, and the wife 
 and three sons of Yianni Stathas had fallen. 
 
 Two days afterwards Yianni was returning joyfully 
 from the Greek camp, singing as he strode along one 
 of those folk-songs which a Greek peasant sings when 
 returning to his native village. But on drawing near 
 his song ceased and he wondered at the unwonted 
 silence that reigned around. No sound of human 
 voice, no bleating of flocks, barking of dogs, or lowing 
 of cattle. A boding of evil suddenly seizes upon him. 
 He sniffs the air; it has an acrid, sickening smell. He 
 looks skywards, and sees birds of prey hovering over- 
 head, unusual visitors to those regions. A turn of the 
 path brings him suddenly in full view of the village, 
 and the field of battle with its heaped up corpses and 
 blackened and ruined houses meets his gaze. In an 
 agony he seeks for his wife and sons ; they were not 
 far apart. Collecting the charred timber of what had 
 once been his home, he raised over each body a 
 mausoleum ; then, facing the sun, he laid his right 
 hand on his heart, and swore a solemn oath to return 
 to Kastro only when he had taken as man}' Turkish 
 heads as would fill these four mausoleums. 
 
 Such a vow made by such a man boded evil to the 
 Moslems. From this moment his foes had no security.
 
 ///. Historical — (///) Hellenic. 429 
 
 Yianni fell upon them by day when they were feasting, 
 by night while they slept. He fought no longer, he 
 massacred, for his courage had become transformed 
 into ferocity. Leaving one day at Argos his followers, 
 who had just returned from performing some exploit 
 under his orders, and taking his way alone by a 
 mountain path, he came upon a Moslem dwelling from 
 which proceeded sounds of mirth and music. The 
 inhabitants were celebrating some family festival. 
 Stathas must wreak his vengeance on them too. 
 Entering the house, he slew all the men he found 
 within, and a woman with a child at her breast did 
 not escape his blind fury. Drunk with blood, he was 
 about to despatch the infant as well, when the poor 
 helpless thing in its fright threw itself into the arms 
 of its mother's murderer, and clung to his clothing. 
 
 The child's cries of terror touched the heart of the 
 fierce Greek. He paused, looked at the baby, as if 
 undecided how to act. Then clasping the infant to 
 his breast, he hurried away with it to a little monastery 
 in the neighbourhood. Calling out one of the kaloyers, 
 all of whom knew and esteemed him as one of the 
 bravest defenders of their faith and country, Stathas 
 gave the child to him, saying, 
 
 ' This child is a Turk. Its father and mother are 
 dead — I have killed them. I adopt the boy, and leave 
 him in thy care for some years. Baptize him, and 
 bring him up in the faith of Christ, the love of our 
 Fatherland, and hatred of the Infidels. Let the past 
 remain unknown to him and to the world. I make 
 thee responsible with thy life for this secret.' 
 
 Stathas then betook himself to fresh combats with 
 the Turks ; but though as valorous as of old, he had 
 now laid aside the ferocity which had characterised
 
 430 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 him since the tragedy of Kastro. When the War of 
 Independence was drawing to a close, Stathas arrived 
 one day at the monastery to claim his adopted son, who, 
 he found, had received every care at the hands of the 
 good kaloyer. Before the termination of the struggle 
 he found an opportunity of completing the boy's educa- 
 tion as a Greek and Christian by making him take part 
 in the last combat with the Turks.^ 
 
 ^ This story was told to M. Yemeniz by a Greek who professed 
 to have heard it from the Hps of the monk, then Hving in Athens, 
 where he had removed when the monastery near Argos fell into 
 ruin.
 
 THE GROTTO OF MELIDHONI.^' 
 
 (Crete.) 
 
 1822. 
 
 (Pashley, Travels in Crete, I., p. 127.) 
 
 Near the end of August, 1822, Hassan-Pasha passed 
 with his troops through Mehdhoni when on his way 
 from Khania to Megalo - Kastron. The unarmed 
 Christians fled before him everywhere as he approached, 
 and many of the inhabitants of Mehdhoni, especially 
 women and children, as well as people from neighbour- 
 ing villages, took refuge in the great cave in the neigh- 
 bourhood, and remained there several days. They 
 found in it plenty of water, and since a few tophaikia 
 sufficed to guard its entrance against any number of 
 troops, they had but little fear of being attacked. The 
 Pasha passed, however, without molesting them, and 
 at length they emerged from their lurking-place, and 
 returned in safety to their villages. 
 
 Soon after the death of Hassan-Pasha, Hussein- 
 Bey and Mustafa-Bey^ came to Mehdhoni with their 
 troops. The people fled before them as they had done 
 before Hassan-Pasha, and now took with them all 
 their cattle and as much of their goods as they could 
 remove, knowing full well that they would lose all that 
 they might leave behind them. They felt no fear what- 
 ever, for they believed they were returning to an im- 
 pregnable fortress and had provisions enough to enable 
 them to stand a siege of half a year. The number of 
 
 •'> This Mustafa Bey was stil! Governor at the time of Mr. 
 Pashley's visit to Crete.
 
 432 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 those who retired to the grotto on this occasion was 
 upwards of 300 souls. 
 
 Hussein-Bey in vain summoned the Christian fugi- 
 tives to come out of their hirking-place. His messenger 
 was fired on, and fell. He then attempted to force the 
 entrance of the cave, and in doing so, lost twenty-four 
 of his brave Arnauts,^ who were killed by shots from 
 the Christians within. On this the Bey sent a Greek 
 woman into the cavern with a message that ' if they 
 would all come forth and give up their arms, they 
 should not meet with any ill-usage.' The woman was 
 immediately shot, and her body cast out of the cave. 
 
 When the Turkish General saw this, he himself took 
 up a stone and threw it into the cavern's entrance. 
 His troops followed his example, and thus the only 
 opening through which light and air could pass to 
 the Christians was entirely filled up. The following 
 morning the besiegers saw that a small opening had 
 been made in their work during the night. They 
 again filled it up and their labour was again undone 
 by the Christians the following night. This attempt 
 of the Turks to close the entrance of the grotto 
 was repeated twice more. Still they saw that the 
 Christians could yet breathe and live. They there- 
 fore collected wood, oil, chaff, spirit, sulphur, refuse 
 olives, and all other combustibles on which they could 
 lay hands, and filled up the mouth of the cave with 
 these materials, instead of the stones and earth they 
 had before used, and then set fire to the pile. 
 
 Volumes of smoke immediately filled the spacious 
 vault of the entrance cavern, in which many of the ill- 
 starred Christians were assembled. The dense vapour 
 rolled so swiftly through the whole chamber that many 
 
 •' Albanians.
 
 ///, Historical — (///.) Hellenic. 433 
 
 had not time to escape through the winding passage, 
 leading to the inner recesses of the cave. The husband 
 and wife, parent and child, could only take a last 
 embrace and die. The smoke soon forced its way 
 into the second chamber, where many more fell; but 
 the greater number had still time to escape through 
 narrow passages, in some of which they must have crept 
 on their hands and j^nees into little side-chambers and 
 to the more distant recesses of the cavern. Alas ! the 
 passages through which they rushed allowed the stifling 
 vapour to follow them. And thus, at last, the groups 
 of fugitives who had taken refuge in the inmost depths 
 of the cave died as their companions had done before 
 them, and in a few minutes after their funeral pile was 
 tirst lighted, all the unhappy Christians had perished. 
 The Turks and the Cretan Mohammedans, doubtful 
 of the effect of their diabolical contrivance, waited 
 patiently outside the grotto for eighteen days. They 
 had with them a Greek prisoner, and him they offered 
 his life if he would go down into the cavern to see 
 what his fellow Christians were about. He gladly 
 accepted their proposal ; and after venturing, with 
 much fear and anxiety, into the grotto, found in it 
 only the silence of the grave, and soon returned, say- 
 ing, 'They are all dead in there, Affendi." 
 
 The Turks, fearful of being entrapped if they entered, 
 sent the man in again to make sure, telling him to 
 bring up some arms as proof of the truth of his report. 
 He did so, and three days afterwards the Moham- 
 medans themselves ventured in, and in their ferocity 
 stripped the victims of everything of value, taking 
 away with them also the stores and other property 
 they found. 
 
 Soon after this, and while the headquarters of the 
 VOL. II. 28
 
 434 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 Beys were still at Melidhoni, six Christians, who had 
 all of them both relations and friends in the cavern, 
 ventured up to see with their own eyes what had 
 happened. Three remained outside to give the alarm 
 should any Moslems approach, and three entered the 
 grotto. One of them never again lifted up his head, 
 but pined and wasted, and died only nine days after the 
 fatal confirmation by the evidence of his senses of his 
 worst fears. The second lived twenty days, and then 
 he, too, died.^ 
 
 3 The third, Manuhos Kermezakis, related the story of this 
 tragedy to Mr. Pashley while surrounded by a numerous group of 
 his fellow villagers, every one of whom confirmed his account in all 
 its details ijoc. at., p. 131).
 
 THE SIEGE OE MISSOLONGHL 
 
 (1826.) 
 
 (SouTZO, Hist, de la Revolution Grecque, p. 383.) 
 
 On the loth of July the Ottoman squadron commanded 
 by Topal Pasha covered the Gulf of Lepanto with sixty 
 warships and a number of transport vessels. The\' 
 brought warlike stores to Reschid Pasha and helped to 
 build a battery of eight cannons on the east of Misso- 
 longhi and fill up the ditch. At the same time the 
 Turkish admiral bombarded Vassiladi and approached 
 the town with a flotilla of thirty-six pinnaces. The 
 Seraskier offered terms of submission to the Misso- 
 longhiots, and, in Ottoman fashion, promised a thou- 
 sand favours and privileges. He vaunted his own power 
 and made use alternately of threats and cajoleries. 
 These brave men, however, curtly replied to both, 
 
 ' The keys of the town hang on the guns ; come and 
 take them !' 
 
 When these proud words were repeated to Reschid 
 Pasha, his anger knew no bounds. He gave orders that 
 his picked soldiers should at once proceed to storm the 
 walls, and rushing out of his tent he shouted, 
 
 'To the assault !' 
 
 'To the assault!" was echoed by ten thousand 
 Albanian throats. They rushed to the attack. The 
 batteries of Missolonghi thundered, and covered the 
 earth with corpses. The Moslems trod underfoot the 
 bodies of their brethren as the}- pressed forward. A
 
 436 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 mine is exploded under the tower of Botzaris.^ A wild 
 cry is heard from the besiej^ed, 
 
 ' Let us defend the ashes of Botzaris !' 
 
 Then the soldiers stand to their posts on the towers. 
 The women fly to their assistance, heedless of the balls 
 which fall like hail around them. They fill the breach 
 made by the explosion with mattresses, pile up stones 
 and timber, and the enemy, with their ranks fearfully 
 thinned, retire to their entrenchments. 
 
 ■^ Every bastion and tower by which Missolonghi was defended 
 bore some illustrious name. Among them were those of Byron, 
 Frankhn, Wilham Tell, Montalembert, Righas, etc.
 
 ANNOTATIONS: 
 
 HISTORICAL, COMPARATIVE, AND 
 EXPLANATORY. 
 
 I (p. 5). In an Epirote parallel (Von Hahn, NeoeXX. 
 rfapafjb.) the Princess is directed to put water in a cup, 
 and a ring in the water, and to call three times, ' Come, 
 come, come, my Golden Wand !' when the Prince who 
 bore this name would fly into her chamber in the form 
 of a dove, bathe in the water, and become a man. 
 
 2 (p. 12). A brief way of saying ' I have my mother's 
 blessing if I cure people for the pleasure of doing good, 
 and her curse if I take payment.' This rule, says 
 Greek tradition, was followed by the brother saints, 
 Kosm.o and Damiano. So strict was the latter on this 
 point that he broke off all relations with his brother for 
 accepting from a widow two eggs with which to make 
 an unguent for her sciatica, and at his death gave orders 
 that Kosmo should not be laid in the same grave with 
 him. (Ricaut, The Present State of the Eastern Church.) 
 
 3 (p. 16). Iron, silver, or golden combs occur fre- 
 quently in Greek, as in other folk-tales, as magical and 
 much -prized objects in the possession of Giants,
 
 438 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Dhrakos, and other superhuman beings. In a Greek 
 story from the Turkish island of Astypalaea (Von Hahn, 
 loc. cit.), the Dhrako's talking Mare tells the hero to 
 throw down behind them a comb he has stolen from 
 the Dhrako's Castle, and it becomes a forest between 
 them and their pursuers. And in the Epirote story of 
 'The Morning Star and the Pleiads' {Ibid.) a comb 
 becomes a similar obstacle between the runaway chil- 
 dren and their cannibalistic parents. In the Gaelic 
 tale of ' Maol a Chiblain ' (Campbell's Tales, I., 253), the 
 heroine likewise steals ' the fine comb of gold and the 
 coarse comb of silver that the giant has.' See also for 
 combs and their place in traditional tales, Campbell, 
 loc. cit., vol. i., pp. Ixxvii-lxxxi, and 53, 61, 6g, 260 ; 
 vol. iv., p. 321 ; and as a symbol on sculptured stones, 
 vol. iii., p. 340. For description of the Lamia, see 
 Annot., No. 25. 
 
 4 (p. 18). Perhaps a reminiscence of the golden 
 apples of the Hesperides and their guardians. The 
 orange and kindred fruits, such as the lemon, lime, 
 citron, etc., with their delicious flavours and medicinal 
 virtues, were probably the originals of ' gold ' and 
 ' silver apples,' which are, in folk-tale, invariably pos- 
 sessed of magical qualities. Compare, for instance, 
 the ' glittering fairy branch with nine apples of red 
 gold upon it,' in exchange for which Cormac gave his 
 wife and child, for none could ' bear in mind any want, 
 woe, or weariness of soul when that branch was shaken 
 for him' (Nutt, Studies on the Legend of the Holy Grail, 
 P- 193). 
 
 5 (p. 20). The incident of the reflection in a well of 
 a beautiful maiden concealed in an overhanging tree is 
 very widespread. It occurs, for instance, in the Keltic
 
 Annotations. 439 
 
 stories of the ' Bodach Glas ' {Celtic Mag., Nos. 133-3^); 
 and ' Battle of the Birds' (Campbell's Tales, I., p. 34); 
 in the Hungarian tale of ' The Three Lemons ' (Folklore 
 Journal, vol. vi., p. 199), and in a Malagasy tale {ibid, 
 vol. i., p. 233). 
 
 6 (p. 28). The opening incident recalls the story of 
 Thesevs, whose father Aigevs left with Aithra his 
 mother his sword and sandals hidden beneath a mighty 
 boulder ; and a further parallel exists between the tasks 
 the hero of the folk-tale was called upon to perform 
 on arriving at his father's house, and the toils which 
 Thesevs performed at the bidding of Aigevs. With re- 
 ference to the Beardless, a man characterized by any 
 physical imperfection or peculiarity is, in Greek folk- 
 tale, credited with an extra degree of cunning, and is 
 consequently to be guarded against. In an Epirote 
 story (Von Hahn, lac. cit.), a father on dying leaves as 
 a legacy to his three sons the warning ' never to travel 
 with anyone beardless or lame ' ; and in one from the 
 island of Tinos {Ibid.) a Beardless man outwits a 
 Dhrako and a Fox. This prejudice may be a souvenir 
 of the Mongol invasions of Turkey. In an Albanian 
 variant — ' The Liouvia and the Beauty of the Earth ' 
 (Dozon, Manuel Schkipc, No. 16; and Contes Albanais, 
 No. 12) — a King is the youth's sponsor, and a boy-com- 
 panion sent by the hero's father to accompany him to 
 his godfather's city, takes the place of the Beardless. 
 In an Epirote tale, the hero, a King's son, is personated 
 by a beardless muleteer ; a blind Dhrako is substituted 
 for the forty Dhrakontas, and an old lame horse for 
 the Fate. 
 
 7 (p. 32). As the main features of this tale are of 
 a Zoonist character, and the Fate occurs only inci-
 
 440 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 dentally, it has been placed in this Section instead of 
 in Section III., Supernalist, where the other tales in 
 which the Moirai occur will be found. 
 
 The Fates {Molpai) of to-day, it will be remarked, 
 closely resemble their Classic prototypes, and, as in 
 ancient times, occupy a place above and behind all 
 gods. They are popularly represented as presiding 
 more especially over the three great events of Man's 
 existence, birth, marriage, and death — to, rpla /caKo, t^<? 
 Molpa<i — ' the three evils of Destiny.' As in olden time, 
 they came to Altheia and made the life of her newly- 
 born son, Meleagros, dependent on the burning brand ; 
 so in folk-belief the Moirai visit every child on the third 
 night after its birth, and assign to it its destiny, which 
 no power can alter, and no precaution avert. Anxious 
 mothers seek to propitiate the Moirai by placing under 
 the child's pillow, if a boy, gold and silver coins, bread 
 and weapons ; if a girl, a distaff or spindle, and bundle 
 of flax or wool. Two of the Fates suggest a destiny 
 for the infant, but the dictum of the third is final. It 
 is she who becomes thenceforward the special Moira 
 of that individual, and takes upon herself to see that 
 her predictions, good or evil, are fulfilled. In folk-tale 
 the Moira often acts the part generally assigned in the 
 West to the ' fairy godmother,' and appears at critical 
 moments to help the hero or heroine. Although the 
 Fates are represented as continually wandering about 
 in the fulfilment of their arduous labours, the summits 
 of Olympos constitute their special abode ; and it is to 
 this mountain that those who desire their assistance 
 turn when addressing to them the invocation given on 
 p. 8i, vol. i. 
 
 8 (p. ^^). The ApaKo<^ or ApuKovra^ appears to be 
 the modern representative of Polyphemos and the
 
 Annotations. 441 
 
 Cyclops (see Annot., No. 19). He is sometimes repre- 
 sented as having but one e3'e, but is always of gigantic 
 stature and superhuman strength. ' As strong as a 
 Dhrako ' is, in fact, an everyday proverb. In many of 
 his characteristics he closely resembles the Rakshasas 
 of Indian folktales, the Trolls of Scandinavia, and the 
 Giants of the West generally. He has a wife called 
 Dhrdkissa, Dhrdkaina, or Dhrakontissa, and sons and 
 daughters, and is of cannibalistic habits, but excessively 
 fond of cheese, which, if he has no flocks of his own, he 
 steals from the nomad shepherds. He carries off Prin- 
 cesses and marries them, and is often possessed of magi- 
 cal powers and objects. The Dhrako is also represented 
 as living, like the Cyclops, in a cave, pasturing his own 
 flocks and tilling his fields, or hiring mortals to till them 
 for him, though he, at the same time, is the owner of a 
 magnificent palace, sometimes underground, and ap- 
 proached through a well. He possesses untold wealth, 
 his palace is furnished with Oriental magnificence, and 
 he is occasionally conventional enough to go to Mass. 
 But though of great stature and immense strength, he 
 is, like our own Giants, not remarkable for intelligence, 
 and is easily outwitted by a courageous and crafty 
 hero. These heroes are usually Widows' Sons, or the 
 youngest of three brothers ; but a Beardless Man also 
 plays a prominent part in such adventures. In classic 
 myth Apc'iKovroi are referred to as ' keen-eyed beings.' 
 Mr. Geldart, in his translations of some folk-tales from 
 Von Hahn's IlapafivOia, has rendered ApaKo^ ' Dragon.' 
 The Greek ApuKo^ is, however, a Giant rather than 
 a * Dragon,' in the Western sense, or in the sense of 
 the Bulgarian Zmok. And in the description of St; 
 George's encounter with a ' Dragon,' the Greek word 
 used is depi6 = ' monster,' and not ApdKo<i.
 
 442 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 9 (PP- 39j 74' etc.). Allusions to the ' Water,' 'Well,' 
 or ' Fountain of Life,' are frequently met with in 
 Turkish and Persian poetry, as well as in Oriental 
 folk-tales generally. This ' Fountain of Life ' is said to 
 spring forth in a Land of Darkness surrounded by a 
 ' Sea of Darkness,' or in an ' Isle of the Isles of the 
 Sea.' According to Moslem belief, if anyone drinks of 
 this water he will live for ever. But so great are the 
 dangers and terrors of the way that one man only has 
 succeeded in overcoming them and obtaining the 
 reward of immortality. This is the mysterious being 
 called Khidhr or Khizr, the traditions concerning whom 
 connect him, among others, with the Prophet Elias. 
 Moses is said to have set out in search of this Fountain 
 of Life, and Alexander the Great to have wandered long 
 in the Land of Darkness, and at last to have given up 
 his quest in despair. On page 171, a magical herb 
 resuscitates the dead hero. In Keltic story we also find 
 mention of ' Healing-balm out of the Well of the 
 Western world ' (Hyde, Beside the Fire, p. 41) ; ' Water 
 of the Well of Virtues ' (Mclnnes, Folk and Hero Tales, 
 p. 197) ; a * Reviving Cordial ' {Ibid., p. 357) ; ' Living 
 Water ' (Campbell, West Highland Tales, iii., p. 13) ; a 
 ' Well of True Water ' (ii., p. 130) ; and a ' Vessel of 
 Cordial ' {Ibid., i., p. 215), or ' Balsam ' (ii., p. 275), 
 which restore dead men to life, as do also a ' sour herb ' 
 (i., p. xciv) ; a ' sour gray weed ' (i., p. 294) ; and in 
 ' The Widow's Son ' (ii., p. 293), wax shaken out of the 
 deer's ear has the same effect. 
 
 10 (p. 40). In an Epirote variant of this story, the 
 objects the Prince brought for the Goose-girl are the 
 * Knife of Slaughter,' the ' Whetstone of Patience,' and 
 the * Unwasting Candle ' ; and a Gipsy woman takes 
 the place of the slave girl. (Hahn, NeoeXX. TJapafi.)
 
 Annotations. 443 
 
 11 (p. 50). Campbell remarks {West Highland Tales, 
 vol. iv., p. 299) * that Cardigan Bay was once the site 
 of a submerged country,' and that the same tradition is 
 found ' in Breton, in Irish, in Manks and Gaelic, in 
 Norse, and in Italian, of a country submerged for 
 wickedness, and whose houses can be seen under the 
 water.' 
 
 12 (p. 53). Some of the incidents in this story are 
 similar to those which occur in the Keltic tales of the 
 ' Battle of the Birds' {West Highland Tales, i., p. 34), 
 and the * Bodach Glas ' {Celtic Magazine, Nos. 133, 134). 
 Among these are the kissing and forgetting, though it 
 is the dog or greyhound, and not the hero's mother, 
 who kisses him ; and the closing incident is practically 
 the same in all three stories. A variant from Smyrna, 
 in which the heroine is called ' Belezza,' is translated 
 in the Histoire des Religions (Musee Guimet), t. x,, 
 1884. 
 
 This story, together with ' Saddleslut ' (p. 116), and 
 ' Sintsirli' (p. 414), were evidently in their origin cante- 
 fahles. The last named, indeed, still exists in ballad 
 form, without any prose admixture (vol. i., p. 267). 
 See Mr. Jacob's remarks on this subject in his Notes 
 and References to English Fairy Tales, p. 240. 
 
 13 (p. 55). The grief of Oriental women of rank often 
 finds expression in giving to their dwellings the most 
 dismal and funereal appearance by painting black 
 either the whole of the exterior walls, or the shutters 
 only, and covering up, or removing from their usual 
 places, mirrors and other ornaments of the interior. 
 Shainitza, the sister of Ali Pasha of loannina, is said to 
 have given vent to her grief for the death of her 
 favourite son, Aden Bey, by destroying all his and her
 
 444 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 own diamond ornaments, cashmeres and furs, and also 
 all the mirrors and ornaments of her palace, the 
 windows and walls of which were painted black. I 
 have also just read in a daily paper that a visitor who 
 lately called on Madame Stambuloff, found ' the whole 
 house draped in black.' 
 
 14 (p. 60). " Oiav iraiCpvv (also written iral^ovv and 
 fSdpovv) ra ve/jLTrejia. The last word is probably derived 
 from Turkish, but I have not 3'et been able to trace it 
 10 its source. 
 
 15 (P- 73)- Evidently a folk-echo of the saying at- 
 tributed to Archimedes, ' Give me a lever, and where 
 I may stand, and I will move the world !' 
 
 16 (pp. 74, 107). These heroes figure in other Greek 
 tales, as, for instance, ' The Golden Casket ' and ' The 
 Widow's Johnny '(Von Hahn, NeoeW. 11 a pa fx.). Similar 
 champions also occur in the Keltic tales of ' The King 
 of Lochlinn's Three Daughters' (Campbell, Tales, i., 
 p. 256), ' The King of Ireland's Son ' (Hyde, Beside the 
 Fire, p. 19), and ' Finn MacCuail and the Bent Gray 
 Lad' (Mclnnes and Nutt, Fol^ and Hero Tales, p. 53). 
 See also Mr. Nutt's notes on this subject loc. cit., p. 
 
 447- 
 
 17 (p. 78). Wdpiv (iTTTrapiv. This is the only mention 
 I have found of this extraordinary animal. It may 
 possibly have some connection with the Magical Fish, 
 for which see Annot., No. 34. 
 
 18 (p. 82). A mother's blessing is to the present day, 
 in the East, formally asked by, and given to, sons and 
 daughters when leaving home, especially if for the first 
 time. In folk-tale it possesses a magical power, and 
 becomes, indeed, occasionally personaHsed, as in the
 
 Annotations. 445 
 
 story of * Moda,' as a helping Old Man (p. 364), and 
 elsewhere as two doves. In Keltic tales a mother's 
 blessing is also the hero's shield in every danger, and 
 in one instance is bestowed as a name upon a youth 
 of exceptional goodness (Campbell, Tales, vol. i., p. 
 
 51). 
 
 ig (p. 84). This is evidently a popular survival of the 
 story of Odyssevs and Polyphemos. A similar incident, 
 which occurs in ' Conall Cra Bhuidhe ' {West Highland 
 Tales, No. 5), is commented upon by Mr. Nutt in the 
 Celtic Magazine (No. 12). The Romaic version, as 
 might be expected, bears a closer resemblance to the 
 Classic form than does the Keltic. In the latter the 
 Giant is drowned in a loch, while in the Greek he is 
 blinded in precisely the same way as in the Homeric 
 story. (See also Annot., No. 8.) 
 
 20 (p. 88). A Keltic parallel may be found in the tale 
 of ' Whittlegaire ' from County Leitrim, published in 
 the Folklore Journal, June, 1895. 
 
 21 (p. 94). O UoXvppolSvda^;. This story evidently 
 belongs to the ' Marquis of Carabas,' or ' Puss in Boots ' 
 type. Mr. Lang has remarked in his Introduction to Miss 
 Cox's Cinderella (p. vii.), that in this class of stories the 
 supernal aid is always given by a beast. This is^ no 
 doubt true as a general rule, and a Fox is the helpful 
 animal in some Greek and other Oriental parallels. In 
 the ' Man of many Chickpeas,' however, the animal 
 element is absent, and the hero secures advantages by 
 his own wit. Greek variants may be found in Von 
 Hahn's NeoeXXijviKo, IlapaixvOia, and Gricchische n. Alba- 
 nesische Mdrchcn, pp. 17 and 210; Sanders' \'ulkslcbcn 
 der Neugriechen, p. 328 ; the ^tkoixadwv, 1865, pp. 774, 
 etc.; and Sakellario's Ta Kv-rrpiaKa. The Arabian
 
 44^ Greek Fulk-Prose. 
 
 Nights version is contained in the ' History of the Fifth 
 Brother of the Barber.' A Kurdish story of this type 
 (Lerch, Forschungen, etc., p. 83) has been translated in 
 the Women of Turkey (vol. ii., p. 163). And the European 
 variants are well known. 
 
 22 (p. 96). 'ilfio^. In the villages of Naxos Satan is 
 referred to either by this term, or as'/2 irovr^pl oifjue. In 
 the following story he is called Bepae/SovXtv, and is 
 slain with an arrow. For, as Campbell remarks {loc. 
 cif., p. Ixxvii.), ' the Fiend of popular tales is own 
 brother to Gruagach and Glashan.' In an Astypalsea 
 variant (Von Hahn, NeoeW. Tlapa/jL.) he gobbles up men 
 and horses, and sucks the Princess's blood like a 
 Vampire, but is also finally killed by an arrow. 
 
 23 (p. 97). TJovXia. This Greek folk-name for the 
 Pleiads bears a close resemblance to the French Poiis- 
 siniere, and to our own folk-name, ' The Dove.' An 
 Epirote tale, O 'Avyepivk koL 77 IlovXia (Von Hahn, 
 loc. cit.), translated by Mr. Geldart as * Starbright and 
 Birdie,' relates the origin of this constellation. 
 
 24 (p. 103). ' Birds' milk ' is mentioned in several 
 tales as a delicacy possessing medicinal virtues, as is 
 also ' Swallows' milk,' which, like the ' Water of Life,' 
 is brought from a mountain that opens and shuts. 
 Theal's Kafir Folklore contains the story of a ' Bird that 
 made Milk' (p. 29). 
 
