{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_34902/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_34902","id":"gutenberg_34902","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34902","summary":null,"tags":["Basque language","Basques -- Folklore","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore"],"text":"\n\n\n\n Second Edition.\n\n BASQUE LEGENDS:\n Collected, Chiefly in the Labourd,\n\n By\n Rev. WENTWORTH WEBSTER, M.A., Oxon.\n\n\n With an Essay\n On\n The Basque Language,\n\n By\n M. Julien Vinson,\n Of the Revue de Linguistique, Paris.\n\n\n Together with\n Appendix: Basque Poetry.\n\n\n London:\n\n Griffith and Farran,\n Successors to Newbery and Harris,\n Corner of St. Paul's Churchyard;\n And\n Walbrook & Co., 52, Fleet Street, E. C.\n\n 1879.\n\n All Rights Reserved.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n Printed by\n W. O. Walbrook,\n at the\n Fleet Street Printing Works,\n 52, Fleet Street, London.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n To\n M. Antoine D'Abbadie,\n of Abbadia,\n Member of the Institute of France,\n this\n Translation of Legends,\n originally told in the language of his ancestors,\n in grateful acknowledgment\n of\n kindly courtesy and of ever-ready assistance,\n is\n dedicated\n by his obliged and obedient servant,\n\n\n Wentworth Webster.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS.\n\n\n Page\n\n Introduction vii\n\n I.--Legends of the Tartaro 1\n The Tartaro 4\n M. d'Abbadie's Version 4\n Variations of above 5\n Errua, the Madman 6\n Variations of above 10\n The Three Brothers, the Cruel Master, and the Tartaro 11\n The Tartaro and Petit Perroquet 16\n\n II.--The Heren-Suge.--The Seven-Headed Serpent 20\n The Grateful Tartaro and the Heren-Suge 22\n Variation of above 32\n The Seven-Headed Serpent 33\n The Serpent in the Wood 38\n\n III.--Animal Tales 42\n Acheria, the Fox 43\n The Ass and the Wolf 45\n\n IV.--Basa-Jaun, Basa-Andre, and Lami\u00f1ak 47\n Basa-Jauna 49\n The Servant at the Fairy's 53\n The Fairy in the House 55\n The Pretty but Idle Girl 56\n The Devil's Age 58\n The Fairy-Queen Godmother 59\n\n V.--Witchcraft and Sorcery 64\n The Witches at the Sabbat 66\n The Witches and the Idiots 67\n The Witch and the New-Born Infant 69\n The Changeling 73\n\n VI.--Contes des F\u00e9es 76\n\n (A) Tales like the Keltic 77\n Malbrouk 77\n The Fisherman and his Sons 87\n Tabakiera, the Snuff-Box 94\n Mahistruba, the Master Mariner 100\n Dragon 106\n Ezkabi-Fidel 111\n Variation of above 120\n The Lady-Pigeon and her Comb 120\n Suggested Explanation of above 130\n Laur-Cantons 132\n The Young School-Boy 136\n The Son who Heard Voices 137\n The Mother and her Idiot Son; or, the Clever Thief 140\n Juan Dekos, the Blockhead (Tontua) 146\n Variation of the above--Juan de Kalais 151\n The Duped Priest 154\n\n (B) Contes des F\u00e9es, derived directly from the\n French 158\n Ass'-Skin 158\n Variations of above 165\n The Step-Mother and Step-Daughter 166\n Beauty and the Beast 167\n Variation of above 172\n The Cobbler and his Three Daughters (Blue-Beard) 173\n Variations of above 175\n The Singing Tree, the Bird which tells the Truth,\n and the Water which makes Young 176\n Variation of above 181\n The White Blackbird 182\n The Sister and her Seven Brothers 187\n Variations, etc. 191\n\n List of Publication of Foreign Legends in France 192\n\n VII.--Religious Tales 194\n Fourteen 195\n Variation of above--Jesus Christ and the Old Soldier 199\n The Poor Soldier and the Rich Man 200\n The Widow and her Son 202\n The Story of the Hair-Cloth Shirt (La Cilice) 206\n The Saintly Orphan Girl 209\n The Slandered and Despised Girl 211\n\n An Essay on the Basque Language 219\n\n Appendix--Basque Poetry 235\n\n\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\n\nThe study of the recent science of Comparative Mythology is one of the\nmost popular and attractive of minor scientific pursuits. It deals\nwith a subject-matter which has interested most of us at one period\nof our lives, and turns the delight of our childhood into a charm and\nrecreation for maturer age. Nor is it without more useful lessons. In\nit we see more clearly than perhaps elsewhere the reciprocal influence,\nwhich none can wholly escape, of words and language upon thought, and\nagain of thought and fancy upon words and language; how mere words and\nsyllables may modify both conception and belief; how the metaphor,\nwhich at first presented an object more clearly and vividly to the\nmind than any more direct form of speech could do, soon confuses\nand at last wholly distorts the original idea, and buries its\nmeaning under a new and foreign superstructure. We may mark here,\ntoo, by numerous examples, how slowly the human mind rises to the\nconception of any abstract truth, and how continually it falls back\nupon the concrete fact which it is compelled to picture to itself in\norder to state in words the simplest mental abstraction. The phrase,\n\"The dawn flies before the sun,\" passing into the myth of Daphne and\nApollo, is a lesson in psychology no less than in philology and in\ncomparative mythology.\n\nNow, both the interest and the value of these studies are enhanced in\nproportion as they become complete. Our conclusions approach nearer\nto certainty, and will gradually pass from theory to demonstration,\nas we find the same legends and modes of thought and expression on\nnatural phenomena constantly reappearing among the most distant and\nthe most isolated peoples, in languages which in their complex forms\ntell of the infancy of human speech, and also in those whose worn-down\nframe speaks of the world's old age.\n\nOf the peoples now settled in Western Europe, the Basques are those\nwhich are the most separate from other populations; distinct in\nlanguage, they represent, in a more or less mixed state, some older\nstratum of European ethnology. Their language, too, as regards the\nmass of the people, is still practically unwritten. [1] Here there is\na chance of finding legends in a purer and older form than among any\nother European people; and in what they have borrowed from others, we\nmay have an almost unique crucial test of the time which it takes for\nsuch traditions to pass orally from people of one language to another\nand totally different one. None of these legends have been published\nor even noticed till within the last two years, when M. d'Abbadie\nread the legend of the Tartaro before the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des Sciences et des\nArts de Bayonne, and M. Cerquand his \"L\u00e9gendes et R\u00e9cits Populaires\ndu Pays Basque,\" before the sister society at Pau. [2]\n\nOf course we must expect to find such legends very much altered,\nand in a state of almost inextricable confusion, and this not only\nthrough forgetfulness, and through the lapse of time since their\norigin, not only by the influence of a total change of religion, but\nthey are also mingled and inter-penetrated with totally new ideas; the\nold and the new will be found side by side in striking and sometimes\ngrotesque contrast. As in Campbell's \"Tales of the West Highlands,\"\npersonages of mythical antiquity go to kirk, and indulge in other\ndecidedly post-Reformation practices, so in these Basque tales the\nreader must not be startled by the introduction of maize and tobacco,\nof cannon and gunpowder, of dances at the mairie, and the use of\nthe guillotine, in stories which, perhaps, originally told of the\nmovements of the stars, of the wars of the forces of the atmosphere,\nof the bright beauty of the rising, or of the glowing glory of the\nsetting sun. [3] The body is the same in all ages, but the dress varies\nwith the changing fashions. To borrow an illustration from a slightly\nolder science, this is not a simple case of contorted and overlying\nstrata to be restored to their original order, but rather of strata\nworn down, reconstructed, and deposited anew, and even modified in\ntheir latest stage by the interference of human action. And thus our\nproblem becomes an exceedingly complex and difficult one, and our\nreaders must not be disappointed if our conclusions are not so clear\nand positive as might be wished. The present is merely a tentative,\nand not, in any sense, a final essay towards its solution.\n\nHow are these legends told now, and how have they been preserved? They\nare told by the Basque peasants, either when neighbours meet--after\nthe fashion made familiar to us by American novelists in the \"Husking\nBee\"--for the purpose of stripping the husks from the ears of maize,\nan operation generally performed in one or two long sessions; or at the\nprolonged wedding and other feasts, of which we have evidence in the\ntales themselves, or else in the long nights round the wintry hearth\nof their lonely dwellings. For it is one of the charms of the Basque\nland that the houses are scattered all over the face of the country,\ninstead of being collected into crowded villages; and it is, perhaps,\nto this fact chiefly that we owe the preservation of so much old-world\nlore, and of primitive ideas, among this people. The reader must not\nbe surprised at the length of some of our specimens. The details of\nthe incidents of the longest are religiously preserved and, as told\nat home, they are probably more lengthy (as anyone will understand\nwho has ever taken anything down from recitation) than as here\ngiven. Many an unlettered Basque peasant could serve an irritable\nstranger as Glendower did Hotspur, when he kept him \"at least nine\nhours in reckoning up the several devils' names that were his lackeys.\"\n\nIn La Soule the \"Pastorales,\" or Basque dramas, which last from six\nto eight hours of uninterrupted action, are learnt in the same way\nby word of mouth during the long evenings of winter.\n\nThese legends are still most thoroughly believed in. They still\nform part of the faith of these simple people--not at all, we need\nhardly say, in the use of mythological or atmospheric allegory,\nbut as narratives of veritable fact. They believe them as they do\nthe histories of the Bible or the \"Lives of the Saints.\" In fact,\nthe problem of reconciling religion and science presents itself to\ntheir minds in this strange guise--how to reconcile these narratives\nwith those of the Bible and of the Church. The general solution is\nthat they happened before the time of which the Bible speaks, or\nbefore Adam fell. They are \"Lege zaharreko istorriguak\"--\"histories\nof the ancient law\"--by which is apparently meant the time before\nChristianity. \"This happened, sir, in the time when all animals and\nall things could speak,\" was said again and again by our narrators at\nthe commencement of their story; not one doubted the literal truth of\nwhat they told. Their na\u00efve good faith occasionally severely tested\nour own gravity. Appeal was often made to our supposed superior\nknowledge to confirm the facts. The varying tone of the voice told\nhow truly the speakers sympathised with what they uttered. At times\nsobs almost interrupted utterance, when the frequent apostrophe\ncame: \"Think how this poor so-and-so must have suffered!\" More often\nbursts of laughter at traditional jokes, too poor to raise a smile on\nless unsophisticated lips, broke the recital. Very determined, too,\nis their adherence to what they believe to be the genuine text of\nthese old tales. \"I don't understand it, but the history says so;\"\n\"It is so;\" \"The story says so,\" was positively affirmed again and\nagain--e.g., in one of the Peau d'Ane or Cinderella stories, when the\nlady has dazzled her admirer by her dress of silver (moonlight?),\nthen of gold (sunlight?), then of diamonds (dew-drops?), at last,\non the wedding-day, the bride and bridegroom dress each other. \"I\ndon't know why,\" interrupted the story-teller, \"but the story says\nso.\" Could anything tell more quaintly of the marriage of the sun and\ndawn? The sun decking the morning clouds with his light and beauty,\nand they again robing him in their soft and tender colouring.\n\nBut we must pass on to the tales themselves. None of these, we think,\nwill be found to be genuinely or exclusively Basque; the oldest we take\nto be those most widely known, and which are most distorted. The heads\nunder which we have arranged them are: (1) Legends of the Tartaro,\nor Cyclops; (2) of the Heren-Suge, the Seven-Headed Serpent; (3)\nof purely Animal Tales, which are neither fables nor allegories;\n(4) of Basa-Jauna, Basa-Andre, and of the Lami\u00f1ak, or Fairies; (5)\nTales of Witchcraft; (6) those which, for want of a better name,\nwe have entitled Contes des F\u00e9es, in which the fairy is an Eastern\nmagician--these we have divided into sections, (a) those which\nresemble the Keltic and other tales, and (b) those which are probably\nborrowed directly from the French; our last division (7), Religious\nTales and Legends, are probably from medi\u00e6val sources common to Latin\nChristianity, but they are interesting as specimens of the tales which\nprobably delighted the highest born of our own ancestors in the middle\nages, and now linger only among the peasantry in out-of-the-way corners\nof Europe. Some of these tales seem to us to be more gracefully told,\nand have more of human interest in them, than any of the others.\n\nWe fear scientific men will be disappointed in this\ncollection. Notwithstanding that we have been careful to collect from\nthose who know the Basque only, or who certainly knew only Basque\nwhen they first learnt these tales, yet they are evidently much mixed\nwith French and Spanish. Our translations are literal to baldness;\nthe only liberty we have taken is in softening down the exceeding\ndirectness and grossness of some portions. Not one tale is in the\nleast licentious--but the Basque language calls a spade a spade,\nand not an implement of husbandry. [4] The Carlist war of the last\nfour years has prevented our getting any legends from the Spanish\nBasque provinces, and has even to some extent hindered our work in\nthe French Pays Basque, by providing an almost exclusive object of\ninterest. In the more remote districts of the Pays Basque itself,\nwhich we have not been able to revisit since we commenced this\ncollection, purer forms of some of these legends may be found, and\nothers of which we have no example; [5] but these which we give are\nreally representative. Though collected mainly in the neighbourhood\nof St. Jean de Luz, we have tested them by enquiry of natives of all\nthe provinces, and find that they are equally well known in La Soule\nand in Basse Navarre as in the Labourd. We never met with a Basque\npeasant who could not tell us what are the Tartaro, the Heren-Suge,\nBasa-Jaun, and the Lami\u00f1ak.\n\nAs a curious coincidence, we may notice how closely some of the Basque\nnames of the stars parallel those given in Miss Frere's delightful\n\"Old Deccan Days.\" In the narrator's narrative, pp. 27, 28, we read,\n\"She (the grandmother) would show us the hen and chickens\" (the\nPleiades)--the same in Basque, \"Oiloa chituekin;\" \"The three thieves\nclimbing up to rob the Ranee's silver bedstead\"--the three stars in\nOrion's belt, in Basque, the three kings, or brothers, or robbers; the\nmilky way, \"the great pathway of light on which He went up to heaven,\"\nhas also obtained in Basque a Christianized name--\"Erromako zubia,\nor Bidea,\" \"the bridge or road to Rome.\" Again, \"All the cobras in\nmy grandmother's stories were seven-headed,\" so the Heren-Suge in\nthe Basque country is always seven-headed. Little or nothing can be\ngathered from the names of the actors, the heroes or heroines of\nthese tales. They are mostly anonymous, but the name, when given,\nis almost always borrowed from the French. This is disappointing,\nand much increases the difficulty of tracing the origin; but it is\nanalogous to the fact that scarcely a single purely Basque name is\nto be found among the so-called kings and chieftains of the Basques\nduring the early middle ages. [6] Among the classic writers, too,\nand among the soldiers and followers of our Anglo-Gascon princes,\nhardly a name indubitably Basque is to be found.\n\nFor all more special details and discussions we refer to the\nIntroductions to the separate sections. The few references given to\nthe parallel legends of other countries are not intended to be at\nall complete, much less exhaustive. The Pays Basque is not a land of\nlibraries, and it is not easy to collect these legends on the spot, and\nat the same time to get together the books necessary for a comparison\nof them with those of other countries. The few we offer are only those\nwhich have fallen in our way, and though worthless to the specialist,\nmay be of some little aid as suggestions to the ordinary reader. [7]\nFor the same purpose we annex a list of the first publication of the\nchief collections of foreign legends in France. [8] It is curious to\nremark that, while the masterpieces of French literature seem never\nto have penetrated beyond the surface of society, these legends have\npierced to the very bottom of the social mass, and have become real\nliving household words, even to those many millions of Frenchmen who\ndo not understand one word of French.\n\nThere remains the pleasant task of thanking some of the many friends\nwho have assisted us in this collection. I had hoped to have joined the\nname of M. J. Vinson, the well-known Basque and Dravidian scholar,\nto my own as joint-author of this simple work. I should hardly\nhave had the courage to have undertaken it had I not been assured\nof his invaluable assistance in difficulties about the language of\nthe originals. Unavoidable circumstances have, however, prevented his\nseeing the Basque of many of the later tales, and he therefore prefers\nthat the \"Essay on the Basque Language\" should alone bear his name. I\ncannot but accede to his wishes; but, at the same time, I offer him\nmy most grateful thanks for the unfailing and unwearied help which he\nso kindly afforded me for many months. The legends contributed by him\nare noticed in their proper place. Our first acknowledgments are due\nto M. d'Abbadie, of Abbadia, the well-known \"Membre de l'Institut,\"\nfor his kind assistance and ready communication of the legends in\nhis possession, and which were the starting point of our work. Next,\nand even more, to Madame M. Bellevue, of Dajieu-baita, through whose\nkind intervention the majority of these tales were collected, and who\nassisted in the translation of almost all. And then to the sisters\nEstefanella and Gagna-haurra Hirigaray, who contributed more than\ntwenty tales; to Dr. Guilbeau and other friends at St. Jean de Luz\nwho have taken a friendly interest in our work, and to all those\nwhose names are appended to the tales they furnished. It would be\npresumptuous to hope that our readers will find as much pleasure in\nperusing these tales as we have had in collecting them.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nI.--LEGENDS OF THE TARTARO.\n\n\nWho, or what is the Tartaro? \"Oh! you mean the man with one eye in\nthe middle of his forehead,\" is the prompt and universal answer. The\nTartaro is the Cyclops, the sun's round eye, k'uklwy. But the word\nTartaro has apparently nothing to do with this. M. Cerquand, in his\n\"Legendes et R\u00e9cits Populaires du Pays Basque,\" derives the word from\nTartare, Tartar, in the same way as the French word Ogre is said to\nbe derived from Hongrois, Ugri. The only objection to this highly\nprobable derivation (made still more probable by a Souletin variation,\nMoiriak) is the comparatively late date (the 13th century) of the\nfirst appearance of the Tartars in Europe. [9] It is besides perfectly\ntrue that in many tales the Tartaro replaces, and is identical with\nthe giant or ogre; but this does not appear to us to be the original\nconception of this mythological monster, nor have we ever heard from\nan unlettered Basque such a description of him. To them he is simply\na Cyclops--a huge man, with an eye in the centre of his forehead.\n\nIt is an interesting question--Is there any connection between\nthe Basque Tartaro and the Cyclops of the Odyssey and of the\nclassics? First, we must remark that the Cyclops legend is not peculiar\neither to the Greek and Latin writers, or even to the Aryan nations;\ne.g., in his communication of the Tartaro legends to the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des\nSciences de Bayonne, M. d'Abaddie relates how he heard the tale told\nin June, 1843, in Eastern Africa, in Lat. N. 9.2, E. Lon. 34.48, by\na man who had never before quitted the country. It is then only the\nspecial form of the legend, and not the primary idea, that the Greeks\nmay have borrowed from the Basques. But there is this to observe--that,\nwith both Greeks and Latins, the Cyclops myth is an occidental and\nnot an oriental one, and is more strictly localised than almost any\nother. This may be accounted for by saying that the sun's great fiery\neye is rather that of the setting than of the rising sun; that the\nred-hot stake is the ruddy mountain peak, or the tall fir-trunk,\nseen against the western horizon, and illumined by his descending\nrays. But in the stories of Theocritus and Ovid, where the sun-myth\nis not so apparent, the home of the Cyclops is still Sicily. Our first\nTartaro legend reads very like a rough outline of Ovid's story of \"Acis\nand Galatea.\" Now, W. Von Humboldt in his \"Pr\u00fcfung der Untersuchung\n\u00fcber die Urbewohner Hispaniens vermittelst der Vaskischen Sprache\"\n(Berlin, 1821), in cap. xlv., p. 167, and, again, con. vii., p. 178,\narguing on quite different grounds, places Sicily as the most easterly\nhabitation of the Basques within historic times. [10] We leave it then\nto classical scholars to consider whether the Italic races in Magna\nGr\u00e6cia and Sicily may not have come in contact with the Basques there,\nand from them have adopted their special form of the Cyclops legend.\n\nAs we said above, the Tartaro sometimes replaces the giant or the\nogre; at other times we find him as Basa-Jaun, or even as an animal,\nsubstituted for Acheria, the fox. He is, in his proper form, a huge\none-eyed giant, occasionally a cannibal, but not without a rough\n\"bonhomie\" when satiated with food and drink. Intellectually far below\nthe feebler race of mankind, he is invariably beaten in his contests\nwith them, notwithstanding his enormous strength; he loses all his\nwagers, and is generally lured on to commit involuntary suicide. In\nsome aspects he reminds one of Milton's \"Lubbar Fiend,\" and in his\nconstant defeats and being constantly outwitted, recals one of the\ntypes of the Devil in medi\u00e6val story. At times he appears in gentler\nguise, as when he aids the young prince to his rights, and supplies\nPetit Yorge with the means of victory over the Heren-Suge. What the\ntalking ring is which appears in so many of these stories we confess\nourselves unable to interpret; it is found in the Keltic, but, as\nfar as we are aware, not in the classic legends.\n\nOne peculiarity of the Basque, and especially of the Tartaro legends,\nis that the hero of them is so often a madman, an idiot, or a\nfool. If we can trust our memory, the case is the same in the Slavonic\nrepresentatives of Odysseus. [11] But the Basques seem to dwell upon\nand to repeat the idea in a peculiar way; they ring the changes on\nall states, from the wild madman, like the Scandinavian Berserker,\nthrough the idiot and fool, to the mere blockhead and ninny. Errua,\nEnuchenta, Ergela, Sosua, Tontua, are terms employed to designate\nthe heroes who have sometimes, to our modern apprehension, little of\nthe idiot or fool, except the name. Can it be that the power which\nput out the sun's fiery eye was looked upon as a beneficent being\nin a burning tropic land, while, as the legend travelled northward,\nthe act seemed more like that of madness, or of senseless stupidity?\n\nOne type of these Tartaro tales will at once recal Grimm's \"Valiant\nLittle Tailor,\" and some of the more modern versions of \"Jack the\nGiant-Killer.\" But though the incidents are identical, it is hardly\npossible that they can be thus borrowed. Several of our narrators\nwere utterly ignorant of French, and learnt the tale as children\nfrom old people, who died a few years since at upwards of 80. The\nfirst translation of Grimm's Tales into French was published in the\nyear 1845.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TARTARO.\n\nOnce upon a time there was the son of a king who for the punishment\nof some fault became a monster. He could become a man again only by\nmarrying. One day he met a young girl who refused him, because she\nwas so frightened at him. And the Tartaro wanted to give her a ring,\nwhich she would not accept. However, he sent it her by a young man. As\nsoon as the ring was upon her finger it began to say, \"Thou there,\nand I here.\" [12] It kept always crying out this, and the Tartaro\npursued her continually; and, as the young girl had such a horror\nof him, she cut off her finger and the ring, and threw them into a\nlarge pond, and there the Tartaro drowned himself.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigarray,\n of Ahetze.\n\n\n\nM. D'ABBADIE'S VERSION.\n\nOur next story was communicated by M. d'Abbadie to the Soci\u00e9t\u00e9 des\nSciences et des Arts de Bayonne. The narrator is M. l'Abb\u00e9 Heguiagaray,\nthe Parish Priest of Esquiule in La Soule:--\n\nIn my infancy I often heard from my mother the story of the Tartaro. He\nwas a Colossus, with only one eye in the middle of his forehead. He\nwas a shepherd and a hunter, but a hunter of men. Every day he ate\na sheep; then, after a snooze, every one who had the misfortune to\nfall into his hands. His dwelling was a huge barn, with thick walls,\na high roof, and a very strong door, which he alone knew how to\nopen. His mother, an old witch, lived in one corner of the garden,\nin a hut constructed of turf.\n\nOne day a powerful young man was caught in the snares of the Tartaro,\nwho carried him off to his house. This young man saw the Tartaro eat\na whole sheep, and he knew that he was accustomed to take a snooze,\nand that after that his own turn would come. In his despair he said\nto himself that he must do something. Directly the Tartaro began to\nsnore he put the spit into the fire, made it red-hot, and plunged it\ninto the giant's one eye. Immediately he leapt up, and began to run\nafter the man who had injured him; but it was impossible to find him.\n\n\"You shall not escape. It is all very well to hide yourself,\" said he;\n\"but I alone know the secret how to open this door.\"\n\nThe Tartaro opened the door half-way, and let the sheep out between\nhis legs. The young man takes the big bell off the ram, and puts it\nround his neck, and throws over his body the skin of the sheep which\nthe giant had just eaten, and walks on all fours to the door.\n\nThe Tartaro examines him by feeling him, perceives the trick, and\nclutches hold of the skin; but the young man slips off the skin,\ndives between his legs, and runs off.\n\nImmediately the mother of the Tartaro meets him, and says to him:\n\n\"O, you lucky young fellow! You have escaped the cruel tyrant; take\nthis ring as a remembrance of your escape.\"\n\nHe accepts, puts the ring on his finger, and immediately the ring\nbegins to cry out, \"Heben nuk! Heben nuk!\" (\"Thou hast me here! Thou\nhast me here!\")\n\nThe Tartaro pursues, and is on the point of catching him, when the\nyoung man, maddened with fright, and not being able to pull off the\nring, takes out his knife, and cuts off his own finger, and throws\nit away, and thus escapes the pursuit of the Tartaro.\n\n\n\nIn other versions the young man goes into the forest with some pigs,\nmeets the Tartaro there, is carried by him home, blinds him with the\nred-hot spit, and escapes by letting himself down through a garret\nwindow. The Tartaro pursues, guided by his ring, which at last he\nthrows to the young man to put on, when it cries out as above, and\nthe young man cuts off his finger, and throws it down a precipice or\ninto a bog, where the ring still cries out, and the Tartaro following,\nis dashed to pieces and drowned.\n\n\n\n\nERRUA, THE MADMAN.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a man and woman who had a\nson. He was very wicked, and did nothing but mischief, and was of a\nthoroughly depraved disposition. The parents decided that they must\nsend him away, and the lad was quite willing to set off.\n\nHe set out then, and goes far, far, far away. He comes to a city,\nand asks if they want a servant. They wanted one in a (certain)\nhouse. He goes there. They settle their terms at so much a month,\nand that the one who is not satisfied should strip the skin off the\nother's back. [13]\n\nThe master sends his servant to the forest to get the most crooked\npieces of wood that he can find. Near the forest there was a\nvineyard. What does the servant do but cut it all up, and carries it\nto the house. The master asks him where the wood is. He shows him\nthe vine-wood cut up. The master said nothing to him, but he was\nnot pleased.\n\nNext day the master says to him, \"Take the cows to such a field,\nand don't break any hole in the fence.\"\n\nWhat does the lad do? He cuts all the cows into little pieces, and\nthrows them bit by bit into the field. The master was still more\nangry; but he could not say anything, for fear of having his skin\nstripped off. So what does he do? He buys a herd of pigs, and sends\nhis servant to the mountain with the herd.\n\nThe master knew quite well that there was a Tartaro in this mountain,\nbut he sends him there all the same.\n\nOur madman goes walking on, on, on. He arrives at a little hut. The\nTartaro's house was quite close to his. The pigs of the Tartaro and\nthose of the madman used to go out together. The Tartaro said one\nday to him--\n\n\"Will you make a wager as to who will throw a stone farthest?\"\n\nHe accepted the wager. That evening our madman was very sad. While\nhe was at his prayers, an old woman appeared to him, and asks him--\n\n\"What is the matter with you? Why are you so sad?\"\n\nHe tells her the wager that he has made with the Tartaro. The old\nwoman says to him--\n\n\"If it is only that, it is nothing.\"\n\nAnd so she gives him a bird, and says to him--\n\n\"Instead of a stone, throw this bird.\"\n\nThe madman was very glad at this. The next day he does as the old\nwoman told him. The Tartaro's stone went enormously far, but at last\nit fell; but the madman's bird never came down at all.\n\nThe Tartaro was astonished that he had lost his wager, and they make\nanother--which of the two should throw a bar of iron the farthest. The\nmadman accepted again. He was in his little house sadly in prayer. The\nold woman appears again. She asks him--\n\n\"What's the matter with you?\"\n\n\"I have made a wager again, which of the two will throw the bar of\niron the farthest, and I am very sorry.\"\n\n\"If it is only that, it is nothing. When you take hold of the bar of\niron, say, 'Rise up, bar of iron, here and Salamanca.'\" (Altchaala\npalenka, hemen eta Salamanka.) [14]\n\nNext day the Tartaro takes his terrible bar of iron, and throws\nit fearfully far. The young man could hardly lift up one end, and\nhe says--\n\n\"Rise up, bar of iron, here and Salamanca.\"\n\nWhen the Tartaro heard that (he cried out)--\n\n\"I give up the wager--you have won,\" and he takes the bar of iron away\nfrom him. \"My father and my mother live at Salamanca; don't throw,\nI beg of you, I implore you--you will crush them.\"\n\nOur madman goes away very happy.\n\nThe Tartaro says to him again:\n\n\"I will pull up the biggest oak in the forest, and you pull up\nanother.\"\n\nHe says, \"Yes.\" And the later it grew in the day, the sadder he\nbecame. He was at his prayers. The old woman comes to him again,\nand says to him--\n\n\"What's the matter with you?\"\n\nHe tells her the wager he has made with the Tartaro, and how he will\npull up an oak. The old woman gives him three balls of thread, and\ntells him to begin and tie them to all the oaks in the forest. [15]\n\nNext day the Tartaro pulls up his oak, an enormously, enormously big\none; and the madman begins to tie, and to tie, and to tie.\n\nThe Tartaro asks him:\n\n\"What are you doing that for?\"\n\n\"You (pulled up) one, but I all these.\"\n\nThe Tartaro replies,\n\n\"No! No! No! What shall I do to fatten my pigs with without acorns? You\nhave won; you have won the wager.\"\n\nThe Tartaro did not know what to think about it, and saw that he had\nfound one cleverer than himself, and so he asks him if he will come\nand spend the night at his house.\n\nThe madman says, \"Yes.\"\n\nHe goes to bed then with the Tartaro. But he knew that there was a\ndead man under the bed. When the Tartaro was asleep what does the\nmadman do? He places the dead man by the Tartaro's side, and gets\nunder the bed himself. In the middle of the night the Tartaro gets\nup, and takes his terrible bar of iron and showers blows upon blows,\nping pan, ping pan, as long and as hard as he could give them.\n\nThe Tartaro gets up as usual, and goes to see his pigs, and the madman\nalso comes out from under the bed; and he goes to see the pigs too. The\nTartaro is quite astounded to see him coming, and does not know what\nto think of it. He says to himself that he has to do with a cleverer\nthan he; but he asks him if he has slept well.\n\nHe answers, \"Yes, very well; only I felt a few flea-bites.\"\n\nTheir pigs had got mixed, and as they were fat, he had to separate\nthem in order to go away with his. The Tartaro asked the madman what\nmark his pigs had.\n\nThe madman says to him, \"Mine have some of them one mark, some of\nthem two marks.\"\n\nThey set to work to look at them, and they all had these same marks.\n\nOur madman goes off then with all the hogs. He goes walking on, on,\non, with all his pigs. He comes to a town where it was just market\nday, and sells them all except two, keeping, however, all the tails,\nwhich he put in his pockets. As you may think, he was always in\nfear of the Tartaro. He sees him coming down from the mountain. He\nkills one of his hogs, and puts the entrails in his own bosom under\nhis waistcoat. There was a group of men near the road. As he passed\nthem he took out his knife, and stabs it into his chest, and takes\nout the pig's bowels, and our madman begins to run very much faster\nthan before, with his pig in front of him.\n\nWhen the Tartaro comes up to these men, he asks if they have seen\nsuch a man.\n\n\"Yes, yes, he was running fast, and in order to go faster just here\nhe stabbed himself, and threw away his bowels, and still he went on\nall the faster.\"\n\nThe Tartaro, too, in order to go faster, thrusts his knife into his\nbody, and falls stark dead. [16]\n\nThe madman goes to his master's. Near the house there was a marsh\nquite full of mud. He puts his live pig into it, and all the tails\ntoo. He enters the house, and says to the master that he is there\nwith his pigs. The master is astounded to see him.\n\nHe asks him, \"Where are the pigs, then?\"\n\nHe says to him, \"They have gone into the mud, they were so tired.\"\n\nBoth go out, and begin to get the real pig out, and between the two\nthey pull it out very well. They try to do the same thing with the\nothers; but they kept pulling out nothing but tails.\n\nThe madman says, \"You see how fat they are; that is why the tails\ncome out alone.\"\n\nHe sends the servant to fetch the spade and the hoe. Instead of\nbringing them he begins to beat the mistress, whack! whack! and he\ncries to the master, \"One or both?\"\n\nThe master says to him, \"Both, both.\"\n\nAnd then he beats the servant maid almost to pieces. He goes then\nto the master, taking with him the spade and the hoe, and he sets to\nbeating him with the spade and the hoe, until he can no longer defend\nhimself, and then he thrashes the skin off his back, and takes his\npig and goes off home to his father and mother; and as he lived well\nhe died well too.\n\n\nPierre Bertrand learnt it from his Grandmother, who died a few years\nsince, aged 82.\n\n\n\n\nVARIATIONS OF ERRUA.\n\nWe have several variations of this tale, some like the above, very\nsimilar to Grimm's \"Valiant Little Tailor,\" others like Campbell's\n\"Highland Tales.\" In one tale there are two brothers, an idiot and a\nfool (Enuchenta eta Ergela). The idiot goes out to service first, and\ngets sent back for his stupidity. Then the fool goes, and outwits both\nhis master and the Tartaro, whose eye he burns out with a red-hot spit,\nas in the first instance. In another the servant frightens the Tartaro\nat the outset by cracking two walnuts, and saying that they were bones\nof Christians he was cracking. Another wager is as to which shall carry\nmost water from a fountain. The Tartaro fills two hogsheads to carry,\nbut the lad says to him, \"Only that; I will take the whole fountain;\"\nand he begins to stir the water about with a stick. But the Tartaro\ncries out, \"No! No! No! I give up. Where shall I go and drink if you\ncarry away all my water?\" Another variation is as follows:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE THREE BROTHERS, THE CRUEL MASTER, AND THE TARTARO.\n\nLike many others in the world, there lived a mother with her three\nsons. They were not rich, but lived by their work. The eldest son\nsaid one day to his mother--\n\n\"It would be better for us if I should go out to service.\"\n\nThe mother did not like it, but at last she let him go. He goes off,\nfar, far, far away, and comes to a house, and asks if they want a\nservant. They say \"Yes,\" and they make their agreement.\n\nThe master was to give a very high salary--100,000 francs--but the\nservant was to do everything that the master ordered him, and, if he\ndid not do it, the master was to tear the skin off his back at the\nend of the year, and to dismiss him without pay. [17]\n\nThe servant said to him,\n\n\"All right; I am strong, and I will work.\"\n\nOn the morrow the master gives him a great deal of work, but he does it\neasily. The last months of the year the master presses him much more,\nand one day he sends him into a field to sow fourteen bushels of wheat\nin the day. The lad goes sadly, taking with him a pair of oxen. He\nreturns to the house very late in the evening. The master says to him,\n\n\"Have you done your work?\"\n\nHe says, \"No.\"\n\n\"Do you remember the agreement we made? I must tear the skin off your\nback: that is your salary.\"\n\nHe tears the skin off, as he had said, and sends him away home without\nanything. His mother was in great grief at seeing him come home so\nthin and weak, and without any money.\n\nHe tells what has happened, and the second brother wishes to start off\nat once, saying that he is strong, and that he will do more work. The\nmother did not like it, but she was obliged to let him go.\n\nHe goes to the same house as his brother, and makes the same terms\nwith the master. When he had almost finished his year, his master\nsends him too to sow fourteen bushels of wheat. He starts very early\nin the morning, with two pair of oxen; but the night came before he\nhad sown it all. The master was very glad at the sight of that. He\nstrips his skin off his back also, and sends him away without any\nmoney. Think of the vexation of this mother in seeing both her sons\nreturn in this fashion.\n\nThe third wishes to start off at once. He assures his mother that\nhe will bring back both the money and the skin of his back. He goes\nto this same gentleman. He tells this one, too, that he will give\nhim a high salary, on condition that he will do all that he shall\ntell him to do, otherwise he shall have the skin torn off his back,\nand be sent away without anything, at the end of the year.\n\nHe had made him work hard and well for ten months, and then wished\nto try him. He sent him to the field, and told him to sow fourteen\nbushels of wheat before night. He answers, \"Yes.\"\n\nHe takes two pairs of oxen, and goes off to the field. He ploughs a\nfurrow all round the field, and throws his fourteen bushels of wheat\ninto it. He then makes another furrow, to cover it up, and at night\ntime he goes home to the house. The master is astonished. He asks\nhim if he has sown it.\n\n\"Yes, it is all under ground; you may be sure of it.\"\n\nThe master was not pleased; he had his fears.\n\nThe next day he sends him with sixteen head of cattle to such a field,\nand says to him,\n\n\"You must take all these cattle into the field without unlocking the\ngate or making a gap.\"\n\nOur lad takes a hatchet, a hoe, and a fork. Off he goes, and when he\ngets to the field he kills them all, one by one. He cuts them up with\nthe hatchet, and throws them with the fork into the field.\n\nHe comes home at nightfall, and says to his master that all the cattle\nare in the field as he had told him. The master was not pleased,\nbut he said nothing.\n\nThe next day he told him to go to such a forest and to bring a load\nof wood from there, but all the sticks quite, quite straight. Our lad\ngoes off and cuts down in the chestnut copse all the young chestnut\ntrees which his master had planted, and which were very fine ones;\nand he comes home. When the master saw that, he was not pleased,\nand said to him,\n\n\"To-morrow you shall go again with the oxen; and you must bring a\nload of wood quite crooked, all quite crooked; if you bring only one\nstraight, so much the worse for you.\"\n\nThe lad goes off, and pulls up a fine vineyard. After he had loaded\nhis cart, he comes home. When the master saw that, he could not say\nanything; but he did not know what to think of it.\n\nHe sends him into a forest. There was a Tartaro there; and all the\npersons, and all the animals who went there, he ate them all. The\nmaster gives him ten pigs, and also food for ten days, telling him\nthat the hogs would fatten themselves well there, because there were\nplenty of acorns, and that he must return at the end of ten days.\n\nOur lad begins, and he goes on, and on, and on. He meets an old woman,\nwho says to him:\n\n\"Where are you going to, lad?\"\n\n\"To such a forest, to fatten these pigs.\"\n\nThe woman says to him:\n\n\"If you are not a fool, you will not go there. That horrible Tartaro\nwill eat you.\"\n\nThis woman was carrying a basket of walnuts on her head, and he said\nto her:\n\n\"If you will give me two of these walnuts I will beat the Tartaro.\"\n\nShe willingly gives them to him, and he goes on, and on, and on. He\nmeets another old woman, who was winding thread. She says to him:\n\n\"Where are you going, lad?\"\n\n\"To such a forest.\"\n\n\"Don't go there. There is a horrible Tartaro there, who will be sure\nto eat you, and your pigs as well.\"\n\n\"I must go there all the same, and I will conquer him, if you will\ngive me two of your balls of thread.\"\n\nShe gives him them, willingly; and he goes on farther, and finds a\nblacksmith, and he, too, asks him where he is going? And he answers,\n\"To such a forest, to fatten my pigs.\"\n\n\"You may just as well go back again. There is a terrible Tartaro there,\nwho will be sure to eat you.\"\n\n\"If you will give me a spit, I will beat him.\"\n\n\"I will give it you, willingly,\" and he gives it him with goodwill.\n\nOur lad goes on, and comes to this forest. He cuts off the tails of\nall his pigs, and hides them in a safe place. The Tartaro appears,\nand says to him:\n\n\"How did you come here? I am going to eat you.\"\n\nThe lad says to him:\n\n\"Eat a pig if you like, but don't touch me.\"\n\nHe takes his two nuts, and rubs them one against the other.\n\n\"I have two balls here, and if one of them touches you, you are dead.\"\n\nThe Tartaro is frightened, and goes away in silence. After having\neaten a pig, he comes back again, and says to him:\n\n\"We must make a wager--which of the two will make the greatest heap\nof wood?\"\n\nThe Tartaro begins to cut and to cut. Our lad leaves him alone, and\nwhen he has made a terrible big heap, he begins to go round all the\ntrees with his balls of thread, and says to him.\n\n\"You, that; but I, all this;\" and he goes on tying and tying. The\nTartaro gives in, saying \"that he is more clever than he.\" As he\nhad stopped his ten days, he makes in the night a great fire, and\nmakes his spit red-hot in it; and while the Tartaro was sleeping,\nhe plunges this spit into his only eye. After having taken his pigs'\ntails, he goes away from the forest without any pigs, because the\nTartaro had eaten one every day. Near his master's house there was\n\"a well of the fairy.\" [18] Our lad sticks in there the tails of all\nhis hogs, excepting one, as well as he could. He then goes running\nto his master, telling him that all the pigs were coming home very\ngaily, and that they had got so hot in coming so fast that they\nhad all gone under the mud. \"I wished to drag one out by pulling,\nbut only the tail came away; here it is.\"\n\nHe goes off then with the master to this marsh; but the master did\nnot dare go in there to pull them out. He goes off sadly with his\nservant home, not knowing what to think about it. There he counts\nhim out his 100,000 francs, and he went home proudly to his mother\nand his brothers. There they lived happily, and their master was left\nwith 100,000 francs less. That served him right for having so much.\n\n\n\n\nTHE TARTARO AND PETIT PERROQUET.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a mother and her son. They\nwere very wretched. One day the son said to his mother that he must go\naway, to see if he could do anything. He goes far, far, far away. He\ntraverses many countries, and still goes on and on. He arrives in\na great city, and asks if they know of a place for a servant. They\ntell him that there is one in the king's house. There they tell him\nthat he is to be gardener. But he tells them that he does not know\nhow to use a hoe at all, but that, all the same, he would learn it\nwith the others. He was very nice-looking. He soon learnt it, and\nwas liked by everybody.\n\nThis king had a daughter, and she often noticed Petit Perroquet,\nbecause he was polite to everybody. In this city there was a prince,\nand he was paying court to this young princess, and he was seized\nwith dislike and jealousy of Petit Perroquet. One day this prince\n[19] went to find the king. He said to him,\n\n\"You do not know what Petit Perroquet says?--that he could bring the\nTartaro's horse here.\"\n\nThe king sends for Petit Perroquet, and says to him,\n\n\"It seems that you have said that you could bring the Tartaro's\nhorse here?\"\n\n\"I certainly did not say it.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes,\" said the king, \"you said it.\"\n\n\"If you will give me all that I ask for, I will try.\"\n\nHe asks for a great deal of money, and sets off. He travels on, and on,\nand on, and he had to pass a wide river. He speaks to the ferryman,\nand pays the passage money, and tells him that perhaps he will have\na heavy load on his return, but that he will be well paid.\n\nHe lands on the other side; but he had yet a long way to go in the\nforest, because the Tartaro lived in a corner of the mountain. At last\nhe arrives, and knocks at the door. An old, old woman comes to him,\nand says to him,\n\n\"Be off from here as quickly as possible; my son smells the smell of\na Christian a league off.\"\n\n\"To eat me here, or to eat me elsewhere, it is all the same to me.\"\n\nBut he goes outside, and hides himself under a great heap of cut\nferns. He had scarcely been there a moment, when he hears a deep\nbreathing and a grinding of teeth, which sounded like thunder. He\nstops where he is, trembling. The Tartaro goes to his house, and asks\nhis mother if there is not some Christian or other hidden here.\n\n\"No, no,\" says she. \"But eat away, your dinner is all ready.\"\n\n\"No, no! I must eat this Christian first.\"\n\nHe goes hunting, looking, looking into every corner. He goes to the\nheap of ferns, and pulls off some to put them on one side; but our\nPetit Perroquet was quite, quite at the bottom. The Tartaro was just\non the point of finding him, but he grew tired, and went indoors, and\nbegan to eat and to drink enormously. Our Petit Perroquet creeps out of\nhis ferns, and goes off to the stable. The horse had a big bell round\nhis neck, but he fills it with ferns (this bell was as large as the\nbig bell in the church of St. Jean de Luz). He mounts on the horse's\nback, and very soon he arrives at the ferry, and the ferryman comes\nto meet him. Together they get the horse into the ferry-boat as well\nas they could, and they cross over. He gave him a handsome reward. As\nsoon as he was on the other side, the Tartaro appeared, crying out to\nhim to give him his horse back again, and that he would give him all\nhe could wish for. He replies, \"No,\" and goes off full gallop. When\nhe came near the king's palace he took the fern out of the bell,\nand everybody comes running out of doors or to the windows. All the\nworld was astonished to see Petit Perroquet return.\n\nThe king was in ecstasy. He did not know what to say, but he liked\nhim even more than he did formerly, and the princess did also. The\nother prince was not at all pleased, and he begins to think of some\nother plot. He goes off to find the king, and he says to him,\n\n\"Do you not know that Petit Perroquet says that he could bring the\nTartaro's diamond?\"\n\nThe king sends for Petit Perroquet, and says to him,\n\n\"It seems that you say you can get the Tartaro's diamond?\"\n\n\"I certainly did not say any such thing.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes--you said it.\"\n\n\"No, no! I did not say it; but I will try, if you give me all I shall\nask for.\"\n\nAnd he asks for a great deal of money.\n\nHe goes off, and reaches the ferry, and pays the ferryman well, and\ngoes far, far, far away into the forest, till he gets to the house\nof the Tartaro. The old woman tells him to be off from there; and he\ngoes and hides himself again in the ferns. And he stops there until\nthe Tartaro comes to the house, just as he did the first time. He\nturns over nearly all the ferns, and leaves him scarcely covered. He\nstops quietly there all the time that the Tartaro was having his huge\nsupper, and when he thinks he has finished, and is taking his nap,\nhe creeps out very, very gently. The Tartaro always put his diamond\nunder his pillow, and he takes it away without waking him, and escapes,\nrunning off as fast as if to break his feet. The ferryman is there,\nand he crosses him over, and he pays him well. The Tartaro appears\non the other side again, and calls out to him telling him to give\nhim back his diamond, and that he would give him all that he could\nwish for. He answers, \"No, no!\" and runs on to the king's house.\n\nWhen he arrived there, the king did not know what to do. One feasted\nhim, and another feasted him, and all the world was busied about him,\nand everyone loved him more and more, and the princess as well as\nthe rest. The wicked prince did not know what to think of it. He was\neaten up with jealousy, and he thought of something else, and said\nto the king:\n\n\"Petit Perroquet says that he can bring the Tartaro himself.\"\n\nThe king sends for Petit Perroquet, and says to him:\n\n\"It appears that you have said that you will bring the Tartaro\nhimself here.\"\n\n\"No, no, no, I did not say anything at all like that; but if you will\ngive me all I ask for, I will try. You must have a carriage made of\niron, half-a-yard thick, and three horses to draw it, and lots of\nmoney. When all that is ready, I will set out.\"\n\nHe asks, also, for a barrel of honey, another of feathers, and two\nhorns, and starts off.\n\nWhen he comes to the ferry, it was no easy thing to get this carriage\ninto the boat. When he has got to the other side, he first puts\nhimself into the barrel of honey, and then into the barrel of feathers,\nand ties the horns on to his head, and then mounts as postilion. He\nthen comes to the Tartaro's house, and just then he happened to be at\nhome. Petit Perroquet knocks at the door. The Tartaro himself comes\nto open, and asks:\n\n\"Who are you? You!\"\n\n\"I!!--I am the oldest of all the devils in hell.\"\n\nHe opens the carriage door for him, and says:\n\n\"Get in there.\"\n\nThe Tartaro gets in, and Petit Perroquet, very glad, starts off, and\narrives at the ferry. He crosses, as he best can, with his carriage\nand horses. He pays the ferryman generously, and comes to the king's\npalace. They were all terrified when they saw that he had the Tartaro\nthere. They tried to shoot him with cannon, but he caught the bullets,\nand sent them back as if they had been balls to play with. They could\nnot kill him in that way, so they finished him with other arms.\n\nAs Petit Perroquet had well gained her, they gave him the princess in\nmarriage. He sent for his mother to the court, and as they lived well,\nso they died happily.\n\n\n Pierre Bertrand.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nII--THE HEREN-SUGE.--THE SEVEN-HEADED SERPENT.\n\n\nIt would only be spoiling good work by bad to attempt to re-write the\nexhaustive essay which appears, under the heading of \"St. George,\" in\nBaring Gould's \"Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.\" He there traces the\natmospheric myth in which the Dragon is the storm-cloud, the Maiden the\nearth, and the Hero the sun, through all the forms of the great Aryan\nlegend, in Indian, Egyptian, Phoenician, Italic, Keltic, Teutonic,\nand Scandinavian mythology. He shows that it was merely by a mistaken\nmetaphor [20] that St. George came to assume the place, and wear the\nglories of the solar hero; and that England only followed in the wake\nof other countries, in making him her national Saint and Patron.\n\nWe will, therefore, now only glance at some of the Basque and Pyrenean\nforms of this wide-spread myth. M. Cerquand boldly places one form of\nthe story, which is attached to the house of Belzunce, among historical\nlegends. But the history of Belzunce and the Dragon stands in the same\nrelation to the original myth as does that of Guy, Earl of Warwick,\nMoor of Moor Hall, and of scores of other heroes. In a Basque version,\ncollected by ourselves, the concluding words show that in this form\nit is simply an Eponymous legend, to account for the name, \"and that\nis whence comes the name of Belzunce.\" The oldest Pyrenean version\nwith which we are acquainted is that of the \"Serpent d'Isabit.\" We\ngive the outlines of it from memory, as we heard, and read it, at\nBagn\u00e8res de Bigorre.\n\nThe serpent lay with his head resting on the summit of the Pic du\nMidi de Bigorre, his neck stretched down towards Bar\u00e8ges, while his\nbody filled the whole valley of Luz, St. Sauveur, and G\u00e9dres, and\nhis tail was coiled in the hollow below the cirque of Gavarnie. He\nfed but once in three months, or the whole country would have been\ndesolate. With a strong inspiration of his breath, he drew into his\ncapacious maw, across the valleys, whole flocks of sheep and goats,\nherds of oxen, men, women, children, the population of whole villages\nat once. He was now asleep, and inert, after such a repast. The whole\nmale population of several valleys assembled to consult on what\nshould be done. After long and fruitless debate an old man arose\nand spoke:--\"We have nearly three months yet before he will wake;\nlet us cut down all the forests on the opposite hills; then let us\nbring all our forges and all the iron we possess, and with the wood\nthus cut down let us melt it all into one red-hot fiery mass; then we\nwill hide ourselves behind the rocks, and make all the noise we can\nto try and awaken the monster.\" So said, so done. The serpent awoke\nin a rage at having his slumbers broken, he saw something bright on\nthe opposite side of the valley, and drew in a long breath, and the\nfiery mass, with a roar like a thunderbolt, flew across the valley,\nright down the monster's throat. Then, what convulsions ensued;\nrocks were uptorn or split open, the mountains were shattered, the\nglaciers beaten into dust as the serpent twisted and lashed about in\nhis agony. To quench his agony of thirst he descended to the valley,\nand drank up all the streams from Gavarnie to Pierrefitte. Then,\nin his last convulsion, he threw himself back upon the mountain side\nand expired; his head rested in a deep hollow; as the fire within him\nslowly cooled, the water he had swallowed poured out of his mouth,\nand formed the present Lac d'Isabit. In M. Cerquand's legend of the\nDragon d'Al\u00e7ay, the red-hot iron is replaced by \"a cow's skin full\nof gunpowder.\" In all the Basque legends of this class the hero dies.\n\nBut these legends differ widely from the following tales; there is\nin them no princess to be rescued, no charcoal-burner, no marriage,\nor any other wonders. Were it not for their still closer resemblance\nto the Gaelic tales, we should suspect the following legends to\nbe simply translations of some French legend of St. George. As we\nremarked before, like the Deccan cobras, the Heren-Suge is always\nseven-headed. It is strange, too, to notice that the princess always\nbehaves in the same chivalrous way. \"One is enough to die.\" The union,\ntoo, of Tartaro and Heren-Suge in the same tale is curious.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GRATEFUL TARTARO AND THE HEREN-SUGE.\n\nLike many of us who are, have been, and shall be in the world, there\nwas a king, and his wife, and three sons. The king went out hunting\none day, and caught a Tartaro. He brings him home, and shuts him up\nin prison in a stable, and proclaims, by sound of trumpet, that all\nhis court should meet the next day at his house, that he would give\nthem a grand dinner, and afterwards would show them an animal such\nas they had never seen before.\n\nThe next day the two sons of the king were playing at ball against\n(the wall of) the stable where the Tartaro was confined, and the ball\nwent into the stable. One of the boys goes and asks the Tartaro--\n\n\"Throw me back my ball, I beg you.\"\n\nHe says to him, \"Yes, if you will deliver me.\"\n\nHe replies, \"Yes, yes,\" and he threw him the ball.\n\nA moment after, the ball goes again to the Tartaro. He asks for it\nagain; and the Tartaro says:\n\n\"If you will deliver me, I will give it you.\"\n\nThe boy says, \"Yes, yes,\" takes his ball, and goes off.\n\nThe ball goes there for the third time, but the Tartaro will not give\nit before he is let out. The boy says that he has not the key. The\nTartaro says to him:\n\n\"Go to your mother, and tell her to look in your right ear, because\nsomething hurts you there. Your mother will have the key in her left\npocket, and take it out.\"\n\nThe boy goes, and does as the Tartaro had told him. He takes the key\nfrom his mother, and delivers the Tartaro. When he was letting him go,\nhe said to him:\n\n\"What shall I do with the key now? I am undone.\"\n\nThe Tartaro says to him:\n\n\"Go again to your mother, and tell her that your left ear hurts you,\nand ask her to look, and you will slip the key into her pocket.\"\n\nThe Tartaro tells him, too, that he will soon have need of him,\nand that he will only have to call him, and he will be his servant\nfor ever.\n\nHe puts the key back; and everyone came to the dinner. When they\nhad eaten well, the king said to them that they must go and see this\ncurious thing. He takes them all with him. When they are come to the\nstable, he finds it empty. Judge of the anger of this king, and of\nhis shame. He said:\n\n\"I should like to eat the heart, half cooked, and without salt,\nof him who has let my beast go.\"\n\nSome time afterwards the two brothers quarreled in presence of their\nmother, and one said to the other:\n\n\"I will tell our father about the affair of the Tartaro.\"\n\nWhen the mother heard that, she was afraid for her son, and said\nto him:\n\n\"Take as much money as you wish.\"\n\nAnd she gave him the Fleur-de-lis. [21] \"By this you will be known\neverywhere as the son of a king.\"\n\nPetit Yorge [22] goes off, then, far, far, far away. He spends\nand squanders all his money, and does not know what to do more. He\nremembers the Tartaro, and calls him directly. He comes, and Petit\nYorge tells him all his misfortunes; that he has not a penny left, and\nthat he does not know what will become of him. The Tartaro says to him:\n\n\"When you have gone a short way from here you will come to a city. A\nking lives there. You will go to his house, and they will take you as\ngardener. You will pull up everything that there is in the garden, and\nthe next day everything will come up more beautiful than before. Also,\nthree beautiful flowers will spring up, and you will carry them to\nthe three daughters of the king, and you will give the most beautiful\nto the youngest daughter.\" [23]\n\nHe goes off, then, as he had told him, and he asks them if they want a\ngardener. They say, \"Yes, indeed, very much.\" He goes to the garden,\nand pulls up the fine cabbages, and the beautiful leeks as well. The\nyoungest of the king's daughters sees him, and she tells it to her\nfather, and her father says to her:\n\n\"Let him alone, we will see what he will do afterwards.\" And, indeed,\nthe next day he sees cabbages and leeks such as he had never seen\nbefore. Petit Yorge takes a flower to each of the young ladies. The\neldest said:\n\n\"I have a flower that the gardener has brought me, which has not its\nequal in the world.\"\n\nAnd the second says that she has one, too, and that no one has ever\nseen one so beautiful. And the youngest said that hers was still more\nbeautiful than theirs, and the others confess it, too. The youngest of\nthe young ladies found the gardener very much to her taste. Every day\nshe used to bring him his dinner. After a certain time she said to him,\n\n\"You must marry me.\"\n\nThe lad says to her,\n\n\"That is impossible. The king would not like such a marriage.\"\n\nThe young girl says, too,\n\n\"Well, indeed, it is hardly worth while. In eight days I shall be\neaten by the serpent.\"\n\nFor eight days she brought him his dinner again. In the evening she\ntells him that it is for the last time that she brought it. The young\nman tells her, \"No,\" that she will bring it again; that somebody will\nhelp her.\n\nThe next day Petit Yorge goes off at eight o'clock to call the\nTartaro. He tells him what has happened. The Tartaro gives him a fine\nhorse, a handsome dress, and a sword, and tells him to go to such a\nspot, and to open the carriage door with his sword, and that he will\ncut off two of the serpent's heads. Petit Yorge goes off to the said\nspot. He finds the young lady in the carriage. He bids her open the\ndoor. The young lady says that she cannot open it--that there are\nseven doors, and that he had better go away; that it is enough for\none person to be eaten.\n\nPetit Yorge opens the doors with his sword, and sat down by the young\nlady's side. He tells her that he has hurt his ear, and asks her to\nlook at it; [24] and at the same time he cuts off seven pieces of\nthe seven robes which she wore, without the young lady seeing him. At\nthe same instant comes the serpent, and says to him,\n\n\"Instead of one, I shall have three to eat.\"\n\nPetit Yorge leaps on his horse, and says to him,\n\n\"You will not touch one; you shall not have one of us.\"\n\nAnd they begin to fight. With his sword he cuts off one head, and the\nhorse with his feet another; [25] and the serpent asks quarter till the\nnext day. Petit Yorge leaves the young lady there. The young lady is\nfull of joy; she wishes to take the young man home with her. He will\nnot go by any means (he says); that he cannot; that he has made a vow\nto go to Rome; but he tells her that \"to-morrow my brother will come,\nand he will be able to do something, too.\" The young lady goes home,\nand Petit Yorge to his garden. At noon she comes to him with the\ndinner, and Petit Yorge says to her,\n\n\"You see that it has really happened as I told you--he has not\neaten you.\"\n\n\"No, but to-morrow he will eat me. How can it be otherwise?\"\n\n\"No, no! To-morrow you will bring me my dinner again. Some help will\ncome to you.