 25 (pp. 106, 200, 203). Ta i^coTiKa, the variations 
 of which — ^^(oTiKOL'i, ^^(OTepi.KCL, '^codKia, ^^(oOlkcl — are 
 euphemisms in common use for Nereids, Lamias, and 
 Supernals generally. In Kephalonia they are called 
 ^(oreptKaU 'yvvalKe<i — ' Outsider Women ' ; in Zagorie 
 KaXoTvxoL — ' Lucky Ones ' ; and in Arachova (Parnassos) 
 (pvXoi or dSep(f)Oi — ' Friends ' or ' Brothers.' The Nereids,
 
 A nnotations. 447 
 
 who occupy in the popular imagination of the Greeks 
 a place similar to the Fairies of more northern countries, 
 differ from them in being invariably of the full stature of 
 mortals. Popular belief divides them into two classes 
 — ' Nereids of the Sea ' {@a\aGaiva\<^^, and ' Nereids of 
 the Mountain ' (Bovvil]cnai<i). Phenomena of Nature, 
 such as whirlwinds and storms, are ascribed to their 
 agency, and it is customary to crouch down when they 
 are supposed to be passing overhead. If this precau- 
 tion is not taken, the Nereids may seize the irreverent 
 individual and carry him or her off to the mountains. 
 Offerings of milk, honey, and cakes are made to them 
 in certain spots which they are believed to frequent, 
 and the countrywomen, when they see the wind-driven 
 cloud scudding overhead, mutter '^u\a kI fieXi. — ' Honey 
 and milk ' to avert all evil from themselves. They are 
 believed, as a rule, to marry male beings of their own 
 species ; but they also occasionally fall in love with 
 mortals, who, if they return their affection and prove 
 faithful to them, they reward with great prosperity. 
 Lamias are generally represented as ill-favoured and 
 evilly-disposed beings, who haunt desert places and 
 lonely seashores. Sometimes, however, they take the 
 shape of beautiful women, who, like the Sirens, lure 
 men to destruction by their sweet voices and graceful 
 dancing, or, as recorded in the song in vol. i. (p. loi), 
 lay wagers with them, in which the mortal is sure to 
 be the loser. The popular beliefs respecting them are 
 very similar to those of the ancient Greeks, and the}' 
 are at the present day, as Strabo tells us they were in 
 Classical times, made use of to terrify naughty children 
 into obedience (Geog., Triibner's Edition, i., p. 24). 
 
 26 (p. 112). The four Greek versions of the Cinderella 
 tale with which I am acquainted all contain this canni-
 
 448 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 balistic incident. Three of these have been included 
 in Miss Cox's Cinderella, together with a very close 
 parallel from Dalmatia. The fourth, translated on 
 p. 116, I unearthed quite recently in the 'E\\. ^iXa. 
 Sv\. of Constantinople. Cannibalism occurs also, but 
 under different circumstances, in No. 278 of Miss Cox's 
 collection, a Portuguese tale. In two of these Greek 
 stories the nickname bestowed on the heroine may be 
 translated as ' Cinderella ' ; in the other two it is only 
 translatable as ' Saddleslut,' her usual seat being the 
 arafidpa, or heavy wooden pack-saddle common in the 
 East. Von Hahn has, however, freely rendered this 
 also AschenpiUtel. 
 
 27 (p. 116). See preceding note ; also No. 12. 
 
 28 (p. 118). May not such transformations as apples, 
 lemons, citrons, etc., into maidens have been suggested 
 by the hardly less marvellous metamorphoses under- 
 gone by butterflies and other insects, frogs and other 
 reptiles ? 
 
 29 (p. 120). This incident of the creation by human 
 hands of a body which becomes animated, occurs in 
 two other stories, ' The Wand ' (p. 138) and ' King 
 Sleep ' (p. 179). The former, which is frequently met 
 with in Eastern folklore, forms one of the man}- 
 anecdotes related by the hero in a fuller parallel of 
 * The Wand,' ' The Golden Casket,' translated by 
 Mr. Geldart from Von Hahn's NeoeXXrjviKa Tlapafj-vOia. 
 In all these instances, however, the material used for 
 the figure is wood. In ' King Sleep,' the ' Laughterless 
 Fate ' endows the wooden image with life ; in all the 
 others, this is the result of prayer to God. The con- 
 cluding incident is found in other stories. See, for 
 instance, ' The Daughters of King O'Hara,' in Curtin's
 
 Annotations. 449 
 
 Myths and Folklore of Ireland, p. 60 ; and ' The Daughter 
 of the Skies' {West Highland Tales, i.. p. 206). In the 
 former, the real wife gives a magical scissors, comb, and 
 whistle ; and in the latter a magical shears, needle, and 
 thread. Compare also ' Peau d'Ane ' in Blade's Contes 
 Populaires, No. 275 of Miss Cox's Cinderella variants. 
 
 30 (pp. 132, 225). Dervishes, being to a great extent 
 
 the magicians of the modern East, are often credited 
 
 with the possession of magical objects. A Persian 
 
 verse alludes to 
 
 ' The Talisman of magic might, 
 Hid in some ruin's lonely site, 
 Emerging from its ancient night 
 At the mild glance of Dervishes.' 
 
 Compare also the ' Quadrangular Cup of the Fayn,' 
 which contained anything the holder desired, in ' The 
 Bent Gray Lad ' (Mclnnes, Folk and Hero Tales, p. 33). 
 Like the Jack-knife in this, a Sword in a subsequent 
 story (p. 225), when bidden b}' the holder, cuts down 
 everything before it. 
 
 31 (p. 142). A variant of this tale in the same collec- 
 tion, ' The Golden Casket,' referred to in a preceding 
 note, contains no fewer than four other stories em- 
 bedded in the narrative after the manner of the Thou- 
 sand Nights and a Night, including that told above by 
 the youth to the King and the Twelve, and a parallel 
 to the tale of the ' Thrice Accursed ' (p. 99). They are 
 related to the hero, a Prince, by a Talking Casket, and 
 the Prince's absurd judgments on the questions pro- 
 pounded in them provoke the Princess to speak. 
 
 32 (pp. 150, 207, 234). T}] XoXoUOVLKl] I.LOV — ' m\' 
 
 Solomonic book.' The Solomon whose magical powers 
 form the theme of so many Eastern stories, is not the 
 much vaunted King of Israel, but the Chaldean ' King 
 VOL. II. 29
 
 450 Greek Folk- Prose. 
 
 of the Gods,' the wise Ea, one of whose names, 
 ' SalHmanu,' was adopted by the Hebrew Jedidiah. 
 See Sayce, Religion of the Ancient Babylonians. A 
 Keltic variant of this tale is found in ' The Fisherman's 
 Son, or the Gruagach of Tricks' (Curtin, Myths and 
 Folklore of Ireland, p. 139). It is also one of the Tales 
 of the Forty Viziers, 'The Magician and his x\pprentice.' 
 
 33 (p. 158), Compare the Fachan in Campbell's 
 Popular Tales (vol. iv., p. 327), of whom a portrait is 
 given, ' with one hand out of his chest, one leg out of 
 his haunch, and one eye out of the front of his face.' 
 He also was a woodcutter. The Fachan, according to 
 Campbell, is unknown in Norse or German mythology, 
 but is met with in an Irish manuscript (Hyde, Beside 
 the Fire, xx.). \ creature described as ' Half Man, 
 Half Iron,' occurs in the Albanian tale of ' The Three 
 Brothers and the Three Sisters ') (Dozon, Contes 
 Albanais, No. xv. ; and Languc Chkipe, No. xxiv.). The 
 magical words spoken by the Fish are in the original 
 ' TIpoiTo \6yo Tov deov ical Sevrepo rov yjrapinv.' A Cyprus 
 variant (Sakellarios, ii., p. 335) has ' Ma tov \6ov tov 
 6eov, Kal jJLa tov \6ov rov "^^apKov, k i^xeva tov dfMapT(o\ov.' 
 Another 'Story of the Golden Fish' {loc. cit., p. ^^j) 
 belongs rather to the ' Grateful Dead ' type, the Fish 
 which has been returned to the water reappearing in 
 the form of a man, and aiding the hero in an encounter 
 with a Dhrako. Mr. Stuart-Glennie suggests that this 
 legend of a magical Fish may have some connection 
 with the Cannes tradition found in the XaXBaiKa of 
 Berossos — namely, that ' a wise Being with the body 
 of a fish, and under the head of the fish another and 
 human head, and in the tail the feet of a man came out 
 of the sea, mixed with men, but took none of their food, 
 taught them all the arts during the day, and returned
 
 Annotations. 451 
 
 at sunset to the sea.' (Lenormant, Fra^i^mcnts cosmog, 
 de Berosc, p. 6). The expression, JTw^ /xa? eppi^av tou- 
 Tov TO drpa, which I have translated — * Why have they 
 thrown this shovel at us?' — is obscure. Pio has sug- 
 gested a derivation of (prpa from ^ Wpaoi = or (povrpdcu — 
 vTTo<pepw, but (pTpa = iprvdpi, a shovel, spade, hoe, etc., 
 seems to me quite as probable. The concluding inci- 
 dents of this story occur also, though in a less extended 
 form, in the Epirote variant of Cinderella (Von Hahn, 
 Griech. imd Alban. Mdrchen, vol. i., Story II.). I venture, 
 however, to differ from Von Hahn in connecting the 
 episode of the concealment of the spoon in the King's 
 boot with the Albanian (and Greek) wedding custom 
 referred to, the motive for this act being apparent in the 
 version of the tale above translated, from which the 
 episode is probably borrowed, as it has no raison d'etre 
 in the Cinderella tale. Compare the story of The 
 Lucky Fool, Pcntamerone, i. 43, abstracted by Mr. Hart- 
 land, Perseus, i. loi, 102. 
 
 J5 (p. 162). See preceding Annotation. 
 
 36 (p. 171). This story was related to M. Francois 
 Lenormant about i860, at Elevsis, by a Greek priest 
 said to be over a hundred years old, who was a perfect 
 mine of legendary lore. The colossal statue of Demeter, 
 brought from that place in 1801, and now at Cambridge 
 (see also Clarke, Greek Marbles in the Public Library of 
 Cambridge, p. 33), was, according to M. Lenormant, an 
 object of worship to the people of the neighbourhood. 
 Garlands were hung on the statue to ensure good 
 harvests ; and so apprehensive were they that the loss 
 of it would bring sterility to their fields, that force was 
 necessary to carry out the operations connected with 
 its removal. Similarly, as recorded by Cicero {Li
 
 452 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 Verr. iv., 51), the people of Enna accused Verres of 
 destro3ing the fertiUty of their fields by removing a 
 statue of this Goddess. M. Lenormant points out at 
 some length the resemblances between this modern 
 story, with its details of Christian manners and 
 Turkish domination, and the ancient myth of the 
 Sorrow of Demeter. M. Jean Psichari, however, in his 
 Etudes de Philologie (p. Ixxxix) thus refers to this story : 
 ' Fran9ois Lenormant . . . invente un recit ou 
 Demeter — Sainte Dhimitra — les chateaux francs et un 
 agha turc font ensemble bon menage. ... II est 
 douteux que Demeter subsiste encore. . . . Mais si 
 I'agha Turc est douteux en tant que facteur mytholo- 
 gique, le Kaarpo Test beaucoup moins, et ce qu'il faut 
 retenir de la fable de Lenormant, c'est que le melange a 
 du s'operer sur plus d'un point d'une facon analogue, 
 et entre des elements tres divers.' The transformation 
 during the Ottoman period of King Hades into a 
 Turkish Agha possessing magical powers is, however, 
 most natural, and precisely what might be expected in 
 a modern echo of a classical myth. The details have 
 changed, but the framework is the same. 
 
 The ' External Soul,' or ' Life-Correlate ' incident in- 
 troduced at the end of the story connects the ' Turkish 
 magician ' with such superhuman beings as Dhrakos or 
 Giants. In the Greek story of ' The Brother who saved 
 his Sister from the Dhrako ' (Von Hahn, Neoe\. Uapa/j,.), 
 the Dhrako's strength is in three golden hairs on his 
 head, which open a chamber containing three doves. 
 If one were killed, the Dhrako would fall sick ; if the 
 second, he would get very ill ; if the third, he would 
 die. In Classic tale, the strength of Nisos is repre- 
 sented as contained in a purple lock of hair. In an 
 Albanian variant (Dozon, Contes Albanais, No. 15),
 
 Aiinotations. 45^ 
 
 Half-Man-Half-Iron's strength is in three pigeons, 
 which are in a hare, which is in the silver tusk of a 
 wild boar. Miss Cox gives a long list of references to 
 such incidents in Cinderella (Notes, No. 25). 
 
 ^"j (p. 185). In a variant from Milos {NeoeWTjviKa 
 'AvdXeKTa, A. 14), the children are in turn put into a 
 box and thrown into the sea. A monk rescues them 
 and brings them up. After various adventures, in 
 which a green-winged horse, and a magical being called 
 Tsitsinaina play important parts, the parents and 
 children are reunited, and the wicked Queen and nurse 
 torn to pieces by horses. In an Armenian parallel, it 
 is the heroine's sisters who represent to their brother- 
 in-law that his wife has borne twin puppies in place of 
 the promised boy and girl with the sun and moon on 
 their brows. The King believes them, and orders her 
 to be covered with a veil and chained to the palace gate 
 with a puppy on either side of her, and a mallet hung 
 above, so that every passer-by might spit on her and 
 strike her on the head. Here she remained fourteen 
 years, and the two dogs became as fierce as wild beasts. 
 In the meantime, the children who had been thrown 
 into the sea in a box were first found and nourished by 
 a goat, and subsequently adopted by its owner, a poor 
 woman, who was soon enriched by the pearls and gold 
 into which the girl's tears, and the water in which she 
 washed, were changed. The boy meets with adventures 
 similar to those found in the tale from Milos, a giant 
 called Barogh x\ssadour (' Dancing Theodore ') taking 
 the place of Tsitsinaina {L'Armenie, 15th June, 1892). 
 
 38 (p. 199). A ' Hat of Invisibility ' occurs also in the 
 story of ' The Widow's Son ' (p. 225). This may be a 
 reminiscence of the ' Helmet of Hades,' given to Persevs
 
 454 Gi'eek Folk-Prose. 
 
 by the Nymphs, described as worn by Athene in Iliad 
 V. 845, and represented on the shield of Herakles {Asp. 
 HerakL, 222). Invisibility is in folk-lore obtained by 
 various means, as, for instance, the wearing of ' cloaks 
 of darkness,' magical rings, or stones, such as the 
 heliotrope. A long list of these, with references, is given 
 in the notes to Miss Cox's Cinderella, pp. 497, 517. 
 
 39 (p. 203). A similar allusion occurs in a story in 
 Von Hahn's NeoeWiiviKa Tlapa/jivOia, translated by 
 Geldart under the title of 'The Scabpate,' loc. cit., 
 p. 172. It was formerl}^ the custom in the East 
 to carry upstairs persons of rank and distinguished 
 guests. The late Zohrab Bey, who was at one time 
 physician to the harem of the Viceroy of Egypt — Ismail 
 Pasha — related to me that whenever he saw the slaves 
 of the household hastening to render this service to one 
 of the young Princes, he would scatter them with a few 
 forcible words and bid the lad use his own limbs. A 
 survival of this practice still exists in the custom 
 observed at Turkish weddings and other ceremonies, 
 when two attendants meet each guest at the foot of the 
 haremlik staircase, and support her on either side as 
 she ascends. 
 
 40 (p. 207). Similar nonsense ' runs ' often occur at 
 the end of Keltic tales. One is, ' And I left them, 
 and they gave me butter on a cinder, porridge kail in 
 a creel, and paper shoes ; and they sent me awa}' with 
 a big gun bullet, on a road of glass, till they left me 
 sitting here.' (Campbell's Tales, i., p. 300.) Another is, 
 ' The presents we got at the marriage were stockings of 
 buttermilk and shoes of paper, and these were worn to 
 the soles of our feet when we got home from the wed- 
 ding.' (Curtin, Myths and Folklore of Ireland, p. 156.)
 
 Annotations. 455 
 
 41 (p. 208). This story from the island of Naxos con- 
 tains many incidents precisely similar to those in the 
 Gaelic story of the Seamaiden. The incident of the 
 three grains, which is wanting in the Mother of the Sea, 
 occurs in the Greek story of ' The Twins ' (Pio's edition 
 of J. G. Von Hahn's Greek Manuscripts) ; and that of 
 the cowardly knight impostor in another — ' The Three 
 Wonderful Dresses' {Women of Turkey, vol. i., p. 172). 
 It is noteworthy that the Gaelic fisherman and the Sea- 
 maiden show themselves less scrupulously honourable in 
 observing the terms of their bargain than do the Greek 
 islander and the Mother of the Sea. For the Gael 
 cheats the Seamaiden of his son, and she, in her turn, 
 seizes upon the King's daughter when she has released 
 her husband. The personalizing of the Sea is apparent 
 in the Gaelic as in the Greek tale ; for, in one of the 
 versions given in West Highland Talcs, i., p. 96, when 
 the narrator is questioned as to the Seamaiden's putting 
 up the man's head out of the water, ' What do you 
 mean ?' he replies, ' Out of her month, to he sure. She 
 had swallowed him /' It may be remarked that at the 
 beginning of the Keltic story the terms used are ' Sea ' 
 and ' Seamaiden,' while farther on a ' Loch ' takes the 
 place of the Sea, and a ' Bheist ' that of the ' Sea- 
 maiden.' Campbell confessed himself unable to explain 
 ' how the story had got to the Highlands, and the lion 
 into the mind of a woman in Berneray ' {loc. cit., i., 
 p. 102). It would not be easy to trace the wanderings 
 of the tale, but the lion evidently started in it from 
 his native East, and is the sole survivor in these 
 islands of the Western Sea, of the troop of lions 
 who came to the rescue of Yianko. I may add that 
 Mr. Stuart-Glennie suggests that there may be a con- 
 nection between this Folk-conception of the Sea, and
 
 456 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 the Culture-conception of Aphrodite ; and hence that 
 the famous line UoixCKodpov , (Wdvar 'AeppoSi.Ta, so 
 variously translated (see Wharton's SappJio, pp. 48-60), 
 may refer to the innumerable resplendent hues of the 
 JEgean, and may therefore, perhaps, be translated 
 Iridescent-throned, deathless Aphrodite. 
 
 i\2 (p. 2ig). This tale will be readily recognised as 
 belonging to the ' Swanmaiden ' type. The main 
 incidents are strikingly similar to those contained 
 in the ' Hassan of Basra ' version of the tale, though the 
 magician has been transformed into a Jew (the villain 
 of the majority of Greek stories). The bundles of 
 sticks are here precious stones, and a benevolent 
 Dhrako replaces the seven friendly maidens. In the 
 Arabic tale the species of bird is not mentioned, but in 
 the Greek, as in the Magyar and other variants, they 
 are pigeons of marvellous plumage. The redoubtable 
 ' elder sister ' of the heroine does not appear, but her 
 father and mother have to be overcome before she is 
 rescued by her husband. See Mr. Stuart-Glennie's 
 theory of the origin of the ' Swanmaiden ' myth in 
 Women of Turkey, vol. ii.. Origins of Matriarchy, 
 PP- 583 flg- ; and for further parallels of this tale Mr. 
 Hartland's Science of Fairy Tales, pp. 2^$ fig. 
 
 43 (p. 229). This is the only folk-tale I have met 
 with in which Gorgons figure. Save for their explicit 
 connection with birds there is little to differentiate 
 them from the Nereids who figure in other tales. The 
 alternative of * taking and regretting, or leaving and 
 regretting,' I have met with in two other Greek stories. 
 In ' The Golden Casket ' from Astypalaia (Geldart, 
 p. 108), a hawker cries, * This casket for sale ! Who- 
 ever buys it will rue it, and yet whoever does not buy
 
 .-:/ nitotatioiis. 457 
 
 will rue it !' And in ' Tsitsinaina,' the variant from 
 Milos of ' The Good Fate,' already alluded to in No. ^'], 
 a Jew offers for sale in the same words a casket, out of 
 which comes a 'green-winged horse.' 
 
 44 (pp. 237 and 244). See No. 25. 
 
 45 (p. 245). ^T/jt77Xa or arpi'^Xa, the Italian striga 
 or struga, Albanian ^rplyKea or tjp'iKov, a witch. The 
 Greek Stringla is, however, rather a species of man- 
 devouring Lamia than a witch in our acceptation of the 
 term. An interesting note on this subject, communi- 
 cated by M. Politis, will be found in the Folklore 
 Journal, vol. iv., Pt. III. The term Tpovaov^r]'^ or 
 Xovpaov^r]<i, which is, I believe, of Turkish origin, is 
 also used in this connection, and a peevish child may 
 be heard apostrophized as a ypova-ov^iKo Traihl. Com- 
 pare also Von Hahn, Griisiha atifden Cycladen ; Marchen, 
 ii.. No. 65; Albanesische Studien, p. 163; B. Schmidt, 
 Das Volksleben, p. 138 ; and Politis, Bio., p. 173. 
 
 46 (p. 261). In this and in the preceding tales, as also 
 in that of ' The Beardless ' (p. 28) are found a few of the 
 sixteen incidents of Von Hahn's Arische Aiissetztmgs- 
 und-Riickhehr Formel. In other particulars these tales 
 do not appear to be connected with that formula. In 
 one of Von Hahn's NeoeWrjvtKa Tlapa/xvOia (translated 
 by Mr. Geldart in p. 154 of his little volume), no fewer 
 than nine of these incidents may, I think, be found. 
 
 47 (p. 277). M. Legrand has remarked that this tale 
 (Conies pop. Grecs, x.) contains certain details which 
 recall the fable of Cupid and Psyche as related by 
 Apuleius. The attempts at seduction by the Queen 
 recall also the story of Bellerophon and Anteia, wife of 
 Praetos. There is also an analogy wnth the ' Filek 
 Tchelebi ' of Hahn's Marchen (vol. ii., p. 67).
 
 45 S Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 48 (p. 283). This reference should have been deleted 
 in the text, as the note corresponding to it has been 
 placed at the end of the tale. 
 
 49 (p. 288). The leading features in this and the 
 following story are to be met with in Moslem legend, 
 from which they have probably been adopted and 
 adapted. The incidents of the journey of Christ and 
 the daughter of the Stingy Woman occur in the 
 Moslem account of the journey of Moses and Khidhr- 
 Elias in search of the Water of Life (see An., No. 9). 
 Their transformation into Christian monkish legends 
 is, therefore, probably of comparatively recent date. 
 
 50 (p. 300). An exorcism referring to this legendary 
 incident is still used by the Greeks in similar emer- 
 gencies, and may be translated as follows : 
 
 Just and kind the goodman was, 
 Though the goodwife shrewish was ; 
 Beans they cooked and brought to her, 
 Oil she heated in a pan ; 
 liedstead bare was all His couch, 
 Pillow had He but a stone. 
 Come out, Pain I and come out, Aching ! 
 For 'tis Christ who thee is hunting, 
 With His precious knife of silver, 
 With His hand, His hand so golden ! 
 
 51 (p. 323). 'EXrj8dKUi jjbou, ypr,X7]8dKLa fiov. Such 
 forms are common both in Greek and Turkish folk- 
 speech. The Turks have a humorous anecdote illus- 
 trating these expressions, of which Nasr-ed-Din Hodja, 
 the Turkish Joe Miller, is as usual the hero. The envoy 
 of a small European state, when visiting the provincial 
 town where the parson-jester lived, asked him in the 
 presence of the Governor to explain the meaning of 
 such expressions as Pashd-mashd, Khirk-mirk, Eltchi- 
 meltchi, etc. ' Willingly, Effendi,' replied the Hodja.
 
 Annotations. 459 
 
 'Pasha means a grand Vizier, or Field-Marshal, or the 
 Governor-General of a province ; Masha, such an official 
 as — say, our friend the Mutessarif here — Khirk signifies 
 a rich sable-lined pelisse, such as the Sultan or some 
 grand functionary wears ; mirk such a pelisse as — well, 
 as poor folk like us keep ourselves warm with, Eltch/ 
 means a great Ambassador, like the English, or French, 
 or Russian ; meltchi, a mere second-rate Minister, like — 
 with your Excellency's pardon — your Excellency's self!' 
 
 52 (p. 329). M. Politis has, in a very interesting 
 paper, compared this Greek story of Reynard the Fox 
 with the various forms of it found in other countries. 
 AeXrlov Ti]<i I<jt. kul 'E6v. 'Eraipla^, vol. i., pp. 278- 
 288.) 
 
 53 (P- 358)- M. Legrand has the following note on 
 this story : ' C'est le recit qui se trouve dans Valere 
 Maxime (v, 4) et dans Pline {Hist. Nat., vii. 36) avec 
 quelques variantes. Hygin (Fab. ccliv.) raconte que cet 
 evenement eut lieu en Grece et que ce fut Xantippe qui 
 nourrit ainsi de son lait Cimon, son pere. Une fresque 
 de Pompei, conservee au musee de Naples, a ete inspiree 
 par ce fait, vrai ou faux ' {Contes Pop. Grecs, xii.). I 
 have also heard of a childless woman at Broussa, who, 
 having adopted a baby, was able herself to nurse it ; 
 and similar phenomena are related in connection with 
 cats and dogs. 
 
 54 (P- 359)- ^^- Politis, who collected this story, 
 remarks that sleeping on a horse's hide was a Homeric 
 custom, and suggests that the story itself may have an 
 origin equally ancient. (NeoeXX.. 'AvaX., A., p. 42, note). 
 
 55 (p. 374). In his interesting note to the Cornish 
 story of ' Ivan ' {Celtic Fairy Tales, p. 264), Mr. Jacobs
 
 460 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 has suggested that the chapter of the Gesta Romanovum, 
 in which a similar story is related, came, like others in 
 the Gesta, from the East. This Greek form of the story, 
 which was collected by Von Hahn, is not included in 
 his Mdrchen, and has not, I believe, been previously 
 translated. In connection with the Gaelic variant of 
 * The Baker of Beauly ' (Folklore, June, 1892), Mr. 
 Clouston gives other Oriental parallels and references. 
 
 56 (p. 392). ridvT€<;, the French Philippine, for which 
 we have, I believe, no equivalent in English. A ' merry- 
 thought,' or the twin kernel of a nut is divided by two 
 persons, who settle at the same time the terms of this 
 species of wager. The most ready-witted will, on the 
 following day, hand some object to the other, and 
 should he take it, the giver exclaims ' Yiades !' and the 
 wager is won. 
 
 57 (P- 394)- '^77^'a is the word in the original. As 
 pith helmets are in the East worn chiefly by English- 
 men, and I could obtain no other rendering, the context 
 seemed to suggest the translation I have ventured 
 upon. 
 
 58 (396). The word used here is Ta-Lchovri, the Turkish 
 Tchifftt. According to a Moslem legend, the gray- 
 legged partridge, after the massacre of the martyrs, 
 Hassan and Hussein, abused their infidel persecutors 
 with its cry of ' Tchiffd ! Tchiffit !' — this being ' the most 
 opprobrious epithet that can be applied to any creature 
 of Allah ' {Les. Litt. Pop., vol. xxviii., p. 234). On 
 p. 147 of vol. i., a Greek mother, in her indignation, 
 apostrophizes her daughter as ' Jewess.' 
 
 59 (P* 397)- ^0/5809. The English word 'lord' is 
 often met with in Greek folkspeech under this form.
 
 Annotations. 46 1 
 
 60 (p. 400). Compare ' The Shifty Lad ' of Keltic 
 story (Campbell's Tales, i., p. 320). The incidents in 
 these two versions of the story are, allowing for difference 
 of local colour, strikingly similar. The robbing of the 
 King's treasure-house, and subsequent events, bear, 
 however, a closer resemblance to the ancient story of 
 Rhampsinitos as told to Herodotos more than 2,000 
 years ago. (Rawlinson's Edition, vol. ii., p. igi.y 
 
 61 (p. 413). M. Heuzey remarks {Lc Mont Olympe, 
 p. 264) that the peasants of Acarnania believe the 
 ancient cities of which the ruins lie around them to 
 have been built by a race of men different from them- 
 selves, whom they designate "EWrjve^ 01 duSpeifofievoi — 
 the Heroic Hellenes — and imagine to have been giants, 
 who raised in their hands the enormous blocks of stone 
 with which they built their strongholds. ' He works 
 like a Hellene ' {AouXevyei aav " EXX.rjva'i) is a common 
 proverb. M. Kondylakis has an interesting article on 
 this subject in the Aekrlov tPj<; 'lar. Ka\ 'EOv. ' Et atpia^ 
 (vol. i., p. 273). 
 
 62 (p. 417). This is a condensed translation of a 
 story published in the 'Earia. 
 
 63 (p. 420). Saint Sofia ('A'yia Iio(pia), the ancient 
 cathedral church of Salonica, was converted into a 
 mosque by Raktoub-Ibrahim Pasha. It is said to have 
 been built under Justinian on the same plan as the 
 mosque of the same name at Constantinople, but on a 
 smaller scale. The monastic buildings surrounding 
 it are now used as schools and charitable institutions. 
 
 64 (p. 422). This legend is depicted in a rude fresco 
 in the orator}- of this chapel, and is probably, as 
 suggested by M. Soutzo, founded upon some real
 
 462 Greek Folk-Prose. 
 
 episode, to which a supernatural character has been 
 added by the country people. It also graphically 
 depicts the sanguinary local rivalries always character- 
 istic of the history of Maina, but which were invariably 
 laid aside at the approach of the common enemy. Ac- 
 cording to M. Soutzo, popular poetry has no existence 
 in Maina. ' Elle n'a pu eclore sur ces rochers ou la 
 guerre nationale et la guerre civile apparaissent simul- 
 tanement et sans treve dans toute leur aprete.' Prose 
 traditions of these struggles are, however, still cherished 
 by the Mainotes of to-day (/oc. cit., p. 300). 
 
 65 (p. 424). This Giovanni plays a great part in the 
 history as well as in the legends of his country. When 
 the Russians landed at Vitulo, he was over sixty, and 
 bore on his face the marks of gunshots received in com- 
 bats with the Turks. He led the Mainotes to the siege 
 of Koron, undertaken conjointly with Dolgouraki and 
 four hundred Russians. Irritated by the failure of this 
 attempt, Dolgouraki reproached the Greeks for not 
 having carried the town by assault. ' What !' replied 
 Mavromichaelis haughtily, ' thou darest to speak here as 
 the master — thou, who art but the slave of a woman ! 
 Thou leavest us to be massacred, and takest shelter 
 behind our ranks. I am the leader of a free people ; 
 but were I the least among the citizens of Maina, my , 
 head were worth more than thine !' (Soutzo, Scenes, 
 p. 304). 
 