\"\n\nThe next day Petit Yorge goes off at eight o'clock to the Tartaro,\nwho gives him a new horse, a different dress, and a fine sword. At\nten o'clock he arrives where the young lady is. He bids her open the\ndoor. But she says to him that she cannot in any way open fourteen\ndoors; she is there, and that she cannot open them, and he should go\naway; that it is enough for one to be eaten; that she is grieved to see\nhim there. As soon as he has touched them with his sword, the fourteen\ndoors fly open. He sits down by the side of the young lady, and tells\nher to look behind his ear, for it hurts him. At the same time he\ncuts off fourteen bits of the fourteen dresses she was wearing. As\nsoon as he had done that, the serpent comes, saying joyfully,\n\n\"I shall eat not one, but three.\"\n\nPetit Yorge says to him, \"Not even one of us.\"\n\nHe leaps on his horse, and begins to fight with the serpent. The\nserpent makes some terrible bounds. After having fought a long time,\nat last Petit Yorge is the conqueror. He cuts off one head, and the\nhorse another with his foot. The serpent begs quarter till the next\nday. Petit Yorge grants it, and the serpent goes away.\n\nThe young lady wishes to take the young man home, to show him to\nher father; but he will not go by any means. He tells her that he\nmust go to Rome, and set off that very day; that he has made a vow,\nbut that to-morrow he will send his cousin, who is very bold, and is\nafraid of nothing.\n\nThe young lady goes to her father's, Petit Yorge to his garden. Her\nfather is delighted, and cannot comprehend it at all. The young lady\ngoes again with the dinner. The gardener says to her,\n\n\"You see you have come again to-day, as I told you. To-morrow you\nwill come again, just the same.\"\n\n\"I should be very glad of it.\"\n\nOn the morrow Petit Yorge went off at eight o'clock to the Tartaro. He\nsaid to him that the serpent had still three heads to be cut off,\nand that he had still need of all his help. The Tartaro said to him,\n\n\"Keep quiet, keep quiet; you will conquer him.\"\n\nHe gives him a new dress, finer than the others, a more spirited horse,\na terrible dog, [26] a sword, and a bottle of good scented water. [27]\nHe said to him,\n\n\"The serpent will say to you, 'Ah! if I had a spark between my head and\nmy tail, how I would burn you and your lady, and your horse and your\ndog.' And you, you will say to him then, 'I, if I had the good-scented\nwater to smell, I would cut off a head from thee, the horse another,\nand the dog another.' You will give this bottle to the young lady,\nwho will place it in her bosom, and, at the very moment you shall\nsay that, she must throw some in your face, and on the horse and on\nthe dog as well.\"\n\nHe goes off then without fear, because the Tartaro had given him this\nassurance. He comes then to the carriage. The young lady says to him,\n\n\"Where are you going? The serpent will be here directly. It is enough\nif he eats me.\"\n\nHe says to her, \"Open the door.\"\n\nShe tells him that it is impossible; that there are twenty-one\ndoors. This young man touches them with his sword, and they open of\nthemselves. This young man says to her, giving her the bottle,\n\n\"When the serpent shall say, 'If I had a spark between my head and\nmy tail, I would burn you,' I shall say to him, 'If I had a drop\nof the good-scented water under my nose;' you will take the bottle,\nand throw some over me in a moment.\"\n\nHe then makes her look into his ear, and, while she is looking, he\ncuts off twenty-one pieces from her twenty-one dresses that she was\nwearing. At the same moment comes the serpent, saying, with joy,\n\n\"Instead of one, I shall have four to eat.\"\n\nThe young man said to him,\n\n\"And you shall not touch one of us, at any rate.\"\n\nHe leaps on his spirited horse, and they fight more fiercely than\never. The horse leaped as high as a house, and the serpent, in a rage,\nsays to him,\n\n\"If I had a spark of fire between my tail and my head, I would burn\nyou and your lady, and this horse and this terrible dog.\"\n\nThe young man says,\n\n\"I, if I had the good-scented water under my nose, I would cut off\none of your heads, and the horse another, and the dog another.\"\n\nAs he said that, the young lady jumps up, opens the bottle, and very\ncleverly throws the water just where it was wanted. The young man cuts\noff a head with his sword, his horse another, and the dog another;\nand thus they make an end of the serpent. This young man takes the\nseven tongues with him, and throws away the heads. Judge of the joy\nof this young lady. She wanted to go straight to her father with her\npreserver (she says), that her father must thank him too; that he\nowes his daughter to him. But the young man says to her that it is\naltogether impossible for him; that he must go and meet his cousin\nat Rome; that they have made a vow, and that, on their return, all\nthree will come to her father's house.\n\nThe young lady is vexed, but she goes off without losing time to tell\nher father what has happened. The father is very glad that the serpent\nwas utterly destroyed; and he proclaims in all the country that he\nwho has killed the serpent should come forward with the proofs of it.\n\nThe young lady goes again with the dinner to the gardener. He says\nto her,\n\n\"I told you true, then, that you would not be eaten? Something has,\nthen, killed the serpent?\"\n\nShe relates to him what had taken place.\n\nBut, lo! some days afterwards there appeared a black charcoal-burner,\nwho said that he had killed the serpent, and was come to claim\nthe reward. When the young lady saw the charcoal-burner, she said\nimmediately, that most certainly it was not he; that it was a fine\ngentleman, on horseback, and not a pest of a man like him. The\ncharcoal-burner shows the heads of the serpent; and the king says\nthat, in truth, this must be the man. The king had only one word to\nsay, she must marry him. The young lady says, she will not at all;\nand the father began to compel her, (saying) that no other man came\nforward. But, as the daughter would not consent, to make a delay,\nthe king proclaims in all the country, that he who killed the serpent\nwould be capable of doing something else, too, and that, on such a\nday, all the young men should assemble, that he would hang a diamond\nring from a bell, and that whosoever riding under it should pierce\nthe ring with his sword, should certainly have his daughter. [28]\n\nFrom all sides arrive the young men. Our Petit Yorge goes off to the\nTartaro, and tells him what has happened, and that he has again need\nof him. The Tartaro gives him a handsome horse, a superb dress, and\na splendid sword. Equipped thus, Petit Yorge goes with the others. He\ngets ready. The young lady recognizes him immediately, and says so to\nher father. He has the good luck to carry off the ring on his sword;\nbut he does not stop at all, but goes off galloping as hard as his\nhorse can go. The king and his daughter were in a balcony, looking\non at all these gentlemen. They saw that he still went on. The young\nlady says to her father:\n\n\"Papa, call him!\"\n\nThe father says to her, in an angry tone,\n\n\"He is going off, because apparently he has no desire to have you.\" And\nhe hurls his lance at him. It strikes him on the leg. He still rides\non. You can well imagine what chagrin for the young lady.\n\nThe next day she goes with the gardener's dinner. She sees him with\nhis leg bandaged. She asks him what it is.\n\nThe young lady begins to suspect something, and goes to tell to her\nfather how the gardener had his leg tied up, and that he must go and\nask him what is the matter. That he had told her that it was nothing.\n\nThe king did not want to go, (and said) that she must get it out of\nthe gardener; but to please his daughter, he says he will go there. He\ngoes then, and asks him, \"What is the matter?\" He tells him that\na blackthorn has run into him. The king gets angry, and says \"that\nthere is not a blackthorn in all his garden, and that he is telling\nhim a lie.\"\n\nThe daughter says to him,\n\n\"Tell him to show it us.\"\n\nHe shows it to them, and they are astonished to see that the lance\nis still there. The king did not know what to think of it all. This\ngardener has deceived him, and he must give him his daughter. But Petit\nYorge, uncovering his bosom, shows the \"fleur-de-lis\" there. The king\ndid not know what to say; but the daughter said to him,\n\n\"This is my preserver, and I will marry no one else than him.\"\n\nPetit Yorge asks the king to send for five dressmakers, the best in\nthe town, and five butchers. The king sends for them.\n\nPetit Yorge asks the dressmakers if they have ever made any new dresses\nwhich had a piece out; and on the dressmakers saying \"No,\" he counts\nout the pieces and gives them to the dressmakers, asking if it was\nlike that that they had given the dresses to the princess. They say,\n\"Certainly not.\"\n\nHe goes, then, to the butchers, and asks them, if they have ever\nkilled animals without tongues? They say, \"No!\" He tells them, then,\nto look in the heads of the serpent. They see that the tongues are\nnot there, and then he takes out the tongues he has.\n\nThe king, having seen all that, has nothing more to say. He gives\nhim his daughter. Petit Yorge says to him, that he must invite his\nfather to the wedding, but on the part of the young lady's father;\nand that they must serve him up at dinner a sheep's heart, half cooked,\nand without salt. They make a great feast, and place this heart before\nthis father. They make him carve it himself, and he is very indignant\nat that. The son then says to him:\n\n\"I expected that;\" and he adds, \"Ah! my poor father, have you\nforgotten how you said that you wished to eat the heart, half cooked,\nand without salt, of him who let the Tartaro go? That is not my heart,\nbut a sheep's heart. I have done this to recall to your memory what\nyou said, and to make you recognize me.\"\n\nThey embrace each other, and tell each other all their news, and what\nservices the Tartaro had done him. The father returned happy to his\nhouse, and Petit Yorge lived very happily with his young lady at the\nking's house; and they wanted nothing, because they had always the\nTartaro at their service.\n\n\n Laurentine.\n\n\nIn a variation of the above tale, from the narration of Mari\u00f1o\nAmyot, of St. Jean Pied de Port, the young prince, as a herdsman,\nkills with a hammer successively three Tartaros who play at cards\nwith him; he then finds in their house all their riches and horses,\nbarrels full of gold and silver, etc., and also three \"olano,\"\nwhich is described as an animal who serves the Tartaro, like a dog,\nbut much larger and more terrible, but also more intelligent and able\nto do any message. He kills the serpent with the aid of the \"olanos,\"\nand the princess helps by striking the serpent's tail with a sword,\n[29] instead of sprinkling the \"sweet-scented water.\" The \"olano\" then\nsteals dishes off the king's table for the prince. The charcoal-burner\ncomes; but at last the prince shows the tongues and pieces of dress,\nand all ends happily, except for the charcoal-burner, who is placed\non the top of seven barrels of powder, and fire is applied beneath,\nand then nobody sees him any more.\n\nThe commencement of the next is so different that we give it at length.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SEVEN-HEADED SERPENT.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a mother with her three\nsons. The eldest said to her that he wished to go from country to\ncountry, until he should find a situation as servant, and that she\nshould give him a cake.\n\nHe sets out. While he is going through a forest he meets an old\nwoman, who asks him for a morsel of his cake. [30] He says to her,\n\"No!\" that he would prefer to throw it into the muddy clay. And the\nlad asks her if she knows of a servant's place. She says, \"No.\" He\ngoes on from forest to forest, until the night overtakes him. There\ncomes to him a bear. He says to him,\n\n\"Ant of the earth! who has given you permission to come here?\"\n\n\"Who should give it me? I have taken it myself.\"\n\nAnd the bear devours him.\n\nThe second son asks his mother to give him a cake, for he wishes to\ngo as a servant, like his brother. She gives him one, and he goes\naway like his brother. He meets an old woman, who says to him,\n\n\"Give me a little of your cake.\"\n\n\"I prefer to throw it into this muddy clay rather than to give you\nany of it.\"\n\nHe asks her if she knows of a servant's place. She replies, \"No.\" And\non he goes, on, on, on, deeper into the forest. He meets a huge\nbear. He says to him,\n\n\"Ant of the earth! Who has given you permission to come here?\"\n\n\"Who should give it me? I have taken it myself.\"\n\nAnd the bear devours him.\n\nThe third son asks his mother to give him a cake, for he wishes to\ngo off, like his brothers. He sets off, and walks on, and on, and\non. And he finds an old woman. She asks him,\n\n\"Where are you going?\"\n\n\"I want a situation as servant.\"\n\n\"Give me a little bit of your cake.\"\n\n\"Here! Take the whole as well, if you like.\"\n\n\"No, no! A little bit is enough for me.\"\n\nAnd he asks her if she knows of a servant's place. She says to him,\n\n\"Yes; you will find it far beyond the forest. But you will meet an\nenemy here; but I will give you a stick, with the touch of which you\nmay kill him.\" [31]\n\nHe goes on, and on, and on. There comes to him a bear, and says to him,\n\n\"Ant of the ground! Who has given you permission to come here?\"\n\n\"Who has given it me? I have taken it myself.\"\n\nThe lad gives him a little blow with his stick, and the bear gives\na howl--\n\n\"Oy, oy, oy!--spare my life! Oy, oy, oy!--spare my life!\"\n\nBut he said to him,\n\n\"Tell me, then, how many you are in the place where you live?\"\n\n\"Seven.\"\n\nHe gives him another blow, and he falls stark dead.\n\nHe goes on, on, on, until he finds a palace. He goes in, and asks,\n\n\"Do you want a servant?\"\n\nThey say to him,\n\n\"Yes, yes; our shepherd has gone away, and we want one.\"\n\nThey send him to bed; and the next day they give him a fine flock of\nsheep, and tell him not to go on the mountain, because it is full of\nlarge and savage animals, and to pay great attention, because the sheep\nalways want to go there. The next day he goes off with his sheep, and\nall of them run away to this mountain, because the herbage was very\ngood there. Our shepherd had, fortunately, not forgotten his stick,\nfor at that moment there appeared before him a terrible bear.\n\n\"Who has given you permission to come here?\"\n\n\"I have taken it myself.\"\n\n\"I must eat you.\"\n\nHe approaches, but our shepherd gives him a little blow with his stick,\nand he begins to cry out,\n\n\"Oy, oy, oy!--spare my life!\"\n\n\"Tell me, then, how many you are where you live?\"\n\n\"We were seven yesterday, but to-day we are only six, with me.\"\n\nHe gives him another blow, and he falls stark dead. And the shepherd\nhides him as well as he can in a hedge, and then he returns home\nwith his sheep, well filled. That evening the sheep gave him a great\ndeal of milk, and he made fine cheeses with it. [32] The master and\nmistress were delighted to have such a servant. The next day he goes\noff again. As soon as he opened the stable-door the sheep start off\nrunning to the good pasture and fine herbage, and the same things\n(happen again). At the end of a moment there appears a bear, who asks\nhim why he comes there into those parts. Our shepherd, with his stick,\ngives him a little blow on the neck, and the bear begins to cry,\n\n\"Ay, ay, ay!--spare my life!\"\n\nHe asks him,\n\n\"How many are you there where you live?\"\n\n\"We were seven, but at present we are five with me.\"\n\nAnd he gives him a little blow, and he falls stiff and dead. And in\nfive days he kills all the bears in the same way; and when he saw\nthe last one come, he was frightened to see a beast so immense and\nso fearful, and which came dragging himself along, he was so old. He\nsays to him,\n\n\"Why have you come into these parts?\"\n\nAnd at the same time the shepherd gives him a little blow. He begins\nto cry out to him to spare his life, and that he would give him great\nriches and beautiful apartments, and that they should live together. He\nspares his life, and sends the flock back to the house. They go through\nhedges and hedges, and \"through the fairies' holes,\" [33] and arrive\nat last at a fine palace. There they find the table set out with every\nkind of food and drink. There were also servants to attend on them,\nand there were also horses all ready saddled, and with harness of\ngold and silver. There was nothing but riches there. After having\npassed some days there like that, our shepherd said to himself that\nit would be better to be master and owner of all that fortune. So he\ngives a blow to the bear, and kills him stark dead.\n\nAfter having dressed himself splendidly, he gets on horseback,\nand goes from country to country, and comes to a city, and hears\nthe bells sounding, dilin-don, dilin-don, and all the people are in\nexcitement. He asks, \"What is the matter?\" They tell him how that there\nis in the mountain a serpent with seven heads, and that one person must\nbe given to him every day. This serpent has seven heads. They draw\nlots to know who must be given to the serpent. The lot had fallen\non the king's daughter, and every one was in grief and distress,\nand all were going, with the king at their head, to accompany her\nto the mountain. They left her at the foot of the mountain, and she\nwent on mounting alone to the top. This young man goes after her,\nand says to her,\n\n\"I will accompany you.\"\n\nThe king's daughter says to him,\n\n\"Turn back, I beg you. I do not wish you to risk your life because\nof me.\"\n\nHe says to her,\n\n\"Have no fear for me. I have a charm of might.\"\n\nAt the same time they hear an extraordinary noise and hissing,\nand he sees the serpent coming like the lightning. As our man has\nhis stick with him, he gives him a little blow on one of his heads,\nand one by one the seven heads fall off, and our princess is saved.\n\nIn order to go to the mountain, she was dressed in her most beautiful\nrobes. She had seven of them on. He took a little piece from each of\nthe seven robes, and he likewise takes the tongue from each of the\nheads, and puts them in these little pieces of silk. He then takes the\nking's daughter on his horse, and descends the mountain. The daughter\ngoes home to her father, and our gentleman to the bear's house. The\nnews that the seven-headed serpent is killed spreads quickly. The\nking had promised his daughter, and the half of his kingdom, to the\nman who should have killed him. The serpent was killed, as we have\nsaid. Three charcoal-burners, passing by on the mountain, see the\nserpent, and take the seven heads, and go to the king, asking to\nhave a reward. But, as they were three, they were in a difficulty;\nand they were sent away until the council was assembled, and to see\nif any other person would come. As nobody appeared, they were going\nto draw lots who should be the husband of the king's daughter. There\nwas great excitement that day, and there was also a great stir when\nthis young man arrived in the city. He asks what it is. They tell\nhim what it is. He was splendidly dressed, and had a magnificent\nhorse. He asks to see the king, and, as he was handsomely dressed,\nhe is received immediately. He asks if the seven heads of the serpent\nhad seven tongues in them; and they cannot find them. Then he shows\nthe seven tongues. He sends, too, for the princess' seven robes,\nand he shows the seven pieces that are wanting, as well as the seven\ntongues. When they see that, all exclaim--\n\n\"This is the true saviour of the king's daughter!\"\n\nAnd they are married.\n\nThe three charcoal-burners, after having been dressed in a coat of\nsulphur, were burnt alive in the midst of the market-place.\n\nOur gentleman and lady lived very happily, sometimes at her father's\nhouse and at other times at their own bear's-house; and, as they had\nlived well, they died happily. Then I was there, and now I am here.\n\n\n\nOur next tale will show the serpent in a new character, and might\nhave been included under the variations of \"Beauty and the Beast.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERPENT IN THE WOOD.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a widower who had three\ndaughters. One day the eldest said to her father, that she must go\nand see the country. She walked on for two hours, and saw some men\ncutting furze, and others mowing hay.\n\nShe returned to the house, astonished at having seen such wonderful\nthings. She told her father what wonderful things she had seen,\nand her father replied:\n\n\"Men cutting furze! Men mowing hay!!\"\n\nThe second daughter asks, too, to go like her sister, and she returned\nafter having seen the same things. And the third daughter said that\nshe ought to go, too.\n\n\"Child, what will you see?\"\n\n\"I, like my sisters, something or other.\"\n\nShe set off on the same road as the others; and she, like the others,\nsaw men cutting furze, and men mowing hay. She went on further,\nand she saw some washerwomen; and she went still a little further on\ntill she had walked for three hours, and she saw some wood-cutters\ncutting firewood. She asked them if she should see anything more if\nshe went a little further. They told her that she would see some more\nwood-cutters cutting firewood.\n\nShe went very much farther into the wood, and she was caught, and kept\nprisoner by a serpent. She remained there crying, and not able to eat\nanything; and she remained like that eight days, very sad; then she\nbegan to grow resigned, and she remained there three years. At the end\nof three years she began to wish to return home. The serpent told her\nto come back again at the end of two days; that his time was nearly\nfinished, and that he was a king's son condemned for four years [34]\n(to be a serpent). He gave her a distaff and spindle, of silver-gilt,\nand a silk handkerchief. He said to her:\n\n\"If you do not find me here on your return, you will have to wear\nout seven pairs of shoes, six of leather and one pair of iron ones\n(before you will be able to find me).\"\n\nWhen she came home, her father would not let her go back to the house\nwhere she had passed such a long time with a son of a king, condemned\nto be a serpent. She said that his time was almost finished, and that\nin gratitude she ought to return; that he had said that he would marry\nher. The father had her put in prison, confined in a room very high\nup. The fourth day she escaped, and went to the place, but she did not\nfind the king's son. She had already shoes on her feet. She had almost\nworn them out. After that she bought another pair. She kept journeying\non and on, and asking if it were far, and they told her that it was\nvery far. She bought still another pair of shoes, and these, too,\ngot worn out on the road. She bought a fifth pair, and after them\nthe sixth also. She then asked if she were near yet, and they told\nher that she was still very far. Then she bought the seventh pair of\nshoes, of iron. And when she had gone a short way in these shoes,\nshe asked if it were far from there to the son of the king. The\nseventh pair of shoes were almost worn out when she came to a city,\nand heard sounds of music. She inquired what was happening in the city.\n\n\"Such a king's son is being married to-day.\"\n\nShe went to the house, and knocked at the door. A servant came.\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\nShe asked if there were any work to spin, and she would spin it.\n\nAnd the servant went to tell it to the mistress. The lady ordered\nthe servant to bring her in. She brought her in. And when she was\nin the kitchen, she showed the silk handkerchief which the king's\nson had given her; and she began to blow her nose with that. The\nlady was quite astonished to see the girl blow her nose with such a\nbeautiful handkerchief, as if it were nothing, [35] when her son had\none just like it for his marriage-day. So she told her son, when he\ncame back from the church, that she had a spinster who came from a\ngreat distance, and said to him:\n\n\"She has a silk handkerchief just like yours!\"\n\nAnd the king's son said to his mother:\n\n\"I, too, must see this spinster that you have there.\" And he began\nto go there.\n\nAnd his mother said to him,\n\n\"But why must you see her?\"\n\n\"I wish to see her.\"\n\nHe went to the kitchen, and in his presence she used her silk\nhandkerchief.\n\nHe said to her,\n\n\"Show me that.\"\n\nShe said to him,\n\n\"It is too dirty to put into your hands, sir.\"\n\nThe gentleman says to her,\n\n\"I wish to see it, and show it to me.\"\n\n(Then) he recognised the young girl. She showed him (too) the distaff\nand spindle.\n\nAt table, when everybody was engaged telling stories, this king said:\n\n\"I also have a story to tell.\"\n\nEverybody was silent, and turned to look at him, and he said:\n\n\"Formerly, I had a key to a chest of drawers, and I lost it, and had\na new one made. (After that, I found the old one.)\"\n\nAnd he turned to his wife:\n\n\"Should I use the old one or the new one?\"\n\nAnd she replied:\n\n\"If the first was a good one, why should you make use of the new one?\"\n\nThen he gave her this answer:\n\n\"Formerly, I had a wife, and now I have taken you. I leave you,\nand take the former one. Do you go off, then, to your own house.\"\n\n\n Gagna-haurra Hirigaray.\n (Learnt at Guethary.)\n\n\nFor the version of the Heren-Suge tales which most closely approaches\nthe Gaelic, see below, \"Keltic Legends,\" \"The Fisherman and his Sons,\"\np. 87.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIII.--ANIMAL TALES.\n\n\nWe give two stories as specimens of animal tales, which are neither\nallegories, nor fables, and still less satires. The reader must\nremember the phrase, \"This happened when animals and all things could\ntalk.\" So thoroughly is this believed, that the first tale of this\nclass recited to us completely puzzled us. The animals are in them\nplaced so fully on a footing with human beings--not in the least as\nour \"poor relations,\" but rather as sharper-witted, and quite as\nhappy and well off as ourselves--that it is difficult at times to\ndetermine whether it is the beast or the man who is the speaker.\n\nOf the latter part of our first story we have heard many variations. In\none given by M. Cerquand, p. 29, note, [36] the fox is represented by\nBasa-Jauna; in a version from Baigorry, by the Tartaro; but in three\nothers, from separate localities, he is a fox. The first two truths are\nthe same in all the versions. In that here given, the fun is heightened\nby the fox talking and lisping throughout like a little child. All\nthese versions we take to be merely fragments of a much longer story.\n\nIn M. Cerquand's \"The Chandelier of St. Sauveur,\" p. 22, the hero's\nname is Acherihargaix--\"the fox difficult to be caught;\" and we\nsuspect that he, too, was originally merely an animal.\n\n\n\n\nACHERIA, THE FOX.\n\nOne day a fox was hungry. He did not know what to think. He saw a\nshepherd pass every day with his flock, and he said to himself that\nhe ought to steal his milk and his cheese, and to have a good feast;\nbut he needed some one to help him in order to effect anything. So\nhe goes off to find a wolf, and he says to him,\n\n\"Wolf, wolf! we ought to have a feast with such a shepherd's milk\nand cheese. You, you shall go to where the flocks are feeding, and\nfrom a distance you must howl, 'Uhur, uhur, uhur.' The man, after\nhaving milked his sheep, drives them into the field, with his dog,\nvery early in the morning, and he stops at home to do his work, and\nthen he makes his cheese; and, when you have begun to howl 'Uhur,\nuhur,' and the dog to bark, the shepherd will leave everything else,\nand will go off full speed. During this time I will steal the milk,\nand we will share it when you come to me.\"\n\nThe wolf agreed to have a feast, and set out. He did just what the\nfox had told him. The dog began to bark when the wolf approached. And\nwhen the man heard that he went off, leaving everything, and our fox\ngoes and steals the vessel in which the curdled milk was. What does\nhe do then, before the arrival of the wolf? He gently, gently takes\noff the cream, thinly, thinly, and he eats all the contents of the\njug. After he has eaten all, he fills it up with dirt, and puts back\nthe cream on the top, and he awaits the wolf at the place where he\nhad told him. The fox says to him, since it is he who is to make the\ndivision, that as the top is much better than the underneath part,\nthe one who should choose that should have only that, and the other\nall the rest. \"Choose now which you would like.\"\n\nThe wolf says to him,\n\n\"I will not have the top; I prefer what is at the bottom.\"\n\nThe fox then takes the top, and gives the poor wolf the vessel full\nof dirt. [37] When he saw that, the wolf got angry; but the fox said\nto him,\n\n\"It is not my fault. Apparently the shepherd makes it like that.\"\n\nAnd the fox goes off well filled.\n\nAnother day he was again very hungry, and did not know what to\ncontrive. Every day he saw a boy pass by on the road with his father's\ndinner. He says to a blackbird,\n\n\"Blackbird, you don't know what we ought to do? We ought to have a\ngood dinner. A boy will pass by here directly. You will go in front\nof him, and when the boy goes to catch you, you will go on a little\nfarther, limping, and when you shall have done that a little while\nthe boy will get impatient, and he will put down his basket in order\nto catch you quicker. I will take the basket, and will go to such a\nspot, and we will share it, and will make a good dinner.\"\n\nThe blackbird says to him, \"Yes.\"\n\nWhen the boy passes, the blackbird goes in front of the boy, limping,\nlimping. When the boy stoops (to catch him), the blackbird escapes a\nlittle further on. At last the boy, getting impatient, puts his basket\non the ground, in order to go quicker after the blackbird. The fox,\nwho kept watching to get hold of the basket, goes off with it, not to\nthe place agreed upon, but to his hole, and there he stuffs himself,\neating the blackbird's share as well as his own.\n\nThen he says to himself,\n\n\"I shall do no good stopping here. The wolf is my enemy, and the\nblackbird, too. Something will happen to me if I stay here. I must\ngo off to the other side of the water.\"\n\nHe goes and stands at the water's edge. A boatman happened to pass,\nand he said to him:\n\n\"Ho! man, ho! Will you, then, cross me over this water? I will tell\nyou three truths.\"\n\nThe man said to him, \"Yes.\"\n\nThe fox jumps (into the boat), and he begins to say:\n\n\"People say that maize bread is as good as wheaten bread. That is a\nfalsehood. Wheaten bread is better. That is one truth.\"\n\nWhen he was in the middle of the river, he said:\n\n\"People say, too, 'What a fine night; it is just as clear as the\nday!' That's a lie. The day is always clearer. That is the second\ntruth.\"\n\nAnd he told him the third as they were getting near the bank.\n\n\"Oh! man, man, you have a bad pair of trousers on, and they will get\nmuch worse, if you do not pass over people who pay you more than I.\"\n\n\"That's very true,\" said the man; and the fox leapt ashore.\n\n\n\nThen I was by the side of the river, and I learnt these three truths,\nand I have never forgotten them since.\n\n\n\n\nTHE ASS AND THE WOLF.\n\nAstoa Eta Otsoa.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was an ass. He was going along\na ravine, laden with Malaga wine. (You know that asses are very much\nafraid of wolves, because the wolves are very fond of the flesh of\nasses.) While he was journeying along in that fashion, he sees a wolf\ncoming at some distance; he could not hide himself anywhere. The wolf\ncomes up, and the ass says to him:\n\n\"Good morning, good morning, Mr. Wolf; in case you should be thirsty,\nI have some excellent Malaga to drink.\"\n\n\"I am not thirsty; no!--but astoundingly hungry; yes! My dinner to-day\nshall be your head and ears.\"\n\n\"Mr. Wolf, if you were good enough to let me go and hear one mass----?\"\n\nHe says to him, \"Well! yes.\"\n\nOur ass goes off then. When he gets into the church he shuts the door\ninside with his foot, and stops quietly there.\n\nWhen the wolf began to get impatient at waiting, he said:\n\n\"Ay, ay, what a long mass! one would say it was Palm Sunday.\"\n\nThe ass said to him:\n\n\"Dirty old wolf, have patience. I am staying here with the angels,\nand I have my life (safe) for to-night.\"\n\n\"Ay, ay, you bad ass, you are too, too, filthy, you know. If ever\nyou meet with me again, mass you shall not hear.\"\n\nThe ass said to him:\n\n\"There are no dogs round the fold of Alagaia; if you go there you\nwould get lots of sheep.\"\n\nThe wolf gives it up, and sets off for the flock where the ass had\ntold him to go. When the ass saw that he had gone away he came out\nof the church, and went home, and took good care not to come near\nthe wolf's place any more.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nIV.--BASA-JAUN, BASA-ANDRE, AND LAMI\u00d1AK.\n\n\nIt is somewhat difficult to get a clear view of what Basa-Jaun and\nBasa-Andre, the wild man and the wild woman, really are in Basque\nmythology. In the first tale here given Basa-Jaun appears as a kind\nof vampire, and his wife, the Basa-Andre, as a sorceress, but we\nknow of no other such representation of the former. Basa-Jaun is\nusually described by Basque writers as a kind of satyr, or faun, a\nwood-sprite; and Basques; in speaking of him to us, have frequently\nused the French term, \"Homme de Bouc,\" \"He-goat-man,\" to describe\nhim. In some tales he appears rather as a species of brownie, and\nhas received the familiar sobriquet of Ancho, [38] from the Spanish\nSancho. In this character he haunts the shepherds' huts in the\nmountains, warms himself at their fires, tastes their clotted milk\nand cheese, converses with them, and is treated with a familiarity\nwhich, however, is never quite free from a hidden terror. His wife,\nthe Basa-Andre, appears sometimes as a sorceress, sometimes as a kind\nof land-mermaid, as a beautiful lady sitting in a cave and \"combing\nher locks with a comb of gold,\" in remote mountain parts. [39]\n\nThe Lami\u00f1ak are true fairies, and do not differ more from the\ngeneral run of Keltic fairies than the Scotch, Irish, Welsh,\nand Cornish fairies do from each other. In fact, the legends\nare often identical. The Lami\u00f1ak were described to us by one who\nevidently believed in, and dreaded them, as little people who lived\nunderground. Another informant stated that they were little people who\ncame down the chimney. They long to get possession of human beings,\nand change and carry off infants unbaptized, but they do not seem\nto injure them otherwise. They bring good luck to the houses which\nthey frequent; they are fond of cleanliness, but always speak and\ngive their orders in words exactly the opposite of their meaning. In\ncommon with Basa-Jaun and Basa-Andre they hate church bells, [40]\nand though not actively hostile to Christianity, are driven away as\nit advances. They were formerly great builders of bridges, and even\nof churches, [41] but were usually defrauded of their wage, which\nwas to have been power over some human soul at the completion of\nthe contract. Fairies' wells and fountains are common in the Landes\nand neighbouring Gascon provinces, but we know of none in the Pays\nBasque. [42] We failed distinctly to make out what are the \"fairies'\nholes (Lami\u00f1a-ziloak),\" spoken of in the Heren-Suge tale (p. 36);\nas far as we could gather from the narrator they are simply bare\nplaces in hedges, when covered by the web of the gossamer spider.\nWe know of no dances by moonlight on fairy rings of green herbage;\nbut if the reader will carefully eliminate from his memory the rare\nfancies of Shakespeare and Ben Jonson about Puck, Oberon, and Titania,\nhe will find little otherwise to differentiate between the Basque\nLami\u00f1ak and the fairies of Sir Walter Scott, of Campbell, and of\nCroker's \"Irish Legends.\" One peculiarity certainly is that all the\nBasque Lami\u00f1ak are sometimes said to be all called \"Gu\u00efllen,\" [43]\nwhich appears to be the same as the French Guillaume, and our William.\n\nIt must be a sign of a failing belief and interest that witches and\nfairies are so often confounded. In these few stories it is evident\nthat the witch is often a fairy, and the fairy a witch.\n\n\n\n\nBASA-JAUNA, THE WILD MAN.\n\nOnce upon a time there lived in one house the landlady and the\nfarmer's wife. [44] The farmer's wife had three sons; one day they\nsaid to their mother to give each of them a ball and a penny roll,\nthat they wished to go from country to country. The mother was sorry\nto part with her three much-loved sons; but all three started off.\n\nWhen they were in the midst of a forest they saw that night was\ncoming on, and the eldest brother said that he would climb up the\nfirst tree. He finds a tall tree, and climbs up to the top, to the\nvery tip-top, and the second says to him:\n\n\"Do you see nothing?\"\n\nHe says, \"No, no; there's nothing to be seen, nothing; not a\nfeather! nothing!\"\n\n\"Come down then; you are an old donkey.\"\n\nAnd the second climbs, and he sees nothing. The third says to him:\n\n\"You are no good at all, you others. I will climb up.\"\n\nAnd he climbs to the top, to the very tip-top. The others say to him:\n\n\"And do you not see anything?\"\n\nHe says to them:\n\n\"Yes; I see a long column of smoke, but very, very thin, and far,\nvery far away. Let us go towards that.\"\n\nAnd the three brothers set out together. At eight o'clock in the\nevening they come to a grand castle, and they knock at the door,\nand the Basa-Andre (wild woman) comes to answer. She asks:\n\n\"Who is there?\"\n\nAnd they reply, \"It is we who are here.\"\n\n\"What do you want, young children? Where are you going to at this\ntime of night?\"\n\n\"We ask and beg of you to give us shelter for to-night; we will be\nsatisfied with a corner of the floor, poor wretches as we are.\"\n\n\"I have my husband, the Basa-Jaun, and if he catches you he will eat\nyou; that's certain.\"\n\n\"And if he catches us outside he will eat us all the same.\"\n\nThen she let these three brothers come in, and she hides the three in\nthree different corners. Afterwards, at nine o'clock, the Basa-Jaun\ncomes. He made a great noise and blustering, and then the Basa-Andre\ngoes out, and says to him:\n\n\"There is nobody here.\"\n\n\"Yes, you have somebody; bring them out, or else I will eat you\nmyself.\"\n\nAnd she goes and brings out the eldest brother, trembling with\nfright. The Basa-Jaun says to him,\n\n\"Will you be my servant?\"\n\nHe says to him, \"Yes.\"\n\nAnd Basa-Jaun begins again to sniff about.\n\n\"You have still somebody else here?\"\n\nAnd she brings out the second, and he says to him:\n\n\"Will you be servant to me?\"\n\nAnd he said, \"Yes.\"\n\nAgain, he smelled the smell of some one, and at the third time she\nbrings out the third, and he says to him:\n\n\"All three of you shall sup with me to-night, and afterwards we shall\ngo to bed. But to-morrow we will all go hunting.\"\n\nAnd they go hunting the next day until eight o'clock in the evening.\n\nNow, they had at home a little sister. She was little then, but in\ntime she grew up. One day the landlady and the farmer's wife had\nput out the new maize in the garden to dry; and when no one saw her,\nthe little girl took some from her mistress' heap, and put it to her\nown. When the mistress saw that, she began to cry out, saying to her,\n\n\"Bold hussey that you are, there is no one like you! You will come\nto a bad end like your brothers.\"\n\nAnd the young girl began to cry, and goes to find her mother, and\nsays to her,\n\n\"Mother, had I any brothers?\" [45]\n\nShe says to her, \"Yes, my child.\"\n\n\"What were they?\"\n\n\"Child, they went away a long time ago,\" she said to her.\n\nThis little girl says,\n\n\"I, too, must be off to-day. Give me a distaff to spin with, and a\npenny cake.\"\n\nShe sets off, and comes to the house of the Basa-Jaun, and she knocks\nat the door, and she lets her in. While his wife was telling her that\nit is the house of the Basa-Jaun, the elder brother comes in; but they\ndid not recognise one another at all. And afterwards Basa-Jaun comes,\nand says, as he enters the house:\n\n\"You have something here for me,\" says he.\n\n\"No,\" says she.\n\n\"Show it.\"\n\nAnd immediately she shows her. Basa-Jaun says to her:\n\n\"Will you engage yourself as my servant?\"\n\nShe says to him, \"Yes, sir.\"\n\nSome days afterwards the brothers recognised their sister, and they\nembraced each other very much. And this young girl who was so well\nbefore began to grow thin. And one day one of her brothers asked her:\n\n\"What is the matter with you that you are getting thin like this?\"\n\nAnd she answered:\n\n\"The master every evening asks me to put my little finger through the\ndoor, and he sucks the finger through the door, and I become every\nday more sad and more languid.\" [46]\n\nOne day, when the Basa-Andre was not at home, these brothers and the\nsister plotted together to kill Basa-Jaun, if they could catch him\nin a ravine in a certain place. And they kill him.\n\nOne day the wife asks,\n\n\"Where is Basa-Jaun?\"\n\nAnd Basa-Andre takes out three large teeth, and brings them to the\nhouse, and tells this young girl herself, when she heats the water for\nher brothers' feet in the evening, to put one tooth in the water of\neach. [47] And as soon as the third had finished washing the three\nbrothers became oxen; and this young girl used to drive all three\ninto the fields. And this young girl lived there on the birds they\n(the oxen) found, and nothing else.\n\nOne day, as she was passing over a bridge, [48] she sees Basa-Andre\nunder, and says to her:\n\n\"If you do not make these three oxen men as they were before, I will\nput you into a red-hot oven.\"\n\nShe answers her:\n\n\"No! go to such a dell, and take thence three hazel sticks, [49]\nand strike each of them three blows on the back.\"\n\nAnd she did what she told her, and they were changed into men the\nsame as they were before; and all the brothers and the sister lived\nhappily together in Basa-Jaun's castle, and as they lived well they\nmade a good end also.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SERVANT AT THE FAIRY'S.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a woman who had three daughters. One day\nthe youngest said to her that she must go out to service. And going\nfrom town to town, she met at last a fairy who asked her:\n\n\"Where are you going to, my child?\"\n\nAnd she answered, \"Do you know a place for a servant?\"\n\n\"Yes; if you will come to my house I will take you.\"\n\nShe said, \"Yes.\"\n\nShe gave her her morning's work to do, and said to her:\n\n\"We are fairies. I must go from home, but your work is in the kitchen;\nsmash the pitcher, break all the plates, pound the children, give\nthem breakfast (by themselves), dirty their faces, and rumple their\nhair.\" [50]\n\nWhile she was at breakfast with the children, a little dog comes to\nher and says:\n\n\"Tchau, tchau, tchow; I too, I want something.\"\n\n\"Be off from here, silly little dog; I will give you a kick.\"\n\nBut the dog did not go away; and at last she gave him something to\neat--a little, not much.\n\n\"And now,\" says he, \"I will tell you what the mistress has told\nyou to do. She told you to sweep the kitchen, to fill the pitcher,\nand to wash all the plates, and that if it is all well done she will\ngive you the choice of a sack of charcoal or of a bag of gold; of a\nbeautiful star on your forehead, or of a donkey's tail hanging from\nit. You must answer, 'A sack of charcoal and a donkey's tail.'\"\n\nThe mistress comes. The new servant had done all the work, and she\nwas very well satisfied with her. So she said to her:\n\n\"Choose which you would like, a sack of charcoal or a bag of gold?\"\n\n\"A sack of charcoal is the same to me.\"\n\n\"A star for your forehead, or a donkey's tail?\"\n\n\"A donkey's tail would be the same to me.\"\n\nThen she gives her a bag of gold, and a beautiful star on her\nforehead. [51] Then the servant goes home. She was so pretty with\nthis star, and this bag of gold on her shoulders, the whole family\nwas astonished at her. The eldest daughter says to her mother:\n\n\"Mother, I will go and be a servant too.\"\n\nAnd she says to her, \"No, my child, you shall not do so.\"\n\nBut as she would not leave her in peace (she assented), and she\ngoes off like her sister. She comes into the city of the fairies,\nand meets the same fairy as her sister did. She says to her:\n\n\"Where are you going, my girl?\"\n\n\"To be a servant.\"\n\n\"Come to us.\"\n\nAnd she takes her as servant. She tells her like the first one:\n\n\"You will dig up the kitchen, break the plates, smash the pitcher, give\nthe children their breakfasts by themselves, and dirty their faces.\"\n\nThere was some of the breakfast left over, and the little dog comes\nin, and he went:\n\n\"Tchow! tchow! tchow! I too, I should like something.\"\n\nAnd he follows her everywhere, and she gives him nothing; and at last\nshe drove him off with kicks. The mistress comes home, and she finds\nthe kitchen all dug up, the pitcher and all the plates broken. And\nshe asks the servant:\n\n\"What do you ask for wages? A bag of gold or a sack of charcoal? a\nstar on your forehead, or a donkey's tail there?\"\n\nShe chose the bag of gold and a star on her forehead; but she gave\nher a sack of charcoal, and a donkey's tail for her forehead. She goes\naway crying, and tells her mother that she comes back very sorry. And\nthe second daughter also asks permission to go.\n\n\"No! no!\" (says the mother), and she stops at home.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY IN THE HOUSE.\n\nThere was once upon a time a gentleman and lady. And the lady was\nspinning one evening. There came to her a fairy, and they could not\nget rid of her; and they gave her every evening some ham to eat,\nand at last they got very tired of their fairy.\n\nOne day the lady said to her husband:\n\n\"I cannot bear this fairy; I wish I could drive her away.\"\n\nAnd the husband plots to dress himself up in his wife's clothes just as\nif it was she, and he does so. The wife goes to bed, and the husband\nremains in the kitchen alone, and the fairy comes as usual. And the\nhusband was spinning. The fairy says to him:\n\n\"Good-day, madam.\"\n\n\"The same to you too; sit down.\"\n\n\"Before you made chirin, chirin, but now you make firgilun,\nfargalun.\" [52]\n\nThe man replies, \"Yes, now I am tired.\"\n\nAs his wife used to give her ham to eat, the man offers her some also.\n\n\"Will you take your supper now?\"\n\n\"Yes, if you please,\" replies the fairy.\n\nHe puts the frying-pan on the fire with a bit of ham. While that was\ncooking, and when it was red, red-hot, he throws it right into the\nfairy's face. The poor fairy begins to cry out, and then come thirty\nof her friends.\n\n\"Who has done any harm to you?\"\n\n\"I, to myself; I have hurt myself.\" [53]\n\n\"If you have done it yourself, cure it yourself.\"\n\nAnd all the fairies go off, and since then there came no more fairies\nto that house. This gentleman and lady were formerly so well off,\nbut since the fairy comes no longer the house little by little goes\nto ruin, and their life was spent in wretchedness. If they had lived\nwell they would have died well too.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRETTY BUT IDLE GIRL. [54]\n\nOnce upon a time there was a mother who had a very beautiful\ndaughter. The mother was always bustling about, but the daughter\nwould not do anything. So she gave her such a good beating that she\nsat down on a flat stone to cry. One day the young owner of the castle\nwent by. He asks:\n\n\"What makes such a pretty girl cry like that?\"\n\nThe woman answers him:\n\n\"As she is too pretty she will not work.\"\n\nThe young man asks if she knows how to sew.\n\nShe answers, \"Yes; if she liked she could make seven shirts a day.\"\n\nThis young gentleman is much smitten with her. He goes home, and\nbrings a piece of linen, and says to her:\n\n\"Here are seven shirts, and if you finish them by such a time we will\nmarry together.\"\n\nShe sat thinking without doing anything, and with tears in her\neyes. Then comes to her an old woman, who was a witch, and says to her:\n\n\"What is it makes you so sad?\"\n\nShe answers, \"Such a gentleman has brought me seven shirts to sew,\nbut I cannot do them. I am sitting here thinking.\"\n\nThis old woman says to her:\n\n\"You know how to sew?\"\n\n\"I know how to thread the needle; (that is all).\"\n\nThis woman says to her:\n\n\"I will make your shirts for you when you want them, if you remember\nmy name in a year and a day.\" And she adds, \"If you do not remember\nI shall do with you whatever I like. Marie Kirikitoun--nobody can\nremember my name.\"\n\nAnd she agreed. She makes her the seven shirts for the appointed\ntime. When the young man came the shirts were made, and he takes the\nyoung girl with joy and they are both married.\n\nBut this young girl grew continually sadder and sadder; though her\nhusband made great feasts for her she never laughed. One day they had\na frightfully grand festival. There came to the door an old woman,\nand she asks the servant:\n\n\"What is the reason that you have such grand feastings?\"\n\nShe answers, \"Our lady never laughs at all, and her husband has these\ngrand feasts to make her gay.\"\n\nThe old woman replied:\n\n\"If she saw what I have heard this day she would laugh most certainly.\"\n\nThe servant said to her, \"Stay here; I will tell her so at once.\"\n\nThey call the old woman in, and she told them that she had seen an\nold woman leaping and bounding from one ditch to another, and saying\nall the time:\n\n\"Houpa, houpa, Marie Kirikitoun; nobody will remember my name.\"\n\nWhen this young lady heard that, she was merry at once, and writes down\nthis name at once. She recompensed highly the old woman, and she was\nvery happy; and when the other old woman came she knew her name. [55]\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DEVIL'S AGE.\n\nThere was a gentleman and lady who were very poor. This man used to\nsit sadly at a cross-roads. There came to him a gentleman, who asked:\n\"Why are you so sad?\"\n\n\"Because I have not wherewith to live.\"\n\nHe said to him, \"I will give you as much money as you like, if at\nsuch a time you tell the age of the devil.\"\n\nOur man goes off happy. He leads a merry life with his wife, for they\nwanted for nothing. They lived at a great rate. But time went on,\nand the time was approaching. This man recollected that he had not\nbusied himself at all about the devil's age. He became pensive. His\nwife asked him what was the matter with him then? why is he not\nhappy? that they wanted for nothing; why is he so sad? He tells\nher how it is that he got rich, and what compact he had made with a\ngentleman. His wife said to him:\n\n\"If you have nothing but that, it is nothing at all. Get into a\nbarrel of honey, and when you come out of it get into another barrel\nof feathers, and dressed like that go to the cross-roads and wait for\nthe devil there. You will put yourself on all fours, and walk backwards\nand forwards, and go between his legs, and walk all round him.\"\n\nThe man does as his wife had told him. The devil comes, and draws back\n(when he sees him); and our man goes up quite close to the devil. The\ndevil being frightened said to him:\n\n\"I am so many years old, and I have never seen any animal like that,\nand such a frightful one.\" [56]\n\nOur man had heard enough. He went off home at full speed, and told\nhis wife that they would want for nothing, that he had done as she\nhad told him, just as if she had been a witch, and that he was no\nlonger afraid of the devil. They lived rich and happily, and if they\nlived well, they died well too.\n\n\n Franchun Beltzarri.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FAIRY-QUEEN GODMOTHER. [57]\n\nThere were, like many others in the world, a man and a woman\nover-burthened with children, and very poor. The woman no more knew\nwhat to do. She said that she would go and beg. She goes off, far,\nfar, far away, and she arrives at the city of the fairies. After she\nhad told them how many children she had, all give her a great many\nalms--she was laden with them.\n\nThe queen of the fairies gives her besides twenty pounds in gold,\nand says to her:\n\n\"If you will give me your child when you are confined--you shall\nbring it up in your law--I will give you a great deal of money,\nif you will do that.\"\n\nShe told her that the godmother was already decided upon, but that she\nwould speak about it to her husband. The queen told her to go home,\nand to return with the answer in a week.\n\nShe gets home as she best can, very much fatigued by her burthen. Her\nhusband was astonished that she could have carried so much. She tells\nhim what had happened with the queen of the fairies. He says to her:\n\n\"Certainly, we will make her godmother.\"\n\nAnd she returns at the end of a week to tell the queen that she accepts\nher. She tells her not to send and tell her when she is confined,\nthat she will know it herself, and that she will come all right. At\nthe end of a week she is confined of a daughter. The queen arrives,\nas she had said, with a mule laden with gold. When they came back\nfrom the christening, the godmother and the child fly away; and the\nparents console themselves with their other children, thinking that\nshe will be happier in the house of the queen of the fairies.\n\nThe queen takes her to a corner of a mountain. It is there where her\nhouse was. She had already another god-daughter; this was a little\ndog, whose name was Rose, [58] and she named this last god-daughter\nPretty-Rose. She gave her, too, a glint of diamonds in the middle of\nher forehead. [59] She was very pretty. She grew up in the corner of\nthe mountain, amusing herself with this dog. She said to her one day:\n\n\"Has the queen no other houses? I am tired of being always here.\"\n\nThe dog said to her: \"Yes, she has a very fine one by the side of\nthe king's highway, and I will speak to my godmamma about it.\"\n\nAnd the dog then told her how Pretty-Rose was bored, and (asked\nher) if she would not change her house. She said to her, \"Yes,\"\nand off they go. While they were there one day Pretty-Rose was on\nthe balcony, and a king's son passes, and he was astonished at the\nbeauty of Pretty-Rose; and the king begged and prayed her to look at\nhim again, and (asked her) if she would not go with him. She told him,\n\"No, that she must tell it to her godmamma.\" Then the dog said, aside:\n\n\"No, without me she shall not go anywhere.\"\n\nThis king says to her: \"But I will take you, too, willingly; but how\nshall I get you?\"\n\nRose says to him: \"As I give every evening to my godmother always\na glass of good liqueur to make her sleep well, as if by mistake,\ninstead of half a glass, I will give her the glass full, and as she\nwill not be able to rise any more to shut the door as usual, I, I will\ngo and take the key to shut it. I will pretend to, and will give her\nback the key, leaving the door open, and you will open it when you\ncome. She will not hear anything; she will be in a deep sleep.\"\n\nThe king's son said that he would come at midnight, in his flying\nchariot.\n\nWhen night came, Rose gave her godmother the good drink in a glass,\nbrim, brim-full. The godmother said:\n\n\"What! what! child!\"\n\n\"You will sleep all the better, godmamma.\"\n\n\"You are right,\" and she drinks it all.\n\nBut she could not any more get up to shut the door, she had become\nso sleepy.\n\nRose said to her: \"Godmamma! I will shut the door to-day; stop where\nyou are.\"\n\nShe gave her the key, and Rose turns and turns it back again and again\nin the keyhole as if she had locked it; and leaving it unlocked she\ngave the key to her godmother, and she puts it in her pocket. She\ngoes to bed; but Rose and Pretty-Rose did not go to bed at all. At\nmidnight the son of the king arrives with his flying chariot. Rose\nand Pretty-Rose get into it, and go to this young man's house. The\nnext day Rose says to Pretty-Rose:\n\n\"You are not so pretty as you were yesterday;\" and looking at her\nclosely, \"I find you very ugly to-day.\"\n\nPretty-Rose said to her: \"My godmamma must have taken away my diamond\nglint.\"\n\nAnd she said to Rose, \"You must go to my godmamma, and ask her to\ngive me back the glint that I had before.\"\n\nRose did not want to go there--she was afraid; but Pretty-Rose prayed\nher so much, that she took off the silver dress and set out. [60]\nWhen she came to the mountain, she began to call out:\n\n\"Godmamma! godmamma! Give Pretty-Rose her beautiful glint as before. I\nshall be angry with you for always (if you do not), and you will see\nwhat will happen to you.\"\n\nThe godmother said to her:\n\n\"Come here, come in, I will give you breakfast.\"\n\nShe said, \"I am afraid you will beat me.\"\n\n\"No! no! come quickly, then.\"\n\n\"You will give Pretty-Rose her glint?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, she has it already.\"\n\nShe then goes in. The queen washes her feet and wipes them, and puts\nher upon the velvet cushion, and gives her some chocolate; and says to\nher, that she knows where Pretty-Rose is, and that she will be married,\nand to tell her from her not to trouble herself about her toilet,\nnor about anything that is necessary for the wedding and feast,\nthat she would come on the morning of the day.\n\nRose goes off then. While she is going through the city where\nPretty-Rose is, she hears two ladies, who were saying to two gentlemen,\n\"What kind of wife is it that our brother is going to take? Not like\nus, because he keeps her shut up so close. Let us go and see her.\"\n\nThe little dog said to them, \"Not a bit like you, you horrible\nblubber-lips, as you are. You shall see her--yes.\"\n\nWhen the young kings heard that, they were ready to run their swords\nthrough the poor little dog. When she gets to Pretty-Rose's house\nshe hides herself, and tells her all that has happened. Pretty-Rose\ngives her some good liqueur to drink, and she comes to herself. The\nking makes a proclamation that whoever shall (merely) spit where the\nlittle dog shall have placed her feet shall be killed, and to mind\nand pay attention to it.\n\nWhen the marriage day had arrived, came the queen. She brought for\nthe wedding-day a robe of diamonds; for the next day, of gold; and for\nthe third day, of silver. Judge how beautiful she was with her glint\nof diamonds, and her dress of diamonds, too. They could not look at\nher. Her godmother told her to have her sisters-in-law there, and not\nto be afraid of them; that they could not come near her in beauty. When\nshe went out (of her room) on the wedding-day, her sisters-in-law could\nnot look at her, she dazzled them so much. They said to each other:\n\n\"The little dog was right when she said she was beautiful, this lady.\"\n\nAnd for three days Pretty-Rose walked about, [61] and every one was\nastounded at her beauty. When the feast was over, the godmother\nwent home. Rose would not leave Pretty-Rose. The godmother told\nPretty-Rose that she was born of poor parents, and that she had\nonce helped them, but that what she had given them must be already\nexhausted. Pretty-Rose gave them enough for all to live grandly. She\nherself had four children, two boys and two girls; and if they had\nlived well, they had died well.\n\n\n Laurentine\n Learnt it from her mother.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nV.--WITCHCRAFT AND SORCERY.\n\n\nOur legends of witchcraft and sorcery are very poor, and in some of\nthese, as said above, the witch is evidently a fairy. The reason of\nthis is not that the belief in witchcraft is extinct among the Basques,\nbut because it is so rife. Of stories of witchcraft (as matters of\nfact), and some of them very sad ones, we have heard plenty; but\nof legends, very few. In fact, witchcraft among the Basques has not\nyet arrived at the legendary stage. The difference is felt at once\nin taking down their recitations. In the legends they are reciting a\ntext learnt by heart. It is \"the story says so.\" \"It is so,\" whether\nthey understand it or not. But they tell their stories of witchcraft\nin their own words, just as they would narrate any other facts which\nthey supposed had happened to themselves or to their neighbours. One\nwoman told us, as a fact within her own knowledge, and persisted in it,\na tale which appears both in M. Cerquand's pages and in Fr. Michel's\n\"Pays Basque.\" [62] It was only after cross-examination that we could\ndiscover that it had not really happened to her own daughter, but\nthat she had only seen the cottage and the chapel which are the scene\nof the alleged occurrence. We have, too, been informed on undoubted\nauthority that, only a year or two back, a country priest was sorely\npuzzled by one of his parishioners, in his full senses, seriously\nand with contrition confessing to him that he frequented the \"Sabbat.\"\n\nBut what is strange and unexpected is, that with this prevalence of\nbelief in witchcraft and sorcery, and which can be traced back to our\nearliest notices of the Basques, there is nothing to differentiate\ntheir belief on this subject from the current European belief\nof three centuries back. All the Basque words for witchcraft and\nsorcery are evidently borrowed. The only purely Basque term is Asti,\nwhich seems to be rather a diviner than a sorcerer. The term for the\n\"Sabbat\" is \"Akhelarre\"--\"goat pasture\"--and seems to be taken from the\napparition of the devil there in form of a goat, which is not uncommon\nelsewhere. Pierre de Lancre, by the terrors of his hideous inquisition\nin 1609, produced a moral epidemic, and burnt numerous victims at\nSt. Jean de Luz; but there is not a single Basque term in all his\npages. Contrary to general opinion, both the Spanish Inquisition and\nthe French ecclesiastical tribunals were more merciful and rational,\nand showed far less bigotry and barbarity than the two doctrinaire\nlawyers and judges of Bordeaux. The last person burnt for witchcraft\nat St. Jean de Luz was a Portuguese lady, who was accused of having\nsecreted the Host for purposes of magic, in 1619. While her case was\nbeing investigated before the Bishop of Bayonne, in the crypt of the\nchurch, a mob of terrified fishermen, on the eve of starting for\nNewfoundland, burst in, tore her out of the church, and burnt her\noff-hand, in the midst of the \"Place.\" \"They dared not,\" they said,\n\"sail while such a crime was unpunished.\" The Bishop's proc\u00e9s-verbal\nof the occurrence is still extant in the archives of the Mairie.\n\nThe magic wand in all our tales is now said to be made from the\nhazel. In De Lancre's time it was from the \"Souhandourra\"--\"the cornus\nsanguinea\"--or dog-wood. This was then the witches' tree.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCHES AT THE SABBAT. [63]\n\nOnce upon a time, like many others in the world, there was a young\nlad. He was one day in a lime-kiln, and the witches came at night. They\nused to dance there, and one pretended to be the mistress of a house,\nwho was very ill; and one day, as she was going out of the church,\nshe let the holy wafer fall on the ground, and a toad had picked\nit up; and this toad is still near the door, under a stone, with\nthe bread in his mouth. [64] And again, this same witch said that,\nuntil they took away this bread out of the toad's mouth, this lady\nwill not be cured. This young lad had heard it all. When they had\ndanced their rounds, the witches go away home, and our lad comes\nout of the lime-kiln, and goes to the house of this lady who is ill,\nand says to her,\n\n\"I know what must be done to cure you,\" and he told her all that he\nhad heard from the witch.\n\nThe sick lady did what they told her, and the same day she was cured,\nand the young man was well paid.\n\nAnd that very evening there came to him a hunch-backed girl, and said\nto him,\n\n\"I have heard that you know where the witches hold their Sabbat.\"\n\nHe says, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"To-morrow I think I should like to hear what the witches say.\"\n\nAnd he points out to her the hole of the lime-kiln. And at midnight\nall the witches came, some from one quarter, some from another--some\nlaughing, and others cutting capers. The witches said one to another,\n\n\"We must look in the lime-kiln, to see what may be there.