 66 (p. 428). A similar incident is related as having 
 occurred during a battle which took place at Prastia. 
 A woman of Maina — Theocharis by name — seeing her 
 son fall, hastened to his side, and taking the dying 
 youth in her arms she bent over him, saying, ' Sleep 
 thou, my boy, for I take thy place.' And, assuming
 
 Annotations. 46; 
 
 her dead son's arms, she fouj^ht in his stead until she, 
 too, fell mortally wounded. (Soutzo, loc. cit., p, 288). 
 
 67 (p. 431). The caverns of Crete appear to have 
 been thus used from very early times, and Kprjcr^vr^eia 
 — ' The Cretans' Refuges ' — became the general name 
 for grottoes supposed to be places of security. See 
 Pashley {loc. cit., pp. 128, 129), who thus quotes from 
 Photius {Lex, p. 178) : Kprjaipvyera to, Trpo? rom ')(6iixoiva(; 
 oTepva Kal uxvpco/xaTU oi §e (paalv on KprfTC'i e^v<yov els 
 (TTT'^Xaia Tivd oGev eKelva wvo/xdadrjaav Kprjaipvyera.
 
 CONCLUSION, 
 
 '' He feels from Judas hind V 
 
 The dreaded Infants Jiand, ' 
 
 The rays cf Bethlehem blind his dusky cyu ; 
 Nor all the Cods beside 
 Longer dare abide. 
 
 Nor TypJion huge ending in snaky twine ; 
 Oiir Babe, to show His Godhead true. 
 Can in the swaddling bands control the damned crew.' 
 
 Milton : Ode on the Nativity. 
 
 ' Of the other class [of superstitions], namely those which have 
 this \religious] element, there are great inindiers in various parts of 
 the world ; as, for instance, the veneration paid and the offerings 
 made to fairies ; these being in fact the very gods that were 
 worshipped by our heatiien ancesto7-s.^ — Whatelv : Supei'stition. 
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF PAGANISM. 
 
 VOL. II. 30
 
 THE SURVIVAL OF PACxANISM. 
 
 PREAMBLE. 
 
 THE HISTORICAL AIM OF THE INVESTIGATION. 
 
 In Plutarch's Dialogue ' On the Cessation of Oracles, ''i 
 Kleombrotos, the Lacedaemonian, who had been tra- 
 velling in Egypt and the Soudan,!^ and who had met, 
 among others, at Delphi, the Grammarian, Demetrios 
 of Tarsus, who had been travelling in Britain, at the 
 opposite end of the Roman world<; — this Kleombrotos 
 informs the company that ^-Emilian, the Rhetorician, 
 had told him a wonderful story touching the mortality 
 of Dsemons. On a voyage made by his father, Epi- 
 therses, to Italy, when they were still not far from the 
 Echinades Islands, the wind fell, and they were drifting 
 in the evening towards the Islands of Paxi. Then, 
 suddenly, as the passengers were drinking after supper, 
 a voice was heard from one of the islands, calling on a 
 certain Thamus'i so loudly as to fill all with amazement. 
 This Thamus was an Egyptian pilot, known by name 
 to but few on board. Twice the voice called him with- 
 
 ■' De Def. Orac.^ xvii. '' Ilept r\\v 'TpuyXoSi'TiKriu 7^1/. - T^s oiKovfMivTjs. 
 '' See Lenormant, Sur Ic iioin de Tliammuz.
 
 468 The Stirvival of Paganisiu. 
 
 out response, but the third time he reph'ed ; and then 
 the voice said, ' When thou contest over against Palodes, 
 announce that the great Pan is dead^ On hearing this, 
 all were terrified, and debated whether it were better to 
 do as ordered, or not to trouble themselves further about 
 the matter. As for Thamus, he decided that if there 
 should be a wind, he would sail past, and say nothing ; 
 but if it were a dead calm and smooth sea, he would 
 give his message.^ When, therefore, they were come 
 over against Palodes, there being neither breath of wind 
 nor ripple of wave, Thamus, looking towards the land 
 from the quarterdeck, proclaimed what he had heard : 
 ' The great Pan is dead.'"^'> Hardly had he said this, when 
 there arose a great and multitudinous cry of lamenta- 
 tion, mingled with amazement.^ And as this had been 
 heard by many persons, the news of it spread immedi- 
 ately on their arrival in Rome, and Thamus was sent 
 for by the Emperor, Tiberius Caesar. Such was the 
 story of yEmilian, as reported by Kleombrotos/' As 
 /Emilian was an ' old man ' when he told the story, and 
 as his father had flourished under Tiberius, the period 
 of the ' Dialogue ' would appear to be about the end of 
 the first century A.C., in the reign of the Emperor Trajan. 
 But as Tiberius died in 37 A.C., having succeeded his 
 stepfather, Augustus, in 14 A.c, the date of this death of 
 
 " Compare the common Folklore incident of saying, ' If thou do 
 not do so-and-so, may thy ship move neither forward nor backward." 
 Above, p. 4 ; Geldart, Folklore of Mode?'n Gi-eece, p. y], etc. 
 
 '' "Ori 6 fieya's lldv Tidv7]Kev. 
 
 '^ yieyav ovx ivbs dXXd TroWQv aTevayfxbv, d/j.a dav/macrfiui fx.epi.eyfj.evoi'. 
 
 '^ See generally as to Pan stories, Mannhardt, Wald und 
 Feld-Kulte ; also the story in Paiti.us Diaconus, Gest. Lo7is;.^ 
 V. 37, 38, as cited by Kear\', ' The Earthly Paradise of European 
 M>thology,' 'I'rans. R. Soc. Lit., 1879, p. 26; and Lindsay of 
 Pitscottik's Story of the ' Summons of Plofcock,' before the fatal 
 battle of Florden (1513), History, \i. 112. Flotcock is also men- 
 tioned by Kamsav, foeins, ii. 95. The name, according- to Jamieson, 
 Diet. Scottis/i L(r)7i;., is derived from the Icelandic Blotgod.
 
 The Awi of the Investigation. 469 
 
 Pan has been plausibly assumed to coincide with that 
 of the crucifixion of Christ/'^ 
 
 This story has been often repeated or alluded to as 
 a fact by mediaeval writers, as also by Rabelais, by 
 Spenser, and by Milton, and its essential, if not formal, 
 truth has become almost an article of Christian faith. 
 Certainly no more splendid scene could be selected for 
 such a legend than that vast mountain-girt sea-plain 
 and gleaming land-locked bay identified with Palodes, 
 on the Albanian coast opposite Corfu. ^^ But, as it singu- 
 larly chanced one September day in 1880, it was amid 
 the very scene of this romantic legend of the death of 
 Pan — it was in my boat in the bay, and while wander- 
 ing over the plain of Vutzindro^ {BovvT^ivrpov), that an 
 Epirote friend spoke to me of the recently-published 
 Aa/j^ara tt)? 'Hirelpov ('Songs of Epeiros '), collected by 
 Dr. Aravandinos, of loannina, and of which the next 
 day he was good enough to present me with a copy. 
 And it is from the foregoing translations of the collected 
 originals, of which the "Aafiura t?}? 'Hireipov was the 
 nucleus, that I now propose to demonstrate the Survival 
 of Paganism. Such a demonstration implies, first, de- 
 finitions of the characteristic conceptions of Paganism, 
 as generalized more particularly from the foregoing Col- 
 lection of Greek Eolk-poesy ; secondly, the comparison 
 of these conceptions with those of the supernatural 
 Culture Religions, and particularly of that Christianism 
 under the influence of which the Greek folk have lived 
 
 ' Milton, however, for his poetic purpose in his Ode to the 
 NaJivity, makes the death of Pan coincide with the birth of Christ. 
 See below, p. 472, note b. 
 
 '' Ptolemy, Plutarch, and the word itself, sufficiently identify 
 Palodes with the muddy bay of Vutzindro. — Leake, Northern 
 Greece, vol. i., p. 100. 
 
 " Once, perhaps, the property of Atticus, the friend of Cicero.-- 
 Cicero ad Attic, 1. iv., ep. 8.
 
 4/0 -rht' Survival of Paganism. 
 
 for nearly 2,000 years ; and, thirdly, the comparison of 
 the Pagan conceptions found in Greek Folk-poesy with 
 those of Modern Science. This Essay, if completed, 
 should thus include three Sections. And the Method 
 of the investigation will, of course, be that of which I 
 have, in \\\& Introduction, stated the principles as deduced 
 from my theory of the Conflict of Races. 
 
 For, as stated in the General Pi'eface to these Folklore 
 Researches, their distinguishing aim is the solution, or 
 some contribution to the solutiois, of these great His- 
 torical Problems — the Problem of the Origin of Progres- 
 sive Social Organization, and that of the Origin of Pro- 
 gressive Philosophic Thought. The solution of the latter 
 Problem especially is the sine qua non of discovery of 
 an Historic Law of Thought, or Ultimate Law of History. 
 Rather than to Turgot, in his Second Disconrs (1750), 
 to Hume, in his theory of the Natural History of 
 Religion (1757), and especially if it is taken in conjunc- 
 tion with the Treatises (1738-48), which preceded the 
 publication of that theory, and of his Dialogue on 
 Natural Religion, belongs, as I think, the honour of 
 having been the first to state, or, at least, suggest, an 
 historic Law of Thought, or Law of the Development of 
 the Conception of Causation. Such a Law in a more 
 developed, but still only provisional, form I stated 
 nearly a quarter of a century ago.-'i But a more complete, 
 accurate, and verifiable statement of such an Ultimate 
 Law of History has been sought in the study, more 
 particularly, of the Greek P'olk- Poesy collected and 
 translated in these two volumes. And, as we shall see, 
 a critical investigation of the conceptions found in 
 Greek Folk- Poesy leads to definitions of the charac- 
 teristic conceptions of Paganism, and hence, of what 
 
 ^ See Tlic Nciv Pliilosopliy of History (p. 191), published June, 
 1873-
 
 The Aim of the Investigation. 471 
 
 would appear to be primitive Folk-conceptions, very- 
 different, not only from Hume's notion of 'Vulvar 
 Polytheism,' and Comte's definition of ' Fetishism,' but 
 from those assumed Folk-beliefs in ' Spirits ' which Dr. 
 I'ylor has termed ' Animism,' and which, in my first 
 statement of the Historic Law of Thought, I too hastily 
 accepted as adequately verified. But, though Dr. Tylor 
 complacently imagines that the vast advances in our 
 knowledge both of History and of Folklore during the 
 last quarter of a century have not made it in any way 
 ' needful to alter the argument,' which he set forth in 
 his two volumes on Primitive Culture in 1871,'^ I have 
 come to a very different conclusion. And now, in 
 generalizing, in our First Section, the facts revealed more 
 especially in our Collection of Greek Folk-poesy, and 
 hence defining the characteristicconceptions of Paganism, 
 we shall, in effect, define anew the First Stage of the Con- 
 ception of Causation. In a Second Section the relation of 
 these conceptions to those of the Supernatural Religions 
 should be indicated and the character of the Conflict 
 which leads from this First to a Third Stage of Thought 
 should be at least generally pointed out in its larger 
 outlines. In a Third Section, the comparison of 
 Scientific with Pagan or Folk-conceptions should lead, in 
 effect, to a definition of the Third Stage of Historic 
 Thought, and indication at the same time of its relation 
 to the First Stage. And if, in the Retrospect which con- 
 cludes the Essay, I venture to formulate these results in 
 what I believe will be found to be, at least, a somewhat 
 more complete, accurate, and verifiable statement of the 
 Historic Law of Thought, it will be with a profound 
 conviction of the immense labours still required in order 
 adequately to verify any such Law. 
 
 •' See the Preface to the lately published third edition of Primi- 
 tive Culture ; and below ^ p. 49C, note a.
 
 472 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 THE CONCEPTIONS CHARACTERISTIC OF PAGANISM. 
 
 § \a. It is one of the constantly recurring, grimly 
 humorous incidents of History that the approaching 
 rout of an Old Belief is preceded by a specially jubilant 
 affirmation of its truth, or regretful admission of its 
 victory. The Sixteenth Century Epoch of the Collect- 
 ing of Folklore, and hence of the evidence (though not 
 yet as such recognised) of the Survival of Paganism — 
 an Epoch dating, in this country, from Camden^s 
 Britannia (1586) and Drayton's Polyolbion (161 3), was 
 distinguished by the triumphant Ode on the overthrow 
 of Paganism''! Jn which the Plutarchian legend of the 
 Death of Pan is alluded to in these splendid lines — 
 
 ' The lonely mountains o'er, 
 And the resounding shore 
 A voice of weeping heard, and loud lament ' — 
 
 so amazingly misinterpreted by Milton's most volu- 
 minous editor.'^ And the Folklore Era of MacPherson 
 
 " This very ode, however — as one cannot remark without amuse- 
 ment — is replete with Pagan conceptions. 
 
 ^' Professor Masson {Mil ton's Poetical Works, vol. iii., p. 336) 
 imagines that 
 
 ' A voice of weeping heard ' 
 
 refers to the Massacre of the Innocents at the birt/i of the Christian 
 Pan, and to Matt. ii. 18, and /tv. xxxi. 15. It is true that 'the 
 mighty Pan' of line 89 must be taken to refer to Christ, just as 
 the ' greater Pan ' of the May Eclogue of Spexser's Shephe>-d's 
 Calendar, 
 
 ' When great Pan account of Shepherdes shall aske,' 
 
 refers, according to E.K. (Edward Kirbe), commenting on this line, 
 to 'Christ, the very God of all shepherds, which calleth Himself the 
 great and good Shepherd.' But the lines above cited are not only, 
 the last one, a tolerably close translation of Plutarch, but, the first 
 two, such a singularly graphic description of Paludes, the scene of
 
 7 Jic Dcjinitioii of Paganism. 473 
 
 (dating from 1760) was similarly marked* by Gibbon's 
 twenty-eighth chapter (1776-81) on The. Final Destruc- 
 tion of Paganism. But, as Milton would have regretted, 
 and Gibbon rejoiced to know, a profounder Paganism 
 still survived than that which they saw had been over- 
 thrown. Since Gibbon's time Folklore studies have so 
 greatly advanced that even an Archbishop was long 
 since driven to believe that, as expressed in the motto 
 to this essay, which answers that taken from Milton, 
 the vulgar in most parts of Christendom are still 
 serving the gods of their heathen ancestors. '-"^ Numer- 
 ous are now similar testimonies, not with respect to the 
 Greeks only, but all the other West Aryan peoples 
 nominally Christians.'^ Here, however, I shall confine 
 myself to the Greeks, and shall cite only such clerical 
 witnesses as must be presumed not willingly to recognise 
 the ineffectiveness of Christianity. And more correctly, 
 as well as more definitely, than his Grace the Arch- 
 bishop, the Rev. Mr. Tozer thus writes S 
 
 ^ I b. 'At the outset, we may say broadly that the beliefs 
 
 the death of the Pagan Pan, that one is tempted to believe that 
 Milton, when in Italy, had read or heard such a description of ir, 
 while they in no way describe Bethlehem, the scene of the birth of 
 the Christian Pan. 'The resounding shore' is at Bethlehem non- 
 existent, while, at Palodes, it is a low prairie with mountains rising 
 steeply over it, or, in Miltonic language, ' with lonely mountains o'er.' 
 
 '' Whateley, Miscellaneous Ronains^ p. 274. 
 
 '' See, for instance, for the Greeks, Passow, Carm. Pop.; 
 Fauriel, Marcellus, and Legrand, Chants Populaires dc la 
 Grccej and the books of THIERSCH, of SANDERS, and ot SCHMIDT 
 on the Ffllkslcbcn dcr Neiigriechen : For the Italians, Pitre, Tra- 
 dizioni Popolari Siciliane, and Novclle Popolari Toscafte : For 
 the Kelts, Campi;ell, West Highland Tales; ^XJTT, Keltic Foil: 
 and Hero Tales; and .Macbain, Celtic Mytliology and Religion : 
 Fur the Teutons, G^\w\\., Deutsche Mythologie ; D ask^t, Popular 
 Tales front the Norse ; and HENDERSON, P'ol/clore of the Northern 
 Counties: And for the Slaves, Ralston, Songs of the Russian 
 People and Russian Fol/ctales ; DozON, Pohies Populaires Serbes 
 and Chansons Populaires Bulgares; and Chodzko, Contes Slaves. 
 
 " Highlands of Turkey, vol. ii , p. 322.
 
 474 ^/'^^ Survival of Paganism. 
 
 of the modern Greeks respecting death, and the state of 
 the dead, so far as we have the means of judging of them, 
 are absolutely and entirely Pagan. In the numerous 
 ballads which relate to these subjects there is not a trace 
 of any features derived from Christian sources, while the 
 old classical conceptions are everywhere manifest. It 
 may be said, indeed, that in any country the views on 
 the subject of religion which might be gathered from a 
 collection of popular songs would be of a very question- 
 able description, and would not fairly represent the 
 beliefs of the people. But this objection does not apply 
 to the modern Greek ballads, as they are the simple and 
 straightforward expression of the ideas of an unlettered 
 people on the points to which they refer. Some of the 
 songs are intended for Christian festivals, others are 
 dirges to be sung at funerals, and others relate to sub- 
 jects akin to these. But in none of them does the 
 belief in a Resurrection or a Future Judgment make 
 itself apparent. That the people at large have no 
 knowledge of those doctrines it is hard to believe ; but, 
 at all events, they have not a sufficiently firm hold on 
 their minds to come prominently forward, and they cer- 
 tainly have not succeeded in expelling the old heathen 
 notions. And if most of the figures which we associate 
 with the Inferno of the Greeks, such as Pluto, Perse- 
 phone, Hermes, Kerberos, etc., are now wanting, it 
 should be remembered that, in ancient times, the popular 
 conceptions of such a subject were in all probability 
 much simpler than the elaborate scheme which is found 
 in the poets.' 
 
 § \c. Thus there appears to be an absolute contradic- 
 tion between the conclusions of such scholars as Milton 
 and Gibbon and those of students of Folklore. As so 
 often happens, however, in the case of apparently con-
 
 Tlie Dejuiitioii of Paganism. 475 
 
 tradictory conclusions, both the Scholars and the Folk- 
 lorists are right, and their apparent antagonism is due 
 only to the want of clear definition of the subject in 
 dispute. Paganism for Classicists usually means the 
 Culture- Religions of Greece and Rome; while Paganism 
 for Folklorists ordinarily means in a vague way both 
 what the Classicists mean by it, and also the Beliefs, 
 Customs, and Morality found among the Folk. But 
 ' the Gods still served by the people ' are not the Cul- 
 ture-Gods 'of their heathen ancestors,' but the Powers of 
 the Vecchia Religione, as it is called in Italy, which may 
 or may not have the names of old Culture-Gods attached 
 to them.^1 Indeed, the more thoroughly the Paganism of 
 the P^olklorist is studied, the clearer become the differ- 
 ences that separate it from the Paganism of the Classicist. 
 Hence I think it of the utmost importance to have regard 
 here to the etymology of the word, and to confine the con- 
 notation of the term Paganism to those conceptions of 
 Nature, and consequent customs, and morality, found 
 among the Pagani}^ or Folk, defined as peoples or classes 
 unaffected, or but partially affected, by the conceptions 
 of Culture, and particularly of the Culture-Religions.'^ 
 The term ' Paganism ' applied to the Culture-Religions 
 which preceded Christianity is, like ' Heathenism, '^i 
 
 '"^ Leland, after citing, corroborates the remark made by Prof. 
 Angelo de Gubernateis to Mr. Gladstone ' that under the 
 Religion of Italy lay hidden ten times as much Heathenism as 
 Christianity.' — Etruscan Roman Remains, International Follclorc 
 Congress, 1891, p. 186. 
 
 '' Peasants, or villagers, and called Pagani, ' quasi ex uno fonte— 
 Trnyt), Doric 7ra7a — potantes.' For Religion, as Hooker truly says, 
 'did first take place in cities' [Eccles. Politic, bk. v., § 80). And 
 why and how this was, is shown, as I venture to thirk, in the theory 
 of the origin of Religion deducible from my general theory of the 
 Conflict of Races. 
 
 ' Compare the definition of the Foil.- above, vol. i., p. 16. 
 
 '' From HeatJi, the German Heide, the uncultivated lands where 
 those lived who were unconverted to the Christianity of the Cities.
 
 47^ The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 similarly applied, merely an opprobrious epithet.* The 
 Culture Religions, from those of Chaldea and Egypt 
 downwards, present a succession of very different, and, 
 in one way or another, progressive conceptions of the 
 Universe, elaborated and systematized by Priests. 
 Paganism, properly so-called, presents, on the contrary, 
 the wonderfully unchanging conceptions of the Pagani 
 or Folk, as above defined. And to confound these very 
 different conceptions under the same undiscriminatingly 
 used term is altogether to obscure the great historical 
 conflict between Culture- and Folk-conceptions. 
 
 § 2a. But the recognition of such a conflict makes it 
 indispensably necessary clearly to define the conceptions 
 characteristic of Paganism — or, in terms of the general 
 definition of Paganism just given — the conceptions char- 
 acteristic of Folklore as distinguished from Culture-lore, 
 and from the conceptions more particularly of the Cul- 
 ture-Religions. These conceptions will be most verifiably 
 defined after studying that Class of Verse and Prose 
 Poesy — Mythological Idylls and Tales — in which Kos- 
 mical Ideas are predominantly expressed, and comparing 
 therewith the incidental, rather than predominant, ex- 
 pression of these ideas in the other two Classes — Social 
 Songs and Stories, and Historical Ballads and Legends. 
 Mythological Idylls and Tales, defined as predominantly 
 expressions of Kosmical Ideas, I have, in my Classification 
 of Folklore, distinguished as Zoonist, Magical — I should 
 rather have said Magicianist — and Supernalist. First, 
 then, as to the definition of that conception of Nature 
 which the reader has found illustrated under the head of 
 
 ^ Hence, in The New Philosophy of History (1873), I suj^^gested 
 
 the term Natiirianism for the Culture- Religions antecedent to the 
 
 Moral l\evoliuion of the Sixth Cent. B.C. ; and the term Olyiii- 
 
 picviisni for the (ireek form of that class of Religions. See pp. 218 
 
 and 25 I.
 
 Zoimist Conceptions. 477 
 
 Zoonist Ideas, though by no means there exclusively, 
 so all-pervading is this conception. Consider the facts 
 illustrating Zoonist Ideas which I recall in the Appendix. 
 The first set of these illustrative facts shows us all 
 Objects — (i) Inanimates, as they are ordinarily re- 
 garded, no less than (2) Plants, and (3) Animals — 
 conceived as responsively Sentient Powers. The second 
 set brings into relation all the facts connected with influ- 
 ences exerted, or supposed to be exerted (i) through 
 non-isolation of Bodies ; (2) through what is called the 
 Evil Eye; and (3) .through identity of Blood. Con- 
 sider these facts, and it will, I think, be seen that they 
 arc all referable to a conception of the Solidarity of 
 Objects throiigJi their Mutual Influences ; and that this 
 conception is but a corollary of the general conception 
 of Objects as responsively Sentient Powers. For if 
 Objects generally are responsively sentient, and if no 
 distance-limit is known beyond which Influence cannot 
 extend, there is no real isolation of Bodies, and distance 
 cannot prevent those interactions which make of Persons 
 and Things Life-correlates. A certain mali<;n form of 
 the Influence which all bodies, as responsively sentient, 
 are conceived as exerting on each other is naturall}- 
 distinguished as the Evil Eye. And Persons with the 
 same blood in their veins may well be believed to be 
 especially apt to confer benefits on, and resent injuries 
 by, their kindred or Blood-correlates. The third set 
 of illustrative facts brings together all manner of Trans- 
 formations, whether due to (i) the Environment, or 
 (2) one's own Will, or (3) the Will of Others. Con- 
 sider these facts, and they will, I think, be found 
 generalisable as expressions of a conception of both 
 Things and Persons as unliniitedly Transformative 
 Pozvers ; and this conception itself will be seen to be
 
 4/8 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 but another corollary of the general conception of 
 Objects as responsively Sentient Powers. This concep- 
 tion of Bodies (Things and Persons) as Powers un- 
 limitedly capable either of being transformed, or of trans- 
 forming themselves, or others, is, indeed, paradoxical as 
 the assertion may at first appear, but such a develop- 
 ment of the fundamental conception as observation and 
 experience could not but give rise to. For, while 
 observation and experience of the actual changes of 
 Objects — Seeds, for instance, and Insects — attest trans- 
 formations essentially no less wonderful than those of 
 Folk-Idylls and -Tales ; observation and experience had 
 not yet ascertained the limits of actual transformations. 
 And hence, to speak of Folk-tale Births, for example, 
 as ' Supernatural,' because represented as transforma- 
 tions of other substances than ihe united sperm- and 
 germ-cells now ascertained to be alone thus transformed, 
 shows inadequate recognition of the true character of 
 the Folk-conception of Objects as Powers whereof the 
 limits of influence, and hence capacity of transforming, 
 and being transformed, not having yet been ascertained, 
 are believed to be unlimited."^ 
 
 Now, having regard to all the three sets of facts 
 leading to these three connected notions of the Objects 
 of Nature as (t) Sentient Powers ; as (2) Powers exert- 
 ing Mutual Influence ; and as (3) Transformative Powers 
 (Powers capable of transforming, of being transformed, 
 and of passing from one form to another) — I would 
 define Zoonist Ideas, or in a word Zodnisvi,-AS, The Con- 
 
 •' I may note also that the Folk conception of Mutual Influence 
 and of consequent unlimited possibilities of Transformation, which 
 is the fundamental explanation of these stories, is supported by in- 
 numerable female observations and experiences as to barrenness, 
 and as to antecedents of its cure which, unsubjected as they are to 
 scientific analysis, not unreasonably appear even more effective 
 than coition. I have myself found that, given other circumstances, 
 that was by no means regarded as a sine qua non.
 
 Zoonist Co7iceptions. 479 
 
 ception of the Objects of Nature as Sentient Pozvers influ- 
 encing and being influenced, according to their diverse 
 capacities, at any distance, and even to the extent of trans- 
 forming and being transformed. This Zoonist conception 
 of Nature as a Solidarity of Sentient Powers united by 
 their Mutual Influences would appear to be the primitive 
 form of man's consciousness of Nature. And its origin 
 must, I think, be referred to that Kosmos-animating, 
 differentiating, and integrating Energy which I\Iind 
 essentially is. 
 
 § 2b. But under the name of Atiimisw — a doctrine 
 which, as I pointed out more than twenty-three years 
 ago, would be far less misleadingly termed Spiritism^ — 
 a very different account of the origin and character of 
 Folk-beliefs has, for the last quarter of a century, been 
 accepted on the authority of Mr. Spencer and Dr. Tylor. 
 Admitting, regretfully admitting, the universality, save 
 in the Culture-classes, of the conception of Nature as 
 living, Mr. Spencer maintains that this was not a primi- 
 tive conception. He affirms that, * under penalties of 
 death by starvation or destruction,' there was such a 
 constant cultivation, and consequent increase, of the 
 power to class apart the Animate and the Inanimate, 
 and to discriminate the two, that it became at last 
 ' almost perfect ' among all creatures, at least, of higher 
 intelligence than ' cirrhipeds and seaflies.' This would 
 
 ■'In The New Philosophy of History iiZ']-^,'^. 11, n. 2, I thus 
 wrote : 'To the general theory of Supernatural Agents, and beliefs in 
 Spiritual Beings, Mr. TvLOR, in his learned and suggestive work on 
 Primitive Culture^ has given the name o{ A/iiiiiisiii. But I venture 
 to think that Spiritism would be a preferable term. For, in the 
 first place, "Animism," as he himself acknosvledges (vol. i., p. 384), 
 is a term in great measure identified with the special theory of 
 Stahl. Secondly, '" Animism " does not, while " Spiritism " does, at 
 once explain itself as the doctrine of Spirits. Thirdly, '• Spiritism " 
 has the advantage, not shared by "Animism." of connecting the 
 vulgar theory of what I would call Homian phenomena [the mani- 
 festations by and through such " mediums " as Home] with the
 
 480 The Siwvival of Paganism. 
 
 seem to imply that the primitive conception of Nature, 
 previously to this perfecting of the discrimination between 
 Animate and Inanimate, had been an undiscriminating 
 conception of it as living. But however this may be, it 
 must surely be evident to unbiased reflection, that it 
 was not between Animate and Inanimate that animals 
 were bound to discriminate, but between harmful and 
 harmless ; that what might kill, and what might be 
 killed, what might eat, and what might be eaten, can 
 by no means be equated respectively with Animate and 
 Inanimate ; and further, that such abstract notions as 
 those of Animate and Inanimate were, as they are still, 
 altogether beyond the mental capacities of animals even 
 infinitely above the stage of ' cirrhipeds and seaflies.'-i 
 
 general theory of Supernatural Agents, and thus making the one 
 throw light on the other. Fourthly, " Animism " does not, while 
 " Spiritism " does, apply equally well to the supernatural theory of 
 God as to the supernatural theory of the Soul. And, finally, 
 " Animism " gives no such expressive adjective, and adjective-noun, 
 as " Spiritist," and '' Spiritists." ' See now Max Muller, Naiural 
 Reltgion (1889), p. 158. 'Animism . . . has proved so misleading 
 a name that hardly any scholar now likes to employ it.' And see 
 generally my Queries as to Animism^ Fo/klore, Sept., 1892. 
 