\"\n\nThey go to look, and they find the hunchback girl, and they send\nher off--\n\n\"Go, go--through hedges and hedges, through thorns and thorns,\nthrough furze-bushes and furze-bushes, scratches and pricks.\"\n\nAnd in no way could our poor hunchback find her way home. All torn\nto pieces and exhausted, at last, in the morning, she arrived at\nher house.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\nThe second part of this story is evidently a blundered version,\ntransferred from fairies to witches, of Croker's \"Legend of\nKnochgrafton\" (\"Fairy Legends of South of Ireland,\" p. 10); and\nM. Cerquand, Part II., p. 17, has a Basque version, \"Les Deux Bossus,\"\nalmost identical with this Irish legend. The tale, as given in Croker,\nis found in the Bearnais Gascon, in Spanish, Italian, and German. It\nis evident, we think, that the Basque land is not its home, but that\nit has travelled there. We have also another Basque variation of\nthe first part, in which two lads hear the witches at the Sabbat say\nthat a king's daughter can only be cured by eating an ox's heart. The\nopening of this story is so different, that we here give it:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCHES AND THE IDIOTS.\n\nOnce upon a time there were two brothers, the one an idiot, and the\nother a fool. They had an old mother, old, old, very old. One morning\nearly the elder arranges to go with his sheep to the mountain, and\nhe leaves the fool at home with his old, old, mother, and said to him:\n\n\"I will give my mother some chocolate now, and you will give her a\nhot bath (afterwards), quite, quite, hot.\"\n\nHe goes to the mountain with his sheep. The second son put the water\non to boil, and said to his mother:\n\n\"My mother, the water is hot, what bath would you like?\" [65]\n\nShe says to him:\n\n\"A bath with wood-ashes.\"\n\nAnd he carries it to the bed while it is boiling; and as she did not\nget up, he said to her:\n\n\"Would you like a little broth?\" And she said \"Yes.\"\n\n\"My mother, get up quickly!\" and she did not get up.\n\nHe takes her, and puts her himself into this boiling water, so that\nhe boiled his poor mother. And he said to her,\n\n\"My mother, get up again; the water is not cold.\"\n\nShe did not answer. The night comes, and the other brother returns\nfrom the mountains, and says to him:\n\n\"How is our mother?\"\n\n\"All right.\"\n\n\"Have you given her the bath?\"\n\n\"Yes; but she is still there, and she is asleep in her bath.\"\n\n\"Go and see if she is still asleep.\"\n\nHe goes, and says, \"No, no; she is laughing--she keeps on laughing.\"\n\nThe other brother goes there, and perceives that their mother is\nquite dead. He did not know what to do. They both go into the garden,\nand there they make a great hole and bury her.\n\nThey then burn the house, go into the woods, see the witches, cure the\nking's daughter, whom one of them marries, and they live happily. [66]\n\n\n\nIt is possible that this first part may be a narrative of fact. We knew\nat Ast\u00e9, near Bagn\u00e8res de Bigorre, a brother, an idiot \"cr\u00e9tin,\" who\ndeliberately began to chop up his sister (also an idiot and \"cr\u00e9tin\"),\nwho offered no resistance. He had chopped off several of her fingers,\nwhen they were accidently interrupted. In spite of the blood and pain,\nshe was only laughing at it.\n\nWe have another tale of this kind, which may be also founded on fact,\nso sad is often the condition of the cr\u00e9tins in the mountains. It is\nof a mother and her imbecile son; he nearly kills himself by chopping\noff the branch of the tree on which he was sitting. Then he believes\nhimself dead, and commits various other follies. His mother thinks a\nwife might be able to take care of him, and tells him to cast sheeps'\neyes at the young girls coming out of church after mass. He takes\nthis literally, cuts out the eyes of all their flock, and so kills\ntheir sheep, the only thing they had, and throws these at the girls,\nwho are disgusted, and quarrel with him. He goes home, and mother\nand son end their lives together in wretchedness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WITCH AND THE NEW-BORN INFANT.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a man and woman, labourers,\nwho lived by their toil. They were at ease. They had a mule, and the\nman lived by his mule carrying wine. Sometimes he was a week away from\nhome. He always went to the same inn, where there was a woman and her\ndaughter. One day the labourer sets off with his loaded mule, and his\nwife was very near her confinement. She was expecting it hourly; but,\nas he had orders upon orders, he was obliged to set off. He goes then,\nand comes to this inn. It was a market-day, and they had not kept a\nbedroom for him as usual, because there were so many people there,\nand he is put into a dark room without windows near the kitchen. He\nhad not yet gone to sleep, when he hears the woman say to her daughter,\n\n\"You are not aware that the wife of the man who is there is\nconfined? Go and see if he is asleep.\"\n\nWhen the man heard that, he began to snore; and when the young girl\nheard through a slit in the door that he was snoring, she said to\nher mother,\n\n\"Yes, yes, he is asleep.\"\n\nThe mother said to her then (you may guess whether he was listening)--\n\n\"I must go and charm this newly-born infant.\"\n\nShe takes up a stone under the hearth, and takes from under it a\nsaucepan, in which there was an ointment. She takes a brush, and well\nrubs herself over her whole body, saying, [67]\n\n\"Under all the clouds and over all the hedges, half an hour on the\nroad, another half-hour there, and another to return.\"\n\nAs soon as she had said that, off she went. When the man saw that\nshe was gone, he comes out of his room. He had seen what she did. He\nanoints himself like her, and says,\n\n\"Over the clouds, and under the hedges\"--(he made a blunder there\n[68])--\"a quarter of an hour to go there, half an hour to stop,\nand a quarter of an hour for the return.\"\n\nHe arrives at his house, but torn to pieces by the thorns, and\nhis clothes in strips, but that was all the same to him; he places\nhimself behind the door of his wife's bedroom with a big stick. There\ncomes a great white cat, \"Miau, miau!\" [69] When the man heard that,\nhe goes out of the place where he was hiding, and with his stick he\nalmost killed this cat, and set out directly afterwards for the inn,\nbut not easily, under all the hedges. In spite of that, he arrives at\nthe woman's house. He goes to bed quickly. The next day, when he gets\nup, he sees only the daughter. He asks her where her mother is. \"She\nis ill, and you must pay me.\"\n\n\"No! I prefer to see your mother.\"\n\nHe goes to the mother, and finds her very ill. From this day he goes\nno more to that inn. When he gets home, he tells his wife what had\nhappened, and how he had saved the child. But all was not ended\nthere. They had misfortune upon misfortune. All their cows died,\nand all their other animals too. They were sinking into the deepest\nmisery. [70] They did not know what would become of them. This man\nwas brooding sadly in thought, when he met an old woman, who asked him\nwhat was the matter with him. He told her all his troubles, how many\nmisfortunes they had had--all his cows lost. He had bought others,\nand they too had died directly. He is charmed by witches.\n\n\"If you are like that you have only to put a consecrated taper under\nthe peck measure in the stable, and you will catch her.\"\n\nHe does as the old woman told him, and hides himself in the manger. At\nmidnight she comes under the form of a cat, and gets astride the\nox, saying:\n\n\"The others before were fine, but this is very much finer.\"\n\nWhen our man heard that he comes out from where he was hiding, and\nwith his stick he leaves her quite dead; although when he had done\nthat our man was without any resources; (he had) neither bread,\nnor maize, nor cows, nor pigs, and his wife and children were starving.\n\nHe goes off to see if he can do anything. There meets him a gentleman,\nwho says to him:\n\n\"What is the matter, man, that you are so sad?\"\n\n\"It is this misery that I am in that torments me so.\"\n\n\"If you have only that, we will arrange all that if you like. I will\ngive you as much money as you wish, if at the end of the year you\ncan guess, and if you tell me with what the devil makes his chalice;\nand if you do not guess it then your soul shall be for us.\"\n\nWhen our man has got his money, he goes off home without thinking at\nall of the future. He lived happily for some time with his wife and\nchild; but as the time approached he grew sad, and said nothing to his\nwife. One day he had gone a long way, wishing and trying to find out\nhis secret, and the night overtakes him. He stops at a cross-roads, and\nhides himself. (You know that the witches come to the cross-roads [71]\nto meet together.) They come then, \"hushta\" from one side, \"fushta\"\nfrom the other, dancing. When they had well amused themselves like\nthat, they begin to tell each other the news. One says:\n\n\"You do not know, then, such a man has sold his head to the devil;\ncertainly he will not guess with what the devil makes his chalice. I\ndo not know myself; tell it me.\"\n\n\"With the parings of the finger-nails which Christians cut on the\nSunday.\"\n\nOur man with difficulty, with great difficulty, kept from showing\nhimself, through his joy and delight. As soon as the day appeared\nall the witches went off to their homes, and our man too went off to\nhis. He was no more sad. He waited till the day arrived, and went to\nthe cross-roads. This gentleman was already there, come with a lot\nof devils, thinking that he would be for hell. He asks him:\n\n\"You know what the devil makes his chalice of?\"\n\n\"I do not know, but I will try. With the parings of the finger-nails\nwhich Christians cut on Sundays?\"\n\nAs soon as he heard that, the devil goes off with all the others\nin fire and flame to the bottom of hell. Our man went off home, and\nlived a long time with his wife and daughter. If they had lived well,\nthey would have died well too.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHANGELING.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a gentleman and lady. They\nwere very well off, but they could not keep any of their children. They\nhad had ever so many, and all died. The lady was again in a hopeful\ncondition. At the beginning of the night she was confined of a\nfine boy.\n\nTwo young men heard this news, and they said to each other:\n\n\"We ought to have a feast; we must steal a sheep out of this\nhouse. They will not pay attention to us with all their bustle and\ntheir joy.\"\n\nOne of the lads then goes after eleven o'clock towards the house. He\nmeets an old woman, who said to him:\n\n\"Where are you off to, lad? There is nothing like the truth.\"\n\n\"I was going, then, to such a house; the lady has been confined,\nand I wish to take advantage of it to steal a sheep. They will not\npay any attention to-day. And you, where are you going?\"\n\n\"I too am going to the house. I am a witch, and it is I who have\nkilled all their children.\"\n\n\"And how do you do that?\"\n\n\"Easily. When the infant sneezes nobody says, 'Domine stekan,' [72]\nand then I become mistress of the child.\"\n\nThe witch enters, doubtless as she liked, much more easily than our\nlad; but nevertheless he got in himself too. He was busy choosing\nhis sheep, when he hears the infant sneeze. He says very, very loudly:\n\n\"Domine stekan; even if I should not get my sheep.\"\n\nThey go to see who is there, and what he was saying. The lad relates\nwhat the old woman had told him. As you may imagine they thanked him\nwell, and told him to choose the finest sheep. The father and mother\nwere delighted that they would save this child; but, poor wretches,\nthey had not seen everything. A devil had come, who took their child\nand carried it to the roadside, and left it there. A coachman passing\nby sees this child, and takes it with him. He was married, but had\nno children. They had a great desire to have one. They were very\nwell off also. His wife was delighted to see this fine child; they\ngave it a good nurse, and the child grew fast and became wonderfully\nhandsome. The devil had placed himself in the child's cradle. This\nmother gave him suck, and, contrary to the other, he did not grow at\nall. The parents were vexed at having such a child; they did not know\nwhat to think of it. Their true child was more than extraordinarily\nclever. The coachman and his wife were dazed with joy, and they loved\nhim as (if he were) their own child. When he was twelve years old,\nhe said to his father and mother that he wished to become a monk. The\ncoachman and his wife were very sorry, and they asked him to become\nonly a priest. But after having seen his great desire they allow him\nto do as he wished.\n\nHe went away then, and at the age of eighteen years he was able to\nsay mass. When he was there, one day two men were passing in front\nof the garden of his real father, and they began to quarrel. They got\nso enraged that one killed the other, and threw him into his father's\ngarden. This father was tried and condemned to death for having killed\nthis man.\n\nWhile this young monk was saying mass, there comes to him a white\npigeon and tells him what was taking place in his father's house,\nand that the pigeon will assume the form of the monk, \"and you shall\ngo off in my shape.\" The monk willingly does what he tells him, and\narrives when they are leading his father to execution. He was being\nfollowed by the judges and by a crowd of people. He asks what he has\ndone. They tell him that he has killed a man. He asks if they would\ndo him a favour before they put him to death--if they would accompany\nhim to the grave of the man whom he has killed. They tell him, \"Yes.\"\n\nThey all go off then. The monk has the grave opened, restores him to\nlife, and asks him, pointing to his father:\n\n\"Is this the man who has killed you?\"\n\nThe dead man says to him, \"No!\"\n\nAfter having said that he dies again. The monk did not wish to know\nwho had killed him; he knew all he wanted with that. The father wished\nto take the monk home with him to dinner, but he would not go that\nday. He said to him:\n\n\"I will come on such a day.\"\n\nAs you may fancy they made a splendid dinner; nothing was wanting\nthere. They invited all their friends and acquaintances to rejoice with\nthem. When the monk arrives, the lady, before sitting down to table,\nwished to show him her child, how she had suckled him with her own\nmilk eighteen years, and that he did not grow at all, but was always\njust as he was when he was born. The monk betook himself to prayer,\nand he saw that which they believed to be a child fly away under the\nshape of a devil in fire and flame, and he carried off with him part\nof the house. He told his mother not to vex herself because she had had\nthe devil there, and that she would be happier without such a child.\n\nAll the world was astonished at the power of this monk; but the mother\nwas still grieved. The monk, to console her, told her his history;\nhow he was her true child; how the devil had taken him and carried him\nto the roadside; how he had been found and brought up by a coachman;\nand that it was he himself who had been made priest, and her son. All\nwere astounded at his words. After they had well dined, the monk went\nback into his convent, and the father and mother lived honourably,\nas they did before; and as they lived well, they died well too.\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVI.--CONTES DES F\u00c9ES.\n\n\nUnder this head, we include all those legends which do not readily fall\nunder our other denominations. F\u00e9e and fairy are not synonymous. All\nsuch tales as those of the \"Arabian Nights\" might come within the\ndesignation of Contes des F\u00e9es, but they could hardly be included under\nFairy Tales, though the former may be said to embrace the latter. We\nhave divided our legends of this kind into two sections:--(A)\nThose which have a greater or less similarity to Keltic legends, as\nrecorded in Campbell's \"Tales of the West Highlands,\" and elsewhere;\n(B) Those which we believe to be derived directly from the French.\n\nWe have chosen the designation Keltic, because the burning question\nconcerning the Basques at present is their relation to the Keltic\nrace. Anything that can throw light upon this will have a certain\ninterest for a small portion of the scientific world. That these\nlegends do in some degree resemble the Keltic ones will, we think,\nbe denied by no one. Whether they have a closer affinity with them\nthan with the general run of Indo-European mythology may be an open\nquestion. Or, again, whether the Basques have borrowed from the Kelts,\nor the Kelts from the Basques, we leave undetermined. One legend here\ngiven, that of \"Juan Dekos,\" has clearly been borrowed from the Gaelic,\nand that since the Keltic occupation of the Hebrides. [73] The very\nterm Keltiberi, as used by the classical writers, shows some contact\nof the Kelts with the Basques in ancient times, whether we take Basque\nand Iberi to be co-extensive and convertible terms or not. What the\nr\u00f4le of the \"White Mare\" is in these tales we do not understand. Can\nit be connected with the figure of a horse which appears so frequently\non the so-called Keltiberian coins, or is it a mere variation of the\nSanscrit \"Harits, or horses of the sun?\" Campbell, Vol. I., p. 63,\nsays these \"were always feminine, as the horses in Gaelic stories are.\"\n\nIt may be, perhaps, as well to mention that we did not see Campbell's\n\"Tales of the West Highlands\" till after these legends had been\nwritten down.\n\n\n\n\n\n(A.)--TALES LIKE THE KELTIC.\n\n\nMALBROUK. [74]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a man and a woman who were\nover-burdened with children, and were very poor. The man used to\ngo to the forest every day to get wood for his family. His wife was\non the point of being confined. One day he was in the forest, and a\ngentleman comes to him, and says:\n\n\"What are you doing, friend?\"\n\n\"I am looking for wood to support my family.\"\n\n\"You are very poor, then?\"\n\n\"Yes, yes.\"\n\n\"If you will make me godfather to your next child according to your\nlaw, I will give you a great deal of money.\"\n\nHe says to him, \"Yes, I will do so.\"\n\nHe gives him, then, a great deal of money, and he goes home. His wife\nis confined shortly afterwards, and they were waiting, not knowing\nwhat to do to tell it to the godfather, since they did not know where\nhe lived. He himself appeared from somewhere. They go to the church,\nand he gives him the name Malbrouk. While they were returning to the\nhouse, the godfather disappears with the child like smoke. The father\nand mother were distressed about it, though they had plenty of money;\nbut in time their grief faded away.\n\nThe old Malbrouk went to his house. His wife was a witch, and they had\nthree daughters. The little Malbrouk grew fast, and at seven years'\nold he was as tall as a tall man. His godfather said to him:\n\n\"Malbrouk, would you like to go to your own home?\"\n\nHe said to him, \"Am I not here in my own home?\"\n\nHe told him, \"No,\" and that he might go there for three days.\n\n\"Go to such a mountain, and the first house that you will see there\nwill be yours.\"\n\nHe goes, then, to the mountain, and sees the house, and goes to it. He\nfinds his two brothers at the door cutting wood. He tells them that\nhe is their brother; but they will not believe him. They take him\nindoors, and he tells his father and mother that he is Malbrouk. They\nare astonished to see such a big man for seven years' old. They pass\nthese three days in great delight; and he said to his brothers:\n\n\"There is plenty of room at my godfather's for you too, and you must\ncome with me.\"\n\nThey go off, then, all three together. When they arrive, the witch\nwas not at all contented. She said to her husband:\n\n\"I don't know. These three men will do us some mischief, and we must\nkill them.\"\n\nMalbrouk did not wish to; but as the witch gave him no rest, he told\nher that at the end of three days he would kill them. What does the\nlittle Malbrouk do? At night their daughters used to put crowns\non their heads, and the little Malbrouk and his brothers cotton\nnight-caps. The little Malbrouk says to them:\n\n\"We must make an exchange; it is now our turn to have the crowns.\"\n\nThe girls were just as well pleased, and they gave them to them. One\nnight (old) Malbrouk goes there, and after having felt their\nheads, when he perceived that they had the night-caps, he kills\nthe three. After the little Malbrouk saw that he woke his brothers,\ntook his godfather's seven-leagued boots, and goes off, far, far,\nfar away. The witch said to (the old Malbrouk):\n\n\"You have taken good care whom you have killed? I am not at all\nsatisfied that you have not done some donkey-trick.\"\n\nThe witch goes, and sees her three daughters dead. She was terribly\nangry, [75] and there was no help for it.\n\nMalbrouk and his brothers come to a place where a king lives, and\nhe remarks that everything is sad. He asks what it is? They tell him\nthat the king has lost his three daughters, and that nobody can find\nthem. Malbrouk says to them:\n\n\"I will find them.\"\n\nThey tell that quickly to the king, and bring them before him,\nand Malbrouk tells him, too, that he will find them. All three set\nout. When they have gone a little way they find an old woman, who\nsays to them:\n\n\"Where are you going to in that fashion?\"\n\n\"To look for the king's three daughters.\"\n\nThis old woman says to them:\n\n\"Go to the king, and ask him for three hundred fathoms of new rope,\na bucket, and a bell.\"\n\nThey go, and the king gives to them immediately what they ask for. They\ngo, then, to the woman, and she says to them, pointing to a well,\nthat they are in that well. [76] The eldest put himself into the\nbucket, and says to them:\n\n\"When I am afraid, I will ring the bell.\"\n\nWhen he has gone only a little way he is frightened, and rings. They\npull him up. The second goes; and when he has gone a little farther\ndown he is frightened, and rings. Malbrouk then gets in, and he says\nto them:\n\n\"When I shall give a pull at the bucket from below, then you will\npull it up.\"\n\nHe goes down, then, and at last he sees that there is a beautiful\nhouse underground, and he sees there a beautiful young lady, who is\nsitting with a serpent asleep in her lap. When she sees Malbrouk,\nshe says to him:\n\n\"Be off, I pray you, from here; he has only three-quarters of an hour\nto sleep, and if he wakes, it is all over with you and me.\"\n\nHe says to her, \"No matter; lay the head of the serpent on the ground,\ngently, gently, without waking him.\"\n\nShe lays it there, and he carries off this young lady in the bucket,\nafter having pulled the cord. He goes into another chamber, and he\nsees another young lady, still more beautiful, with the head of a\nlion asleep on her lap. She also says to him:\n\n\"Be off quickly from here. He has only half-an-hour to sleep, and if\nhe wakes, it is all up with you and me.\"\n\nMalbrouk says to her, \"Place gently, gently, without waking him,\nthe head of the lion on the ground.\"\n\nShe does so. Malbrouk takes her, gets into the bucket with her, and\nhis brothers pull them both up. They write at once to the king to\ncome and fetch them, that they have found two of his daughters. As\nyou may suppose, the king sends a carriage directly to fetch them,\nand he makes great rejoicings. The king tells him to choose whichever\nof the two he likes for his wife. Malbrouk says to him:\n\n\"When I shall have found your third daughter she shall be my wife,\nand my two brothers may take these two young ladies for their wives.\"\n\nThey do as Malbrouk said, and he sets out to see his sweetheart. He\ngoes on, and on, and on. All the fowls of the air know Malbrouk. As\nhe was going along he finds a wolf, a dog, a hawk, and an ant, and\nin their language they cry out:\n\n\"Oyhu! [77] Malbrouk, Malbrouk!\" and saying to him, \"Where are you\ngoing, Malbrouk? these three days we have been here before this sheep,\nand cannot agree how to divide it; but you, you shall divide it.\"\n\nMalbrouk goes to them, then, trembling lest they should make a division\nof him, too. He cuts off the head, and gives it to the ant.\n\n\"You will have enough to eat, and for your whole household.\"\n\nHe gives the entrails to the hawk, and for the dog and the wolf he\ncuts the carcase in half. He left them all well satisfied; and Malbrouk\ngoes on his way in silence, in silence. When he had gone a little way,\nthe ant says:\n\n\"We have not given Malbrouk any reward.\"\n\nThe wolf calls to him to come back. Malbrouk comes trembling,\nthinking that it was his turn, and that they are going to eat him,\nwithout doubt. The ant says to him:\n\n\"We have not given you anything, after that you have made such a\ngood division for us; but whenever you wish to become an ant, you\nhave only to say, 'Jesus, ant!' and you will become an ant.\"\n\nThe hawk says to him: \"When you wish to make yourself a hawk, you\nwill say, 'Jesus, hawk!' and you will be a hawk.\"\n\nThe wolf says to him: \"When you shall wish to become a wolf, you\nshall say, 'Jesus, wolf!' and you shall be a wolf.\"\n\nAnd the dog, he said to him the same thing, too. [78] He goes off,\nthen, well pleased, further into the forest. A woodpecker says to him:\n\n\"Malbrouk, where are you going?\"\n\n\"To fetch such a daughter of a king.\"\n\n\"You will not find her easily. Since they have delivered her sisters,\nhe has carried her to the farther side of the Red Sea, [79] in an\nisland, and keeps her there in prison, in a beautiful house, with\nthe doors and windows so closely shut that only the ants can get into\nthat house.\"\n\nMalbrouk goes off happy at hearing this news, and that he would find\nthe princess. He goes on, and on, and on, and he arrives opposite to\nthis island, and remembering what the hawk had said to him, he said,\n\"Jesus, hawk!\" and immediately he becomes a hawk. [80] He flies away,\nand goes on until he comes to the island of which the woodpecker had\ntold him; he sees that he can only get in there like an ant, and he\nsays, \"Jesus, ant!\" and he gets through the little lattice-work. He\nis dazed at the sight of the beauty of this young lady. He says,\n\"Jesus, man!\" and he becomes a man again. When the young lady sees him,\nshe says to him:\n\n\"Be off quickly from here. It is all over with your life. He is about\nto come, this horrible body without a soul, [81] before a quarter of\nan hour, and you will be done away with.\"\n\n\"I will become an ant again, and I will place myself in your bosom;\nbut do not scratch yourself too hard, else you will crush me.\"\n\nAs soon as he has said that the monster comes. He gives her partridges\nand pigeons for her dinner, but he himself eats serpents and horrible\nvermin. He tells her that he has a slight headache, and to take the\nhammer and rap him on the head. She could not lift it, it was so big;\nbut she knocks him as well as she is able. The monster goes off. The\nant comes out from where he was, and prepares to eat the partridges\nand pigeons with the young lady. Malbrouk said to her:\n\n\"You must ask him, as if you were in great trouble about it, what\nwould have to be done to kill him? and you will tell him how unhappy\nyou would be if he should be killed--that you would die of hunger in\nprison in this island.\"\n\nThe young lady says, \"Yes,\" she will do so.\n\nThe monster comes again, and says to her:\n\n\"Ay! ay! ay! my head. Take the hammer, and hit me hard.\"\n\nThe young lady does it until she is tired, and then she says:\n\n\"How unfortunate I shall be if you die.\"\n\nHe answers, \"I shall not die. He who will know that will know a\ngreat secret.\"\n\n\"Most certainly I would not wish you to die. I should die of hunger\nin this island without you, and I should get no benefit by it. You\nought to tell me what would kill you.\"\n\nHe says to her, \"No! Before this, too, a woman has deceived a man,\nand I will not tell you.\"\n\n\"You can tell it to me--yes, to me. To whom shall I tell it? I see\nnobody. Nobody is able to come here.\"\n\nAt last, at last, he tells her then:\n\n\"You must kill a terrible wolf which is in the forest, and inside him\nis a fox, in the fox is a pigeon; this pigeon has an egg in his head,\nand whoever should strike me on the forehead with this egg would kill\nme. [82] But who will know all that? Nobody.\"\n\nThe princess said to him, \"Nobody, happily. I, too, I should die.\"\n\nThe monster goes out as before, and the ant too, as you may think,\nhappy in knowing the secret. On the very next day he sets out for the\nforest. He sees a frightful wolf. He says, directly, \"Jesus, wolf!\" and\nhe immediately becomes a wolf. He then goes to this wolf, and they\nbegin to fight, and he gets him down and chokes him. He leaves him\nthere, and goes off to the young lady in the island, and says to her:\n\n\"We have got the wolf; I have killed him, and left him in the forest.\"\n\nThe monster comes directly afterwards, saying:\n\n\"Ay! ay! ay! my head! Strike my head quickly.\"\n\nShe hits his head till she is tired. He says to the princess:\n\n\"They have killed the wolf; I do not know if anything is going to\nhappen to me. I am much afraid of it.\"\n\n\"You have nothing to be afraid of. To whom could I have told\nanything? Nobody can get in here.\"\n\nWhen he has gone, the ant goes to the forest. He opens the wolf, and\nout of him comes a fox, who escapes at full speed. Malbrouk says,\n\"Jesus, dog!\" and he becomes a dog. He, too, sets off running, and\ncatches the fox. They begin to fight, and he kills him, too. He opens\nhim, and there comes out of him a pigeon. Malbrouk says, at once,\n\"Jesus, hawk!\" and he becomes a hawk. He flies off to catch the pigeon,\nseizes him in his terrible talons, and takes out of his head this\nprecious egg, and goes proudly with it into the chamber of the young\nlady. He tells how he has very happily accomplished his business,\nand says to her:\n\n\"At present, it is your turn; act alone.\"\n\nAnd again he makes himself an ant. Our monster comes, crying, that it\nis all up with him, that they have taken the egg out of the pigeon,\nand that he does not know what must become of him. He tells her to\nstrike him on the head with the hammer.\n\nThe young lady says to him:\n\n\"What have you to fear? Who shall have got this egg? And how should\nhe strike your forehead?\"\n\nHe shows her how, saying, \"Like that.\"\n\nAs the young lady had the egg in her hand, she strikes the monster\nas he had told her, and he falls stark dead. In an instant the ant\ncomes out joyously (from his hiding-place), and he says to her:\n\n\"We must set out instantly for your father's house.\"\n\nThey open a window, and the young man makes himself a hawk, and he\nsays to the young lady:\n\n\"Cling firmly to my neck.\"\n\nAnd he flies off, and they arrive at the other side of the island. He\nwrites immediately to the king his lord, to send and fetch them as\nquickly as possible. The king sent; and judge what joy and what feasts\nthere were in that court. The king wished them to marry directly,\nbut Malbrouk would not do so. (He said) that he ought to bring his\ndowry. The king said to him:\n\n\"You have gained enough already.\"\n\nHe will not hear of that, but goes off far, far, far away, to the\nhouse of his godfather.\n\nThey had there a cow with golden horns, and these horns bore fruits of\ndiamonds. A boy used to guard her in the field. Malbrouk said to him:\n[83]\n\n\"What! do you not hear that the master is calling you? Go, quickly,\nthen, and learn what he wants of you.\"\n\nThe boy, (believing it), goes off. The master calls to him from\nthe window:\n\n\"Where are you going to, leaving the cow? Go quickly; I see that\nMalbrouk is about there.