 -' Against this theory of Mr. Spencer's of a primitive discrimi- 
 nation between Animate and Inanimate [Principles 0/ Sociology, i., 
 pp. 123-131), as also against his theory of the elaboration by Savages 
 ol a Spiritist ' Philosophy,' no one is a more powerful witness than 
 Mr. Spencer himself. For, as he truly says: 'Conditioned as 
 he is, the savage lacks abstract ideas' (p. 74). 'An invisible, 
 intangible entity ... is a high abstraction unthinkable by 
 Primitive Man, and inexpressible by his vocabulary' (p. 133). 
 '"Plants are green," or "Animals grow," are propositions never 
 definitely formed in his consciousness, because he has no idea of a 
 p'ant or animal apart from kind' (p. 83). 'In proportion as the 
 mental energies go out in restless perception they cannot go out in 
 deliberate thought' (p. 77). 'When the Abipones are unable to 
 comprehend anything at first sight, they soon grow weary of 
 examining it, and cry, "What is it after all?"' (p. 53). And after 
 citing other facts, Mr. Spencer's conclusion is : 'The general fact 
 thus exemplified is one (|uite at variance with current ideas respect- 
 ing the thoughts of Primitive Man. He is commonly pictured as 
 theorizing about surrounding appearances ; whereas, in fact, the 
 need for explanations of them does not occur to him ' (p. 87).
 
 Zo'ouist Conceptions. 481 
 
 But if the stages of the Embryo are a record of the 
 stages of the physical evolution of the Species, the stages 
 of the Individual should be a record of the stages of 
 the mental evolution of Mankind. Hence Mr. Spencer 
 tries to rebut the evidence against his theory afforded 
 by the Zoonism of Children. This, however, he can do 
 only by affirming that this evidence is ' vitiated by the 
 suggestions of adults'; and that it is not because the 
 child does not discrim.inate between Animate and In- 
 animate that mother or nurse says, ' Naughty chair to 
 hurt baby — beat it !' but that it is because these adults 
 use such language that the child does not, or does not 
 appear to, distinguish between Animate and Inanimate.^ 
 But is it credible that all the mothers and nurses of all 
 the peoples of the world would use such language to 
 children if they themselves, as children, had naturally, 
 as affirmed by Mr. Spencer, discriminated perfectly 
 between Living and Not-living ? Surely this perversity 
 on the part of adults in thus falsifying what are affirmed 
 to be the naturally true discriminations of children should 
 be somehow explained ? And we ask how it was, that 
 the affirmed original discrimination between Animate 
 and Inanimate became universally transformed into what 
 is admitted to be now, among Folk unaffected by Culture, 
 the undiscriminating conception of all things as living ? 
 
 The answer of Mr. Spencer^i and Dr. Tylor^^ may be 
 thus summarized : ' Savage Philosophers,' hitherto, ac- 
 cording to Mr. Spencer, at least, '^ perfectly discriminating 
 
 ■' Ibid.^ i. p. 129. '' Ibid., pp. \(^^)flg. " Prim. Cult., i. 387, 4: i ; ii. 99. 
 
 '' Dr. Tylor does not appear to share Mr. SPENCERS Dcliet in 
 a former perfect discrimination between Animate and Inanimate, 
 and, thus far, is less logical in his theory of Animism, which 
 certainly requires some hypothesis as to the character of the con- 
 ceptions from which the supposed 'Savage Philosophers' started. 
 Dr. Tylor, indeed, professes himself a believer in Fetishism 
 precisely as it was defined by Comte. But in himself defining 
 
 VOL. II. -31
 
 482 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 between Animate and Inanimate, were led by cogita- 
 tions on dreams, shadows, reflections, echoes, etc.,^ 
 to a theory of ' ghosts,' * souls,' or ' spirits ' ; then, to 
 such an application of their theory that all things hitherto 
 conceived as inanimate became henceforth conceived as 
 animated by these 'ghosts,' 'souls,' and 'spirits'; not 
 so conceived only by these ' Savage Philosophers,' but 
 by savages not 'philosophers,' and notwithstanding their 
 previous 'perfect' discrimination of Animate and Inani- 
 mate. But, first, it must be evident that, if the conception 
 of the livingness of Nature is not an intuition, but an 
 inference, some verifiable, or, at least, not manifestly 
 fallacious, theory of the previous conception of Nature 
 must be stated. Secondly, there is absolutely no evidence 
 of such an amazing historical event as that supposed — the 
 elaboration by ' Savage Philosophers ' of a theory which 
 reversed not only their own previous notions of things, 
 but the previous notions also of all other savages. 
 Thirdly, Philosophy is not inference merely, but the co- 
 ordination of inferences ; and all we know of the mental 
 state of savages is opposed to this extraordinary Culture- 
 theory of a Savage Philosophy of Animism.!^ Fourthly, 
 the so-called 'ghosts,' 'souls,' and 'spirits' of Folk- 
 conception are by no means such intangibles as we 
 
 Fetishism as a 'subordinate department' of Animism, defined as' 
 ' the doctrine of Spirits in general,' Dr. Tv'LOR not only contradicts 
 his own expression of agree'.nent with COMTE, but includes under 
 the name of Animism t^vo conceptions of Nature which are not 
 only essentially different in their characteristics, but which, accord- 
 ing to Dr. Tylor's own contention, have two different origins — 
 the origin of the one being a primitive tendency 'quite independent 
 of the Ghost theory,' and the origin of the other being entirely 
 derived from the Ghost theory. Compare Prim. Ciilt.^ i., pp. 145, 
 260, 431, etc, ; and ii., pp. 132, etc. 
 
 •' For Dr. Tylor'S complete list as distinguished from Mr. 
 Spencer's see Mind, 1877, ii., 424. 
 
 '' See above, p. 480, note a.
 
 Zoonist Conceptions. 48 
 
 t 
 
 might reasonably expect were they really derived, as 
 affirmed, from cogitations on such intangibles as dreams, 
 shadows, reflections, echoes, etc., but are, on the contrary, 
 and are, indeed, admitted to be, substantial material 
 bodies.^ And, fifthly, this theory of Animism, so un- 
 verifiably attributed to ' Savage Philosophers/ seems 
 wholly impotent to explain, or, rather, wholly impotent 
 to withstand, the vast mass of facts indicated in the Ap- 
 pendix as proving that the essential notion of the Folk- 
 conception of Nature is that of its Solidarity, through 
 the Mutual Influences of its Parts — a notion the direct 
 antithesis of the Animistic, or, rather, Spiritist, notion of 
 ' the wilful action of pervading personal Spirits. ''' 
 
 § 2c. Indefensibly false would thus appear to be the 
 theory of Animism, as an account of the origin and 
 character of the genuine Folk-conception of Nature. 
 And I have now but to show cause for that new coinage, 
 Zoonism, which I ventured to suggest some seven or 
 eight years ago in order to connote that very different 
 Folk-conception of Nature which seems to be revealed 
 by the facts I have collected and classified. I propose 
 to show, first, that its etymology is such that it must 
 at once suggest the ideas it is meant to connote ; and, 
 secondly — what is, of course, the most important plea 
 
 ' See for illustrations of the notion of souls as ' substantial 
 material beings,' Friin. Cult., ii. 409, 412. (I might myself add 
 many other illustrations; but it may here suffice to refer to SHAKE- 
 SPEARE'S 'sheeted dead' who leave the 'graves tenantless' — 
 Handet, Act i., Sc. i.) And Dr. Tylor's conclusion is, that ' it 
 appears to have been within the systematic schools of civilized 
 philosophy that the transcendental definitions of the immaterial 
 were obtained by abstraction from the primitive conception of the 
 ethereal-material soul so as to reduce it from a physical to a 
 metaphysical entity' (ii., p. 413). I do not, however, believe that 
 Savages could either form or express the notion either of ' ethereal ' 
 or ' ethereal-material.' 
 
 '• ' The savage refers the phenomena of the Universe to the wilful 
 action of pervading personal spirits.' — Prim. Cult., i. 201.
 
 484 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 in defence of a new term — that no other exists which 
 either does, or might equally well, connote the facts 
 generalized in the definition of the term. 
 
 As to the etymology of the word. Either in them- 
 selves, or in their English derivatives, the Greek words 
 — Zcioi, Zo), Zdii], Za)6<;, ZSyov, k.t.X. — are sufificiently 
 familiar to make Zoonism immediately understood as 
 denoting a doctrine, or conception, of the livingness of 
 things, whether these are of the meanest or of the most 
 sublime character, and whatever may be the mode or 
 degree of their livingness. And as to the need of such 
 a term, the question is simply whether the old word 
 Fetishism introduced by Des Brosses,^ and adopted by 
 Conite,b and the later word Animism revived by Dr. 
 Tylor, do not, one or other of them, make such a new 
 coinage unnecessary ? As to Fetishism, I reply : Our 
 knowledge of Folk-lore has so immensely advanced as 
 both to demand and to make possible such a particularity 
 combined with generality of definition as neither Des 
 Brosses nor Comte gave, or could give, to the Folk-con- 
 ception which they rightly recognised, but inadequately 
 apprehended. Yet such a combined generality and par- 
 ticularity is, I submit, now given in a definition which 
 explicitly states what our fuller knowledge shows to be 
 the three mutually implying constituents of this Folk- 
 conception, the ideas, namely, of Sentient Powers, of 
 Mutual Influences, and of Transformative Powers. ^ And 
 
 ■' In his Culte des dieux fetiches, ou Parallele de Paticienne 
 Religion de f Egypte avec la Religion aciucllc de Ni^ritie. (1760.) 
 
 ^ Philosopltie positi^ie, t. v., p. 30 (1841), where it is thus defined : 
 . . . 'pur tdtichisme, constamment caracterise par I'essor libre et 
 direct de notre tendence primitive ;i concevoir tous les corps ex- 
 tcrieurs quelconques nalurcls ou artificiels, comme animes d'une 
 vie essentiellement analogue a la notre, avec de simples diffdrences 
 inutuelles d'intensitc.' 
 
 ' Above, p. 479.
 
 Zoonist Conceptions. 485 
 
 as to retaining the term Fetishism, but amending the 
 definition given to it, the associations connected with its 
 derivation from the Portuguese Feitico, a ' charm, '^ and 
 which still cling to it inseparably, make it not only im- 
 possible to use it, without misapprehension, in such a 
 definite new sense as that which I have given — not 
 arbitrarily, but at the demand of facts — to this new term 
 Zoonism, but impossible to use it, in all higher references, 
 without prejudicial associations. Either Fetishist, per- 
 haps, or Zoonist, we might call such savage customs as 
 that observed by Habakkuk : ' They sacrifice to their 
 net, and burn incense unto their drag, because by these 
 their portion is fat, and their meat plenteous. 't> But 
 only as Zoonist could we, without such derogatory im- 
 plications as attach to Fetishism, qualify either the sacred 
 chant of the Pleiade priestesses of Dodona : 
 
 r^ Kaprroi's di'iei 5lo KKy^erai fx-qTepa Va7av'^ 
 Earth bnngeth forth fruits ; mother, therefore, call Earth ; 
 
 or the sublime invocation of Promethevs : 
 
 "^ Sios aWrip, k.t.X. 
 
 O divine Ether, and swift-winged Breezes, 
 Fountains of Rivers, and Sea-waves' 
 Laughter innumerable, Allmother Earth, 
 Allseeing Circle of the Sun, on you I call — 
 See ye what from the Gods I, a God, suffer 
 
 Id 
 
 ' From Factitius ('artificial, done or made by art, factitious, 
 Tex^'l^■os '), whence also Old French _/^ezV/>, and Old English fctys, 
 ' well made.' 
 
 '■ Hab. i. 16. 
 
 •^ Pausanias, X., xii. 10. 
 
 ' Thus I have literally translated the famous lines of yEsCHYLOS 
 {Pi-oincl/i. Vine, 82-91). But Christian prepossessions so over- 
 power the perceptions even of such a scholar as Dean Plumptre 
 that he translates the first words, ' O divine firmament of God? 
 Biu surely the passage is an appeal from the Younger Anthropo- 
 morphic to the Elder Elemental Gods ?
 
 486 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 But if, for the reasons thus stated, Fetishism does not 
 make unnecessary this new coinage, Zobnism, still less 
 does Animisin make it unnecessary. Used as this term 
 is by Dr. Tylor to mean ' the doctrine of Spirits in 
 general/ it affirms a conception of things wholly different, 
 as I have above endeavoured to show, from that which 
 the facts of Folk-expression have led me to indicate in 
 my definition q>{ Zoonisiii. For Animism denotes a con- 
 ception of Things as actuated by attached or embodied 
 ' Spirits '; and Zobnism denotes a conception of Things 
 as themselves Sentient Powers manifesting their own 
 inherent capacities. 
 
 § la. Next, as to the definition of those Ideas which 
 we have found illustrated in the Second Class of our 
 Mythological Idylls and Tales, and which I have dis- 
 tinguished as Magical, but should rather have called 
 Magicianist, Ideas. As we have seen, the Conception 
 of the Objects of Nature as responsively Sentient 
 Powers implies both the Solidarity of Nature through 
 the Mutual Influences of its Parts, and their unlimitedly 
 Transformative Powers. But we may also see that, from 
 this central conception of Mutual Influence, there neces- 
 sarily follows the conception of the state of one thing 
 as indicating that of another, and of the action of one 
 thing as affecting that of another. And hence there 
 arises the conception of the events of Nature as not 
 only predictable but controllable. ''^ That, however, is 
 
 ^ For — to quote The New Philosophy of History {\%J2))i P- 219^ 
 ' Powers are, as Ultimate Facts, or Causes, conceived either ns 
 regular or as irregular in their action. Conceived as regular in 
 their action, we have that beginning of Science, or of the forecast- 
 ing and determination of events through knowledge of their Causes, 
 or supposed Causes, which is Witchcraft. Conceived as irregular in 
 their action, we have that beginning of Theology, or of the fore- 
 casting and determination of events, through sacrifice to, and 
 invocation of, their supposed Causes, which is Superstition. For 
 Science, in its command of Nature, is ever essentially Craft, if not
 
 The Aims of Magic. 487 
 
 precisely the conception of Nature which we find illus- 
 trated in the aims, and hence, the arts of Magic, classed 
 in the Appendix {f^. 512) as Arts of (i.) Operation, (ii.) 
 Divination, and (iii.) Co-operation. Magicianist Ideas 
 we may, therefore, define as Ideas of the predictableness 
 of the events, and controllablcness of the forces of Nature 
 by Human Powers ; and the Aims of Magic as Predic- 
 tion of tJie events, and Control of the forces of Nature as 
 conceived by Zoonisni. And this immediate deduction 
 of the aims and arts of Magic would appear to be a 
 conclusive verification of our inductively generalized 
 definition of Zoonism. 
 
 § "^b. If so, however, no less conclusive evidence of the 
 falsity of the Animism affirmed by Dr. Tylor, and Mr. 
 Spencer, must be found in the impossibility of any such 
 deduction from it of Magicianist Conceptions and Pro- 
 cedures. From the conception of bodies — not as 
 influencing each other, in accordance with their own 
 inherent capacities, as themselves Sentient Powers, but 
 — 'in accordance with the caprices of their ' attached or 
 embodied Spirits,' there must arise the reverse of any 
 such notion as that which is the very foundation of 
 Magic — the controllableness of Nature. Naturally, 
 therefore, the essential notion of Magic is no less un- 
 apprehended by Dr. Tylor and Mr. Spencer than it was 
 
 Witchcraft ; and Theology, in its fear of Nature, is ever essentially 
 Superstition. In Witchcrafc, indeed, as in Superstition, Causes 
 are conceived, not as Relations, but as Powers ; yet there is this 
 prodigious difference that, in Witchcraft they are conceived as 
 subject Povvers ; in Superstition, only as invocable Powers.' Mr. 
 (now Sir Alfred) Lyall had contemporaneously reached similar 
 conclusions; and. as my page 219, though already in type, was 
 not yet printed off, I eagerly availed myself of the opportunity of 
 referring to his corroborative paper On Witclicraft in Relation to 
 the Non-Christian Relio;ions in the Fortnii^htly Reviezo, April, 1873, 
 and now included in his collected Asiatic Studies.
 
 488 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 by Des Brosses and Comte. To Dr. Tylor, indeed, 
 Magic is but ' one of the most pernicious delusions that 
 ever vexed mankind '-^ ; and of this ' delusion ' he can 
 offer no explanation save such a vague reference to the 
 Association of Ideas as is not really any explanation 
 whatever. Magicianist, of course, like all other notions, 
 illustrate the Association of Ideas — that is to say, 
 certain definite Laws of Contiguity, Similarity, and 
 Construction referable to the characteristically dif- 
 ferentiative and integrative energy of Mind.^ But it is 
 no explanation of the origin of the distinctive concep- 
 tions and procedures of Magic, or, to use Dr. Tylor's 
 phrase, ' Occult Science,' to assert that ' the principal 
 key to the understanding of it is to consider it as based 
 on the Association of Ideas. '^" The association, as a 
 later affair than the origin, of Ideas, cannot explain 
 that origin. We have found the origin of Zoonist, and 
 hence of Magicianist Ideas, in the functioning of that 
 differentiative and integrative Energy which Mind es- 
 sentially is. The ' Association of Ideas ' is but a vague 
 way of referring to certain Laws of Differentiation 
 and Integration. And by these Laws the distinctive 
 character and collocations of Magicianist Ideas are no 
 more specially explicable than are the distinctive 
 
 ^ Prifii. Cult., i. 1 01. 
 
 ^ For— as queried in Tlie New Philosophy of History (1873), 
 p. 185 — 'are not these three Laws clearly distinguishable as, tne 
 first, an objective ; the second, a subjective ; and the third, an 
 objectivo-siibjective Law? What are the Laws of Contiguity and 
 Similarity but simpiy inductive generalizations of the conditions of 
 Difterentiation ? And what is the Law of Constructive Association 
 but a recognition of the Power of Integration? In the results, 
 therefore, of the inductive researches of the Association School, we 
 seem to have but an analytical statement of that very Law of 
 Thought which Hegel presented in the obscure metaphysical 
 shape of the Bet^riff.' 
 
 ' Prim. Cult., i. 104.
 
 The Aims of Magic. 489 
 
 character and collocations of any other quite different 
 Ideas. 
 
 § 3^. But not only is it thus impossible to deduce from 
 Animism the conceptions and procedures of Magic, but 
 the more distinguished of those who still hold the theory 
 of Animism, as, for instance, Mr. Frazer and Mr. Hart- 
 land, find themselves obliged implicitly to postulate 
 Zoonism in order to give any rational account of Magic. 
 This they do by using, instead of the term Magic, the 
 phrase, ' Sympathetic Magic,' and so defining the 
 principles of Sympathetic Magic as to make them 
 deducible from nothing else but Zoonism as above 
 defined. For instance: 'One of the principles of 
 Sympathetic Magic,' says Mr. Frazer, 'is that any effect 
 may be produced by imitating it.'-'^ But such a principle, 
 though not only undeducible from, but contradictory 
 of, the Animistic conception of Nature as actuated by 
 ' Spirits,' is a very evident deduction from the Zoonist 
 conception of Nature as a solidarity of mutually in- 
 fluencing Powers. Keener observers and abler experi- 
 menters discovered, indeed, that the method of Imitation 
 was not to be depended upon in the attempt to control 
 Nature. But that such a method might be effective was 
 a quite logical a priori deduction from the Zoonist con- 
 ception of Natural Objects as responsively Sentient 
 Powers. And the historical fact is that, while men, 
 possessed of this primitive conviction of the solidarity 
 and hence controllableness of Nature, recognised the 
 ineffectualness of the method of Imitation, and became 
 the discoverers of more effective methods, and hence the 
 Founders of the Sciences, women, quite character- 
 istically, continued to trust to, and practise the old 
 ignorant methods of attempted control, and primitive 
 
 " Goldc7i Boiti^h^ i. 9.
 
 490 The Sm^vival of Pagaivisin. 
 
 Science survived, therefore, not as Wizardcraft, but as 
 Witchcraft. 
 
 § 4«. But besides Zoonist, and besides Magicianist 
 Ideas, we have found a third set illustrated in the fore- 
 going Collection of Folk-Poesy, and especially in our 
 Third Class of Mythological Idylls and Tales. And 
 just as we have seen that Magicianist Ideas — Ideas of 
 the Controllableness of Nature — flow necessarily from 
 Zoonist Ideas — Ideas of the Solidarity of Nature — we 
 shall, I think, find that those now to be considered 
 flow similarly from Zoonist Ideas, and are, therefore, 
 the necessary completion of the general Folk-con- 
 ception of Nature, as yet but partially defined. For 
 if, as in the Zoonist conception of Nature, Objects 
 are conceived as exerting influences because of, and in 
 proportion to, their own inherent capacities as Sentient 
 Powers, some of these Objects will certainly be found to 
 be, and, either in their actual forms, or in mythical 
 forms personalizing their qualities or effects, will be re- 
 garded as mightier than others in the influences they 
 exert. Of such Objects I have given a Classified illus- 
 trative List in the Appendix (p. 505). For in three forms 
 the Powers of Nature may produce, in Folk-conscious- 
 ness, the impression of being exceptionally dynamic in 
 the influences that ray from them, and may, therefore, 
 become what might be named, were the phrase not 
 equivocal — natural Gods. 
 
 They may, first, produce this impression in their 
 own proper forms as External Objects. Such are the 
 Earth itself, and all the grander, or more impressive 
 Objects of Nature which constitute, with Sacred Wells, 
 Trees, Stones, etc., our First Class of exceptionally 
 dynamic Powers. But however undifferentiating in 
 its earlier stages human Consciousness may be, the
 
 Supenialist Conceptions. 491 
 
 faculties of abstraction and language can hardly but 
 lead to differentiation between Internal and External, 
 and hence, from the conception of Objects as Powers, 
 to the conception of Objects and Powers, but Powers 
 still conceived quite concretely and as the Chemists' 
 theine or caffeine is conceived. And the fact is 
 that, just as the Chemists' 'essential principle' is con- 
 ceived as a material body, the ' essential principles ' 
 of Objects are conceived in material forms correspond- 
 ing to their fair or foul qualities, or fair or foul effects. 
 But no more than the Chemist calls the ' essential prin- 
 ciple ' of tea or coffee its ' soul,' does the man of the 
 Folk, uninfluenced by Culture - conceptions, call the 
 ' essential principle ' of an Object its ' soul,' or not, at 
 least, in the sense that we now attach to that term. He 
 calls it rather the element of movement — the ' go,' to use 
 a familiar term — the ' life ' or ' strength,' the o-rot^eioi^,^ 
 ^G)?7, or §ui/a/it?, of the Object. And hence arises the 
 Second Class of our above referred to List. But as 
 happens in the present, so in the past, some Objects 
 certainly impressed themselves as of exceptional might, 
 and both in their own proper forms, and in forms in 
 which their qualities or effects were personalized, as just 
 indicated. And hence arises a Third Class composed of 
 
 ^ Srotx^'o" appears to be derived from otolx^ij}^ to go, especially 
 to go after one another in line or order. Hence o-rotxf'oj' would 
 originally mean a tJitJig going, or '' the go'' of a tiling. The '^Toixtlo. 
 of Empedokles were Forms of Matter, and he endeavoured to show 
 that there were but four. Plato's "Zroix^la were Ideas. The Sij;ns 
 of the Zodiac were also called '^^roix^la. Hence the term came to 
 be used generally for ' The Heavenly Powers.' And it may be 
 added that such Biblical critics as Baur {Christcntlium^'s,. 49) and 
 Hll.GENFELD {Galatcrhricf s. 66) are of opinion that it is certainly 
 in this sense that St. Paul uses the phrase Td aroLxda. rod Koafxov, 
 and that he attributes to them a distinct personality as Genii, or 
 Spirits of the Universe. Compare G(i/. iv. 3, etc. ; Co/, ii. 8, 20 ; and 
 Epiies. vi. 12. See Q,'KLV>.\^'y:, Modern Greek, pp. 201-205, and ^^'^ 
 Gospel according to St. Paul, pp. 23-25.
 
 492 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 such mythical beings as may seem, like Swan-maidens 
 and the others hypothetically named in the appended 
 List, to owe their origin to remote historical facts. 
 
 By no means, however, are these exceptionally dynamic 
 Powers — whether regarded in their own proper forms, or 
 in forms personalizing their qualities or effects — con- 
 ceived as in any way Supernatural. Just as much as 
 are ordinary Powers, these extraordinary Powers are 
 conceived as parts of the System of Nature itself, pos- 
 sessed of greater capacities indeed than, but not other- 
 wise different from, other Powers ; and so, if controllers 
 of most, controllable by some, and especially by omni- 
 potent Man. The distinction of Natural and Supernatural 
 has, in fact, not yet arisen.^ These Powers, therefore, 
 being regarded simply as but in some way or other 
 Superior to other Powers, and not as in any way Super- 
 natural, can, I submit, be truly designated only by some 
 such term as Supernals. And summarizing all above 
 stated, I would define Supernals, or the Objects of 
 Supernalist Ideas, as Poivers of Nature which, either 
 in their ozvn proper forms as External Objects, or in 
 imaginary forms, personalizing their Qualities or Effects, 
 are conceived as possessing, or as having possessed, ex- 
 ceptional capacities. 
 
 § aJj. But with one change there must ever go other 
 changes. And if, as we have seen, the notion of 
 Mutual Influence so pervades genuine P'olk-belief as to 
 exclude the notion of Supernatural Action, and hence, 
 to require us to speak of Supernal, rather than Super- 
 natural Beings, it will require us also, when referring to 
 genuine Folk-belief, to substitute new terms for the 
 whole catalogue of words now generally used with 
 
 ' ' A savage hardly conceives the distinction commonly drawn 
 by more advanced peoples between the Natural and the Super- 
 natural.' — Frazer, Golden Bough, i. 8.
 
 S^ipernalist Conceptions. 49; 
 
 Supernaturalist connotations. Nothing like what we 
 ordinarily mean by such words as ' Ghost/ ' Soul,' and 
 ' Spirit,' is ordinarily meant by the Folk-words — such as 
 the English Bog/e,^ or those others from various Folk- 
 dialects that might be instanced — or even by the earlier 
 Culture-words — such as the Chaldean Zi}^ the Egyptian 
 Ka,^ or the Chinese Yang^ — usually thus translated ; 
 and the same may be said of such words as ' Demon,' 
 ' Deity,' or ' God,' as translations of Folk- or even of 
 Culture-words, in their earlier meaning.^ I would pro- 
 pose, therefore, to use, instead of such utterly misleading 
 translations, either the actual Folk -word, or early 
 Culture-word ■,'^ or such terms devoid of supernatural 
 
 •' See my reference to Mrs. Balfour's admirably transcribed 
 and most interesting Legends of the Lincohishire Cars {Folklore, 
 March, September, and December, 1891) in Queries on Animism, 
 Folklore, September, 1892, p. 298, note 2 ; and Mrs. Balfour's 
 note on Bogles and Ghosts, Folklore, March, 1893, PP- io7) 108. 
 
 '' The Chaldean Z/, ordinarily translated 'Spirit,' was 72ot, says 
 Professor Sayce, 'a " Spirit" in our sense of the word, nor even 
 in the sense in which the term was used by the Semitic tribes of 
 a later day. The Zi was simply that which manifested life.' 
 — Religion of the Ancient Babylonians, p. 327. 
 
 " ' The Ka meant life, though what tife was conceived to be 
 she [Miss EDWARDS, Phaiaohs, Fellahs ana Exploreis'] cannot 
 venture to say. I am inclined to identify the Egyptian Ka with 
 the Chaldean Zi.' — Savce, Academy, February 13, 1892. 
 
 '' See De Groot, Religions System of China. What we 
 would mistranslate ' Soul ' is of the kind of matter called Yang, 
 of which the correlate is ]'///, and it continues after, as before death, 
 to be attached to the body, though in an enfeebled condition, 
 which, however, the influences emanating from other portions ot 
 Yang m^.\.X.tx may so revive that there may be a resurrection of the 
 body. 
 
 "" 'There was a time when Gods, in the sense of beings distinct 
 from and above man . . . did not exist in the belief of Mankind." — 
 Hartland, Perseus, iii. 67. 
 
 ' This I have uniformly done in editing Greek Folk-songs, The 
 Women and Folklore of Turkey, and Greek Folk-Poesy. But such 
 mispleading translations are, unfortunately, still the rule with the 
 majority of European Folk-lorists. Geldart, for instance, trans- 
 lates ApciKos as 'Dragon,' and 'Srjpaida as 'Fairy'; and 'Srjpaides, 
 Ad/xiai, Sroixeta, k.t.X. are all turned indiscriminately into PYes by 
 French, and into Flfen by German Folklorists.
 
 494 -^/^^ StLTvival of Paganism, 
 
 Implications, as power instead of ' god '; life Instead of 
 ' spirit,' or ' demon ' {e.g., the tree- or corn-life, instead of 
 ' tree- or corn-spirit or -demon ') ; strength instead of 
 'soul '; life coi^relate instead of ' external soul '; abnormal 
 instead of * supernatural birth,' etc. 
 
 Endless self-contradictions would thus be saved, and 
 the historical truth would be thus expressed with in- 
 comparably greater accuracy. For instance, no one has 
 shown with greater clearness than Mr. Frazer that the 
 Supernals of Folk-religion are not Supernatural Beings, 
 but Natural Powers, or representatives of such Powers ; 
 and that the Observances, therefore, connected with 
 them are directed not to appeasing or imploring them 
 by Priestly Rites, but to strengthening or controlling 
 them by Magical Arts."^ And yet he at once contradicts 
 and obscures his whole demonstration by designating 
 these Natural Powers ' spirits,' ' deities,' or ' gods/ just 
 as if they were, after all. Supernatural Beings. t> But if 
 the candid reader reflects on the conceptions which later 
 Folklore research has revealed in the Folk Customs of 
 the old Nature-Festivals ; and if he compares with these 
 the conceptions witnessed to by the Priestly Rituals of 
 the Culture Religions (including, of course, Christianity) 
 which have adopted and adapted these Festivals of the 
 Seasons ; he will hardly, I think, doubt that to call the 
 Natural Powers, which are, in the one case, by Magical 
 Arts, strengthened or controlled, ' Gods,' even as we call 
 
 ■' Golden Boui^h, passim. 
 
 '' Mr. Frazkr, lor instance, in the very next sentence, after 
 affirming quite truly that the savage does not distinguish between 
 Natural and Supernatural, self-contradictorily affirms that, to the 
 savage, ' the world is mostly worked by Supernatural Agents.' — 
 Golaen Bough, i. 8. And with similar self-contradiction, Dr. 
 Tylor, while using such terms as 'Souls' 'Spirit-,' etc., admits, 
 or rather affirms, that they are not, in Folk-belief, conceived at all 
 as by the Culture-Classes, but as • substantial material beings.' — 
 Prim. Cull., ii. 409, 412, and aboi'c, p. 483, note a.
 
 Stipe rnalist Conceptions. 495 
 
 ' Gods ' the Supernatural Beings who are in the other case, 
 by Precatory Rites, flattered and implored, is a misuse 
 of terms which is in the highest degree unscientific. 
 
 No doubt our highly abstract Culture -notions of 
 ' Souls,* ' Spirits,' and ' Gods ' have been developed from 
 those highly concrete, and otherwise, as we have seen^ 
 quite different notions which I would distinguish gene- 
 rally as notions of Supernals. But considering the 
 antithesis between the earlier and the later notions, I 
 submit that to call the earlier by the same name as the 
 later notion is no less unscientific — that is to say, no 
 less inimical to clear and verifiable thinking — than it 
 would be to speak of the earlier non-human ancestors of 
 Man, not by the zoological terms now used to designate 
 theni, but as already Men, For, to designate Folk- 
 conceptions of Natural and Corporeal Powers by the 
 same terms — 'Souls,' 'Spirits,' 'Gods,' etc. — as those 
 used to designate Culture-conceptions of Supernatural 
 and Incorporeal Beings, is so to veil the profound 
 differences of the conceptions thus identically named 
 as utterly to obscure the true facts of the origin, and 
 hence history, of Human Thought, and particularly of 
 Religion. 
 
 § \c. To sum up. In established possession is the 
 theory of Animism, or, as it would be more lucidly 
 termed, Spiritism ; in militant opposition is that of 
 Zoonism. Ouestioningly, however, rather than dog- 
 matically, I submit that the theory of Zoonism gives a 
 more verifiable, more coherent, and more complete, 
 interpretation and explanation of the facts of Folk- 
 belief than does the theory of Animism. But should 
 this be so, it is certainly due simply to my having been 
 more deferential to the immense results of Historical 
 and Folklore Research during the last quarter of a
 
 49^ The Survival of PaganisDi. 
 
 century than, with reference, at least, to their theory of 
 ' Spirits,' Messrs. Spencer and Tyler have been.^ As 
 pointed out in the Preface and Introdiictio7i, the results 
 of Historical Research have led to quite a new theory 
 of the Origins of Civilization, and this, to quite a new 
 Method of Folklore Research. Obnoxious, then, to 
 criticism on many points as may be the foregoing very 
 brief and inadequate exposition of the theory of 
 Zoonism, it will take but little harm if its Method 
 cannot be assailed. And due criticism of this Conclusion 
 must, therefore, begin with criticism of the Introduction. 
 To illustrate this. ' Side by side,' says Mr. Frazer, 
 ' with the view of the world as pervaded by Spiritual 
 Forces, primitive man has another conception in which 
 we may detect a germ of Natural Law.'^ Both notions 
 are doubtless found now, though in varying proportions, 
 in most Folklores. But as it is not even affirmed that 
 there is a necessary correlation between these antago- 
 nistic notions, both cannot have been entertained by 
 
 ' On the recent publication of a third edition of Dr. Tylor's 
 Priniitivc Culture^ I took up a copy expecting to find that much of 
 my criticism of his Animism Theory of 1871 was out of date. But 
 my fear that I should have the trouble of withdrawing or amend- 
 ing my criticisms, and correcting my references to the first edition 
 were groundless. With a surprising complacency, considering the 
 revolutionary results of research in this long interval, Dr. Tylor 
 informs us, in his Preface to this third, but not neiv, edition of his 
 work, that he has not ' found it needful to alter the general argu- 
 ment,' but only ' to insert further details of evidence, and to correct 
 some few statements,' not particularized. His fundamental pos- 
 tulates — the Homogeneity of Human Races, and the Spontaneous 
 and Independent Origin of Civilizations ; his fundamental hypo- 
 thesis of the origin, the notion of 'Spirits,' 'Souls," and 'Gods,' 
 from Savage cogitations on Shadows, etc. ; and his fundamental 
 self-contradiction in both acceptirig COMTES Fetishism, and treat- 
 ing it as a subordinate department of the theory of ' Spirits ' — 
 these all, therefore, remain unchanged in Dr. Tylor's theory of 
 Animism. And it is to these positions and their implications that 
 Zoonism is opposed. 
 
 '' Golden Bough, i. 9.
 
 SiLpernalist Conceptions. 497 
 
 ' primitive man,' and one only can be primary, while 
 the other is but secondary. A theory of the Conflict 
 of Higher and Lower Races as the main condition of 
 the Origin of Civilization naturally leads to attributing 
 chiefly to the Higher Races, after they had obtained 
 leisure for intellectual development, that one of these 
 antagonistic notions requiring the greater degree of 
 such development. Hence, it is the more concrete 
 notion of Sentient Powers, rather than the more 
 abstract one of Animating Spirits, that we are led to 
 regard as primary, A Method of collecting Folklore, 
 of which the principles are derived from such an 
 Historical theory, will, therefore, lead us to separate 
 as clearly as possible Culture- from Folk-notions. An 
 utterly undiscriminating Method is, on the contrary, 
 that on which is based those collections of Folklore 
 which give plausibility to the theory of Animism. And 
 the opposition of Zoonism and Animism is, therefore, 
 first of all, an opposition of fundamental Method. 
 
 It is, however, to my Appoidix of Classified Facts 
 that I would chiefly refer critics of my theory of 
 Zoonism, and criticism of Animism, With reference to 
 what I have classed as Zoonist Facts, the question is, 
 does not consideration of these Facts, as here analysed, 
 justify my definition of Zoonist Ideas } Considering 
 what I have classed as Supernalist Facts, the question 
 is, do not these Facts form an incomparably sounder 
 basis for the later development of notions of Super- 
 natural Beings than the utterly unverified hypothesis 
 suggested by the authors of the theory of Animism } 
 Finally, does not consideration of the Facts classed as 
 Magicianist show that they can be deduced only from 
 such conceptions as those defined as Zoonist, and as 
 Supernalist .'' And yet further support of the theory 
 
 VOL. II. 32
 
 498 The Sti7^vival of Paganism. 
 
 of Zoonism will, I think, be given by the facts indicated, 
 at least, in the sequel, as to the development of Super- 
 naturalism, 
 
 § 5^. But we shall hardly have a due apprehension 
 of Pagan or Folk Conceptions without some considera- 
 tion of the Social Conduct which is their correlate. 
 For, as noted in the General Preface to these Re- 
 searches, the third of the three more and more clearly 
 verified ideas of the New Philosophy of History is that 
 of the correlation of all Social Facts, And hence, as 
 the essential characteristic of the Pagan Conception of 
 Nature is, as we have seen, an intuition of its Solidarity, 
 through the Mutual Influences of its Parts conceived as 
 Sentient Powers, we should conclude that the Social 
 Conduct found with such a conception of Nature is 
 essentially Moral. For what is Morality ? Conduct 
 governed by regard for others. And the Law of Cor- 
 relation is here again vindicated in the fact that, with 
 the Pagan conception of the Solidarity of Nature, there 
 is unquestionably found the correlative conception of 
 the Solidarity of the Kin ; an intuition, therefore, of the 
 social effects of individual conduct so far, at least, as the 
 Kin is concerned ; and hence, so powerful a control of 
 individual conduct by regard for others — others, at least, 
 of the Kin — as to make Conduct, though not ' Civilized,' 
 essentially Moral, I must here regretfully forego any 
 such detailed reference to the older Customs of Paganism 
 as would demonstrate this conception, or rather intui- 
 tion, of Social Solidarity in the pains voluntarily under- 
 gone by individuals in connection more particularly with 
 Puberty, with Marriage, with Child-birth, with Blood- 
 mingling, and with Death. ^ For I have space here 
 
 " See more particularly Frazer, Go/den Bought and Hartland, 
 Legend of Perseus; and I would especially draw attention to Mr. 
 Hartland's explanation of the Coiivadc^ ii., chap. x\\. pp. 400,
 
 The Morality of Paoanisni. ^gg 
 
 only to recall to the reader some illustrations of the 
 Moral Characteristics of Greek Folk-poesy, notwith- 
 standing the upbreak, abolition, or mcjdification, so long 
 since, of old Pagan Customs, and the very slight traces 
 to be found in that Folk-poesy of distinctively Christian 
 ideas. Illustrations of the Moral Characteristics of Greek 
 Folk-poesy fall naturally into two Classes. The First 
 of these Classes includes illustrations of only the more 
 superficial characteristics of that Folk-poesy — the evi- 
 dences we find in it of (i) Family Affection, and Sexual 
 Purity ; of (2) the Social Virtues of Truthfulness, 
 Honesty, and Greatheartedness ; and of (3) Patriotic 
 Self-devotion and Brotherly Fidelity. But profounder 
 characteristics of Greek Folk-poesy are those indicated 
 in our Second Class of illustrative Incidents — those evi- 
 dencing the character of the effective Moral Sanction. 
 
 § 5^. As to the First Class. In illustration of (i) 
 P'amily Affection, and Sexual Purity, I would refer more 
 particularly to the Songs relating to the XevrjrevofMevoc, 
 the ' Exiles,' as they are termed — sons, sweethearts, or 
 husbands, whose breadwinning takes them to far coun- 
 tries ; '^ or containing such narratives as that of a Sister's 
 rescue from Charon himself by her Brothers ; '' or even of 
 a Brother rising from the grave to fetch his sister ' from 
 Babylon ' to console their mother ;c to such Stories as 
 those which tell how a Daughter saved her Father's life, 
 and obtained his pardon and reinstatement in his pos- 
 sessions ;'^' or how a Son got himself sold as a slave so 
 that his impoverished mother might live comfortably;*^ 
 or how the Daughter of the ' Stingy Woman ' went 
 
 407, etc., as a much more general institution than usually sup- 
 posed, and one of which 'it is a mistake to see the origin in a legal 
 form ' as Dr. TVLOR does. 
 
 ■^ Vol. i., pp. 162-165. '' /dul, p. 93. ■- //nW., p. 243. 
 
 '' Vol. ii., pp. 357-360. ^- /dul, pp. 361-367.
 
 500 The Survival of Paganisvi. 
 
 even to Hell to seek and save her Mother ;a and 
 finally, I would here refer to the pathetic Moirologia, or 
 Dirges, when of one or other of its members the Family 
 has been bereft.^ As to the Sexual Purity of Greek 
 Folk-poesy, it is distinctively Pagan, not Christian. In 
 other words, it is not that ascetic purity of abstinence 
 from sexual relations of which the result, as so abund- 
 antly evidenced by the realities of the history of Chris- 
 tian Morals, is but a specially nauseous impurity. It is 
 that natural ^\^x\\.y which arises from, at least, the general 
 predominance of affection over passion, and which, in 
 Love-song and -story, shows itself in a complete absence 
 of lewd suggestiveness.c 
 
 Of (2) the Truthfulness, Honesty^ and Greathearted- 
 ness of the Pagan Heroes of Greek Folk-poesy,^' my space 
 here permits only of single illustrations. ' Consider 
 
 '' "Vol. ii., pp. 290-294. '' Vol. i., pp. 95-100. 
 
 "- What underlies the hypocrisies of Christian Morals is interest- 
 ingly shown by the writings of our emancipated Eves. And so incon- 
 ceivable seems to them the noble reticence of these Greek Love- 
 songs and -stories that already, since the publication of the first of 
 these volumes last June, letters have been received from the fair 
 Sisterhood confidently insisting that, in the Originals, all niiist\iZMQ 
 been described that occurs to their own lewd imaginations. This is 
 detailed by their facile pens, in but partially disguised handwriting. 
 And what they fancy is merely the translator's 'prudery,' they 
 sharply resent and condemn as, in the words of one of these letters, 
 ' an anachronism and an atopism covering with modern and 
 northern reserves the unashamed nakedness, innocent rather than, 
 impure, with which a Southern people fronts the relations of Sex.' 
 The fact, however, is, that whatever has been translated has been 
 literally and fully translated. Further, the only pieces in the whole 
 Corpus of Greek Folk-poesy of which examples have not been given 
 have been those of such a coarsely expressed comic character as 
 the Satires on Monks and Nuns. And not only the fact of the 
 extreme outspokenness about sexual matters usual in the Levant, 
 but the printing of every word of the Satires by the Greek col- 
 lectors sufficiently guarantees their having in no way bowdlerized 
 the Love-songs and -stories. 
 
 ■' Compare Campbell, West Highland Tales, iv. p., i6g : 'A re- 
 m.Trkable feature in these [Gaelic] poems is the magnanimity and 
 gallantry which distinguish their heroes, though mixed with much 
 barbarism and fierceness.'
 
 The Morality of Paganism. 501 
 
 well,' said the King to him, ' and don't tell us lies, or off 
 will go thy head.' 'A Man,' replied the Prince, 'who 
 has resolved to deliver a Princess from death or to 
 sacrifice his own life, never tells lies.'^ In another 
 story, a goat having escaped from the flock herded by 
 an unfortunate Prince, a Wild Man appeared to him 
 who said, ' I enticed away the goat that I might show 
 myself to thee, and put an end to thy misfortunes.' 
 But the Prince replied, ' I must first take back the goat 
 to my master, and then, if thou desire it, I will return.'^ 
 And in another, a youth having been discovered ' sleeping 
 like one dead,' ' That's lucky,' said one of the Forty 
 Dhrakos ; ' we shall sup finely to-night !' ' Never,' cried 
 another, ' it is not honourable to kill him while he sleeps. 
 We must first awaken him, and fight him one by one.' 
 ' No,' replied the eldest brother, ' that will not do either, 
 for one to fight against forty ; but we will kill him if 
 we beat him at feats.' ' Very well,' said all the brothers. 
 And the hero having beaten them all in playing at ball, 
 ' Our word is our word,' said they, and they married 
 him to their sister.*^ 
 
 Finally, as to (3) Patriotic Self-devotion and Brotherly 
 Fidelity, all the Historical Ballads and Legends may be 
 cited in evidence. Evidence the Ballads also, indeed 
 afford of occasional treacheries among the Klephts 
 themselves d and occasinal ferocities against their Turkish 
 foes.e But incomparably more fully do they attest that 
 generation after generation, mothers have sent their sons 
 to battle against the Turks, and that, to mothers less 
 heroic, sons have cried : 
 
 ' I tell thee, mother, ne'er will I to base Turks be enslaved ; 
 1 cannot bear it, mother mine — my heart would die within me. 
 My gun I'll take, and I will go— I'll go and be a Klephti '—^ 
 
 ■' Vol. ii., p. 105. '' Ibid., p. 171, " Ibid., p. 69. 
 
 '' Vol. ii., pp. 350, 360. "^ Ibid., p. 342. f Vol. i., pp. m, 387.
 
 502 1 he Survival of Paganism. 
 
 — attest that in Klephtic bands innumerable 
 
 ' They've made an oath upon the sword, three oaths on the 
 topjiaiki^ 
 That when a comrade should fall sick, then would they all stand by 
 him.'' 
 
 and that rarely has such an oath not been sacredly 
 kept : — attest that, generation after generation, there has 
 arisen from patriot ranks the Homeric shout : 
 
 AejSejres Kafxere Kapdia, aa xp^cti-o.^oI (pavTJre ! 
 Tovs ToupKovs 70. iracTp^\(/oixe !'' 
 
 ' Take heart, my warriors, and show that ye are men and Christians ! 
 We'll clear the Turks from out the land !' 
 
 — and that this has been not sworn only, but in so great 
 part done that but little more is needed to complete the 
 heroic task. 
 
 § Sc But even if it be granted, as I think it must be, 
 that regard for some Others is no less original a correlate 
 of regard for Self than consciousness of some Others is 
 of consciousness of Self, the question may still arise, 
 Whether the regard for Others which makes Conduct 
 moral is, if not originated by Supernatural Grace, fostered 
 by Supernatural Sanctions ? To such a question with 
 reference to the Morality of Greek Folk-life, the answer 
 is supplied by our Second Class of facts illustrative of 
 the Moral Characteristics of Greek Folk-poesy. These 
 facts show that the regard for Others, which makes 
 Conduct moral, is generally and effectually fostered, 
 among the Greek Folk, not by Supernatural, but only 
 by Natural Sanctions — the penalties, namely, which, in 
 the case of Conduct disregardful of Others within certain 
 limits, regard for Others automatically inflicts, first, in 
 
 ■■" Vol. i., p. 347. 
 
 ' Vol. i., p. 308. As I have, there, noted (') 'the true equivalent 
 of the xP^<^TLauol of the text would be " Greeks " rather than Chris- 
 tians.'
 
 The Morality of Paganism. 503 
 
 the remorse which it excites in the individual, and, 
 secondly, in the detestation which it excites in his social 
 environment. And these are some of the facts I would 
 submit as evidence of this possibly somewhat startling 
 proposition. So far, at least, as the Customs and Poesy 
 of the Greek Folk testify, there is no practical, as dis- 
 tinguished from merely professed, belief in the sine qua 
 7ion of the Christian, as of all other Supernatural, 
 Sanctions — a separable and immortal ' soul,' destinable 
 to endless torment or endless bliss, I would refer more 
 particularly to the whole body of the Charonic lyrics, 
 and of the Moirologia, or Dirges, and also to the pieces 
 relating to Vampires, and testifying to belief in the 
 'soul,' if so we may call the life, of the Corpse, being 
 still in it, and rendering it capable even of rising from 
 the Grave. To die, therefore, is simply to be carried off 
 from home and friends, and all the joys of 6 clttcivw /cocr/io?, 
 the Upper World, by the remorseless Charon. In the 
 Moirologia, the mourners in no single instance console 
 themselves with the hope or belief that the beloved dead 
 are in a state of bliss. Even in the Songs specially dis- 
 tinguished as Spi)aK€VTiKa — Religious, or Christian — there 
 is seldom other difference made between the condition 
 in the Other-world of Good and Bad, or rather, as indeed 
 with Jesus himself, Poor and Rich,^ than that the Poor 
 are in the warm sunshine, and the Rich in the chilly 
 shade.'^ In one instance, indeed, in the foregoing Collec- 
 tion, such a Hell as that of the Gospels^ is described ; 
 
 " See Renan, Vie dc Jcsiis, p. 179. ' Le pur cbionismc, c'est-a- 
 dire la doctrine que les pauvres {cbionini) seuls seront sauves, que 
 le regne des pauvre? va venir, fut done la doctrine de Jesus. Malheur 
 a vous, riches, disait il, car vous avez votre consolation. Malheur 
 a vous qui et^s maintenant rassasie,^, car vous aurez faim,' etc. 
 
 ■^ See The Visit to Parddisc and Hell, vol. i., p. 106. 
 
 *= As people are now apt not only to forget, but to deny, that 
 eternal damnation was one of the chief doctrines preached by
 
 504 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 but it is in such a way as to make one suspect not belief 
 in, but revolt at its horrors, and therewith satire on 
 Christian morality.^ Nor only are the Saints, and par- 
 ticularly St. George,'' and even the PanagJiia,^ described 
 as anything but Divine personages ; but God Himself is 
 represented as a pander /' and when, as an Old Man, He 
 offers Himself as Godfather to a child, He is rejected by 
 its father as not the ' Just One ' he seeks.e Death is the 
 only * Just One,' and Fate, rather than Providence, rules 
 the world. After numberless sufferings and dangers, 
 all, indeed, ends happily for the Heroes of the Stories/ 
 ' But,' adds the narrator, with pleasantly cynical unbelief 
 in Virtue's sure reward, ' I was not there, and neither 
 were you, so you need not believe it.'S With similar, 
 
 Christ Himself, it may be well to recall a few passages : 'The Son 
 of man shall send forth His angels, and they shall gather out of 
 His kingdom all things that offend, and them that do iniquity ; 
 and shall cast them into a furnace of fiie : there shall be wailing 
 and gnashing of teeth' {Matt. xi. 41, 42) . . . 'shall be cast into 
 outer darkness ; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth ' 
 {Ibid., viii. 12). 'It is better for thee to enter into life maimed, 
 than having two hands to go into hell, into the fire that never shall 
 be quenched : where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not 
 quenched ' {Mark ix. 43, 44). 
 
 " The girl sees her mother in one of the cauldrons with lurid 
 fires under them, and takes hold of her to rescue her. For this 
 she is punished, as she had been told she would be, if she thus 
 gave way to natural affection. ' No one can save her now,' says 
 Christ to the heart-broken daughter. But, as she herself was safe, 
 * Be thou glad at heart,' He says, 'and go home to thy house.' 
 
 '' Who, for instance, when more highly bribed by the Turkish 
 youth than by the girl he has hidden, discovers her hiding-place 
 to the ravisher. See vol. i., p. 105. 
 
 ' '"Thou dog! Thou gipsy dog!"' says the Blessed Virgin, 
 with an amusing unconventionality. Vol. i., p. 116. 
 
 '' Sigropoulos prays to God that he may find the man, whose wife 
 he covets, undressed and defenceless. ' And as he prayed, so it fell 
 out, for Yiannakos was sleeping.' Vol. i., p. 240. 
 
 " See alxn'e, p. 408. 
 
 f Mr. NuTT has very suggestively contrasted the optimistic and 
 happily ending Idylls and Tales of Folk-poesy with the fatalistic and 
 tragic character ot the great heroic Legends and Ballads. Hyde's 
 Beside the Fire, Postscript, Ivi., Ivii. 
 
 ^ See, for instance, abo7>e, pp. 207 and 282.
 
 Classes of Zoonist, etc., Facts. 505 
 
 but more serious unbelief, Cretan patriots, undismayedly 
 fronting their Turkish foes, exclaim, 
 
 ' Belike you may the victors be, for miscreants are you !' 
 
 ' And so,' the ballad continues, 
 
 'And so the parley ended, and began the battle's din I'"* 
 
 Life seems, indeed, in Greek Folk-poesy, ever to be 
 regarded with a Classical sanity,!^ without Christian, or 
 other, unverifiable illusions. There is no pessimistic 
 outcry, and what Life offers of Good is frankly enjoyed. 
 But for all that, Life's three great events — Birth, Mar- 
 riage, and Death — are characterized as what, in fact, 
 for the vast majority, they have, for unnumbered mil- 
 lenniums, been, and still are — Ta ipia Kand rrj<; Moipijs, 
 ' The Three Evils of Destiny.''^ 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 CLASSES OF ZOONIST, SUPERNALIST AND MAGICIANIST FACTS. 
 
 I.— ZOONIST FACTS. 
 (I.) Objects as Responsively Sentient Powers. 
 
 I. Sympathetic Itianiniates. 
 
 The Sun is represented as pityingly addressing a sad and lonely 
 Deer (i., 52) ; as sleeping on the hill (i., 172) ; as having a Mother 
 (i., 82) ; and as angry with the Moon and Stars (i., 87). The 
 Morning Star is spoken of as a man whom a widow's daughter 
 desires for her husband (i., 121); and as the sweetheart of the 
 North Wind's Mother (i., 170). The Moon weeps in sympathy 
 
 Vol. i., p. 304. 
 
 '' I regret that I can here only commend to the reader a com- 
 parison of the world-view of Modern Greek P'olk-poesy with tlia: 
 of Classical Greek Culture-poesy. 
 
 "= Heuzev, Le Mont Olyinpc et VAcarnanie.
 
 5o6 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 with the sorrowing Virgin (i., 114); is prayed to by a child going 
 to a night-school in the bad times of Turkish oppression (i., 282, 
 283) ; and discovers the kiss of lovers (i., 137). The Stars are 
 brimming with tears (i., 114) ; and the words used in speaking of 
 the setting of the Morning Star, as likewise of the Sun — /Sao-tXei^w 
 and ^acTi\evfj.a — denote also reigning as a king (i., 64). Earth opens 
 her mouth three times to swallow the murderers of Dimos, and 
 three times vomits them forth again, ' for murderers she liked not ' 
 (1., 420). The Wind questions the Mountains (i., 310) ; and sleeps 
 on the plain (i., 172). The Mountains also ask and answer ques- 
 tions (i., 311); grieve for the absence of the Klephts [ibid.) ; or are 
 wrathtul when their inhabitants are carried away captive (i., 352). 
 Proudly Olympos disputes with Kissavos, and boasts of his glories 
 (i., 57) ; or, falling in love with his fellow-mountain, now called by 
 the feminine name of Ossa, ihey become the parents of the Klepht 
 Vlachava (i., 327), whose head, when he is slain, his faithful dog 
 carries to his mother Ossa, and buries in the snows of her bosom. 
 Fountains, pouring out tears, lament the death of the Klephts who 
 formerly frequented them (i., 128). Lovers would fain transform 
 themselves into Rivers, and so consciously embrace their mistresses 
 and rid themselves of the poison of passion (i., 128). And even 
 the Dead are conceived as still conscious in their toinbs (i., 98) ; 
 and they occasionally issue therefrom as Vampires (i., T], 243 ; ii., 
 168). Nor these greater ' Inanimates ' only, as we conceive them, but 
 things inanimate of all kinds — Inanimates of Art as well as of 
 Nature— are represented as living, and sympathetically living. A 
 Bridge is rent m twain, and a Stream ceases to flow on hearing 
 the sad lament of a widow (i., 200). A Ship is fascinated by the 
 song of a Siren (i., 61) ; or stops sailing, horrified by the groan of 
 a galley-slave (i., 284) ; or compelled by the magic of a wish (ii., 4). 
 Her Pillow and Couch sympathetically respond to the complaint 
 of a forsaken wife (i., 194). A Knife, Cord, and Stone respond to 
 and counsel a distressed Princess (ii., 44). Doors open wide from 
 fear (i., 116). And even a Gravestone feels and speaks (i., 76). 
 
 2. Sympathetic Plants. 
 
 To pass from what we ordinarily consider inanimate to animate 
 Nature, Vegetable and Animal. Trees, and especially the Cypress 
 ('•J 57), Apple (i., 58), and Rose-tree (i., I2g); and Fruits— Lemons 
 and Apples (i., 118); and Flowers— Sweet Basil and Carnation, are 
 all endowed with human feeling and speech. The Cypress beneath 
 which a Bishop is beheaded dies of grief (i., 285) ; and — as in 
 Scotland the ' Flowers of the Poorest,' after the battle of Flodden 
 (15 13), so, in a contemporary ballad, the flowers after a Cretan 
 battle (i., 305) lie withered on the ground. 
 
 3. Sympathetic Animals. 
 
 It is Birds— Eagles (i., 289), Partridges (i., 316), and Crows 
 ('•1 376), Cuckoos (i., 361), Blackbirds (ibid.), and Nightingales
 
 Classes of Zoimist, ctc.^ Facts. 507 
 
 (i., 278) — who sing the dirges of the slain, or give warning to the 
 living of death or betrayal. "That he may gossip with birds' 
 {yi.xiji fj-k TO. -KovKia. Kov^ivra) the dying Klepht begs that he may be 
 carried up to a mountain ridge to die (i., 385). A Bird, 7roi\i, 
 bewails her hard lot in colloquy with a king's daughter (i.. 55) ; an 
 Eagle predicts the fortune of a Princess (ii., 40) ; a Partridge re- 
 proves an erring Bulgarian girl (i., 132) ; an Owl heralds the ap- 
 proach of Vampires (i., •j'j) ; and a Stork assists St. Demetra to 
 find her daughter (ii., 172). And so, among Beasts, Lions (ii., 215) 
 as well as Dogs (ii., 257) come to the assistance of heroes ; nor 
 are Horses less helpful : a Horse understands the entreaties of 
 his mistress and wins a wager for his master (i.. 55) ; counsels his 
 master how to svin a maiden (i., 272) ; or warns a maiden against 
 his master (i., 142) ; a Deer complains to the Sun of the cruel 
 hunter who has killed her child and her husband (i., 52) ; a Mouse 
 advises and saves from danger a Prince (ii., 258) ; a Snake suggests 
 the remedy for a wounded youth (ii., 10) ; and a Golden Fish 
 teaches a powerful charm to a Halfman (ii., 159). Finally, even 
 Insects, such as Bees and Ants, are associated with heroes as their 
 helpers (ii., 210). 
 
 (II.) The Solidarity of Objects through Mutual 
 
 Influences. 
 
 I. Life-Correlates. 
 
 What I have termed Life-Correlates may be distinguished as 
 
 (l) Extcriial-accideiital, (2) Personal, and (3I External-essential. 
 
 The first, or External-accidental, may be illustrated by the follow- 
 ing farewell charge of a Klepht to his mother : 
 
 ' And plant for thee a rose-bush fair, and plant a clove carnation. 
 And while they blossom, mother mine, and while they put lorth 
 
 tlowers, 
 Know that thy son is living still and 'gainst the Turks is fighting. 
 But when that sad, sad day shall come, when comes that bitter 
 
 morning, 
 The morn when both those plants shall die, and faded fall their 
 
 blossoms, 
 Know that thy son all wounded lies, in weeds of black array 
 
 thee ' (i. 342). 
 