\"\n\nThe boy sets off running back, but he cannot find the cow. Malbrouk\nhad got off proudly with his cow, and he gives it to his future wife,\nwho was very much pleased with it. The king wished him, then, to marry,\n(saying) that he was quite rich enough. Malbrouk would not yet. He\nmust make a present to the king. He goes again to his godfather's\nhouse. He wished to steal from him a moon, which lighted for seven\nleagues round. Old Malbrouk used to drink a barrel of water every\nnight. Young Malbrouk goes and empties this barrel. When night came,\nMalbrouk goes to drink at his barrel, and finds it empty. He goes to\nfind his wife, and says to her:\n\n\"I have not got a drop of water; go directly, and fetch me some. I\ncannot bear this thirst.\"\n\nHis wife said to him, \"It is night, light your moon.\" He lights it,\nand puts it by the chimney, on the roof. When everyone has gone to\nthe fountain, young Malbrouk goes and takes this moon, and carries\nit to the king. And he, astonished, said to him:\n\n\"Now you have done grandly; now be married.\"\n\nBut he would not; (he said) that he ought to bring something more. His\ngodfather had a violin, which it was enough only to touch for it to\nplay, no matter what beautiful music, and it would be heard seven\nleagues off. He goes into his godfather's house to take the violin,\nand as soon as he has touched it, it begins to play music. Old Malbrouk\nrushes off, and catches his godson in the act. He seizes him, and puts\nhim into an iron cage. He and his wife are right well pleased. They\nsay to him:\n\n\"This evening we are going to roast you, and eat you.\"\n\nOld Malbrouk goes to the forest to fetch wood, and his wife was busy\ncutting some small--she was taking a great deal of trouble about\nit. Malbrouk says to her:\n\n\"Let me get out of here; I will cut that wood for you. You can kill\nme all the same this evening.\"\n\nShe lets him out. After having cut up some, he takes one of the\nlargest pieces and strikes the wife of Malbrouk, and kills her. He\nmakes a great fire, and puts her in the caldron to boil. He takes\nthe violin, and leaves the house. When old Malbrouk hears the violin,\nhe says to himself:\n\n\"My wife, not being able to hold out any longer, has, doubtless,\nkilled Malbrouk, and to show me her joy she has taken the violin.\"\n\nAnd he does not trouble himself any more about it. When he approaches\nthe house he stands, well pleased, looking at the caldron on the\nfire, but, on coming nearer, he sees some long hairs. He pulls out a\nlittle more, and perceives that it is his wife, who is there already,\nhalf-boiled. Think what a rage he was in. The young Malbrouk went to\nthe king's house, and married his well-beloved princess. They made\ngreat rejoicings. As the king was somewhat aged, he gives his crown to\nMalbrouk, saying that he had well gained it. They all lived happily,\nand he made his two brothers kings also.\n\n\n Laurentine,\n About 35 years old; learnt it from her mother.\n\n\n\n\nTHE FISHERMAN AND HIS SONS.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a fisherman who lived with his\nwife. One day he was fishing and caught a fine fish (at that time all\nthe animals and everything used to speak), and the fish said to him:\n[84]\n\n\"Spare my life! Spare my life! I will give you all that you shall\ndesire.\"\n\nAnd this poor man spared its life, and went home without having caught\nanything else. When he came home his wife asks him:\n\n\"Where are your fish?\"\n\nHe tells her how that he had caught a fish, and that it had begged\nhim to spare its life, and that he had left it in the water. His wife\nsays to him:\n\n\"Have you lost your head then? After having caught a fish to put it\nback again into the water!\"\n\nAnd she called him all sorts of names, even \"big donkey.\"\n\nThe next day he goes fishing again, and (what a chance!) the same fish\ncame again. It asks him again to spare its life. But the man answers:\n\n\"No! My wife loaded me with abuse last evening.\"\n\nThe fish said to him that he would give him as much money as he wished\nif he would but spare him. And our fisherman lets him go again. He\nremains there again all day, but nothing comes to his hook. Again\nhe goes off home without anything at all. His wife is furious at\nseeing that he has nothing. He gives her some money, but she was not\nsatisfied, and told her husband that he ought to have brought the fish.\n\nHe goes fishing again for the third time, and again the same fish\nreturns, and says to him, \"Let me go into the water.\"\n\nBut our man will not let him go again; his wife had scolded him so\nmuch last night. He must carry him home.\n\n\"Well, then, since you will carry me home, I will tell you how you\nmust divide me. You must give my tail to the dog, my head to the\nmare, and my trunk to your wife. At the end of a certain time your\nwife will bear three sons, and they will all be exactly like each\nother, exactly alike. The mare will have three colts, but all three\nalike, and the bitch three puppies, all exactly alike too. And if\nany misfortune should happen to any of the three children, the well\nwhich is behind the house will begin to boil.\"\n\nThe woman did as the fish had said, and she gave birth to three\nwonderfully fine boys, who were all exactly, exactly alike, and\nthe mare had three colts exactly alike, and the bitch three puppies\nexactly alike too.\n\nWhen these children grew big, one of them said to his parents that\nhe wished to go from country to country to see the world. His parents\ndid not wish it. But he had such a desire that at last they gave him\nleave. He takes a horse and a dog, extraordinarily large and handsome,\na sword also, [85] and off he starts. He goes on, and on, very,\nvery far. He comes to a city and goes to an inn. They were lamenting\nloudly there, and everybody was sad. [86] He asks, \"What is it?\" They\ntell him how that a serpent with seven heads lived in the mountain,\nand that every day they drew lots to know who should go to him,\nbecause he must eat one person every day; and that to-day the lot\nhas fallen on the king's daughter, and that everyone was in mourning,\nand that the next day this princess must go very early to the mountain.\n\nOur young man takes his horse, his dog, and his sword, and starts off\nbefore the princess. He keeps himself hidden until the princess was\nalone at the top. Then our lad comes out, and the princess says to him:\n\n\"Where do you come from here? Go down quickly, else you will be eaten\nas well as I. It is quite enough for one (to die).\"\n\nAnd she entreats him to go down, but our lad will not. He wishes to try\nif he can do anything. At the same moment they hear a shrill hissing,\nand with that the serpent comes. The lad says to the dog:\n\n\"Do your duty.\"\n\nAnd the dog leaps upon the serpent and holds him. He takes his sword\nand cuts off his seven heads as best he can. When he has done that\nhe takes the seven tongues out of the seven heads and puts them in\nhis pocket. This princess had on seven robes, each more beautiful\nthan the others, and he cuts seven pieces out of them severally. The\nprincess does not know what to do to thank him. She wishes to take\nthe lad home with her, but he will not go. And he returns to the inn.\n\nThe king proclaims that the man who has killed the serpent has gained\nthe half of his kingdom, and his daughter; that he should make himself\nknown. Our lad does not show himself at all, but a charcoal-burner [87]\npassing by on the mountain found the seven heads. He presents himself\nbefore the king as if he had killed the serpent. But the princess does\nnot recognise him, and says that it is not he who has saved her. But\nas no one else came the marriage was about to be celebrated, when the\nprincess pointed out to her father from a distance her rescuer. The\nking would not believe her. But they send and fetch him, and tell\nthe charcoal-burner to show the seven heads of the serpent, and he\nshows them with great boldness. Our young man tells him to open their\nmouths. He does so, and the mouths had no tongues. Then he who had\nkilled the serpent shows the seven tongues, and the seven pieces of\nthe princess' robes, and they were all convinced that he had killed\nthe serpent; and they burned the charcoal-burner alive in the middle\nof the market-place.\n\nOur young man marries the princess, and they had many and great\nrejoicings because he had delivered all the world from the terrible\nserpent. In the evening, when they retired to their chamber, the\nwife knelt down to say her prayers, and the husband went and looked\nout of the window, and he saw by the moonlight a magnificent castle,\n[88] which he had never seen before.\n\nHe asks his wife:\n\n\"What is that?\"\n\nHis wife says to him:\n\n\"Nobody goes to that castle, for they who go there never return.\" [89]\n\nThe husband said to her that he must go there. His wife did not\nwish it, but he had such a desire to do so that he takes his horse,\nhis dog, and his sword, and goes off. He looks round and round (the\ncastle), but he cannot find the door. At last he finds a little door\nhalf hidden, very small. He knocks. An old woman comes to him, and\nasks him what he wants.\n\nHe says, \"I have seen this castle so beautiful outside, that I am\nanxious to see the inside.\"\n\nShe shows him in. He sees a table splendidly laid out. There was\nnothing that there was not on the table. This woman invites him\nto take something. He says that he does not want anything, but she\ninsists so much that he ends by taking something. As soon as he has\neaten the first mouthful he becomes a terrible monster, and by no\nmeans could he get out of that house.\n\nThe water begins to boil at home, as the fish had said. All those\nin the house are grieved because some misfortune has happened to the\nson. One of the brothers at home said that he would immediately set\nout to the help of his brother. Those at home are very sorry, but they\nlet him go. He takes a horse and a dog. The father and mother give him\nall the money that they can give him, and he starts off. He goes on,\nand on, and on, and, as was fated, [90] he comes to the same inn as\nhis brother. There they recognise him. They inform the king that the\ngentleman is at the house, because he had had a search made for him\nthrough all the neighbourhood. They come and fetch him out of his\ncorner, and he lets them do as they wish. A great supper was made,\nand he goes off with the princess. As before, the princess knelt down\nto pray. The young man goes to look out of the window, and sees this\npalace. He asks her what this beautiful castle is. She says to him:\n\n\"You do not know what takes place there! They who go there never\nreturn.\"\n\nHe says that he will start off directly. His wife asks him if he will\nreturn to that castle as before. \"Do not go, I pray you.\"\n\nBut nothing could have stopped him, and off he goes with his horse\nand his dog. Like the other brother, he goes wandering round and round\nthe house without finding the door. At last he sees a very little door\nhalf hidden. He knocks at it, and the old woman comes and says to him:\n\n\"What do you want?\"\n\n\"I have seen the outside of this castle, and I wish to see the inside.\"\n\nShe tells him to come in. He leaves his horse and his dog outside,\nand he sees a table splendidly set out; one could not mention anything\nthat was wanting, there was something of everything. She tells him to\neat something. He did not wish to, but at last he takes something,\n(so little, that it was) almost nothing. At the first mouthful he\nbecomes a terrible monster, and cannot in any way get out.\n\nThe water at home begins to boil, and they know that some misfortune\nhas happened to him.\n\nThe third brother said that he must set out as quickly as possible. The\nparents did not wish it, but he said to them:\n\n\"Perhaps I shall save them; let me go.\"\n\nThey give him as much money as they can. He takes a horse and a dog,\nand off he starts. He goes on, and on, and on. He also goes to the\nsame inn as his other brothers. He is recognised immediately, and\nthe king is informed that this young gentleman is there. He sends\nto fetch him immediately, and makes great feastings and rejoicings,\nthinking that it is always the same as their first young gentleman. In\nthe evening he is conducted to the princess. The princess kneels down\nto say her evening prayers, and her husband, wishing to see a little\nmore of the festival, placed himself at the window. He also sees the\nbeautiful castle. He asks his wife:\n\n\"What is this beautiful house?\"\n\nShe says to him, \"What! You! Do not you know what it is? No one returns\nfrom there. You know yourself what happens there, since you have been\nthere yourself.\"\n\nHe said to her, \"I must go and see it again.\"\n\nThe princess would not let him go; but he broke away from her. He\ntakes his horse and his dog, and starts off. He looks, and looks\nall round, and cannot find the door. An old woman appears to him,\nand says to him--\n\n\"What do you think will become of you here? They who go in there do\nnot come out.\"\n\n\"But that is why I wish to go in, to know what passes within.\"\n\nThen the old woman gives him a pigeon, cooked and prepared for eating,\nand said to him,\n\n\"Inside there is an old woman. She will try and force you to eat;\nbut, if you are wise, you will not eat. You will show her the pigeon\nthat you have in your pocket which remains after your repast, and you\nmust make her eat some of the pigeon, and you will have full power\nover her.\"\n\nWhen he has found the door, he knocks. This old woman comes, and asks\nhim what he wants. He says that he only wishes to see this house. She\nlets him in. He takes his dog, also, with him. He sees this splendid\ntable. She wishes absolutely to make him eat; but he says that it\nis altogether impossible--that he has in his pocket a pigeon which\nhe has not been able to eat, and that she must eat some of that. The\nold woman says she will not. He compels her, and tells her she must;\nand at last she eats it. He then asks her what she has done with his\nbrothers. She says that she knows nothing about them; that she does\nnot know what he means. He forces her to tell him, and says to her,\n\n\"I will make my dog strangle you if you do not tell me.\"\n\nHe frightens her so, that she shows him some terrible monsters. He\ntells her to restore them as they were before, otherwise some\nmisfortune shall happen to her, and to mind what she is about. At\nlast she set to work to change them as they were before, and their\nhorses and dogs as well.\n\nThey all go to the king's palace, where everyone is immensely\nastonished to see three gentlemen arrive exactly alike in all\nrespects. They ask the princess which is her husband. But the poor\nyoung lady is greatly embarrassed. She could not distinguish them,\nbecause they were exactly alike. At last he who had killed the serpent\nsaid that he was her husband. They make great rejoicings, and give a\ngreat deal of money to the two brothers, and to their parents, and they\nwent off. They burnt the old woman in the midst of the market-place,\nand this handsome castle was given to the newly-married pair, and they\nlived happily at court; and, as they lived well, so they died happily.\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\nAll the latter part of this tale is much more detailed than in\nthe Gaelic, and it is singular to read this note from Campbell's\ncollector:--\"The Gaelic is given as nearly as possible in the words\nused by Mackenzie; but he thinks his story rather shortened.\" Of\nthe identity of the two stories there can be no doubt, although each\nsupplies what is wanting to the other.\n\n\n\n\nTABAKIERA, THE SNUFF-BOX. [91]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a lad who wished to travel,\nand off he went. He finds a snuff-box, and opens it. And the snuff-box\nsaid to him--\n\n\"Que quieres?\" (\"What do you wish for?\")\n\nHe is frightened, and puts it at once into his pocket. Luckily he\ndid not throw it away. He goes on, and on, and on, and at last he\nsaid to himself,\n\n\"(I wonder) if it would say to me again, 'Que quieres?' I should well\nknow what to answer.\"\n\nHe takes it out again, and opens it, and it says to him again,\n\n\"Que quieres?\"\n\nThe lad says to it, \"My hat full of gold.\"\n\nAnd it is filled!\n\nHe is astounded, and he said to himself that he would never want\nanything any more. He goes on, and on, and on; and, after he had passed\nsome forests, he arrives at a fine castle. The king lived there. He\ngoes round, and round, and round it, looking at it with an impudent\nair. The king says to him--\n\n\"What are you looking for?\"\n\n\"To see your castle.\"\n\n\"You would wish, too, to have one like it?\"\n\nThe lad does not answer. When the evening came, our lad takes out\nhis snuff-box, and it said to him,\n\n\"Que quieres?\"\n\n\"Build here, on this very spot, a castle, with laths of gold and\nsilver, and diamond tiles, and with all its furniture of gold and\nsilver.\" [92]\n\nAs soon as he has said it, he sees in front of the king's castle\na castle like what he had asked for. When the king gets up in the\nmorning, he was astonished at this dazzling castle. His eyes were\nblinded by the (reflection of the) rays of the sun which fell upon\nit. The king went and said to him--\n\n\"You must be a man of great power, [93] and you must come to our\nhouse, where we will live together. I have a daughter, too, and you\nshall marry her.\"\n\nThey do as the king had said, and they lived all together in the\ndazzling house. He was married to the king's daughter, and lived\nhappily.\n\nNow, the king's wife was very envious of the lad and of his wife. She\nknew, by her daughter, how that they had a snuff-box, and that it did\nall that they wished. She intrigued with one of the servants to try and\ntake it from them; but they take great care (to conceal) where they put\nthe snuff-box away every evening. Nevertheless, at last she sees where\nit is put, and in the middle of the night, while they slept, she takes\nit from them, and carries it to her old mistress. What a joy for her!\n\nShe opens it, and the snuff-box says to her, \"Que quieres?\"\n\n\"You must take myself and my husband, and my servants, and this\nbeautiful house, to the other side of the Red Sea, [94] and leave my\ndaughter and her husband here.\"\n\nWhen the young couple awoke in the morning, they found themselves\nin the old castle, and their snuff-box was gone. They look for it\neverywhere, but it is useless.\n\nThe young man will not wait an instant longer at home. He must start\noff at once to find his castle and his snuff-box. He takes a horse,\nand as much gold as the horse can carry, and he goes on, and on, and\non, and on. He searches through all the towns in the neighbourhood\nuntil he had finished all his money. He searched, but he did not\nfind it anywhere. But he went looking out still, feeding his horse\nas best he could, and begging for himself. Some one told him that he\nought to go to the moon--that he makes a very long journey, and that\nhe might guide him. He goes far, far, far away, on, and on, and on,\nand at last he arrives. He finds an old woman, who says to him--\n\n\"What do you come to do here? My son devours all creatures of all\nsorts; and, if you will trust me, you will be off before his arrival.\"\n\nHe tells her his misfortunes--how that he had a snuff-box of great\npower, which has been stolen from him, and that he is now without\nanything, far from his wife, and stripped of everything, \"and perhaps\nyour son, in his journeys, has seen my palace, with its golden laths\nand tiles of diamonds, and the other ornaments of gold and silver.\"\n\nAt that moment the moon appeared, and said to his mother that he\nsmelt some one. His mother told him how that there was a wretched\nman who had lost everything; that he was come to him (for help), and\nthat he would guide him. The moon told him to show himself. He comes,\nand asks him if he has not seen a house with beams of gold and with\ntiles of diamonds, and the rest of gold and silver; and he tells him\nhow it was taken away from him.\n\nHe answers, \"No;\" that he has not seen it, but that the sun makes\nlonger journeys than he, and of greater extent, and that he would do\nbetter to go to him.\n\nHe goes off again, on, and on, and on, with his horse, whom he\nnourished as he could, and begging for himself. At length he arrives\nat the sun's house. He finds an old woman, who said to him,\n\n\"Where do you come from? Be off from here! Do you not know that my\nson eats all Christians?\"\n\nHe said to her, \"No! I will not go away. I am so wretched that I do\nnot care if he does eat me.\"\n\nAnd he tells her how he has lost everything; that he had a house,\nwhich had not its equal, with beams of gold and tiles of diamonds,\nand all the ornaments of gold and precious stones; and that he had\nbeen going about looking for it so long a time, and that there was\nno man so wretched as he. This woman hides him. The sun comes out\nand says to his mother--\n\n\"I smell the smell of a Christian, and I must eat him.\"\n\nThe mother tells him that it was an unfortunate man who had lost his\nall, that he had come to speak to him, and begs him to take pity on\nhim. He tells her to bring him out. Then the young man comes and\nasks the sun if he has seen a palace which has its equal nowhere,\nwith its laths of gold and its tiles of diamonds, and the rest of\ngold and silver. The sun says to him:\n\n\"No, but the south wind searches everything that I cannot see. He\nenters into every corner, he does, and if any one ought to know he\nwill know.\"\n\nOur poor man then sets off again, feeding his horse how he could and\nbegging for himself, and he comes at length to the house of the south\nwind. [95] He finds an old woman carrying water, and who was filling\na great many barrels. She said to him:\n\n\"What are you thinking of to come here? My son eats up everything\nwhen he arrives hungry and furious. You must beware of him.\"\n\nHe says to her, \"It is all the same to me. Let him eat me; I am so\nwretched that I fear nothing.\"\n\nAnd he tells her how he had a beautiful house which had not its\nequal in all the world, and with it all sorts of riches, and that,\n\"Having abandoned my wife, I am seeking it, and I am come to consult\nyour son, being sent by the sun.\"\n\nShe hides him under the staircase. The south wind arrives as if he\nmeant to tear the house up, and very thirsty. Before beginning to drink\nhe smells the smell of the race of Christians, and said to his mother:\n\n\"Out with what you have hidden,\" and that he must begin by eating him.\n\nHis mother said to him, \"Eat and drink what is before you.\"\n\nAnd she tells him the misfortunes of this man, and how that the sun\nhas spared his life that he might come and consult him.\n\nThen he makes the man come out, and the man tells him how that he\nis going about trying to find a house, and that if anybody ought to\nknow it is he, and that they had robbed him of his house, which had\nlaths of gold, tiles of diamonds, and all the rest of gold and silver,\nand if he has not seen it anywhere?\n\nHe tells him, \"Yes, yes, and all to-day I have been passing over it,\nand have not been able to take away one of its tiles.\"\n\n\"Oh! if you will tell me where it is!\"\n\nHe says that it is on the other side of the Red Sea, very, very\nfar away.\n\nWhen our man heard that, the length of the road did not frighten\nhim--he had already travelled over so much. He sets out then,\nand at last arrives at that city. He asks if anyone is in want of a\ngardener. They tell him that the gardener of the castle has gone away,\nand that perhaps they will take him. He goes off, and recognises his\nhouse--judge with what joy and delight! He asks if they are in want\nof a gardener. They tell him \"Yes,\" and our lad is very pleased. He\npasses some time tolerably happily--middling. He talks with a servant\nabout the riches of the masters and of the power which they had. He\nflattered and cajoled this young girl very much to get from her the\nhistory of the snuff-box, and he told her once that he very much wished\nto see it. One evening she brought it to him to look at, and our lad,\nvery much pleased, pays great attention to where it was hidden in\nthe room of the mistress. At night, when everybody is asleep, he goes\nand takes the snuff-box. You will understand with what joy he opens it.\n\nIt says to him, \"Que quieres?\"\n\nAnd the lad says to it, \"Que quieres, Que quieres, [96] carry me with\nmy castle to the same place as (we were in) formerly, and drown the\nking and the queen and all the servants in this Red Sea.\"\n\nAs soon as he had said it, he was carried to his wife, and they lived\nhappily, and the others all perished in the Red Sea. [97]\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\n\n\nMAHISTRUBA, THE MASTER MARINER.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a master mariner. Having had\nmany losses and misfortunes in his life he no longer made any voyages,\nbut every day went down to the seaside for amusement, and every day\nhe met a large serpent, and every day he said to it:\n\n\"God has given thy life to thee; live then.\"\n\nThis master mariner lived upon what his wife and daughter earned by\nsewing. One day the serpent said to him:\n\n\"Go to such a shipbuilder's, and order a ship of so many tons\nburden. Ask the price of it, and then double the price they tell\nyou.\" [98]\n\nHe does as the serpent told him, and the next day he goes down to\nthe shore, and he tells the serpent that he has done as he had told\nhim. The serpent then bids him go and fetch twelve sailors, very strong\nmen, and to double whatever they shall ask. He goes and does what he\nwas told to do. He returns to the serpent and tells him that he has\ntwelve men. The serpent gives him all the money which he needed to\npay for the ship. The shipbuilder is astonished to find that he is\npaid so large a sum of money in advance by this miserable man, but he\nhastens to finish his work as quickly as possible. The serpent again\nbids him have made in the hold of the ship a large empty space and a\nhuge chest, and tells him to bring this down himself. He brings it,\nand the serpent gets into it. The ship was quickly ready, he embarks\nthe chest in the ship, and they set out.\n\nThis captain used to go every day to the serpent, but the sailors did\nnot know what he went (into the hold) to do, nor what there was in\nthe chest. The ship had already gone some distance, and nobody knew\nits destination. One day the serpent told the captain that there was\ngoing to be a frightful storm, that the earth and sky would mingle\ntogether, and that at midnight a large black bird would pass over\nthe ship, and that it must be killed, and (he tells him) to go and\nsee if there is any sportsman among his sailors. He goes and asks\nthe sailors if there is any sportsman among them. [99]\n\nOne of them answers, \"Yes; I can kill a swallow in its flight.\"\n\n\"All the better, all the better; that will be of use to you.\"\n\nHe goes down to tell the serpent that there is a sportsman who can\nkill a swallow in its flight. And at the same moment the weather\nbecomes black as night, and earth and sky are mingled together, and\nall are trembling with fright. The serpent gives the captain a good\ndrink for the sportsman, and they bind him to the mast. At midnight\na piercing cry was heard. It was the bird which was passing over,\nand our sportsman has the good luck to kill him. At the very instant\nthe sea becomes calm. The captain goes to the serpent, and tells him\nthat the bird is killed.\n\nThe serpent answers him, \"I know it.\"\n\nWhen they had gone a little further without anything happening,\nthe serpent said one day:\n\n\"Are we not near such a port?\"\n\nThe captain says to him, \"It is in sight.\"\n\n\"Very well, then, we are going there.\"\n\nHe tells him to go again, and ask his sailors if there is a fast\nrunner among them. The captain goes and asks his sailors if there is\nany fast runner among them.\n\nOne of them says to him, \"As for me, I can catch a hare running.\"\n\n\"So much the better, so much the better; that will be of use to you.\"\n\nThe captain goes to tell the serpent that there is one who can catch\na hare running. The serpent says to him:\n\n\"You will land the runner at this port, and you will tell him that he\nmust go to the top of a little mountain; that there is a little house\nthere, and an old, old woman in it; and that there is there a steel,\na flint, and a tinder-box; and that he must bring these three things\non board one by one, making a separate journey each time.\"\n\nOur runner goes off, and comes to this house. He sees the old woman,\nwith red eyes, spinning at the threshold of her door. He asks her\nfor a drop of water, that he has walked a long way without finding\nany water, and will she give him a little drop? The old woman says\nto him, \"No.\" He begs her again, telling her that he does not know\nthe roads in the country, nor where he is going to. This old woman\nkept constantly looking at the chimney-piece, and she said to him:\n\n\"I am going to give you some, then.\"\n\nWhile she went to the pitcher, our runner takes the steel off the\nchimney-piece, and goes off at full speed, like the lightning; but\nthe old woman is after him. At the very instant that he is about\nto leap into the ship the old woman catches him, and snatches off a\nbit of his coat, and a piece of the skin of his back with it. [100]\nThe captain goes to the serpent, and says to him:\n\n\"We have got the steel, but our man has got the skin of his back\ntorn off.\"\n\nHe gives him a remedy, and a good drink, and tells him that the man\nwill be cured by to-morrow, but that he must go again next day.\n\nHe says, \"No, no; the devil may carry off this old woman, if he likes,\nbut I will not go there any more.\"\n\nBut, as he was cured next day by giving him that good drink again,\nhe sets off. He dresses himself in a shirt without arms, and in an\nold torn pair of trousers, and goes to the old woman's, saying that\nhis ship is wrecked on the shore, that he has been wandering about\nfor forty-eight hours, and he begs her to let him go to the fire to\nlight his pipe.\n\nShe says, \"No.\"\n\n\"Do have pity--I am so wretched; it is only a little favour I ask\nof you.\"\n\n\"No, no, I was deceived yesterday.\"\n\nBut the man answered, \"All the world are not deceivers. Don't be\nafraid.\"\n\nThe old woman rises to go to the fire, and as she stoops to take it,\n[101] the man seizes the flint and escapes, running as if he would\nbreak his feet. But the old woman runs as fast as our runner; but\nshe only catches him as he is jumping into the ship; she tears off\nthe shirt, and the skin of his neck and back with it, and he falls\ninto the ship.\n\nThe captain goes directly to the serpent: \"We have got the flint.\"\n\nHe says to him, \"I know it.\"\n\nHe gives him the medicine and the good drink, in order that the man\nmay be cured by the morrow, and that he may go again. But the man\nsays, \"No,\" that he does not want to see that red-eyed old woman any\nmore. They tell him that they still want the tinder-box. The next day\nthey give him the good drink. That gives him courage, and the desire\nto return again.\n\nHe dresses himself up as if he had been shipwrecked, and goes off\nhalf naked. He comes to the old woman's, and asks for a little bread,\nas he has not eaten for a long time, (and begs her) to have pity on\nhim--that he does not know where to go to.\n\nThe old woman says to him: \"Be off, where you will; you shall get\nnothing at my house, and nobody shall come in here. Every day I\nhave enemies.\"\n\n\"But what have you to fear from a poor man who only wants a little\nbread, and who will be off immediately afterwards?\"\n\nAt last the old woman rises to go to her cupboard, and our man takes\nher little tinder-box. The old woman runs after him, wishing to catch\nhim, but our man is ahead. She overtakes him just as he is leaping into\nthe ship. The old woman takes hold of the skin of his neck, and tears\nit all right down to the soles of his feet. Our runner falls down, and\nthey do not know whether he is alive or dead; and the old woman says:\n\n\"I renounce him, and all those who are in this ship.\"\n\nThe captain goes to the serpent, and says to him:\n\n\"We have the tinder-box, but our runner is in great danger. I do not\nknow whether he will live; he has no skin left from his neck to the\nsoles of his feet.