 What I would distinguish as (2) Personal Life-correlates may 
 be illustrated by the following : 
 
 ' The Stork, which had helped him (the hero) so well, then fell 
 upon the prostrate Agha, pecked out his eyes, and plucked out a 
 white hair which was visible in the black tuft with which his head 
 was surmounted. On this hair depended the life of the Turkish 
 Magician, who immediately expired' (ii. 175). 
 
 The third kind of Life-Correlates, the External-essential, are such 
 as that of the Half-man-half-iron :
 
 5o8 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 ' My strength,' he said, ' is in a wild boar which lives on such 
 and such a mountain. It has a silver tusk ; in this tusk is a hare ; 
 the hare has in its inside three pigeons, and in them resides my 
 strength' {IVoinoi of Tin-key^ ii. 334). 
 
 The first of the above distinguished three sets, or species, of Life- 
 Correlates includes the facts usually detailed under the title ' Life- 
 token, or Life-index' (Hartland, Perseus, ii.), while the third 
 includes those illustrative of what, as I think, is most misleadingly 
 termed 'The External Soul' (Frazer, Golden Bough, ii. 296). I 
 think, however, that it is of great importance for tne due under- 
 standing of all these sets of facts to bring them under such a 
 general head as that of Life-Correlates. And I submit that their 
 explanation is to be found, not in an hypothesis of the ' divisibility of 
 Personality ' {Perseus, ii., pp. 56 fol., iii., pp. 185 fol.), but in the fact 
 that the notion of an isolated Personality has not yet arisen, and 
 that, instead of it, we find the conception of a universal Solidarity. 
 
 2. The Evil Eye. 
 
 The belief in the power to exert a malign influence by a mere 
 look and wish, and the power, on the other hand, of certain acts, 
 gestures, words, and objects to counteract such malign influence, 
 IS evidently a further illustration of belief in the Solidarity and 
 Mutual Influence of persons and things. It is, of course, in Folk- 
 custom rather than in Folk-poesy that illustrations are to be found 
 of this belief. For illustrations in Folk-custom I would refer 
 generally to Elworthy, The Evil Eye, and also to our Women 
 and Folklore of Turkey for illustrations not only among Christians 
 (i. 145, 191, 339), but Jews (ii. 68), and Moslems (ii. 469, 475). The 
 most curious feature perhaps about this notion is, that the malign 
 influence is so generally believed to be exerted by eulogistic words, 
 that, if no evil is meant, it is customary to say or do something of 
 a contrary character {lJ'\)/nen of Turkey, ii. 475), partly, perhaps, 
 because of distrust of fair words, and partly because of such general 
 experience of evil that it is feared lest the Fates or Charon be 
 provoked either by eulogium of others, or congratulation of oneself. 
 
 In illustration of the former I may recall : 
 
 ' Two brothers had a sister dear, through all the world renowned. 
 The envy of the neighbourhood, the belle of all the village ; 
 And Charon looks with jealous eye, and for himself he'd take 
 her' (i. 93). 
 
 And in illustration of the latter, or of what would in Scottish 
 phrase be caWcd forespeaking oneself, I may cite : 
 
 ' There boasted once a cherished one, she had no fear of Charon ; 
 For she had nine tall brothers bold, and Konstantine for husband. 
 And Charon somehow heard of it, some bird the tale had told 
 
 him. 
 And he set forth and came to them while seated at their dinner ' 
 
 (i. 89).
 
 Classes of Zoimist, etc., Facts. 509 
 
 Or again, 
 
 ' From towering mountain-summit down there strolled a young 
 levente. 
 His fez on one side cocked he wore, and loosely hung his gaiters. 
 And Charon looked at him, he looked, and much was he dis- 
 pleased. 
 And seized him by his flowing hair and by his right hand held 
 him ' (i. 90). 
 
 3. Blood-Correlates. 
 
 But if, as we have seen, the conception of a general Solidarity is 
 testified to by such facts as have been indicated under the heads 
 of Lifc-Corrclaics, and the E^'il Eye, we may expect it to be especi- 
 ally illustrated in the case of those of the same blood. Hence we 
 find such passages in the Folk-songs as the following : 
 
 ' By Brotherhood the hills are rent, and torn the spreading tree- 
 roots ; 
 Out in pursuit goes Brotherhood and triumphs over Charon' (i. 93). 
 
 Again — 
 
 'The river swept two brothers down, with kisses intertwined ; 
 And one unto the other said, and one said to the other : 
 " O tightly, tightly grasp me now, nor, brother, from me sever, 
 For, if we once should separate, we'd ne'er be reunited " ' (i. 94). 
 
 Even by death this Solidarity is not always dissolved, and 
 Konstantine hears in his grave his mothet's cry : 
 
 'Arise, arise, O Konstantine, aiise and bring her to me !' 
 
 And 
 
 ' The tombstone cold a horse becomes, and the black earth a saddle, 
 The worms are changed to Konstantine, who goes to fetch his 
 sister' (i. 244). 
 
 With such Solidarity there naturally gees speciality of Mutual 
 Influence, which may be thus illustrated in the case of a father and 
 his sons : 
 
 ' Andronikos at table sat, there came to him a presage : 
 The bread which in his hand he held grew hard as 'twere a pebble ; 
 The wine which in his hand he held became like blood and 
 
 troubled. 
 " Now somewhere in the world the Turks do sore oppress my 
 children"!' (i. 238). 
 
 And so with the father of Konstantine, when his son was shut 
 up in a tower of iron — 
 
 ' And as his father sat at meat, away in Babylonia, 
 The wine, as he was drinking it, turned turbid in the wine-cup. 
 " Now know I that this day my son within a trap is taken " !' (i. 236).
 
 5IO TJie Survival of Paganism. 
 
 But it is Folk-custom rather than Folk-poesy that testifies to the 
 feeling of Solidarity among those of the same Blood, and hence to 
 the Mutual Influences believed to be exerted bv members of the 
 kindred or tribe. And, indeed, unless they are referred to this 
 conception of identity of Blood, and hence speciality of Mutual 
 Influence, the more characteristic Folk-customs are wholly in- 
 explicable. And I would refer especially to customs connected 
 with Puberty, particularly that of girls ; with Marriage ; with Child- 
 birth, and particularly the Couvade in its more general meaning 
 (see above, p. 498) ; with Bloodmingling, and with Death. 
 
 (III.) Objects as Unlimitedly Transformative Powers. 
 I, Environment- Transformations. 
 
 A Nereid Queen who has emerged from a citron is, when 
 thrown by a Negress into a Well, transformed into a Golden Eel. 
 When the Eel has been killed and eaten, its bones, thrown into the 
 Garden, become a Lemon-tree covered with fruit and blossom 
 The Lemon-tree is rooted up and its branches lopped off, but out 
 of the Trunk the Nereid again appears in her original form (ii. 23). 
 In one Cmderella story, when the two wicked sisters have killed 
 and eaten their mother, the Heroine subjects her bones for 
 forty days to fumigations with Incense, and then finds them 
 changed to jewels and beautiful clothes. In another version 
 Cinderella, after she is slain by her sisters, emerges from her Burial- 
 place in the shape of a bird. The bird is shot, but three drops of 
 its blood which fall in the Courtyard become an apple-tree which in 
 a year's time bears fruit. The tree is cut down, but from one of its 
 Apples, which has been begged by a passing old woman, Cinderella 
 agam emerges as beautiful as ever, and with her betrothal ring 
 still on her finger (ii. 116). An Archontds daughter, of whorn 
 It has been foretold that she shall marry her lather, to prevent this, 
 compasses his death. But an apple-tree grows up from his Grave, 
 and in consequence of eating of its fruit she becomes the mother of 
 a child. This last illustrates that transformation to which under the 
 title of the Supernatural Birth Mr. Hartland has devoted vol. i. of 
 his ' Legend of Perseus.' But as I have said, in the text, it is to be 
 regarded rather as an abnormal than as a supernatural incident. 
 
 2. Self-Transformatio7i. 
 
 In return for services rendered, a Hero receives from a community 
 of Ants, and from an Eagle, the power of transforming himself at 
 will into an Eagle, or Ant (ii. 212). A Magician and his servant 
 acquire by drinking a certain Red Water the faculty of transform- 
 ing themselves alternately into a pigeon, an eagle, a fly, a fly- 
 catuher-bird, a carnation, a venerable old Turk, millet, a hen and 
 chickens, a fox, and a handsome Prince (ii. 146). A Frog is able 
 to assume human form, and again to become a Frog at will (ii. 48).
 
 Classes of Zoonist, etc., Facts. 511 
 
 3. Other- Will- Tnuisfonnali<vi. 
 
 Two princes are transformed respectively into a Horse and a 
 Dog by the stroke of a Wand (ii. 86). Another Wand, when 
 struck on the pavement by a Frog-princess, becomes a trolden 
 coach with horses (ii. 51). A Curse pronounced by an offended 
 mistress transforms a Prince into a Snake (ii. 157)- And, in order 
 to hide him from a Drakos, a slap from a captive maiden tu.ns a 
 Hero into the Oriental equivalent of a Birch-broom (ii. 148). 
 
 n.— SUPERNALIST FACTS. 
 (I.) Objects as themselves Superior Powers. 
 
 I. Inanwiates — Greater or Less. 
 
 Such Elemental Powers as those to which Prometheus appealed 
 (,ibove, p. 485), Sun and Moon and Stars, Earth and Sea, Rivers 
 and their Fountains, etc. 
 
 2. Plants and Animals. 
 The Oak and Corn, etc. ; the Horse and Cow, etc. 
 
 3. Persons — Men a7id Women. 
 
 Individuals who, either as belonging to a higher Race, or as 
 otherwise differing, impress themselves as possessed of superior 
 powers. 
 
 (II.) Personifications and Incarnations of Energies. 
 
 I. Fates, etc. 
 
 The three Fates ; the Fatescribe ; Good Luck. The three 
 Stoicheia of the World. Charon, and the Mother of Charon ; the 
 Mother of the Sun ; the Mother, also the Stoicheion, of the Sea ; 
 the Mother of the North Wind ; the Lamia of the Sea; of the 
 Almond, and Walnut-tree ; and the Stoicheion of the Plane-tree, 
 Gorgons, Sirens, etc. 
 
 2. Kinj^s. 
 
 Weather Kings ; Kings of Fire and Water ; Kings of the Wood, 
 etc. 
 
 3. Gods and Goddesses. 
 
 Adonis, Attis, Osiris, Dionysos, Demeter and Persephone, 
 Lityersas (see Golden Bough, i. ch. 3).
 
 512 The Survival of Paganism. 
 
 (III.) Persons remembered as Superior Powers. 
 
 I. Higher Races. 
 
 If, for instance, Matriarchal Women were generally of a Higher 
 White Race, then, as I have suggested {]Vo})icn of Turkey^ v. ii, 
 Origin of Matriarchy), Swan-maidens may be a mythical reminis- 
 cence of them. 
 
 2. Tribal Ancestors and Inventors of Arts. 
 
 For instance, the later 'Gods of Samothrace' may have been 
 originally the first Metallurgists (see RossiGNOL, Les Mctaiix dans 
 l'Antiqiiite\ Origines religieuses de la Metallurgies and my Gods of 
 Samothrace, Contemporary Review, April, 1S82). 
 
 3. Lower Races. 
 
 For instance, as Mr. MacRitchie particularly has shown to be, 
 at least, probable, an Early D warf Race, possessed of what appeared 
 magical powers, were the origin of stories oi Fairies. 
 
 * * * Tr -ji- 
 
 But it is impossible here to give anything like an adequate state- 
 ment, or even indication of those facts of Folk-mythology which, 
 due as they are to the Zoonist Folk-conception of Nature, were the 
 basis of the later Culture Mythology, and of Religions in which 
 fictitious Gods rather than actual Powers of Nature were wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 III.— MAGICIANIST FACTS. 
 
 Of these facts, the explanation of which forms the chief verifi- 
 cation of the above generalizations as to the Zoonist conception of 
 Nature, I can here only indicate the three chief classes : 
 
 (I.) Magic of Operation. 
 (IT.) ., ,, Divination. 
 (III.) „ ,, Co-operation. 
 
 By this last I mean to indicate the ceremonies at the Folk- 
 Festivals of Nature. (See Frazer, Golden Bough.)
 
 The Result of the Investigation. 513 
 
 {Exigencies of space and of expense make it impossible 
 here to give more than, as above, the first of those three 
 Sections which I have indicated in the Preamble as 
 necessary for a complete demonstration of the Survival op 
 Paganism {pp. 469-70-71). N'or, though the ifivestiga- 
 tion has, in fact, been completed in those other divisions of 
 it which should have formed the subjects of two other 
 Sections, can I here do more than refer the reader to the 
 Analytical Table {pp. 527, ^2Z) for an indication ofzvhat 
 the contents would have been of such complementary Sec- 
 tions. And in the Summary to which I nozv proceed, I can 
 only, in the briefest manner, state the general results of tJie 
 studies complementary to that of zvhich the results with 
 reference to the Characteristic Conceptions of Paganism 
 have been given in some detail in the foregoing First 
 Section.] 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 THE HISTORICAL RESULT OF THE INVESTIGATION. 
 
 What is the origin of the notion of Supernatural Gods ? 
 The facts and conclusions indicated, or stated, in the 
 foregoing First Section and its Appendix, are, if verifiable, 
 of revolutionary importance with respect to current 
 answers to this question, and hence with respect to 
 current theories of the origin and nature of Religion 
 even when defined — not as it usually implicitly or 
 explicitly is, as ' Christianity,' but — as more broadly b)- 
 Dr. Tylor — as ' the belief in Spiritual Beings."-^ For the 
 general result of these facts and conclusions is, that the 
 primitive Folk-conception of Nature is a notion of it 
 as made up of mutually influencing Powers ; a notion, 
 
 •' Prim. Cult.., i. 383. 
 
 33
 
 5 1 4 Summary. 
 
 therefore, of the predictableness of the events, and con- 
 trollableness of the forces of Nature by knowledge of 
 these Powers ; and hence a notion the very antithesis 
 of that derived from a belief in Spiritual Beings whose 
 action on Nature is wilful and arbitrary, or, in a word. 
 Supernatural. Neither, then, the notion of Spirits, nor 
 the notion of Supernatural Action, is of a primitive 
 character, or to be found in Folk-beliefs uninfluenced 
 by Culture-conceptions. What was the true origin of 
 these notions } I submit that the answer to this question, 
 as to so many other questions not verifiably answerable 
 on current Theories of the Origin of Civilisation, is to 
 be derived only from the facts on which I have insisted 
 as the main condition of these Origins — the facts implied 
 in the Conflict of Higher and Lower Races. It was 
 under the Conditions of this Conflict that the Folk- 
 conception of Supernals — Superiorily powerful Things 
 and Persons, or personified Energies of such Things and 
 Persons — was developed into the Culture-, rather than 
 Folk-conception of Spiritual and Supernatural Beings. 
 For materially conceived Supernals were naturally less 
 and less concretely conceived by more intellectually 
 developed Races or Classes, and hence, from Material, 
 were transformed into Spiritual, Beings. And naturally 
 also the Higher Races, breaking up the social condi- 
 tions, and hence the Morality, of the Lower Races, were, 
 with conscious or unconscious purpose, impelled, for their 
 own preservation, and that of the new social economy 
 which they founded, to supplement Natural by Super- 
 natural Sanctions, in developing Supernal into Super- 
 natural Beings, Lords of Otherworld Heavens and 
 Hells, Gods who could be appeased only by the Priests 
 of the Higher Races. Primes in orbe Deos fecit tinior. 
 Nay I Fear is by no means the natural emotion of
 
 The Result of the Investigation. 5 1 5 
 
 Man amid the powers of Nature. On the contrary, 
 nothing is at once more remarkable and more charming 
 in Folk-lore than the faith expressed, now, in the 
 sympathy of the Nature-powers, and now, in Man^s 
 ability to control them when antagonistic.'^ It would 
 appear, therefore, more true to say that it was the Gods 
 who created Fear. And it was the Higher Races who, 
 in their conflict with the Lower, created the Gods, and 
 elaborated the Hells. 
 
 But to a question no less deep-reaching than that as 
 to the origin of the notion of Supernatural Gods, our 
 investigation of the Survival of Paganism suggests an 
 answer — the question as to the origin of the notion of 
 Natural Causation. For consider, first, some of the 
 more famous statements in which this notion has been 
 expressed. Ovk eoiKe S' rj (pv(ri<; eTretcroStcoS?;? ouaa eK 
 Twv (f)aivo/j.€VQ}v warrep ixo-)(0r]pa rpwyovSla — ('Nature 
 is not episodic in its phenomena, like a bad tragedy,') 
 said Aristotle.^ 'Actioni contrariam semper et 
 
 ^ Very significant is, I think, in this relation, that wonderful 
 contemporary engraving of Palaeolithic Man not only standing up, 
 in his nakedness, to the Mammoth, but attacking him with such a 
 dart as our bravest hunter now would not trust to as his sole 
 weapon. One recalls also that story of Sir Walter Scott being 
 found, as a child, no whit terrified by a thunderstorm, but lying on 
 his back exclaiming, as he witnessed the lightning flashes, ' Bonny, 
 bonny !' And one may likewise note how remarkably fearless 
 animals are even still with each other, and after all hereditary ex- 
 periences—how some children, and girls as well as boys, go up to 
 and caress strange cattle, horses and dogs, however large ; and 
 how small terriers, and even kittens, will face, nay, amaze by 
 attacking, in play, or earnest, big St. Bernards. Animals are, 
 indeed, physically, and, therefore, mentally discomposed by unusual 
 electric, and other atmospheric conditions ; and so doubtless was 
 primitive man. But such occasional discomposures could hardly 
 be (i/of?e adequate to produce permanent religious fear. And my 
 contention is, that fear was not specially developed and exploited 
 till the establishment — at what is now an approximately dateable 
 period — of the Hell-Religions of Civilization. 
 
 '' Metnph.^ xiii., iii.
 
 5 1 6 SiLimnary. 
 
 aequalem esse reactionem : sive corporum duoruin 
 actiones in se mutuo semper esse aequales et in partes 
 contrarias dirigi' — ('Action and reaction are equal 
 and opposite : or the actions of two bodies on each 
 other are always equal and directed to opposite 
 parts '), said Newton,-' and demonstrated, not the 
 idea merely, but the Law of Mutual Attraction. ' I 
 have long,' said Faraday, * held an opinion almost 
 amounting to conviction that the various forms under 
 which the forces of matter are made manifest . . . 
 are so directly related and mutually dependent, that 
 they are convertible, as it were, one into another, and 
 possess equivalence of power in their action.'^ Already 
 Joule had stated the mechanical equivalent of heat ;'= 
 and the further demonstration of the equivalence of 
 work done, and force expended was generalised in the 
 Principle of the Conservation of Energy.'! And this 
 Principle of Conservation which, as at present stated, is 
 a Law of Transformation, I have stated as a Principle 
 of Co-existence^ — and in these terms : Every Existent 
 determines and is determined by Co-existents} And now 
 
 ■' Principia^ vol. i., p. 15. 
 
 '' Experimental Researches, vnl. iii., p i ; and PJiilosophical 
 Trans. 1846 (read November 20, 1845). 
 
 '^ In his first paper on Tlie A-Iec/ianical Value of Heat, 1843. 
 
 ^ See Helmholtz, Erhaltitng der Kraft, 1847 ; or translation 
 by L. Perard, Conser7'ation de la Force, 1869. 
 
 ■^ Implicitly in my Proposal of a General M eclianical Theory of 
 Physics, founded on the conception of Mutually- determining 
 Ceiitres of Energy, and read at the Meeting of the British Associa- 
 tion, 1859, Reports — Physical and Mathematical Section, p. 58 ; and 
 explicitly in The Neiu Philosophy of History (1873), p. 158. 
 
 ^ As I have above said (vol. i., p. 14), it is this principle, 
 developed in correlative conceptions of the Atom, the Organism, 
 and the State, that I would make the basis of the Sciences of 
 Evolution. But its metaphysical application also may be briefly 
 indicated by the following extracts. ' While Kaul denied to the 
 mind any sort of knowledge antecedent to, or independent of, 
 experience, he still maintained that the Mind possesses certain
 
 The Result of the Investigation. 5 1 7 
 
 if, after reflecting on tiiese Culture-expressions of the 
 notion of Natural Causation, one recalls the Folk- 
 expressions of the notion of Mutual Influence, the 
 answer to the question as to the origin of the notion of 
 Natural Causation will hardly, I think, seem doubtful. 
 It is but a developed and verified form of the Folk- 
 intuition of the Solidarity of Nature. And securely 
 established as Supernaturalist Religions seemed to be on 
 the fears of men, Folk-lore and Culture-lore afford ample 
 evidence, the one for the Lower, the other for the Higher 
 Races or Classes, that Supernaturalist Beliefs were never 
 universal. Neither in the one Class nor in the other, 
 and least of all among the Priests of the higher ranks, 
 was the primitive Zoonist Conception of Nature ever 
 lost — the conception of Natural Objects as mutually 
 influencing Powers. Magic was still practised by the 
 Folk ; and, on the basis of the fundamental intuition 
 of Magic, Science was developed by the Priests. A 
 very superficial view, therefore, it is, which represents 
 the origin of European Philosophy and Science with 
 Thales and the Hylozoists as due merely to the splendour 
 of Greek genius. It was but part of the general Revo- 
 lution of the Sixth Century B.C., and a publication and 
 
 "Forms," destined to enfold, though requiring to be supplemented 
 by the " Matter" of Experience. In opposition to this, it would, 
 from the above principle, follow that the Mind is to be conceived 
 as, not only in its knowledge^ but in its co)istitiition^ dependent on 
 the World ; that this constitutional dependence, however, is not, 
 as with the Materialists, a contingent and sequential relation ; but 
 such a necessary and systematic correlation that, not only our 
 Cognitions, but our Faculties would not be such as they are, were 
 not the World such as it is. . . . Thought and Existence are thus 
 conceived as neither independent, as the Materialist maintains ; 
 nor identical as the Idealist contends ; but correlative' {The New 
 Philosophy of History (1893), PP- 168-9). And I submit that the 
 discovery of the true primitive intuition, but false primitive con- 
 ceptions, of the Oneness of Nature, is an historical proof of this 
 metaphysical theory.
 
 5 1 8 Su77tniary. 
 
 development of ideas far from unknown in Priestly 
 Colleges, notwithstanding the mythologic forms of their 
 exoteric Cosmogonies. But synchronously with this 
 New Philosophy developed by nameable individual 
 thinkers, and recorded, not in mythic, but in scientific 
 language, and not in hieroglyphic, but in alphabetic 
 writing, there arose those New Moral Religions which 
 made of this great Revolution the true Epoch from 
 which date the Modern as distinguished from the Ancient 
 Civilisations. Among these New Religions of the Sixth 
 Century B.C. was one in which the general revolt against 
 Mythologic Polytheism took the form of a specially 
 absolute and anthropomorphic Supernaturalism — the 
 Yahvehism of the Jews after the Babylonian Captivity. 
 And the Semitic conception of a Creator-God outside 
 and independent of Nature, becoming 500 years later 
 the intellectual core of Aryan Christianism, such an 
 antagonism was set up between the fundamental con- 
 ceptions of Religion and of Science as to this day 
 endures. 
 
 Within what time the full development at once and 
 victory of the conception of Natural Causation — the 
 conception of the Mutual Determination of the differen- 
 tiated Energies of a Kosmos — will be general and assured, 
 we cannot tell. But we may at least say that — not- 
 withstanding the immense economic and political forces 
 on the side of a discredited and uncredited Super- 
 naturalism — the ultimate triumph of that Science which 
 is but the splendid verification of the primitive Folk- 
 intuition of the Solidarity of Nature appears as if it were 
 in the drift of things. But if so, then, survejnng Human 
 History, do we not see before us three great Stages in the 
 development of Human Thought — three Stages which, 
 rationally connected, will form an Ultimate Law of
 
 The Res7clt of the Investigation. 5 1 9 
 
 History? The First Stage is that which is still found 
 in contemporary Thought — even as Archaian rocks are 
 found cropping up through the latest strata — the Stage 
 of the Primitive Folk-intuition of the Oneness of Nature, 
 the Stage of the true intuition, but generally false con- 
 ceptions of Mutual Influence. Then, there is the great 
 Middle Stage, beginning with, or at least having its 
 roots in, the earliest Chaldean and Egyptian Civilisa- 
 tions — the Stage of the Supernaturalist Religions, and 
 of the long conflict between the Supernatural and 
 Natural conceptions of Causation, a conflict which, since 
 the Sixth Century B.C., has been especially marked by 
 the differentiation of Philosophy and Religion, and, in 
 Philosophy, of Idealism and Materialism. And now, 
 see we not before us a Third Stage in that above 
 indicated of the development and verification of the 
 Primitive Folk-intuition? And what has led to this? 
 There has been a more important interaction between 
 Folk- and Culture-conceptions than that which I indi- 
 cated in the General Preface to these Researches. For 
 what has distinguished the great heroes of Science ? 
 It has been uniformly a profound conviction, with 
 reference at least to some special class of phenomena, 
 of that Oneness, that unepisodic character, that Soli- 
 darity of Nature which we have found to be a primitive 
 intuition. But is the triumph of this Folk-conception the 
 destruction of all Religions.'' Nay, it will only make 
 evident that Religion must be otherwise and more largely 
 defined than as ' the belief in Spiritual Beings.' It must 
 be defined as what I submit that it has always in fact 
 been, 'an Ideal of Conduct derived from some general 
 conception of the Environments of Existence.' The 
 Supernaturalist Conception of the Environments of 
 Existence was not a primitive, but a secondary and
 
 520 Su7nmary. 
 
 transitional, conception. But to that Supernaturalist 
 Conception of the Environments of Existence, anotlier 
 is now succeedin^^ which should be indicated in that 
 definition of the Third Stage of Human Thought which 
 must constitute the last clause of an Ultimate Law of 
 History. And whether the following is a verifiable 
 statement of such a Law it will be the work of the rest 
 of my life to inquire, and with the assistance, I would 
 fain hope, of competent critics. From the Primitive 
 Intuition of the Oneness of Nature in unverified concep- 
 tions of the Mutual Influences of undifferentiated Sentient 
 Powers, Thought — after the differentiation of Psychical 
 from Physical Development, as result of certain Conflicts 
 of Higher and Loiver Races — has advanced and advances, 
 under the conditions of a Conflict betzveen Folk- and 
 Culture-conceptions, through differentiated and progres- 
 sively antagonistic and abstract conceptions of Natural 
 Powers and Supernatural Agents, to the truth of that 
 Pritnitive Intuition in verified conceptions of the Mutual 
 Determination of the differentiated Energies of a K osmose 
 
 ■^ Whatever corrections may still have to be made in the state- 
 ment of this Law, the twenty-three years of further research since 
 my first statement of it (1873) do not seem to have been without 
 result in developing it, at least, into a more fully verifiable form. 
 For these were the terms of my first statement of this Law. 
 T/ioi/g/it, in its Differentiating and Life aerating Ac/iviiy, advanees 
 under Terrestrial conditions, from I lie conception of Onesided Deter- 
 mination, t/iroi/g/t tlie Differentiation of Subjective and Oljective, to 
 t/ie conception of Mutual Determination — 77/ 1' Nezu PJiilosophy of 
 History (1873), P- 191- The definition of the First Stage as one in 
 which there was a general conception of ' Onesided Determina- 
 tion ' was due to my too-hasty acceptance of Mr. Spencer's and 
 Dr. Tylor's theory of ' Spirits.' This has been corrected by an inde- 
 pendent and prolonged study of Folk-lore, and the editing of nve 
 Folk-lore Volumes. And the further corrections and amplifica- 
 tions in the statement now of this Law are due to those studies of 
 the immense new results of research with reference to the primitive 
 origins of Civilization to which I was impelled by the results of my 
 own explorations, in 1880 and 1881, in Northern Hellas, and con- 
 clusions as to the derivative origins of Hellenic Civilization.
 
 ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 VOLUME 11. 
 
 TRANSLATIONS.— FOLK-PROSE. 
 
 CLASS L 
 
 MYTHOLOGICAL FOLK-TALES. 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF KOSMICAL IDEAS. 
 
 ZOONIST, MAGICAL, AND SUPERNALIST. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF ZOONIST IDEAS. 
 
 The King of the Birds - - - - 
 
 Thrice-Noble, or the Three Citrons 
 
 The Story of the Beardless 
 
 The Sleeping Prince . . - . 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF MAGICAL IDEAS. 
 
 The Enchanted Lake - - - - 
 
 Dulcetta . . . . . 
 
 The Tov/er of the Forty Dhrakos 
 
 pagj: 
 
 28 
 40 
 
 46 
 67
 
 522 Analytical Table of Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Famous Dhrako ----- 80 
 
 The Dhrako ------ 88 
 
 The Man of the Many Chickpeas - - - 94 
 
 The Thrice- Accursed - - - - - 99 
 
 The Story of Cinderella- - - -, - 112 
 
 Saddleslut - - - - - - 116 
 
 The Sugar-Man - - - - - 120 
 
 The Story of the Soothsayer - . . - 130 
 
 The Wand ----- . 138 
 
 The Negro ------ 143 
 
 The Prince who was changed into a Snake - - 152 
 
 The Half-Man - - - - - - 158 
 
 The Greek Priest and the Turkish Witch - - 166 
 
 The Story of a Vampire- . . , - 168 
 
 SECTION III. 
 TALES ILLUSTRATIVE OF SUPERNALIST IDEAS 
 
 The Story of St. Demetra - - - - 171 
 
 What is Fated must Happen - - - - i77 
 
 King Sleep - - - -" - - '79 
 
 The Good Fate- - - - - - 185 
 
 The Archontas and his Three Daughters - - 194 
 
 The Cap of Invisibility ----- 199 
 
 The Mother of the Sea - - - - - 208 
 
 The Widow's Son - - - - - 219 
 
 The Queen of the Gorgons - - - - 229 
 
 The Nereid ------ 237 
 
 The Stringla Princess ----- 245 
 
 The Wild Man - - - - - - 261 
 
 The Lord of Underearth - - - - 277 
 
 The Two Cobblers . - - . - 283 
 
 The Puzzled Hermit ----- 288 
 
 'I'he Stingy Woman . - - - - 290 
 
 The Miserly Shepherd ----- 295 
 
 Christ's Exorcism ... - - 299
 
 Analytical Table of Contents. 52^ 
 
 CLASS II. 
 
 SOCIAL FOLK-STORIES. 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF VILLAGE LIFE. 
 
 ANTENUPTIAL, FAMILY, AND COMMUNAL. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF ANTENUPTIAL LIFE. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Crow's Language - - - - - 301 
 
 The Roving Prince - - - - - 307 
 
 The Beautiful Princess ----- 309 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF FAMILY LIFE. 
 
 I. Marital Life. II. Nursery Stories. III. Filial Life. 
 Sub-Section I.— Stories Illustrative of Marital Life. 
 
 The Silent Bride - - - - - 320 
 
 The Foolish Wife - - - - -322 
 
 The Idle Wife - - - - - - 324 
 
 Sub-Section II.— Nursery Storie.s. 
 
 The Tricks of Mistress Fox . - . . 325 
 
 The Baldheaded Youth - .... ^29 
 
 Big Matsiko ------ 335 
 
 The Tripe -....- 345 
 
 The Twelve Months - - ■ - - 348 
 The Cats - - - - - -351 
 
 The Bad Companions - - - - - 355
 
 524 Analytical Table of Contents. 
 
 Sub-Section III. — Stories Ii,i,ustrative of Fii,iai, Life. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Riddles - - - - - - 357 
 
 Moda - - - - - - - 361 
 
 The Handsome Halva Seller - . - - 368 
 
 SECTION III. 
 
 STORIES ILLUSTRATIVE OF COMMUNAL LIFE. 
 
 The Three Precepts - - - - - 374 
 
 The Little Pig - - - - - - 37« 
 
 The Contented Poor Man - - - - 381 
 
 The Dervishes ------ 383 
 
 The Friends - - - - - - 397 
 
 The Story of the Born Thief - - - - 400 
 
 The Just One ------ 408 
 
 CLASS III. 
 
 HISTORICAL FOLK-LEGENDS. 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HISTORICAL 
 MEMORIES. 
 
 BYZANTINE, OTTOMAN, AND HELLENIC. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF BYZANTINE MEMORIES. 
 
 The Last of the Old Hellenes - - - - 413 
 
 Sintsirli and Mintsirli and Little Sintsirlaki - - 414 
 
 The Accursed One - - - - - 417
 
 Analytical Table of Contents. 525 
 
 SECTION II. 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF OTTOMAN MEMORIES. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 The Monk of St. Sofia ----- 420 
 
 Mavromichaelis and Mourzinos- - - - 422 
 
 Oiovanni and the Daughter of latrakis - - - 423 
 
 SPXTION III. 
 
 LEGENDS ILLUSTRATIVE OF HELLENIC MEMORIES. 
 
 Yianni Stathas ----- 425 
 
 The Grotto of Mehdhoni - - - - 43 1 
 
 The Siege of Missolonghi - - - - 435 
 
 ANNOTATIONS. 
 HISTORICAL, COMPARATIVE, AND EXPLANATORV. 
 
 Epirote Parallel of ' Golden Wand ' - - - 437 
 Reference to Saints Kosrtio and Damiano - -437 
 
 Magical Combs- - - - - - 437 
 
 Golden Apples ------ 4^8 
 
 Parallels of- ' The Three Citrons ' - - - 4-58 
 
 Parallels of 'The Story of the Beardless' - - 439 
 
 Remarks on the Fates ----- 439 
 
 Remarks on the Dhrakos - - - . 440 
 
 Remarks on the ' Water of Life ' - - - 442 
 
 Epirote Parallel of the ' Knife of Slaughter,' etc. - 442 
 
 Cardigan Bay site of Submerged Country - - 443 
 
 Gaelic Parallels of ' Dulcetta ' - - - - 443 
 
 Oriental Expressions of Grief - - - . 44-5 
 
 Original of a doubtful Translation - - - 444 
 
 Echo of saying of Archimedes - - - - 444 
 
 Remarks on ' Seven Champions ' - - - 444 
 
 Original of ' P'ish-horse ' - - - - 444 
 
 Remarks on Mother's Blessing - - - - 444
 
 526 Analytical Table of Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Comparison with Story of Odysseos - - - 445 
 
 Keltic Parallel of ' The Dhrako ' - - - 445 
 
 Parallels of ' Man of Many Chickpeas ' - - - 445 
 
 Various Names for Satan - . . . 4^5 
 
 Note on the Pleiads - - . . . 446 
 
 Note on ' Bird's milk ' - - - - - 446 
 
 Original Words for the ' Outside Ones ' - - 446 
 
 Cannibalism in Cinderella Stories - - - 447 
 
 Suggested Origin of Transformation Ideas - - 448 
 
 Parallels of ' King Sleep ' - - - . 448 
 
 Dervishes as possessed of Magical Objects - - 449 
 
 Parallels of the ' Talking Wand ' - - - 449 
 
 Solomon of the Stories the Chaldean Ea - - 449 
 
 Parallels to the ' Half- Man ' . . . - 450 
 
 Classical Originals of ' Saint Demetra ' - - - 45 1 
 
 Parallels to Story of ' The Good Fate ' - - - 453 
 
 Note on ' Caps of Invisibility ' - - - - 453 
 
 Carrying Distinguished Guests Upstairs - - 454 
 
 Comparison of Keltic ' Nonsense-runs '- - - 454 
 
 Parallels of ' The Mother of the Sea ' - - - 455 
 
 ' Swanmaiden ' Myth in ' The Widow's Son ' - - 456 
 
 The Gorgons and the Casket Alternative - . - 456 
 
 The Striiigla or Witch - - - - - 457 
 
 Incidents of the ' Expulsion and Return ' Formula - 457 
 
 Classical Parallels of 'The Lord of Underearth' - 457 
 
 'Stingy Woman ' Story compared with Moslem Legend- 458 
 
 Translation of Greek Exorcism - - - - 458 
 
 Turkish Anecdote of Pasha-masha - - - 458 
 
 Reference to M. Politis' Paper on 'Reynard the Fox ' - 459 
 
 Classical Parallels of ' The Riddles ' - - - 459 
 
 Parallels to ' The Three Precepts ' - - - 459 
 
 Explanation of term Yiades - . . . 460 
 
 Original of Word translated ' Pith helmet ' - - 460 
 
 Tchifut (Jew), a Term of Opprobrium - - - 460 
 
 Lordos, Greek for ' lord ' - - - - 460
 
 Analytical Table of Contents. 527 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Parallelsof 'The Born Thief - - - - 461 
 
 Folk Notion as to Ancient Hellenes - - - 461 
 
 Note on St. Sofia (Salonica) - - - - 461 
 
 Absence of Popular Poetry in Maina - - - 461 
 
 Biographical Note on Giovanni Mavromichaelis - 462 
 
 Anecdote of a Mainote Mother- - - - 462 
 
 Note on ' The Cretans' Refuges ' - - - 463 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 THE SURVIVAL OF PAGANISM. 
 
 PREAMBLE. 
 
 THE HISTORICAI, AIM OF THE INVESTIGATION. 
 
 SECTION I. 
 THE CONCEPTIONS CHARACTERISTIC OF PAGANISM. 
 
 ;:$ I. The Definition of Paganism - - - 473 
 
 S 2. Zoonist Conceptions - - - - 477 
 
 § 3. The Aims of Magic - - - - 486 
 
 i^ 4. Supernalist Conceptions - - - - 49° 
 
 §5. The Morality of Paganism - - - - 498 
 
 Appendix. — classes of zoonist, supernalist, and 
 magician 1st facts. 
 
 SECTION II.* 
 THE CONFLICT OF FOLK- AND CULTURE-CONCEPTIONS. 
 
 >$ I. The Development of Supernaturalism. 
 
 .§ 2. Creationist Conceptions. 
 
 § 3. The Aims of Ritual. 
 
 S 4. Supernaturalist Conceptions. 
 
 S 5. The Overthrow of Supernaturalism. 
 
 * Seep. 513.
 
 528 Analytical Table of Contents. 
 
 SECTION III. 
 THE CONCEPTIONS OF PAGANISM JUSTIFIED. 
 
 § I. The Definition of Science. 
 
 § 2. Correlational Conceptions. 
 
 § 3. The Aims of Arts. 
 
 § 4. Kosmianist Conceptions. 
 
 § 5. The Morality of Science. 
 
 SUMMARY. 
 
 PAGE 
 IHE HISTORICAL RESULT OF THE INVESTIGATION - 513 
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF GREEK FOLK-LORE - 529 
 
 INDICES. 
 
 I. Incidents 
 
 533 
 
 II. Localities ------ ^-57 
 
 III. Authors ------ 538
 
 BIBLIOGRAPHY OF GREEK 
 FOLK-LORE. 
 
 The sources of the foregoijig Translations arc indicated by an asterisk. 
 For Books on Greek Foi,k-Speech, see Vol. I., p. 444, note. 
 
 ANTONIADES. — Kp7]TT]ts. 
 
 ■*'ARAVANDIN0S. — Wapoifua.ffTTjpLov. 1S63. — "ZvWoyri 8rj/j.wdu)i' dap-arwi' 
 
 TTJs 'HTreLpov. 1 880. 
 Arnoi,d, B. — Griechische Sagenund Marchen. 1883. 
 Bagnolo. — Romanize Pop. dei Greci Moderne. 
 BEAVDOins.—Etitde de Dialecte Chypriote moderne, etc. 
 Bent, Theodore.— 77^^ Cyclades. 
 Bi^ACKiE.— //br^ Helleniccs. 1874. 
 'RhA'scux^D.—Pohnes patriot itjiies de Valaorites. 1883. 
 Beemont and Carnov. — Collection Internationale de la Tradition. 
 
 Vol. I. 1889. 
 BoETTiGER. — Eine Landlichc Hochzeit im neiien Griechcnland. 
 
 {Allgcmcinc Zeitiing. Beit. 5. Apr., 1884.) — Bauincultus der 
 
 Hcllcnen. 
 BoTA?.s\.— Among the Creek Islands. {Oriental Chnrch Magazine. 
 
 March, 1879.) 
 *Bretos. — Conies et Poemcs de la Grecc moderne. 1885. — 'Wvikov 
 
 'li fie po\6y LOP. 1865. 
 BuCHON, J. A. Q.—La Grece Continmtalc et la Morec. 1843. 
 *Carnoy et NiKOEAiDES. — Traditions de VAsie Mineure. {Les 
 
 Litteratures Popiilaires. 1 884. ) 
 '''Ch.\SSIOTIS. — lLvKkoyy\ tQiv Kara rrjc 'liireipov 8e/j.0TiKuv afffidrov. 1866. 
 ^'ChioTIS. — 'IcTTOpLKa. ^ Awo/xvTip.ovev/j.aTa rfjs Netroi' ZaKvvdov. 1849-63. 
 ChoITRMOUZI. — KpTjTLKO.. 
 
 CONZE.—Peise an/den Inset// des Th/vkischen Meeres. KpovoypacjAa 
 
 TTJs ^Ewelpov. 1856. 
 *AeXT/oj' TTJS 'IffTopiKrjs Kal 'EdvoKoyiKrjs 'Eraipias ttjs EWdSos. Athen.s. 
 
 1883, etc. Vols. I and II. contain 'many folk-tales and songs, 
 
 and a number of folk-lore articles. 
 VOL. II. 34
 
 530 Bibliography of Greek Folk- Lore. 
 
 Destounis. — Raziskania o gretcheskich hogatirskich bylinach cred- 
 
 neve.covago. 1883. 
 DoRSA. — La Tradizione Greco-latina iiegli usi e nclle credeuze popo- 
 
 lari della Calabria citcriore. {Airhi7<. per le Trad. pop. 1883.) 
 DroSINE.S.— '()5oi7ropt/cai ivTvirdbatis. T/jels rjfjL^pai ev Ttjvc^. 1883. — 
 
 L'dndliche Briepc. Land und LetUe in Nord-Euboa. 1884. 
 'E/35o/xas. — Athens. (Contains various folk-lore papers.) 
 *'YXKy]viKo% <pL\o\dyLK6s XvWoyos. — Constantinople. (Vols. VII., VIII., 
 
 IX., X., XIV., XIX., XXI., XXII. contain collections of folk- 
 songs and tales, lullabies, proverbs, riddles, etc., besides articles 
 
 on folk-lore and folk-speech.) 
 ETTTaXoipos. — Constantinople. 
 
 '■^'Eo-rta. — Athens. (A variety of folk-lore papers.) 
 EVLAMPIOS. — '0 'Afj-dpavTOS. 1843. 
 'EvTepirr}. — Athens. 
 
 'Eiprjfxepls tuiv ^i\ofxa0uiv. — Athens. Nos. 678, 679, 751. 
 H^epoXo7ioi' TTis AvaToXyjs. 1884. (Folk-lore papers.) 
 P\\URiEl,. — Chants popiilaires de la Grece moderne. 1S24. 
 FiRMENICH. — Tpa70ii5ta Pw^dtAra. 1867. 
 
 Folk-lore Journal, London. — Vol. IV., Part III., Local Greek Myths. 
 Garnett, Lucy M. J. — Greek Biigand and Village Superstitions. 
 
 (Gentlevian' s Ufagazine. March, 1884). 
 Garnett and vStuarT-Gi^ENNie. Greek Folk-Songs. 1885 and 188S 
 
 — The Women and Folk- Lore of Turkey. 1890-91. 
 GeI/Dart. — Folk-Lore of Modern Greece. 1884. 
 GOUNIOS, D. — ^H-rreipibriKa M^Xt(T(ra. 
 *Hahn, J. G. von. — Griechische und Albanische MUrchen. 1864. — 
 
 NeofWryj/i/cd. Wapa^xjQia. 1879. 
 *Heuzey. — Le Mont Olympe. i860. 
 IaTRIDOS. — 2i)XXo7rj drjfj.oTiKQv q.(T/j.dTwy. 1S59. 
 lOANNIDOS. — 'laropia Kal ffraTiaTLKri TpaTre^ovvras. 1870. 
 IOANNOS. ^iXoXoyiKO, Ilap^pya. 1865. 
 lONioS. — 'AvdoXoyia. Corfu. 
 *JEANNARAKIS, A. "Aff^ara KprjTLKa. 1876. 
 *KlND.— Tpa70ii5ta ttjs ^'eas EXXdSos. 1833. — 'Mvrnj.oavvou. T849. — An- 
 
 thologie. 1844 and 1861. 
 KURIAZEvS. — " AcjxaTO. ijpoiKa ttjs eWTjviKTJs (Travaardcrfoos rod 1S21. 1884. 
 Lagarde, p. de. — Neugriechisches in Klein Asien. 1886. 
 Legrand, Eniile. — Mythologie Neo-Hclleniqtic, 1872. — Les Exploits 
 
 de Digenes Akritas. {Coll. de Monuments, etc., 1875.) Chansons 
 
 populaires grecqucs. 1876. — Recueil de Pohnes historiques. \>^'/7. 
 
 — Contes Grccs. 1881. — Ouatre Contes Grecs de Smyrne. {Rev. 
 
 de V Histoire des Religions, 1884.) Unpublished Collections lent 
 
 to Translator. 
 LEI.EKOS. — A(/j.0TLKTi 'AvdoKoyia. 1868. 
 
 *
 
 Ihblioo-raphy of Greek Folk-Lore. 531 
 
 IvEMKRCiER. — Chants Heroiqiies des Mo>ila(^nai-ds et Jfalelots Grecs. 
 
 1825. 
 *LenormanT, F. — Monographic siir /a I'oic Sacree EUitsijiifiDie. 
 
 1864. 
 LOUKA. — ^CKoKoyLKoi iincrKiij/eii. 
 
 IvUBER. — Erotas. Nmgriechische Liebesdistichen iibersetzt. 1883. 
 LiJBKic. — Neugriechische I'olks und Liebeslieder in Deutschfi Nach 
 
 dichtung. 1890. 
 Macpherson. — Poetry of Modern Gi-eece. 1884. 
 ManaSSEIDOS. — AtaXeKTOs kivov, "Ifi^pov, Kal Tfvidov. UoikIXt] v'Kt] e^ 
 
 A'lvov Kal IfjL^pa. 
 Mannhardt.— // a/d- und Feld-kulte. 1875-77. 
 ManouSOS. — T/3a70i'5ta idviKa, k. t. X. 1850. 
 'MARC'ELhVS.— Chants du Peiipte en Gruw 1851. 
 MELAINIS. — Kp7)TLKri 'SUXiaaa. 1873. 
 Mei^uSine (La).— Paris. 
 
 Mezieres. — Pelion et Ossa. Archives des Missions. 
 Mtj Xdveo-at. --Athens. 
 
 MoROSi, G. — Stndj siii dialetti greci delta terra d'Otranto. 1870. 
 MuLi^ER, Wilhelni. — /-7«/<:';- dcr Griechen. 1821. — Griechenlieder. 
 
 1844. — Neue Lieder der Griechen. Neuster Lieder der Griechen. 
 Negris, a. — A Dictionary of Modern Greek Proverbs. 1831. 
 *OlKONOMIDES. — Tpa70i55ia roxi 'OXv/j.irov. 1881. 
 Oppenheim.— AV//^/7Vr///^r//^ I'otks nnd Freiheitsliedei . 1842. 
 PaGOUNOS. — 'HTreipwTtK:?? StdXeKTOS. 
 Pandora. — 'Eipeneph ttjs 'EXXd.5os. 
 Panhellenic Annual. 
 
 * Parnassos. — 'SeoeWriuiKd dvdXfKra. 1870-71, 1883-84, etc. 
 *PASiit,^Y. — 'PraL'els in Crete. 1837. 
 *Passow. — Tpa7ot'/5ia Pw^aiVot. Popularia Cannina Grcecics Reccn- 
 
 tioris. iS6o.—Licbes und Ktageslicdcr des Neugrichischen Volkcs. 
 
 1861. 
 *Pio. — NeoeXXT/j/iK-o. Ilapa/xi'/^ta. — Contcs populaires Grecs piddles 
 
 d'apres Ics Manuscrits du Dr. J. G. von Hahn. 1879. 
 POIU^EK. — 'Neoi\\T]VLh:r] 'SlvdoXoyia. 
 [IolkIXt] ^rod. —Athens. 1884. 
 POI^ITIS, Y. N. — MeX^rr/ ^ttl toO /3io0 tuiv vedirepuiv 'FAX-qfOJu. 1871. — 
 
 rXoa-a-oXoyiKri avpL^oXri. — ^'CHXtos /card toP? 5ri/j.w5eh fj.vOovs. 1882. 
 PREiyi^ER. — Griechische Jlythologie. 
 
 Proust, A.— Chants Populaires de la Grece inoderne. 1866. 
 PsiCHARi.— /.a Ballade de Lenore en Grcce. {Rev. de VHist. des 
 
 Religions. 1884. IX., pp. 27-64.) 
 *RiCAUT, Sir VmxX.— The Present State of the Eastern Church. 
 RoDD, K.—Custo/ns and Lore of Modern Greece. 1892. 
 Ross.— /iV/.s7v/ an f den Griech. Inseln des Aegacischen Meeres. 1840
 
 532 Bibliog7'apJiy oj Greek Folk- Lore. 
 
 ♦SakEHARIOS. — Ta Ki'TrpiaKct. 1890, etc, 
 
 Sandp:rs. — Die Neugriechischc Volkspoesie und die Juden. Ephe- 
 vierides Kalender. 1842. — Das Volksleben der Neu§>,riechen. 
 1844. 
 SaThas. — Les Exploits dc Digenes Akhtas. 1S69. 
 ScHAUB. — Pohnes grecs inodernes. 1844. 
 Schmidt, ^.—Das Volksleben der Ncugricchen. \^ii.—Griechische 
 
 Ardrehen, Sagen, und I'olkslieder. 1877. 
 Sheridan. — The Songs of Greece. 1826. 
 SXAMATEIyLOS. — 2i'X\o77j tO)v ^uvTWf /xuTj/j-eiwy iv rrj yXiicrcra tov AevKa 
 
 Siov XaoO. 
 *SouTzo, h..—Histoire de la Revolution Grecque. 1829. 
 StuarT-Glennie. — Saniothrace and its Gods, a new Exploration 
 {Contemporary Review, May, 1882).— 77/r Survival of Paganism 
 {Greek Folk-songs. 1885-88).— 77;^- Origins of Matriarchy 
 {Women of Turkey. 1890-91). 
 TephaRIKI. — Ata!'OTpd70i'5a. 1868. 
 Thiersch. — Das Volksleben der Neugriechen. 
 ToMM.\SEO. — Canti popolari. 1841. 
 TozKR. — Highlands of Turkey. 1869. 
 Tradition (La).— Paris. Vols, for 1891-92, etc. 
 TuraTi. — Canti popolari slavi, greci, e napoletani. 1883. 
 
 *VaI^AORITES. — 'H KVph. ^po(jvvr]. 1859. — 'hlvqixbavva. gcr/xara. 1861. 
 VENIZEIvOS. — IlapoiM'tt. 
 
 Vlachos. — Neugriechischc Chrestoinathic. 1870. 
 
 WachsmuTh. — Hellenischer Alterthumskunde. 1826-30. 
 
 V^^nBV.-R.—Beispiele der Volksetyinologie ini Neugriechischen.— Beit- 
 rage zur Kunde der Indogcr. Sprachen. B. ii. 
 
 *Yemeniz.— Z^ Magne et les Mainotes. {Rev. des Deux Mondes, 
 Tom. 56, p. 27.) — Voyage dans le Royaume de la Grece. 1834. — 
 Hcros et Poctcs Modernes dc la Grece. 1S64. — Scenes et Recits 
 des Guerres de V Independance. 1869. 
 
 <i>tAoXo7tK'6s avv€K5r]/iios. 1849. 
 
 XpvaaWis. — Athens. 
 
 *Z.\MBEIyIOS. — "AafJLara 5-i]fji.0TLKa rrjs'EWddos. 1852. 
 
 ZanNETOS.^'H 'OfiepLKTi (ppdais. T8S3. 
 
 7.vcc\RiNi.~A/drchcn und Kindcrspicle in Griechenland. {Das 
 Ausland. Jahrgang, 1832.)
 
 INDICES. 
 
 INDEX I. 
 
 INCIDENTS, ETC., IN THE TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Ali Pasha, defeated by Souliots, 
 1. 313, 416; besieges Preveza, 
 315 ; drowns Kyra Fhrosyne, 
 318, 417 ; hangs Sterghios, 323 ; 
 captures and beheads Evthymios 
 Vlachavas, 325, 417 ; subdues 
 uardiki and massacres inhabi- 
 lants, 333 ; carries off the beauti- 
 hil Despo, 335 ; remarks on, 399, 
 418. 
 
 Andronikos, Cycle of Ballads, 
 1. 230-234 ; remarks on, 404. 
 
 Ai'i'LE, Cinderella transformed into 
 an, ii. 118; consulted by youth, 
 1. 118. 
 
 Ai'PLES, Golden, i. 186; ii. 67, 77, 
 
 79> 438. 
 Apple-tree, the Red, guarded by 
 Dhrako, ii. 77 ; and Widow's Son, 
 
 i. 58, 59- 
 Apple-trees, maidens symbolized 
 
 as, i. 58, 59, 134, 193. 
 Armatoles, mentioned in ballads, 
 
 i- 309. 348, 349 ; remarks on, 415. 
 Arms, female ornaments so termed, 
 
 i. 58 «., 125, 153 ; personalized 
 
 by Klephts, i. 420. 
 
 Beardless, the, in folk-tale, ii. 28, 
 
 439- 
 Beasts, grateful, ii. 32, 43, 115, 
 
 172, 211, 296, 311. 
 Betrothals, Greek, i. 104 n. 
 Bird, Cinderella transformed into 
 
 a, ii. 117; addresses God, ii. 244 ; 
 
 complains to maiden, i. 58; brings 
 
 news of Klephts, i. 355 ; predicts 
 death of Satir Bey, i. 301 ; curses 
 the mountains, i. 354 ; warns 
 Pasha of insurrection, i. 367 ; 
 ' Birdie Nightingale and Stone 
 Swallow,' ii. 31. 
 
 Birds, sing dirges for Klephts, 
 i. 288, 312, 316, 319, 349, 361, 
 364, 366, 372, 386 ; of passage, 
 folk-welcome to, i. 56, 389. 
 
 Blessing, Mother's, ii. 82 ; per- 
 sonalized as Old Man, ii. 364 ; as 
 Two Doves, ii. 444. 
 
 Boreas, i. 55, 57. 
 
 Bulgarian girl reproved by par- 
 tridge, i. 132 ; poisoned by Greek 
 mother-in-law, i. 157 ; as cour- 
 tesan, i. 225 ; betrays her GreeV 
 hosts, ii. 416. 
 
 Burns, references to, i. 136, 146. 
 
 Cannibalism, ii. 112, 116, 447. 
 
 Cat, black, an unlucky omen, 
 i. 124. 
 
 Champions, the Seven, ii. 107; Ear 
 of the Earth, ii. 74 ; Phidka and 
 Yiaso, the, ii. 73 ; remarks on, 
 
 ii. 444- 
 Charon, has mother, i. 83, 86 ; has a 
 
 son, i.87 ; lives in tent, i. 84, 91, 93. 
 Christ as Little Old Man, ii. 288 ; 
 
 conducts girl to Paradise, ii. 293 ; 
 
 cures woman by exorcism, ii. 300, 
 
 458. 
 Citrons, abodes of Queens of Ne- 
 reids, ii. 18.
 
 534 
 
 Index I. 
 
 Citron-trees guarded by lions, 
 ii. 1 8. 
 
 Combs, silver, ii. i6. 
 
 Cretan maiden presented to Sultan, 
 i. 261 ; insurrection of 1770, 
 i. 301 ; villagers suffocated in 
 grotto by Turks, ii. 431. 
 
 Cypress - 1 kee, soldier and the, 
 i. 57 ; dead maiden becomes a, 
 i. 148 ; dead youth becomes a, 
 i. 160 ; types of grace, i. 400. 
 
 Dead Brother, ballad of the, 
 i. 243 ; remarks on, i. 407 ; river 
 of the, i. 94. 
 
 Deer complains to Sun, 1. 52 ; the 
 Enchanted, i. 254. 
 
 Dervishes possessed of magical 
 objects, ii. 131, 449; rob hero, 
 ii. 385. 
 
 Devil, called 'Thrice- Accursed,' 
 i. Ill; ii. 99; ' Versevoulin,' 
 ii. 100 ; name in Naxos, ii. 446 ; 
 carries off Princesses, ii. 100 ; 
 slain by Seven Champions, ii. 1 10 ; 
 meets St. George, i. 74 ; has a 
 wife. ii. 297. 
 
 Dhrako frightened by Yianni, 
 i. 64 ; by Katerina, i. 66 ; guards 
 fountain, i. 64, 160; guards Red 
 -Apple-tree, ii. 77 ; guards mouth 
 of Hades, ii. 77 ; guards Well of 
 I..ife, ii. 75 ; King of the Golden 
 Apple, ii. 67 ; propounds riddles, 
 ii. 96; is blinded by hero, ii. 84; 
 by Nereids, ii. 228 ; adopts hero 
 as son, ii. 221. 
 
 Dhrakos have a King, ii. 71 ; 
 forty live in a tower, ii. 67 ; in a 
 palace, 248 ; carry off maidens, 
 ii. 85, 248 ; are slain by hero, 
 ii. 250 ; have sister who marries 
 hero, ii. 69. 
 
 Digenes or Porphyro, exploits of, 
 i. 246, 248 ; death of, i. 252 ; 
 remarks on, i. 404. 
 
 Doctresses alluded to, ii. 11, 
 
 Dog, Prince changed into, ii. S3 ; 
 
 counsels master, ii. 297 ; aids 
 
 Princess, ii. 31 1. 
 Don John of Austria, alluded to 
 
 in ballad, i. 283 ; remarks on, 
 
 i. 409. 
 
 DozON, Laiigue Clikype, references 
 to, 1. 141 n. 
 
 Eagle, Golden, dies on Lambro's 
 grave, i. 290 ; warns Boukovalas 
 of danger, i. 307 ; laments for 
 slain insurgents, i. 381 ; Prince 
 in form of, ii. 5 ; fisherman's son 
 becomes, ii. 212 ; foretells fate to 
 Princess, ii. 40. 
 
 Eel, Golden, Nereid Queen changed 
 into, ii. 21. 
 
 Eggs, Magical, ii. 51. 
 
 False ■ Bride myih in ballads, 
 i. 100, 148 ; in tale, ii. 308 ; 
 remarks on, i. 396. 
 
 Fate, the Good, ii. 85, 185 ; the 
 Laughterless, ii. 181 ; the Blind, 
 ii. 87 ; counsels hero, ii. 201 ; 
 called a phantasm, ii. 194 ; res- 
 cues children from death, ii. 187- 
 
 Fates, invocation to the, i. 81 : 
 predict destiny of infants, ii. 177, 
 182, 186. 
 