\"\n\n\"Console yourselves, console yourselves, he will be cured by\nto-morrow. Here is the medicine and the good drink. Now, you are\nsaved. Go on deck, and fire seven rounds of cannon.\"\n\nHe mounts on deck and fires the seven rounds of cannon, and returns\nto the serpent, and says to him:\n\n\"We have fired the seven rounds.\"\n\nHe says to him, \"Fire twelve rounds more; but do not be afraid. The\npolice will come here; they will handcuff you. You will be put in\nprison, and you will ask, as a favour, not to be executed before that\nthey have visited the ship, in order to prove that there is nothing\nin it to merit such a chastisement.\"\n\nThe captain goes on deck, and fires the twelve rounds of cannon. As\nsoon as he has fired them, the magistrates and the police arrive;\nthey handcuff the men, the sailors, and the captain, and they put them\nin prison. The sailors were not pleased; but the captain said to them:\n\n\"You will soon be delivered.\"\n\nThe next day the captain asks to go and speak to the king. He is\nbrought before the king, and the king says:\n\n\"You are condemned to be hanged.\"\n\nThe captain says to him, \"What! because we have fired some cannon-shots\nyou are going to hang us!!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, because for seven years we have not heard the cannon in\nthis city. [102] I am in mourning--I and my people. I had an only son,\nand I have lost him. I cannot forget him.\"\n\nThe captain says to him: \"I did not know either this news or this\norder, and I beg you not to kill us before going and seeing if there\nis anything in the ship which condemns us justly.\"\n\nThe king goes with his courtiers, his soldiers, and his judges--in a\nword, with everybody. When he has mounted on deck, what a surprise! The\nking finds his dearly-loved son, who relates to him how he had been\nenchanted by an old woman, and that he remained a serpent seven\nyears. [103] How the captain every day went to walk by the seaside,\nand every day left him his life, saying to him, \"The good God has\nmade you too;\" and having seen the captain's good heart, \"I thought\nhe would spare me, and it is to him that I owe my life.\"\n\nHe goes to the court. The men are let out of prison, and they give the\ncaptain a large sum of money for a dowry for his two daughters, and\nthe ship for himself. To the sailors they give as much as they like to\neat and drink for all the time they wish to stop there, and afterwards\nenough to live upon for the rest of their lives. The king and his\nson lived happily, and as they had lived well, they died happily also.\n\n\n Gachina,\n The Net-maker.\n\n\n\n\nDRAGON.\n\nA king had a son who was called Dragon. He was as debauched as it\nis possible to be. All the money that he had he had spent, and still\nmore; not having enough, he demanded his portion from his father. The\nfather gives it him immediately, and he goes off, taking with him a\ncompanion who had been a soldier, and who was very like himself. [104]\nVery quickly they spent all their money. While they were travelling\nin a forest they see a beautiful castle. They enter and find there\na table ready set out, and a magnificent supper prepared. They sit\ndown to table and sup. Nobody appears as yet, and they go up-stairs\nto see the house, and they find the beds all ready, and they go to\nbed. They pass a very good night. The next morning Dragon gets up\nand opens the shutters, and sees a dazzling garden.\n\nHe goes down into the garden, still without seeing anybody; but in\npassing under a fig tree, a voice says to him:\n\n\"Ay! ay! ay! what pain you have put me to, and what suffering you\nare causing me!\"\n\nHe turns on all sides and finds nothing. He says:\n\n\"Who are you? You! I do not understand it. Appear!\"\n\nThe voice says to him, \"I cannot to-day; but perhaps to-morrow you will\nsee me. But in order to do that you will have to suffer severely.\"\n\nHe promises to suffer no matter what for her. The voice says to him:\n\n\"To-morrow night they will make you suffer every kind of torture,\nbut you must not say anything; and if you do that, you will see\nme to-morrow.\"\n\nThey had spoken all this before the soldier friend, but he had heard\nnothing of it.\n\nThey go to the house and find the dinner quite ready. Dragon would\nhave wished that night had already come, to know what it was he was\nto see. He goes off to bed then, and after eleven o'clock he feels\nthat something is coming, and his whole body is pricked all over. He\nkeeps quite silent, because he wished to see the voice. And when the\ncock crew \"Kukuruku!\" he was released (from his torture). He lies\nwaiting for daybreak to go to the fig tree. Day did not appear as\nsoon as he would have wished it, and he goes running to the garden\nand sees under the fig tree, coming out of the ground as high as her\nshoulders, a young girl, and she says to him:\n\n\"Last night you have suffered in silence, but the next night they\nwill make you suffer much more. I do not know if you can bear it\nwithout speaking.\"\n\nHe promises her that he will suffer still more in order to save her.\n\nAs usual, they find the table ready for dinner and for supper. He\ngoes off to bed. There happens to him the same thing as in the\npreceding night, but they do him still more harm. Happily he lies\nstill without speaking. The cock crows \"Kukuruku!\" and they leave\nhim quiet. As soon as daylight has come he goes off to the garden,\nand he sees the young lady visible as far as the knees. Dragon is\ndelighted to save this beautiful girl, but she says sadly to him:\n\n\"You have seen nothing up to this time. They will make you suffer\ntwice as much.\"\n\nHe says that he has courage to endure anything, because he wishes to\nget her out of that state. When night comes, he perceives that two\nare coming instead of one. One of them was lame, and he says to him\n(and you know lame people and cripples are the most cruel). [105]\nHe says then to the other:\n\n\"What! You have not been able to make this wretched boy speak! I will\nmake him speak, I will.\"\n\nHe cuts off his arms and then his legs, and our Dragon does not say\nanything. They make him suffer a great deal, but happily the cock\ncrows \"Kukuruku!\" and he is delivered. He was much afraid what would\nbecome of him without hands and without feet; but on touching himself\nhe feels with pleasure that all that is made right again. While he\nis in bed he hears a great noise. He lies without saying anything,\nbeing frightened, and not knowing what might happen to him, when all\nof a sudden this young lady appears and says to him:\n\n\"You have saved me; I am very well pleased with you. But this is not\nenough; we must be off from here immediately.\"\n\nAll the three go off together, and travel far, far, far away,\nand they arrive in a city. The young lady did not think it proper\nto lodge in the same hotel with them. Next morning the young lady\ngets up very early, and goes in search of the landlord of the hotel,\nand says to him:\n\n\"A gentleman will come here to ask for me. You will tell him that\nI have gone out, and if he wishes to see me he must come to the\nfountain at the Four Cantons [106]--but fasting--and he is to wait\nfor me there.\"\n\nThe next morning the young gentleman goes to the hotel, and they\ntell him what the young lady has said. On that very day he goes to\nthe fountain, taking his comrade with him, and fasting; but as the\nyoung lady had not yet arrived, forgetting himself, he put his hand\nin his pocket, and finding there a small nut, he eats it. As soon\nas he has eaten it he falls asleep. [107] The young lady arrives. She\nsees that he is asleep. She says to his companion:\n\n\"He has eaten something. Tell him that I will return, but tell,\ntell him, I beg you, to eat nothing.\"\n\nShe leaves him a beautiful handkerchief. Dragon wakes up as soon\nas the young lady is gone. His comrade tells him that she had come,\nand that she had told him not to eat anything. And he shows Dragon\nthe handkerchief. He was very vexed at having eaten, and would have\nwished that it was already the next day. He starts then very, very\nearly, and waits for the young lady, and, as was fated to happen,\nfinding a walnut in his pocket, he eats it. He immediately falls\nasleep. The young lady appears and finds him sleeping. She says\nthat she will return again the next day, but that he must not eat\nanything. She leaves him another handkerchief. Dragon awakes as soon\nas she has gone. Judge with what vexation. His friend tells him that\nshe said that she would return the next day, but that he must do his\nbest not to eat anything. He goes then the third day without eating\nanything, but, as was to happen, despairing of seeing the young lady,\nwho was late, arrive, he takes an apple from an apple tree and eats\nit. He falls asleep immediately. The young lady comes and finds him\nasleep. She gives his comrade a ring to give to Dragon, telling him\nthat if Dragon wishes to see her he will find her in the City of the\nFour Quarters. Dragon is very vexed, and he says to his friend:\n\n\"The good God knows when I shall find this city, and it is better\nfor you to go in one direction (and I in another).\"\n\nThereupon they separate. Dragon goes off, far, far, far away. He comes\nto a mountain; there he sees a man, who had before his door holy water,\nand whoever made use of it was well received. He goes in, therefore,\nand asks him if he knows where is the City of the Four Quarters. He\ntells him--\n\n\"No; but there are the animals of the earth and of the air, and that\nthe latter might perhaps guide him there.\"\n\nHe whistles to them. They come from all quarters, and he asks them\nif they know where is the City of the Four Quarters? They tell him\n\"No.\" Then the man says to him--\n\n\"I have a brother on such a mountain, who has many more animals than\nI have; he has them all under his power, that man has.\"\n\nDragon goes off then, and arrives there; he asks of that man if he\nknows where the City of the Four Quarters is? He tells him \"No,\"\nbut that he has animals which will know it, if anyone ought to\nknow it. He whistles to them. He sees the animals, small and great,\ncoming from all quarters. Dragon was trembling with fright. He asks\nthem one by one if they know where the City of the Four Quarters\nis. They tell him \"No;\" but the man sees that one animal is wanting,\nand that is the eagle. He whistles, and he comes. He asks him, too,\nif he knows where the City of the Four Quarters is. He says to him--\n\n\"I am just come from there.\"\n\nThe man says to him,\n\n\"You must, then, guide this young gentleman there.\"\n\nThe eagle says to him, \"Willingly, if he will give me a morsel of\nflesh each time that I open my mouth.\"\n\nDragon replies, \"Yes, willingly.\"\n\nHe then buys an ox. The eagle tells him to get upon his back. The\nman climbs up there with his ox, and when he opens his mouth he gives\nhim a morsel of the ox, which kept gradually diminishing.\n\nThey were obliged to cross over the sea, and there was no bridge to it\nthere. The ox was finished when they were in the middle of the sea,\nand there was a great rock there. The eagle opens his mouth again,\nand, as there was no more beef, what does he do? As he was afraid of\nbeing left upon that rock, he cuts a morsel from the back of his own\nthighs, and puts it in his mouth. [108] They arrive on the other side\nof the sea. The eagle leaves him there, saying to him,\n\n\"You are in the City of the Four Quarters. Do your own business\nhere. I am going off to my own home.\"\n\nThis young gentleman asks what is the news in this city. They tell\nhim that the king's daughter is going to be married to-day. In this\ncity it was permitted only to the wedding party to enter the church,\nbut Dragon had bribed one of the keepers with money, (saying) that\nhe would stop quiet in a corner of the church. It was also the custom\nin this city to publish the banns at the moment of marriage. When the\npriest began to publish them, Dragon came out of his corner, and said--\n\n\"I make an objection.\"\n\nHe goes to the young lady, who recognises him; and he shows her the\nring and the kerchiefs, and asks her in marriage. She says--\n\n\"This shall be my husband; he has well deserved it.\"\n\nHe was still lame, as a piece of his flesh was still wanting. They were\nmarried then. The other bridegroom went back home quite ashamed. The\nothers lived very happily, because both had suffered much. Then I\nwas there, now I am here.\n\n\n Louise Lanusse,\n St. Jean Pied de Port.\n\n\n\n\nEZKABI-FIDEL.\n\nAs there are many in the world, and as we are many of us, there was\na mother who had a son. They were very poor. The son wished to go\noff somewhere, in order to better himself, (he said); that it was\nnot living to live like that. The mother was sorry; but what could\nshe do? In order that her son may be better off, she lets him go. He\ngoes then, travelling on, and on, and on. In a forest he meets with a\ngentleman, who asks him where he is going. He tells him that, wishing\nto better himself, he had gone away from home to do something. This\ngentleman asks him if he is willing to be his servant. He replies,\n\"Yes.\" They go off then together, and come to a beautiful place. After\nhaving entered, the gentleman gives him all the keys of the house,\nsaying that he has a journey he must make, and that he must see the\nwhole house--that he will find in it everything he wants to eat,\nand to take care of the horses in the stable. The gentleman goes\naway as soon as he had seen all the house and the stable. There were\na lot of horses there, and in the midst of them all a white mare,\n[109] who said to him,\n\n\"Ay! ay! Fidel, save me, I pray you, from here, and get me outside. You\nwill not be sorry for it.\"\n\nFidel stops at the place whence this voice came. A moment after,\nthe white mare says to him,\n\n\"Come near the white mare; it is she who is speaking to you.\"\n\nFidel goes up to her, and says to her that he cannot let her go--that\nthe master has not given him any other work to do (than to take care\nof the horses), and that he certainly will not do any such thing. The\nmare said to him,\n\n\"Go and fetch a saucepan, and when I shall have filled it with water,\nyou will wash your hands and your head.\"\n\nFidel does as the mare told him, and is quite astonished at seeing\nhis hands shine, and he says to her that he does not wish to have\nthem like that, but that, as to his head, he could hide it. [110]\nThe mare told him to wash his hands in the water, and that they would\nbecome again as they were before.\n\nThe time goes on, and the time returns. A long time had passed,\nand the master had never returned. And one day the mare said to him,\n\n\"Fidel, do you know how long you have been here?\"\n\nHe says to her, \"I don't know at all--six months, perhaps?\"\n\nThe mare says to him, \"Six years have passed, and if the master arrives\nwhen seven years shall have passed, you will be enchanted--you, too,\nas we all are here--and the master is a devil.\"\n\nAfter that he heard that, Fidel is frightened, and he says to himself\nthat it would be better to do what the white mare had said--to get\non her back, and both to escape from there. They go off then, both\nof them. When they had gone some little distance, the mare asks him\nif he sees anything behind him.\n\nHe says, \"Yes,\" that he sees something terrible, but in the clouds;\nbut that it is something terrific. [111] The mare gives the earth a\nkick with her foot, and says to it,\n\n\"Earth, with thy power form a dense, terrible fog where he is.\"\n\nThey go on again, and the mare says again--\n\n\"Look back again, if you see anything.\"\n\nFidel says to her, \"Yes, I see again this terrible thing; it is coming\nafter us quickly, and is going to catch us.\"\n\nThe mare at the same time says again to the earth, in striking it\nwith her foot,\n\n\"Let it hail stones, and hail there where he is as much as can\npossibly fall.\"\n\nThey go on. The mare says again,\n\n\"Look back, if you see anything.\"\n\nHe says to her again, \"He is here, this terrible monster. It is all\nup with us now--we cannot escape him; he is quite near, and he comes\nwith speed.\"\n\nThe mare strikes the earth with her foot, and says to it--\n\n\"Form before him a river, and let him drown himself there for\nevermore.\"\n\nHe sees him drown himself there. The mare says to him,\n\n\"Now you shall go to such a spot. The king lives there. You will ask\nif they want a gardener, and they will tell you 'Yes.' You will stay\nthere without doing anything, and the work will do itself by itself,\nwithout your doing anything. Every day three beautiful flowers will\ncome up in this garden. You will carry them to the three daughters of\nthe king, but you will always give the finest to the youngest.\" [112]\n\nIt was the custom to carry the dinner to the gardener, but it was the\nyoungest of the daughters who carried it to him. From the first day\nthe gardener pleased the young lady, and she said to him one day that\nhe must marry her. The lad said to her that that cannot be, that she\nought not to think of marrying with a person of low birth and who has\nnothing, and that she must not dream any such dreams. This young lady\nfalls ill. The father sends for the doctor, who says, after having\ntouched her pulse, that she is ill of love; and the doctor goes to\ntell it to the king. The father goes to the young lady and tells her\nwhat the physician has said to him--that she is not so very ill. The\ndaughter says to him:\n\n\"In order to cure me you must send and fetch the gardener. Let him\ngive me some broth and I shall be cured.\"\n\nThe father sends to fetch him directly, has him washed and properly\ndressed, and makes him carry the broth. There was among the court an\nold, old nurse; she was a witch, and as she knew what the physician\nhad said, she goes and hides herself in the young lady's bedroom\nbefore the gardener came there, in order to know what the young lady\nwould say to him. The young lady said to him:\n\n\"Yes, and you shall marry me; I will not marry anybody else but you,\nwhatever you may say.\"\n\nThe lad said to her: \"No, no, I will not hear that mentioned.\"\n\nThe nurse had heard all that had passed, and she goes and tells it\nimmediately to the king. The young lady was cured, and goes to carry\nthe dinner to Fidel. Fidel had a habit of always giving the first\nspoonful of the soup to the dog. He gives it him that day too, and\nas soon as the dog has eaten it he falls stark dead. When the young\nlady saw that she goes and tells it to her father. The father sends\nfor a big dog, and gives him some of the soup, and as soon as he has\neaten it he falls dead. Judge of the anger of that young lady. She\ngoes and takes this old witch and has her burnt. She goes to look\nfor Fidel in a little house which was at the bottom of the garden,\nand she sees his head bare. [113] It was shining like the sun, and\nshe entirely lost her own head for it, and she said to him, that he\nmust marry her. As she left him no peace, her father said to her:\n\n\"If you will marry him, do so; but I will not give you anything. You\nmust go and live in a corner of the mountain with your husband;\nthere is a house there, and there you must stop. You may come only\none day a week to see me.\"\n\nThat was all the same to this young lady, (and they are married),\nand go off there. As the king had given her no money, when Fidel's\nhair grew she went from time to time to the goldsmiths, who said to\nher that they had not money enough belonging to them to pay for the\ngold that she brought them. And they lived there very happily.\n\nOne day Fidel heard that the king was engaged in a great war, and he\ntold his wife to go to her father and tell him that he too wished to\ngo to this war. This young lady goes to tell her father her husband's\ncommission. Her father says to her:\n\n\"What is the use of a young man like that who has never killed anything\nbut mole-crickets? Let him stop at home.\"\n\nHis daughter says to him: \"At least he is your son-in-law!\"\n\nThe father then says to her: \"He may come on such a day.\"\n\nFidel goes as they had told him. He asks the king for a horse and\na sword. The king gives him a horse blind and lame. Fidel was not\npleased with it. He begins his march, wishing to get on as quickly as\npossible, but when he had gone a little distance, the horse sticks\nin the mud, and cannot in any way get out of it. While he is there,\nthe white mare comes to him. She gives him a beautiful horse, and a\nlance and a sword, and tells him that he will see his brothers-in-law\nencamped round a city, but not to stop there with them, but to ride\nstraight to the city; that the gates will be shut, but as soon\nas he shall have touched them with his lance they will be broken\nto pieces, and that they will make peace with him. He does as she\ntold him, and starts off on his horse like the lightning, without\npaying the slightest attention to his brothers-in-law. He goes up\nto the city, and as soon as he has touched the gates with his sword\nthey are in pieces. He enters the city, and all the world comes out\nand makes him a thousand f\u00eates. They declare that they wish for no\nmore war. They give him the key of the treasury and all the papers,\nand he retires from there with all the honours. When he returns he\ntells his brothers-in-law to retire--that the war is finished. They\ngo back again. He stops at the place where he had left his old horse\nin the mud. He sends away his beautiful horse with all his things,\nand Fidel stops there, not being able to drag his old horse out of\nthe mud. When his brothers-in-law pass, they mock at him (and ask\nhim) if it is there that he has passed all his time. He tells them,\n\"Yes.\" The others go on ahead, and at length he also arrives at the\nking's house. He leaves his old horse there and goes off home. He\ndoes not tell his wife what has happened, and they live in their hole.\n\nThe king was getting old, and he had entirely lost his sight. Somebody\ngave him to understand that there was a water which made people young\nagain, and another which restored sight. He told his sons-in-law\nthat they must go (and look for it)--that he could not live long\nlike that. And both of them start off. Their wives, at starting,\nhad given each a golden apple. [114] They go far away; but they find\nnothing. Tired at last, they stop in a beautiful city. They take each\nof them a wife, and they live according to their fancy. When Fidel saw\nthat his brothers-in-law did not arrive, he said to his wife that he\nmust go off; perhaps he might be able better to find the waters which\nhis father wanted. He goes off without saying anything to the king,\nand travels on, and on, and on.\n\nHe meets an old woman, who says to him, \"Where are you going to?\" He\ntells her how he wants a water which gives sight to the blind and\nmakes the old young, [115] and that he would not go back home without\nfinding it. This old woman says to him:\n\n\"You will see two animals fighting close to you, and you will gather\nthe herb which makes the dead to live; you will have it boiled,\nand you will keep this water for yourself.\"\n\nThis lad goes on a little farther, and he sees two lizards fighting so\nfiercely that one kills the other. The one who was left alive takes\na blade of grass and touches the dead and rekindles his life. [116]\nFidel gathers this grass, and goes off to this old woman. The old\nwoman gives him two bottles, telling him that the one is for giving\nsight to the blind, and the other for making old men young; that he\nmust not sell these waters for money, but must make an exchange of\nthem for two golden apples which his brothers-in-law have in this\nvery city, and that it is to them that he must give this water.\n\nFidel goes into the city, and as soon as he has entered, he cries:\n\n\"Who wishes to buy the water that gives sight to the blind, and the\nwater which makes old men young?\"\n\nHis two brothers-in-law appear, and say that they must have some of\nthis water, and ask what it costs. And he tells them that he does\nnot sell it, but only gives it in exchange for golden apples. These\ngentlemen willingly make the exchange. But they wish to make trial\nof it directly; they bring an old blind dog, and immediately he\ngrows young again. Judge how pleased they were with their water of\npower. They set off to the king, and this water makes him become very\nyoung and gives him sight. The king wishes to have great rejoicings,\nand invites all his friends in the neighbourhood. Fidel arrives at\nhome, and says nothing to his wife. When he hears that the king is\ngoing to have rejoicings, he sends his wife to ask the king if he would\nnot like them to go there too; that they would help, one in cutting the\nwood, and the other in serving at table. She did not wish to go there\nat all. She told her husband that she would a hundred times sooner\nstop at home; but her husband sends her off by force, (saying) that\nthey ought to be there on that day. She goes, then, the poor woman,\nagainst her wish. She asks her father if he does not want some one\nto help on the feast day. The father says, \"No!\"--they have servants\nenough. An old general who was sitting by his side said to him:\n\n\"Why do you not let them come?\"\n\nThen the king said, \"Come then on such a day.\"\n\nFidel and his wife go. While they are at breakfast the old general\nasks Fidel if he also does not know something to relate? He replies\n\"Yes,\" that he knows some (stories), but more than one would not\nbe pleased with what he would tell. Then the king says, placing his\nsword upon the table:\n\n\"The point of my sword shall know news of the heart of him who\nshall speak.\"\n\nFidel begins then, how he went to the war with an old horse, blind\nand lame, but that in spite of that he had carried off the keys of\nthe treasure and the papers. The king says to him that he has not\nseen them yet--that he is still expecting them. Fidel takes out the\npapers and gives them to the king. He gives also the keys of the\ntreasury. The king assures himself that they are the real ones. He\nthen narrates how he has sold in exchange for two golden apples that\nprecious water. At this instant his wife rises and says to him:\n\n\"Where have you these golden apples--you?\"\n\nAs it is she who has spoken the first words, Fidel takes up the king's\nsword and strikes his wife dead. [117] The king was grieved to see\nthat, but Fidel says to him:\n\n\"Do not disturb yourself for that; as I have taken away her life I\nwill give it her again.\"\n\nHe takes out his water which rekindles dead men, and rubs some on\nher temple, and she suddenly returns to life. Everyone is astounded\nat this great deed, and at all that he has already done. The king\ntells him that he has already gained the crown, but that he must be\ncured of this terrible scab [118] first. His wife rises, takes off\nhis kerchief which he had upon his head, and shows the shining head\nof her husband, saying:\n\n\"See, this is the scab of my husband!\"\n\nThe king says that the crown will shine much better on his head. He\ngoes to fetch it, and places it upon this precious head. He banishes\nhis sons-in-law with his two daughters to the same desert place where\nFidel formerly lived. And Fidel and his wife lived much richer than\nthe king was. His precious head gave him this power; and as they\nlived well they died well too.\n\n\n Laurentine.\n\n\nWe have another version almost identical with the above, except at\nthe commencement. Ezkabi really has the scab. On his journey, after\nleaving his home, he pays the debts of a poor man whose corpse is being\nbeaten in front of the church, and buries him. There is nothing about\na white mare. An old woman is the good genius of the tale. He goes as\ngardener, and the king's daughter falls in love with him, from catching\na sight of his golden hair from her window; for the rest the stories\nare identical, except that this is a shorter form than the above.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LADY PIGEON AND HER COMB. [119]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a mother and her son; they\nwere very poor. This son wished to leave his mother and go away,\n(saying) that they were wretched as they were. He goes off then far,\nfar, far away. He finds a castle in a forest, and goes in and asks if\nthey want a servant, and it is a Tartaro who comes to him. He asks him:\n\n\"Where are you going to like that, ant of the earth?\"\n\nHe says that, being very poor at home, he wished to work to better\nhimself.\n\nThe Tartaro says to him, \"As you have told the truth I spare your life,\nant of the earth, and in a few days you will go away from here. Three\nyoung ladies will come to bathe in the water in my garden. They will\nleave their pigeon-robes under a large stone, and you will take the\npigeon's skin which is in the middle. [120] The two young ladies will\ncome out of the water and will take their skins. She who stops in\nthe water will ask you for her skin, but you shall not give it her\nbefore she shall promise to help you always.\"\n\nThe next day our lad sees that the young ladies are in the water. He\ngoes and does as the Tartaro tells him; he takes the middle one of\nthe three skins, the two young ladies take their skins, and the third\nasks him to give her hers. The lad will not give it her without her\npromise. The young lady will not give her word. He then says to her\nthat he will not give it her at all. The young lady then says to him\nthat he may reckon upon her, that she gives him her word, and that\nhe shall go to-morrow to her father's house, that he will take him\nas servant, and that he lives in such a place. The lad goes off then\nthe next day and finds this beautiful house in a forest.\n\nHe asks if they want a servant? They tell him, \"Yes,\" but that there\nis a great deal of work to do there. The next morning (the father)\ntakes him into the forest and says to him:\n\n\"You must pull up all these oaks with their roots, you must cut them\ninto lengths, and put the trunks on one side, the branches on another,\nand the roots by themselves, each in their place. Afterwards you will\nplough the ground, then you will harrow it, then sow the wheat; you\nwill then cut it, and you bring me at noon a little cake made out of\nthis wheat, otherwise you will be put to death.\" [121]\n\nThe lad says to him, \"I will try.\"\n\nHe goes then to the forest and sits down pensive. It was already\neleven o'clock when the young lady appears to him. She says to him:\n\n\"Why are you like that, so sad? Have not I promised that I would help\nyou? Shut your eyes, but all the worse for you if you shall open them.\"\n\nShe throws a comb into the air, [122] and says:\n\n\"Comb, with thy power tear up these oaks with their roots, cut them\ninto lengths, put the trunks together, and the branches, and the\nroots too by themselves.\"\n\nAs soon as it was said it was done. She throws another comb, and says\nto it:\n\n\"Comb, with thy power turn up this ground, harrow it, and sow the\nwheat.\"\n\nAs soon as it was said it was done. She throws another comb, and says:\n\n\"Comb, with thy power make a cake of this wheat when you have cut it.\"\n\nOur lad was curious to know what was taking place, but the young lady\nsaid to him:\n\n\"Woe to you and to me if you open (your eyes). [123] Nothing will be\nfinished for us.\"\n\nHe does not open them, and the cake is cooked. Twelve o'clock was\ngoing to strike. She says to him:\n\n\"Go with speed, you have no time to lose.\"\n\nThe lad goes to the king and brings him the cake. The king is\nastonished. He says (to himself), \"That is a clever lad, that,\" and he\nwishes to be assured of it by looking out of window; and, after having\nseen that this huge forest had been torn up, he is astonished. He sends\naway the lad, and goes and tells it to his wife. His wife says to him,\n\"Take care that he is not in league with your daughter.\" [124]\n\nThe husband says to her, \"What do you mean? They have never seen\neach other.