 Fate-scribe, i. 81 ; remarks, ii. 439. 
 
 Fish teaches charm to Half-Man, 
 ii. 159 ; golden, ii. 450. 
 
 Fishes become maidens, i. 69. 
 
 Fish-horse ridden by Drako,ii.78. 
 
 Flowers, augury from, i. 342. 
 
 Foundation-sacrifices, i. 70, 71, 
 390. 
 
 Genii, the World's Three, i. loi. 
 Gipsy, made nails for Christ's 
 
 Crucifixion, i. I16 ; cursed by the 
 
 Virgin, ibid. 
 God. as pander, i. 240 ; as Old Man 
 
 rejected as Godfather, ii. 408. 
 
 Hades, referred to in ballads, i. 77, 
 85, 91, 92, 95 ; Dhrako guardian 
 of the mouth of, ii. 77. 
 
 Hell visited, i. 106 ; by Christ and 
 the maiden, ii. 294. 
 
 Herakles and Hind with Ciolden 
 Horns, Prof. Ridgway on, i. 406. 
 
 Houart-Pasha interviews a trai- 
 torous insurgent, i. 384. 
 
 Horse warns maiden, i. 142 ; coun- 
 sels master, i. 275 ; wins wager for 
 nvister, i.54 ; man changed into,ii. 
 83 ; Dhiako's magical, ii. 90, 172.
 
 Index I. 
 
 535 
 
 Janissaries alluded to, i. 224, 262, 
 
 280-2S2, 297. 
 Jew (and Jewess), term of reproach, 
 
 i. 147 ; li. 396 ; villain of Clreek 
 
 stories, ii. 219, 456, 460. 
 Jews, Christians crucified by, i. 290, 
 
 410. 
 JOSEi'H, Oriental ideal of beauty, 
 
 i. 152, 401. 
 
 KONSTANTINE, exploits of, i. 235 ; 
 as Dead Brother, i. 243, 407. 
 
 Lamia of the Sea, i. loi, 103 ; of 
 the Almond-tree, ii. 15 ; of the 
 Walnut-tree, ii. 16 ; assists hero 
 with advice, ii. 17 ; remarks on, 
 i. 398. 
 
 Lemon-tree, Nereid changed into, 
 ii. 23. 
 
 Lepanto, Battle of, described in 
 ballad, i. 285 ; remarks on, 
 i. 409. 
 
 Lions guardians of Magical Citron- 
 tree, ii. iS. 
 
 Magical Carpet, ii. iSo ; Cap, 
 ii. 225 ; C:up, ii. 130 ; tlggs, 
 ii. 51 ; Flute, ii. 130 ; Horse, 
 ii. 90; Knife, ii. 130; Poplar, 
 ii. 225; Ring, ii. 156; Spectacles, 
 ii. 59 ; Sword, ii. 225 ; Turban, 
 ii. 133 ; Wands, ii. 51, 80, 138; 
 W^ater, ii. 141. 
 
 Mother of Charon, i. 83 ; of the 
 Sun, i. 82 ; of the North Wind, 
 i. 170; of the Night, i. 394; of 
 the Sea, ii. 208. 
 
 Mountains grieve for absence or 
 death of Kkphts, i. 310, 311, 
 
 321, 352, 356- 
 Mystery of the Blood, i. 410. 
 
 Negress takes place of Nereid, 
 ii. 20. 
 
 Negro magician, ii. 58, 146; ser- 
 vant of lyord of Underearth, 
 ii. 277. 
 
 Nereid falls in love with and aids 
 hero, ii. 251 ; Queen emerges 
 from Citron, ii. 18 ; is changed 
 into Golden Eel, ii. 21 ; into 
 Lemon-tree, ii. 23 ; bewitches 
 Prince, ii. 243. 
 
 Nereids, forty, bestow^ gifts on 
 Prince, ii. 271 ; punish idle 
 cobbler, ii. 286. 
 
 Oly.mI'OS disputes with Ossa, i. 51 : 
 
 father of Klepht Vlachavas, i. 327 ; 
 
 brigand-hunting on, i. 52 «. 
 Ossa (Kissavos) disputes with 
 
 Olynipos, i. 51 ; mother of Klepht 
 
 Vlachavas, i. 327. 
 Outside Ones, Euphemism for 
 
 Supernals, ii. 106, 200, 313, 446. 
 Owl, herald of Vampire, i. 78. 
 
 Panaghia (the Virgin) keeps keys 
 
 of Paradise, i. 106 ; curses Cipsy, 
 
 i. 114. 
 Paradise, keys of, kept by Charon, 
 
 i. 84 ; by the Panaghia, i. 106 ; 
 
 visited by mortals, i. 106 ; ii. 293. 
 Partridge reproves Bulgarian girl, 
 
 i. 132 ; Princess changed into, 
 
 ii. 89. 
 Plague, the, personalized, i. 286. 
 Pleiads, folk-name for the, i. 87, 
 
 125 ; ii. 97, 446. 
 
 Sacrifices, human, i. 70, 72, 390. 
 
 Saii^ts, Basil, connected witli Ce- 
 sara;a, i. 215, 403 ; Elias, invoca- 
 tion to, i. 108 ; George, slays 
 monster, i. 73 ; complains in 
 tomb, i. 76 ; betray.s maiden to 
 Turk, i. 105 ; invoked by sailors, 
 i. 108 ; feasts of, i. 228, 253 ; 
 John, condoles with ^'irgin, i. 114; 
 baptizes lesus, i. Ill ; Niciiolas, 
 invoked by sailors, i. 108 ; a> 
 now reprt- senting Poseidon, i. 399 ; 
 Pelagios, invoked by sailors, i. 108. 
 
 Sappho, satire of, on brother, 
 i. 225 ;/. ; suggested meaning of 
 iroiKi\'j6pov, ii. 455- 
 
 Saracens alluded 10 in ballads, 
 i 85, 231, 262 ; ii. 18S. 
 
 .Slave, wife sold as, i. 263, 408 ; 
 offending, set free by master, 
 i. 266 ; iDersonates Princess, ii. 42 ; 
 boy sells himself as, for sake of 
 mother, ii. 362. 
 
 SOLO.MONIC, magical, ii. 150, 207, 
 449. 
 
 Stoicheia of the World, the Three, 
 i. loi.
 
 536 
 
 Index I. 
 
 Stoicheion of Bridge, i. 70, 71 ; 
 of Varlaam, i. 62 ; of the Stream, 
 i. 100 ; and Widow's Son, i. 102 ; 
 remarks on the, i. 390. 
 
 Sultan, Cretan maiden sent to 
 the, i, 261 ; offers reward to 
 captor of Beauty's Castle, i. 286; 
 commands massacre of Christians, 
 i. 280 ; called 'cruel,' and cursed 
 by Greek woman for levying 
 Janissaries, i. 281 ; decrees death 
 of Klepht Milionis, i. 288 ; Cre- 
 tans invited to make submission 
 to, i. 302 ; alluded to as ' that 
 wretched Prince,' i. 339 ; two 
 Greek maidens captured and sent 
 to the, i. 369. 
 
 Swan-maidens, ii. 222. 
 
 Turkish girl falls in love with 
 Christian, i. 136 ; girls captured 
 by Greek brigands, i. 350 ; Agha 
 as magician, li. 171. 
 
 Turks alluded to as Hagar's Chil- 
 dren, i. 280 ; called Koniars, 
 i. 223 «., 257, 326 ; Othmans, 
 i. 340 ; relations of, with Chris- 
 tian girls, i. 144, 204. 
 
 Vampire, Thanase Vaghia as, 
 i. 77 ; Konstantine as, i. 243 ; 
 Cretan story of a, ii. 168. 
 
 Vampirism, remarks on, i. 199, 
 393- 
 
 Water of Life, attempt to make, 
 i. 324 ; Well of the, guarded by 
 Dhrako, ii. 76 ; hero resuscitated 
 by, ii- 39 ; remarks on the, 
 ii. 442. 
 
 Witches give Sintsirli magic oint- 
 ment, i. 416 ; counsel Hantseri, 
 i. 268 ; Helioyenni, i. 290 ; 
 bewitch and disenchant priest's 
 wife, ii. 166.
 
 INDEX II. 
 
 LOCALITIES OF COLLECTION OF THE ORIGINALS. 
 
 Amorgos, i. 215, 235. 
 Argos, ii. 425. 
 
 ASTYPALAIA, ii. 260. 
 
 Athens, ii. 3, 14, 40,46, 53, 80, 88, 
 9S, 120, 143, 166, 179, 185, 199, 
 229, 237, 245, 299, 309, 335, 351, 
 361, 368, 3S3. 
 
 Chios, i. 170. 
 
 Constantinople, ii. 301. 
 
 Crete, i. 69, 76, 108, 127, 142, 143, 
 248, 261, 301, 431. 
 
 Cyprus, i. 283; ii. 67, 112, 130, 
 
 152, 194. 355. 400. 
 Eleusis, ii. 171. 
 Epeiros, i. 59, 103, 141, 148, 161, 
 
 162, 221, 223, 225, 228, 364 ; 
 
 ii. 159, 414. 
 
 EUBCEA, i. 195, 282. 
 
 Grevena, i. 1x8, 127, 132, 204, 
 
 366. 
 Ioannina, i. Ill, 120, 128, 143, 
 
 144, 146, 152, 154, 155, 171, 
 
 177-179, 213, 214, 225, 31S. 
 Kappadocia, i. 71, 84, 237, 241, 
 
 246, 250, 255. 
 Khalkhis, i. 66. 
 Khrysovitza, ii. 413. 
 Kourenton, i. 210, 260. 
 Lesbos, ii. 408. 
 LirocHoRi (Olympos), i. 51. 
 Macedonia, i. 60, 299. 
 Maina, ii. 422, 423. 
 
 Malakassi, i. 165. 
 Messenia, ii. 329. 
 MiLOS, ii. 277, 348. 
 MissoLONGHi, i. 355 ; ii. 435. 
 Naxos, ii. 94, 177, 208, 288, 290, 
 
 295> 307, 320, 322, 324, 345, 
 
 378, 381- 
 
 NiSYROS, i. 81, 83, 138. 
 
 Olympos, i. 52, 379, 384. 
 
 Parga, i. 109, 113, 122, 131, 133, 
 
 137, 151, 166-168, 177, 180, 191, 
 
 193, 206. 
 Peloponnesos, i. 7c, 146, 185, 258, 
 
 357 ; ii- 28. 
 Preveza, i. 119, 151, 222. 
 
 ROUMELIA, i. 125. 
 
 Salonica, i. 62, 101, 175, 176, 224, 
 
 282 ; ii. 420. 
 Samothrace, i. 90. 
 Smyrna, i. 178, iSo, 252 ; ii. 
 
 325. 
 SouLi, i. 267, 317. 
 Syra, i. 171-174 ; ii- 13S, 283, 374, 
 
 397- 
 Thessaly, i. 60, 63, 86-88, 91, 319, 
 
 334, 338, 3S3> 377. 378, 382. 
 Thrace, ii. 417. 
 Trebizond, i. 68. 
 Zagokie, i. 57-59, 122, 123, 126, 
 
 163, 193, 199, 202, 203, 211, 223, 
 
 362 ; ii. 116. 
 Zante, i. 290.
 
 INDEX III. 
 AUTHORS CITED IN ESSAYS, ETC. 
 
 Adamnan, Life of Columha, i. 391. 
 
 .EscHYLOs, Frouieth. Vine, ii. 484. 
 
 AcJASSiz, De l Espccc et des Classifi- 
 cations, i. 5. 
 
 Annals of the Four Masters, i. xv. 
 
 ApollodorOo, llept eewj', 
 Bi^XiodrjKT], 'XpovLKa, i. xv. 
 
 ApOLLONIOS RhODIOS, Krlffus, 
 Argonaiitica, i. xv. 
 
 Aristophanes, The Clouds, i. 199. 
 
 Aristotle, Meteor., i. xxxiii ; 
 Kricreis, i. xv ; Metapli., ii. 515. 
 
 Arnold, Oti the Study of Celtic 
 Literature, i. xvii. 
 
 Athen^us, Deipn, i. 226. 
 
 l>ALDWix, Mental Development in 
 
 the Child and the Race, i. 21. 
 Balfour, '/'alesfro/n the Lincoln- 
 
 sJiire Cars, i. 20 ; ii. 493. 
 Baronius, Annals, i. 411. 
 Baur, Christentiiutn, ii. 491. 
 15a\erstock, Sword and Saga, i. 
 
 421. 
 Berossos, see Lexormant. 
 BlKLE, Hal>., ii. 485 ; Matt., i. 413 ; 
 
 ALark, ibid. ; Luke, ibid. ; fohn, 
 
 ibid. ; Gal., ii. 491 ; Col., ibid.: 
 
 Ephes., ibid. 
 Bikelas, AtdXefeis koI h.vo.jxvrj(jii%, 
 
 i. 450. 
 BiLi.SON, The Folk-songs comprised 
 
 in the Linnish '■ L'Calevala^ i. xviii. 
 Blancard, Aristote Valaoritis, i. 
 
 419, 420. 
 BoDiN, Mctliodus, Republic, i. xxiii. 
 
 Brinton, On Various Supposed 
 Relations betiueen tiie Aniericaji 
 and Asian Races, i. 33. 
 
 Burns, Poems, i. 146. 
 
 Bury, L^ater Rot/ian Empire, i. 431, 
 
 433. 437> 438- 
 Byron, Childc Harold, i. 315. 
 
 Campbell, Popular Tales of the 
 
 West LJighlands, i. 19, 394, 398; 
 
 ii. 43S, 439, 442, 443, 454, 455, 
 
 461, 500. 
 Chaucer, T/ie Prioress' s Tale, 1.412. 
 Chodzko, Contes Slaves, ii. 473. 
 Cicero, Ln Verr., i. 462 ; ii. 451. 
 Clarke, Greek ALarbles, ii. 451. 
 Clermont-Ganneau, Horus et St. 
 
 Georges, i. 398. 
 Cloustox, The Baker of Beauly, 
 
 ii. 461. 
 Codrington, T/ie Melanesians,\. 7. 
 Comte, Philosophie Positive., ii. 
 
 484, 496. 
 Cox, Cinderella, ii. 448, 454. 
 Creasy, LList. of the Ottoman 
 
 Ttirks, i. 410. 
 Crofter Cotntnission, Report of the, 
 
 i. 389. 
 Curr, Tlie Australian Race, i. 7. 
 CURTIN, Myths and Folklore of 
 
 Lreland, i. 405 ; ii. 448, 450, 454. 
 
 Daremberg et Saglio, Chaldcei, 
 
 i. xvi. 
 Dasent, Tales from the Norse, ii. 
 
 473-
 
 Index III. 
 
 539 
 
 De Cara, GH Pelasgi ed gli Hethei, 
 
 i. 446. 
 Dp:s B ROSSES, Les Dieux Fetiches, 
 
 i. xxii ; ii. 484. 
 Dksi'ORTES, Le Mystcre dii Saiig 
 
 chez les Jtiifs, i. 414. 
 UlOnOROS SlCULU-S, Ik^XtddriKT] 
 
 idTOpiKri, i. XV. 
 DioNYsius Halicarnassus, 'Pu/X- 
 
 al'KT] ^ ApxaioXoyia, i. xv. 
 DozoN, Langue Chkype, i. 141, 
 
 409, 422 ; ii. 439, 450 ; Contes 
 
 Albanais, ii. 439, 450, 452, 473. 
 Drumont, Z(Z France Jitivc, i. 414. 
 
 Edmonds, Rhigas Fherraios, i. 
 
 420 ; Kolokotrones, ibid. 
 Edwards, Pharaohs, ii. 493. 
 Euripides, Hecuba, i. 394. 
 
 Fai.i.meraykr, Enstehnng d. heu- 
 tigeii G7-iechcn, i. 437 ; Gesch. d. 
 Halbiitscl Morea, ibid. 
 
 Faraday, Fxperimental Re- 
 searches, ii. 516. 
 
 FiCK, Vergleichendes Worterbuch 
 der Indogeniianischoi Sprachen, 
 i. 47 ; Ehcmalige SprachciiJieit 
 der Indog. Eiiropas., ibid. 
 
 Fikdausi, Shah Nameh. \. xv. 
 
 Fletcher Moulton, i. 14. 
 
 Frazer, The Golden Bough, i. xxii, 
 40, 407, 41S; ii. 489, 492, 494, 
 496, 498. 
 
 Geikie, P)-ehiitoric Ejiivpe, i. 5. 
 Geldart, Modern Greek, ii. 491 ; 
 
 The Gospel according to Paul, 
 
 ibid. 
 Gennadius, Forum, i. 458 ; Ni^te- 
 
 teenth Century, i. 458. 
 GoBiNEAU, De, Int'galitc' des Races 
 
 Humaincs, i 4. 
 GODDEN, The False Bride, i. 396. 
 Qoviuv., Handbook of Folklore, i. 17, 
 
 18. 
 Grimm, Deutsche Mythologie, ii. 
 
 473- 
 Groo'I', Dk, Religious System of 
 
 China, ii. 493. 
 Gruppe, Culte und Mythen, i. xxi, 
 
 21, 39- 
 GiJiDOZ, Le Prciendu Meurtre 
 riittcl {Me hi sine), i. 414. 
 
 IIahn, Von, Die Hausthiere und 
 Hire Beziehungen ziir Wirth- 
 schaft des Menschen, i. 9 ; NeoeX. 
 Ilapa/i., ii. 436, 438, 442, 446, 
 452, 454, 457 ; Mdrchcn, ii. 450, 
 457 ; Albanesische Studien, ii. 
 457 ; Grusuza auf den Cycladen, 
 
 ii- 457- 
 Hamy et De Quatrefages, 
 
 Crania Ethnica, i. 5. 
 Hartland, Tlie Legend of Perseus, 
 
 i. xxii. 40 ; ii. 456. Science of 
 
 Fairy Tales, i. 33, 34, 37 ; ii. 493, 
 
 498- 
 
 Hegel, Phenomcnologie des Ge isles, 
 i. 8 ; Encyklopadic Aurede. 
 Werke, i. xxii. 
 
 Helgenfeld, Galaterbrief, ii. 491. 
 
 Helmholtz, Erhaltung der Kraft, 
 ii. 516. 
 
 Henderson, Folklore of the North- 
 ern Countries, ii. 473. 
 
 Heuzey, Le Mont Olympe, ii. 461, 
 
 505- 
 Homer, Iliad, i. xxxiii, 100, 116, 
 
 252, 30S, 315, 337, 393, 396; ii. 
 
 454. Odyssey, i. 307. 
 
 HOMMEL, Die Identiiiit der AUesten 
 Babylonischen u. Aigyptischen 
 Goiter Genealogie, i. 42. 
 
 Hooker, Eccles. Politic, ii. 475. 
 
 Hume, Natural History of Re- 
 ligion, i. xxii. 
 
 Hyde, Beside the Fire, ii. 442, 
 504- 
 
 Jacobs, The Jews of Angevin Eng- 
 land, i. 414 ; /•Celtic Fairy 7 ales, 
 ii. 443, 459. 
 
 Jannaris, Modern Greek Diction- 
 ary, i. 433. 
 
 Joule, The Mechanical Value of 
 Heat, ii. 
 
 Keane, Ethnology, i. 38. 
 
 Keary, The Earthly Paradise, ii. 
 
 468. 
 Keith, On Pithecanthropus F.rec- 
 
 tus, i. 6. 
 
 Lafoscade, Influence du Latin 
 sur le Grec, i. 430, 431, 435. 
 
 Leake, Researches in N. Greece, 
 i. 444 ; ii. 469.
 
 540 
 
 Index III. 
 
 Le Bon, L' Honwie et les SociJtds, 
 
 i- 5- 
 Lefevre, A'ace ami Language, i. 
 
 Leckand, Conies Fop. Grecs, ii. 
 
 459- 
 LELAND,jS'/;-«^(;a// Roman Remains, 
 
 ii- 473> 475- 
 Lenormant, Siir le nom de TJiam- 
 
 muz, ii. 467 ; Commoitaire des 
 
 Fragments Cosmogoniijues de 
 
 Bcrose, i. xvi. 
 Lubbock, Origin of Civilisation, 
 
 i- 3- 
 LvALL, On Witchcraft , ii. 4S7. 
 
 Macbain, Celtic Mythology and 
 
 Religion, i. 391, 392 ; ii. 473. 
 McInnes and Nutt, Folk and 
 
 Hero Tales, i. 405 ; ii. 442, 449. 
 MacPherson, Fingal, an Ancient 
 
 Epic Poem, i. xvii. 
 Maine, Ancient Lam, i. 7. 
 Ma.nnhardt, Wald 11 nd Feld- 
 
 Kulte, ii. 468. 
 Michel, Hnges de Lincoln, i. 412. 
 MiCHELET, Bible de T Humanitc, 
 
 i. 9. 
 Milton, Paradise Lost, i. 166 ; Ode 
 
 on the Nativity, ii. 465, 469, 472. 
 MiJLLER, F., Griindriss der Sprach- 
 
 ivissenschaft, i. 6. 
 
 Nennius, Historia Britomiiii, i. 
 
 XV. 
 
 NfioPHYTE, Le Sang Chretien, i. 
 
 414. 
 Newton, Principia, ii. 516. 
 Niebclungenlied, i. xv. 
 NlEBUHR, Origin of Civilisation, 
 
 Political Economy, Romischege- 
 
 schichte, i. 3. 
 NuTT, Celtic Tradition, i. xxi ; 
 
 Legend of the Grail, ii. 436 ; 
 
 Folk and LLero Tales, ii. 473 ; 
 
 Beside the Fire, ii. 504. 
 
 Ovid, Fasti, i. xv. 
 
 I'AsiH.EY, Crete, ii. 463. 
 
 Paulus Diaconus, Gest. Lorn;., ii. 
 
 468. 
 Pausanias, ii. 4. 
 Peal, Megalitliic Folklore, i. 392 ; 
 
 People of Turkey, The, i. 393. 
 Pernot, Stir les Siibsistances dialec- 
 
 tales en nco-grec, i. 432. 
 Philippson, Z.ur Ethnographic des 
 
 Pelopounes, i. 437. 
 PlTRfi, Trad. Pop. Siciliane, ii 
 
 473- 
 Plutarch, De Dcf. Orac, ii. 467 ; 
 
 Lyciirg., i. 308. 
 POLITIS, Bio., ii. 457 ; Article on 
 
 Reynard the Fox, ii. 459. 
 Pott, Ungleichheit der Mensch- 
 
 lichen Rassen, i. 4. 
 PsiCHARi, fean. Etudes de Pliilo- 
 
 logic ndo-grecque, i. xli. ; Essais 
 
 de Granimaire neo-grec, i. 432 ; 
 
 Philologie nco-grec, ibid., 442 ; 
 
 '\aT0pi.Ka . . . ZyjTrjpLaTa, i. 456 ; 
 
 J'roiionciation die grec, i. 458 ; 
 
 Etudes de Philologie, ii. 452. 
 
 Ralston, Russian Fairy Tales, 
 
 ii- 473- 
 
 Rambaud, n Empire grec au Xme. 
 Siecle, i. 437. 
 
 Ramsay, A., Poems, ii. 468. 
 
 Ramsay, W. M., Cities and Bishop- 
 rics of Phrygia, i. 446. 
 
 Ranke, Von, History of the 
 Romanic and Teutonic Nations 
 betiueen \A,()\and 1535- Universal 
 History, i. xix. 
 
 Rawlinson, Herodotus, ii. 461. 
 
 R^GAMEY, Le Japon Pratique, i. 
 421. 
 
 Renan, Vie de Jesus, ii. 503. 
 
 Ricaut, The Eastern Church, ii. 
 
 437- 
 Riley, Athos, i. 399. 
 
 Sayce, Science of Language, i. 47, 
 440, 458 ; Religion of the Ancient 
 Jiabylonians, ii. 493 ; Compara- 
 tive Philology, i. 434. 
 
 SCHULIZE, Fetichismus, i. 21. 
 
 SCHRADER, Sprachvergleichung u. 
 Urgescliichte, i. 47. 
 
 Shakespeare, Tempest, i. 210 ; 
 Hamlet, ii. 483. 
 
 SiiFi.LKY, Hellas, i. 402. 
 
 SiKES, Northern Goblins, i. 394 ; 
 British Goblins, i. 398. 
 
 Sk ELTON, Speake Parrot, i. 460.
 
 Index III. 
 
 541 
 
 SouTZO, Scenes, ii. 462. 
 
 Spencer, Principles of Sociology, 
 i. 2 ; ii. 480-482 ; Criticism of, 
 by Fletcher Moulton, i. 14 ; 
 by Tait, ibid. 
 
 Stokes, in La Keviic Celtiqne, i. 
 
 392. 
 Strabo, Geog., ii. 447. 
 Sully, Studies of Child-life, \. 21. 
 
 Tcheraz, IJ Orient Inedit (VAr- 
 
 vu'nie), ii. 453. 
 Terrien de Lacouperie, TIic 
 
 jMngtiages of China before tl<i 
 
 Chinese, i. 446. 
 Theokritos, Idylls, i. 210. 
 Thlstleton Dyer, Folklore of 
 
 Shakespeare, i. xvi. 
 TozER, Highlands of Turkey, i. 
 
 403 ; ii. 473. 
 
 Triantaphvllides, Philologie nt'o- 
 
 grec, i. 43'- 
 Tylor, Pi-imitit'e Culture, i. 3, 17 ; 
 
 ii. 471, 479, 482, 483, 487, 488, 
 
 494. 496, 498. 
 
 Vergil, Aitteid, i. xv. 
 
 I Vales, The Four Ancient Books of, 
 
 i. XV. 
 Wallace, Tlie Expressiveness of 
 
 Speech, i. 6. 
 Wharton, Sappho, ii. 456. 
 Whately, Miscellaneous Peniains, 
 
 ii- 473- 
 Wiederheim, Der Pau der Mens- 
 
 clien, i. 5. 
 WINDISCH, IrisJi Grammar, i. 392. 
 
 Xenophon, Rep. Lac, i. 30S. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 BILLING AND SONS, PRINTERS, GUILDFORD.
 
 THE 
 
 MODERN REVOLUTION; 
 
 OUR PRESENT HISTORICAL PERIOD IN THE 
 
 DESTRUCTIVE AND RECONSTRUCTIVE RESULTS AND 
 
 TENDENCIES DETERMINED BY AN ULTIMATE 
 
 LAW OF HISTORY. 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN STUART STUART-GLENNIE, M.A. 
 
 (HARKISTER-AT-LA\v). 
 
 f ortbcoining Worlis ot tbe Series. 
 
 THE LAWS (3F MAN'S HISTORY 
 
 GENERAL PREFACE. 
 
 THE CONFLICT OF RACES: 
 
 OUTLINES OF A NEW THEORY 
 
 OF THE ORIGINS AND HISTORY 
 
 OF CIVILISATION. 
 
 GENERAL INTRODUCTION, 
 
 FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES, 
 
 THE CORRELATIVE BASES 
 
 OF THE PHYSICAL, ORGANIC, AND SOCIAL 
 
 SCIENCES OF EVOLUTION. 
 
 [/« Preparation.
 
 Bltracts from IRevicws 
 
 Ol' 
 
 THE NEW PHILOSOPHY OF HISTORY, 
 
 1873. 
 
 [PUBLISHED AS INTRODUCTION TO 'ISIS AND OSIRIS,' 
 PROMAIIA I. OF ' HIE MODERN REVOLUTION'] 
 
 ' In the present volume we have an instalment of the verification 
 of "an ultimate Law of History." If this is well founded, 
 Mr. Stuart-Glennie may well claim to be the Newton of the 
 Moral Sciences, for hitherto certainly the student of history has 
 looked in vain for his Law of Gravitation. Hegel tried it with 
 indifferent success ; Comte tried it ; now the author essays to 
 reconcile these in a higher unity which shall include the truth, and 
 avoid the error of both. We are bound to say that this attempt is 
 not made in the usual spirit of eclecticism . . . but, on the contrary, 
 the author goes to work like a good workman, advancing solid views 
 of his own. . . . Whether he has got hold of the ultimate Law of 
 History or not, it is impossible to overlook the merits and interest 
 of the present volume. . . . And we shall do the author the com- 
 pliment of suspending judgment until he develops the rest of his 
 case.' — Professor Hunter in the Examiner. 
 
 ' This is the first volume of a new Philosophy of History which is 
 to explain as well as supersede the hypotheses of Christianity. The 
 author begins by criticising preceding attempts in the same direction, 
 and has little difficulty in showing various so-calied historical laws 
 to be only empirical generalisations. There is much to be said for 
 his definition of the intellectual revolution of the present day as "a 
 change in men's notions of the causes of change.'" — Fortnightly 
 Review. 
 
 ' It is the work of a man of very great attainment and of 
 apparently boundless industry for research, and forms the first of 
 a series of volumes to which we, at least, shall look forward with 
 very great interest. Our author possesses many of the qualities 
 which make men really great in the world of thought. Though 
 intensely original in that sense of the word which implies the 
 exploration for oneself of almost entirely new fields of thought — 
 at least to English minds — his range of reading is at the same time 
 well-nigh ponderous. . . . There is contained in the pages of the 
 volume before us a rich reward. . . . That dogmatic Orthodox 
 Christianity is a Philosophy of History appears to us, as to 
 Mr. Stuart-Glennie, undeniable. . . . And it is met by our author 
 from the point of view of an opposing Theory of History. . . _. We 
 can certainly feel confident that whatever may be the opinion to 
 which one who reads the work may ultimately incline, he will at 
 least allow to the author great power of putting a case, combined 
 with perfect candour and a genuine love of truth.' — Itiqtiirer.
 
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