\"\n\nThis husband was a devil. The young lady told our lad that her father\nis going to send him to fetch a ring in a river far away. \"He will\ntell you to choose a sword from the midst of ever so many others,\nbut you will take an old sabre and leave the others.\"\n\nThe next day his wife told him that he ought to send him to fetch a\nring which he had lost in the bed of a river. He sends him then, and\ntells him that he must choose a sword; that he will have quantities\nof evil fish to conquer. The lad says to him that he will not have\nthose fine swords, that he has enough with this old sabre, which was\nused to scrape off the dirt.\n\nWhen he arrived at the bank of the river he sat there weeping, not\nknowing what to do. The young lady comes to him, and says:\n\n\"What! You are weeping! Did not I tell you that I would always\nhelp you?\"\n\nIt was eleven o'clock. The young lady says to him:\n\n\"You must cut me in pieces with this sabre, and throw all the pieces\ninto the water.\"\n\nThe lad will not do it by any means. He says to her:\n\n\"I prefer to die here on the spot than to make you suffer.\"\n\nThe lady says to him, \"It is nothing at all what I shall suffer, and\nyou must do it directly--the favourable moment is passing by like this,\nlike this.\"\n\nThe lad, trembling all over, begins with his sabre. He throws all the\npieces into the river; but, lo! a part of the lady's little finger\nsticks to a nail in his shoe. The young lady comes out of the water\nand says to him:\n\n\"You have not thrown everything into the water. My little finger is\nwanting.\" [125]\n\nAfter having looked for it, he sees that he has it under his foot,\nhooked on to a nail. The young lady gives him the ring. She tells\nhim to go without losing a moment; for he must give it to the king at\nnoon. He arrives happily (in time). The young lady, as she goes into\nthe house, bangs the door with all her might and begins to cry out:\n\n\"Ay! ay! ay! I have crushed my little finger.\"\n\nAnd she makes believe that she has done it there. The king was\npleased. He tells him that on the morrow he must tame a horse and\nthree young fillies. [126] The lad says to him:\n\n\"I will try.\"\n\nThe master gives him a terrible club. The young lady says to him in\nthe evening:\n\n\"The horse which my father has spoken to you about will be himself. You\nwill strike him with all your might with your terrible club on the\nnose, and he will yield and be conquered. The first filly will be\nmy eldest sister. You will strike her on the chest with all your\nforce, and she also will yield and will be conquered. I shall come\nthe last. You will make a show of beating me too, and you will hit\nthe ground with your stick, and I too will yield, and I shall be\nconquered.\"\n\nThe next day the lad does as the young lady has told him. The horse\ncomes. He was very high-spirited, but our lad strikes him on the\nnose, he yields, and is conquered. He does the same thing with the\nfillies. He beats them with his terrible club, they yield, and are\nconquered; and when the third comes he makes a show of hitting her,\nand strikes the earth. She yields, and all go off.\n\nThe next day he sees the master with his lips swollen, and with all his\nface as black as soot. The young ladies had also pain in the chest. The\nyoungest also gets up very late indeed in order to do as the others.\n\nThe master says to him that he sees he is a valuable servant, and\nvery clever, and that he will give him one of his daughters for wife,\nbut that he must choose her with his eyes shut. And the young lady\nsays to him:\n\n\"You will choose the one that will give you her hand twice, and in\nany way you will recognise me, because you will find that my little\nfinger is wanting. I will always put that in front.\"\n\nThe next day the master said to him:\n\n\"We are here now; you shall now choose the one you wish for, always\nkeeping your eyes shut.\"\n\nHe shuts them then; and the eldest daughter approaches, and gives\nhim her hand. He says to the king:\n\n\"It is very heavy, (this hand); too heavy for me. I will not have\nthis one.\"\n\nThe second one approaches, she gives him her hand, and he immediately\nrecognises that the little finger is wanting. He says to the king:\n\n\"This is the one I must have.\"\n\nThey are married immediately. [127] They pass some days like that. His\nwife says to him:\n\n\"It is better for us to be off from here, and to flee, otherwise my\nfather will kill us.\"\n\nThey set off, then, that evening at ten o'clock, and the young lady\nspits before the door of her room, saying:\n\n\"Spittle, with thy power, you shall speak in my place.\" [128] And\nthey go off a long way. At midnight, the father goes to the door of\nthe lad and his wife, and knocks at the door; they do not answer. He\nknocks harder, and then the spittle says to him:\n\n\"Just now nobody can come into this room.\"\n\nThe father says, \"It is I. I must come in.\"\n\n\"It is impossible,\" says the spittle again.\n\nThe father grows more and more angry; the spittle makes him stop an\nhour like that at the door. At last, not being able to do anything\nelse, he smashes the door, and goes inside. What is his terrible rage\nwhen he sees the room empty. He goes off to his wife, and says to her:\n\n\"You were not mistaken; they were well acquainted, and they were really\nin league with one another, and they have both escaped together;\nbut I will not leave them like that. I will go off after them, and\nI shall find them sooner or later.\"\n\nHe starts off. Our gentleman and lady had gone very far, but the\nyoung lady was still afraid. She said to her husband:\n\n\"He might overtake us even now. I--I cannot turn my head; but (look)\nif you can see something.\"\n\nThe husband says to her: \"Yes, something terrible is coming after us;\nI have never seen a monster like this.\"\n\nThe young lady throws up a comb, and says: [129]\n\n\"Comb, with thy power, let there be formed before my father hedges\nand thorns, and before me a good road.\"\n\nIt is done as she wished. They go a good way, and she says again:\n\n\"Look, I beg you, if you see anything again.\"\n\nThe husband looks back, and sees nothing; but in the clouds he sees\nsomething terrible, and tells so to his wife. And his wife says,\ntaking her comb:\n\n\"Comb, with thy power, let there be formed where he is a fog, and hail,\nand a terrific storm.\"\n\nIt happens as they wish. They go a little way farther, and his wife\nsays to him:\n\n\"Look behind you, then, if you see anything.\"\n\nThe husband says to her: \"Now it is all over with us. We have him\nhere after us; he is on us. Use all your power.\"\n\nShe throws again a comb immediately, and says:\n\n\"Comb, with thy power, form between my father and me a terrible river,\nand let him be drowned there for ever.\"\n\nAs soon as she has said that, they see a mighty water, and there\ntheir father and enemy drowns himself. [130]\n\nThe young lady says, \"Now we have no more fear of him, we shall live\nin peace.\"\n\nThey go a good distance, and arrive at a country into which the young\nlady could not enter. She says to her husband:\n\n\"I can go no farther. It is the land of the Christians there; I\ncannot enter into it. You must go there the first. You must fetch\na priest. He must baptize me, and afterwards I will come with you;\nbut you must take great care that nobody kisses you. If so, you will\nforget me altogether. Mind and pay great attention to it; and you,\ntoo, do not you kiss anyone.\"\n\nHe promises his wife that he will not. He goes, then, on, and on, and\non. He arrives in his own country, and as he is entering it an old aunt\nrecognises him, and comes behind him, and gives him two kisses. [131]\nIt is all over with him. He forgets his wife, as if he had never seen\nher, and he stays there amusing himself, and taking his pleasure.\n\nThe young lady, seeing that her husband never returned, that something\nhad happened to him, and that she could no longer count upon him,\nshe takes a little stick, and striking the earth, she says:\n\n\"I will that here, in this very spot, is built a beautiful hotel,\nwith all that is necessary, servants, and all the rest.\"\n\nThere was a beautiful garden, too, in front, and she had put over\nthe door:\n\n\"Here they give to eat without payment.\"\n\nOne day the young man goes out hunting with two comrades, and while\nthey were in the forest they said one to the other:\n\n\"We never knew of this hotel here before. We must go there too. One\ncan eat without payment.\"\n\nThey go off then. The young lady recognises her husband very well, but\nhe does not recognise her at all. She receives them very well. These\ngentlemen are so pleased with her, that one of them asks her if she\nwill not let him pass the night with her. [132] The young lady says\nto him, \"Yes.\" The other asks also, \"I, too, was wishing it.\" The\nyoung lady says to him:\n\n\"To-morrow then, you, if you wish it, certainly.\"\n\nAnd her husband says to her: \"And I after to-morrow then.\"\n\nThe young lady says to him, \"Yes.\" One of the young men remains\nthen. He passes the evening in great delight, and when the hour comes\nfor going to bed, the young lady says to him:\n\n\"When you were small you were a choir-boy, and they used to powder you;\nthis smell displeases me in bed. Before coming there you must comb\nyourself. Here is a comb, and when you have got all the powder out,\nyou may come to bed.\"\n\nOur lad begins then to comb his hair, but never could he get all the\npowder out, such quantities came out, and were still coming out of\nhis head; and he was still at it when the young lady rose. The lad\nsaid to her:\n\n\"What! you are getting up before I come.\"\n\n\"And do you not see that it is day? I cannot stop there any\nlonger. People will come.\"\n\nOur young man goes off home without saying a word more. He meets his\ncomrade who was to pass the night with this young lady. He says to him:\n\n\"You are satisfied? You amused yourself well?\"\n\n\"Yes, certainly, very well. If the time flies as fast with you as it\ndid with me you will amuse yourself well.\"\n\nHe goes off then to this house. The young lady says to him, after he\nhad had a good supper:\n\n\"Before going to bed you must wash your feet. The water will be here in\nthis big copper; when you have them quite clean you may come to bed.\"\n\nAccordingly he washes one, and when he has finished washing the other,\nthe first washed is still black and dirty. He washes it again, and\nfinds the foot that he has just well washed very dirty again. He kept\ndoing like that for such a long time. When the young lady gets up,\nthe gentleman says to her:\n\n\"What! You are getting up already, without me coming?\"\n\n\"Why did you not then come before day? I cannot stay any longer in\nbed. It is daylight, and the people will begin (to come).\"\n\nOur young man withdraws as the other had done. Now it is the turn of\nher husband. She serves him still better than the others; nothing\nwas wanting at his supper. When the hour for going to bed arrives,\nthey go to the young lady's room; when they are ready to get into bed,\nthe young lady says to him:\n\n\"Put out the light.\"\n\nHe puts it out, and it lights again directly. He puts it out again,\nand it lights again as soon as it is put out. He passes all the night\nlike that in his shirt, never being able to put out that light. When\ndaylight is come, the young lady says to him:\n\n\"You do not know me then? You do not remember how you left your wife\nto go and fetch a priest?\"\n\nAs soon as she had said that he strikes his head, and says to her:\n\n\"Only now I remember all that--up to this moment I was as if I had\nnever had a wife at all--how sorry I am; but indeed it is not my fault,\nnot at all. I never wished it like that, and it is my old aunt who\nkissed me twice without my knowing it.\"\n\n\"It is all the same now. You are here now. You have done penance\nenough; your friends have done it too. One passed the whole night\ngetting powder out of his head, and the other in washing his feet,\nand they have not slept with me any more than you have. At present\nyou must go into your country, and you must get a priest. He shall\nbaptize me, and then we will go into your country.\"\n\nThe husband goes off and returns with the priest, and she is baptized,\nand they set out for his country. When they have arrived there,\nshe touched the earth with her stick, and says to it:\n\n\"Let there be a beautiful palace, with everything that is needed\ninside it, and a beautiful garden before the house.\"\n\nAs soon as it is said, it is done. They lived there very rich and\nvery happy with the old mother of the lad, and as they lived well\nthey died well too.\n\n\n Laurentine Kopena.\n\n\n\n\nSUGGESTED EXPLANATION OF THE ABOVE TALE (THE LADY-PIGEON AND HER COMB).\n\nThis legend seems to us to be one of the best examples in our\ncollection of what may be called atmospherical, or climatological\nmyths.\n\nThe story opens with man in misery, without the aid of cultivation and\nagriculture. The old king we take to be a personification of winter;\nhis daughter of spring, warmth, and fertility--of what the French\ncall \"la belle saison.\" The comb, with which she does her marvels,\nis the power which draws out her golden hair, the sun's bright\nrays. The young man, who, without her aid, can effect nothing, is\nman in relation to the frozen ground, which needs her aid to quicken\nit into fertility. It is the old Sun-god, the Cyclops, who tells him\nwhere to find, and how to woo, his fairy bride. But spring and earth\nare as yet both fast bound in winter's dominions. There he must go,\nand learn what he must do, if they are to be married. The felling of\nthe forest, the sowing and ripening corn, and the cooked cake, teach\nhim that he can only succeed by her help; and yet he does not see how\nshe does it--man cannot see the corn grow, etc. The summer warmth and\nfertilizing power, typified by the ring, still lies buried in the\nfrozen waters. The taming of the horses shows the need and help of\ndomestic animals in agriculture. These things are necessary to be known\nere spring can free herself from winter's dominion and marry her chosen\nlover. Winter would still hold her fast; but even in his own home her\ninfluence works secretly against him. He does not suspect that she\nis in league with her lover. But at length they are joined together;\nthey flee, and the great struggle between winter and spring has fairly\nset in. She is able to hide her flight a little while; but he discovers\nit, and pursues and nearly overtakes her. But, by means of her comb,\nscattering abroad her warm rays, she works wonders. He is stopped by\nrough, wintry roads. Her path is through fair and pleasant ways; the\nstorms, and hail, and rain of early spring assist her, but it is the\nmighty inundation of the swollen rivers which finally overwhelms him,\nand sweeps him for ever away.\n\nBut their union is not complete yet. She cannot enter the Christians'\nland. The natural powers of earth and sky have need of agriculture\nand civilization for their full expansion. And man, frightened at the\ntoil, is lured back again to the nomad hunter life. He forgets his\nbride in the pleasures of the chase. He spends the winter thus, but\nis drawn back by the attraction of his waiting bride in spring. She\nhas food in abundance; he is hungry. Other wooers come; she cheats\nand deludes them, till her true husband appears, and submits to her\nonce more. Then is the full marriage of earth and husbandry, and man\nwedded to the summer's warmth and glow.\n\nAll parts of the tale are not equally clear, nor do we positively\naffirm that we have interpreted it aright. But there can be no doubt\nthat we have here a nature allegory; and, told as it is by those who\nhave not the most remote suspicion of its meaning, many things in\nit must needs be confused; the wonder is that the details are still\nso clear and so little distorted as they are. And, if this be the\ninterpretation, or even if this kind of interpretation be allowed\nin this case, then we must consider if it is not to be extended to\nevery case in which the several incidents occur, though they are\nnow mingled and confused with circumstances with which they had no\noriginal connection.\n\n\n\n\nLAUR-CANTONS. [133]\n\nThere was a man who was very rich. He wished to get married, but the\nyoung girls of this country would not marry him, because he had such\na bad reputation. One day he sent for a vine-dresser, who had three\ndaughters, and said to him,\n\n\"I want to marry one of your three daughters; if I do not marry them,\nso much the worse for you--I will have you killed.\"\n\nThis vine-dresser goes away home in sadness. He tells his two eldest\ndaughters what Mr. Laur-Cantons had said to him. The daughters tell\nhim that they will not marry; it is useless to ask them. The father\nstays indoors in his grief, and his youngest daughter comes home. He\ntells her, too, what has happened, and this one says to her father,\n\n\"Do not be so sad; as for me, I will marry him, and nothing shall\nhappen to you.\"\n\nThe father and the daughter go off then. He marries this young\ngirl. And, as Mr. Laur-Cantons was very rich, he had quantities of\nbeautiful dresses made for her. He had gold by hogsheads full, and\nthis young girl was very happy with this gentleman.\n\nAfter some time the king summoned him to go to the army, and he was\nobliged to go. He said to his wife, \"Amuse yourself well,\" and he\nleaves her plenty of money.\n\nHis wife says, \"No,\" she will remain at home till he comes back,\nand will not see anybody until his return. Mr. Laur-Cantons set off\nfor the court. When he was there, a merchant attacks him on purpose\nto vex him and put him in a passion, and tells him that he will get\ninto his wife's house, and he wagers all that he has in his shop, and\nMr. Laur-Cantons bets 100,000 francs that he will not get in. This\nmerchant then goes off to the lady's house. He knocks at the door,\nand says that he comes with a letter from her husband, and begs her\nto open the door. But they do not open it. They tell him to put the\nletter in the hole; and, after having remained all night at the door\nin vain, he goes off to the forest in a rage, kicking and stamping\nabout with his feet, because he had lost all that he possessed. An\nold woman passes by there, and says to him,\n\n\"What is the matter with you, that you are in such great trouble?\"\n\n\"Be off with you, quickly, or I will give you two good boxes on the\near.\" This woman was a witch. This man was sorry a moment afterwards\nfor not having listened to this old woman, and he goes off after her:\n\n\"Just now I treated you very badly, but I must now tell you my\ntrouble. I have lost all that I possess in a bet with Mr. Laur-Cantons\nthat I would get into his wife's house, but I have passed the whole\nnight there, and have not been able to get in.\"\n\n\"If you have only that it is nothing, and I will arrange that.\"\n\nShe goes with a basket of apples and knocks at the door, and says that\nshe is the lady's nurse, and asks them to open. They open for her. The\nyoung lady shows her her dresses for the marriage day and for the\nnext day too, her gold chain, and all her pretty things. While she is\nputting by her dresses the witch takes her gold chain, which had the\nlady's name on it; and the lady did not observe it, and did not miss\nanything when she shut up the others, because she had full confidence\nin her, believing that she was really her nurse, since she said so.\n\nThe witch goes off to find the merchant and gives him the gold\nchain. The merchant gives her as a reward a complete set of new\nclothes. The merchant goes off joyfully to find Mr. Laur-Cantons, and\nshows him from a distance the gold chain. Imagine what was the rage\nof the gentleman. He goes off home immediately. He knocks at the door,\nsaying that it is the master who is there; he enters, and says to his\nwife, with harsh voice, to go upstairs and put on her wedding dress\nand her gold ornaments. She comes down without putting it on at all,\nand he says to her:\n\n\"Where are your gold ornaments?\"\n\n\"Not being able to find them, I have put on those of the next day.\"\n\nWhen he has got on horseback he tells her to get up behind him. This\nyoung lady, having suspected something, had taken a great deal of\nmoney with her. When they had gone a short way he dismounts. He puts\nhis wife into a chest and throws her into the sea. On the sea-shore\nthere are always people looking about, and when the chest was seen\nthey caught hold of it as best they could. They begin to knock it,\nwishing to open it. She says to them from inside:\n\n\"Gently, gently, there is someone alive inside here.\"\n\nAfter they had opened it she gave them a handsome present, and goes\nto an hotel, and dresses herself like a gentleman. She asks if there\nis anyone seriously ill in the town. They say to her:\n\n\"For the last seven years the king's daughter is so.\"\n\nShe goes off to seek flowers and herbs in the fields, and she makes\nacquaintance with the king's physicians; and one day she goes with\nthem to the king's house, and as they come out she says to one of them:\n\n\"I, I could cure that young lady.\"\n\nThe king hears that, and bids her to come as soon as possible. At\nthe first visit she gives her something to drink. As soon as she\nhas drunk she moves her head. She gives her to drink a second time,\nand she sits up on the bed. The third time she gives her to drink she\nleaps right out of bed. Think what rejoicings there were in the house\nof the king! He did not know what to do to reward her, but she says to\nhim that she wishes nothing, only she would be made governor of this\ncity. She asks the names of the people at the court. They tell her a\ngreat many names, and that of Mr. Laur-Cantons among others. When she\nhas got installed in her palace, she has Mr. Laur-Cantons brought up\nbefore her between two policemen. She asks him what he has done with\nhis wife. He says to her that he knows nothing about her.\n\nShe points to the gallows:\n\n\"If you do not tell the truth, that shall be your reward.\"\n\nHe tells her then how that a merchant had come to tempt him; how\nhe had made a bet, and that he had come back with her gold chain,\nand then, having got into a passion, he had thrown her into the sea\nin a chest. She sends to fetch this merchant. He, too, tells how,\nin order not to lose all he had, and not being able to get into the\nhouse, a woman had brought him the chain. The merchant did not tell\nthe truth at the first questioning--it was after having been threatened\nthat he confessed it. She sends for the witch between eight policemen,\nand asks her how she had got the gold chain from the lady's house. She\ntells the whole truth as it had happened. As the governor had had seven\nbarrels of powder placed one above the other, they put the witch on\nthe top, and set fire to the barrels from below. The witch goes up\nin the air with the fire, and nobody sees her any more. They hang\nthe merchant as well. Mr. Laur-Cantons was on his knees before the\ngovernor, begging pardon of him for his wicked actions. She pardons\nhim, and made him governor and she remained governess. She sent for\nher father, and they lived very happily.\n\nIf that is not true, may it happen (to me) like that.\n\n\n Louise Amyot,\n more than 70 years old.\n\n\n\n\nTHE YOUNG SCHOOLBOY.\n\nOnce upon a time there was a gentleman and lady. They had a child. The\nfather was captain of a ship. The mother regularly sent her son to\nschool, and when the father came back from his voyages he asked his\nchild if he had learnt much at school. The mother answered, \"No,\nno! not much.\"\n\nThe father went off for another voyage. He comes home the second\ntime. \"My child, what have you learnt at school?\"\n\nThe child answers his father, \"Nothing.\"\n\n\"You have learnt nothing?\"\n\nThe captain goes to find the schoolmaster, and asks him if his child\ndoes not learn anything.\n\n\"I cannot drive anything into that child's head.\"\n\nThe boy comes up, and the father, asks him again what he has learnt\nat school.\n\n\"This is all. (To understand) the song of the birds.\"\n\n\"O, my son, the song of the birds! the song of the birds! Come,\ncome on board ship with me.\"\n\nAnd he carries him off. While they were on the voyage a bird comes\nand settles on the end of the ship, singing, \"Wirittitti, kirikiriki.\"\n\n\"My son, come, come, instead of beginning by learning the art of a\ncaptain you have learned the song of birds. Do you know what this\nbird sings?\"\n\n\"Yes, my father. I know he sings that I am now under your orders,\nbut you shall also be under mine.\"\n\nWhat does this captain do? He takes a barrel, knocks out the head,\nand puts his son into it. He closes up the barrel and throws it into\nthe sea, and a storm casts it ashore.\n\nA king was walking there just at that moment, and he finds this barrel\nand sends for his men. They begin to try and break open the barrel,\nand the boy cries out from inside:\n\n\"Gently, gently, there is someone inside.\"\n\nThey open the barrel, and the boy comes out from inside. The king\ntakes him home, and he marries the king's daughter.\n\nOne day the father of this boy was caught in a great storm, and\nthe captain is thrown by the tempest on the sea-shore. He went to\nthe king, and saw his son. The son recognised the father, but the\nfather did not recognise the son at all, and he became his own son's\nservant. One day he said to him:\n\n\"Do you know who I am?\"\n\n\"No, sir.\"\n\n\"I am such an one, your son. At such a time you threw me into the\nsea in a barrel, and now the bird's song has come true.\"\n\nAnd after that the father and the son lived together very happily.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\n\nThe following seems to be a variation of the same:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE SON WHO HEARD VOICES.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a gentleman and lady. They\nhad several children. There was one whom they did not love so much\nas they did the others, because he said that he heard a voice very\noften. He said also that this voice had told him that a father and\na mother would be servants to their son, but without saying that it\nwas they. When the mother heard that she got very angry, taking it\nfor herself. They were very rich, and they had two men-servants. This\nmother told these servants to go with her son and kill him, and bring\nhis heart back to the house.\n\nThe next day she said to her son:\n\n\"You must go for a walk to such a place with these servants, and you\nmay stop there till twelve o'clock.\"\n\nThe lad goes off quietly with the servants, and when they had gone\na little distance, the two servants begin to talk loudly, and to\ndispute, and get angry. He goes up to them, and sees what they are\nquarrelling about. The one wished to kill him, and the other did\nnot. They fought, and the one who did not wish to kill him got the\nbetter of the other. And they said that they would kill a big dog\nwhich they had with them, and that they would carry his heart to\ntheir mistress. Before the servants returned the mother had already\nbegun to be sorry.\n\nOur young man wandered from place to place, and wandering like that,\nhe said to himself that he must go to Rome. He meets with two men\nwho tell him that they are going to Rome too, and they will make the\njourney together. They loved this young lad very much, because they\nsaw that there was something in him different from the rest. When\nnight came they all go to a house hidden in a thick forest. They ask\nshelter for the night. They tell them to enter, and give them a good\nsupper. Our young lad hears the voice, and it says to him:\n\n\"You are in a very unhappy place here. It would have been better if\nyou had not come here.\"\n\nThe other men said to him, \"What is that? What is that?\"\n\n\"Nothing at all. It would have been better to have gone elsewhere.\"\n\nWhen they had finished supper, they show them to bed, but our young\ngentleman does not go to sleep. He hears in the middle of the night\na great noise made by the robbers, who were returning home laden with\nsilver. The woman said to them:\n\n\"Go gently. We have three men here, and they say that one of them is\nvery rich.\"\n\nOur young man hears that. He wakes his comrades, and they jump out\nof the window and escape. They walk on the whole day. When night\ncomes they see a beautiful house, and they ask to be lodged there\nthat night. They said to them:\n\n\"Certainly, with pleasure, but you will not have much rest; we have\na daughter who for seven years shrieks out in pain night and day.\"\n\nThese men say to the young man: \"Will not you cure her--you?\"\n\nHe said to them: \"I will try.\"\n\n\n (The narrator had forgotten how this was done).\n\n\nThey were very rich. When he had cured the young girl, this poor\nfather said to him:\n\n\"Sir, it is you who are now the master of this house. Give your orders,\nand whatever you wish shall be done.\"\n\nOur young gentleman thanks him very much, and tells him that he is\ngoing to Rome, but that he cannot say what he will do later after\nthat. This young lady had a beautiful ring on her finger. The father\ncut this ring in two, and gave him one-half. They depart, and at length\nthey arrive close to Rome, and as they come near all the bells begin\nto ring of themselves. Everyone comes out:\n\n\"Where is he? What is this? It is the Holy Father [134] who must\nbe coming!\"\n\nThey take our young gentleman and make him the Holy Father.\n\nThe mother of this man was growing sadder and sadder, she was slowly\nlanguishing away, and they could no longer recognise her. She had\nnever told her husband what she had done, but she asked him to go to\nRome; and she ended by telling him what a terrible thing she had done,\nand that she believes that she will get pardon there, if he would go\nwith her with the two servants who had also sinned. They arrive at\nRome. This poor mother had such great grief, and such a weight at her\nheart that she wished to make her confession aloud in the middle of\nthe church at Rome. [135] Chance willed it that her son was in this\nchurch. When he hears that he goes opening his arms to the arms of\nhis mother, saying to her:\n\n\"I forgive you, I am your son.\"\n\nThe joy and the happiness kill the father and mother on the spot. He\ntakes the two servants home with him, and gives to him who did not\nwish to kill him the half of the young lady's ring, and he married\nher, and lived happily in the midst of riches. He told the servant who\nwished to kill him to go to the mountain and to be a charcoal-burner,\nand he is still there making charcoal; and this charcoal which you\nsee here was brought from his house.\n\n\n\n\nTHE MOTHER AND HER (IDIOT) SON; OR, THE CLEVER THIEF. [136]\n\nLike many others in the world, there were a mother and her son;\nthey were poor, and the young man, when he grew up, wished to go from\nhome, to see if he could better his position. His mother lets him go\nwith great reluctance. He goes on, and on, and on through terrible\nforests. He comes to a beautiful house, and asks if they want a\nservant. They tell him \"Yes,\" and to come in; and then they tell him\nhow they go at night to rob people, and sometimes to kill them; and\nthey ask if he would go too. He says \"Yes,\" and in the middle of the\nnight he sees the chief of the robbers arrive, with all his company,\nladen with gold and silver; and he remained a long time with them.\n\nOne day the chief said to him, \"At such an hour a rich gentleman on\nhorseback will pass by such a place, and you must go and rob him;\nand, if he will not give it up willingly, you must kill him.\"\n\nOur lad had had enough of this trade; but he told the chief that he\nwould do it. He stays then, waiting for this gentleman, and at last\nhe sees him coming. He presents himself before him, and says,\n\n\"Your purse or your life!\"\n\nThe gentleman gives him his purse and all the money that he had,\nand he had a great deal. He said to him, \"It is not enough yet. You\nmust give me your fine clothes too, and your horse.\"\n\nThey exchange clothes, and the gentleman goes off, very glad, although\nhe had old clothes on, because he had spared him his life. Instead\nof returning to the robbers' house, what does our lad do? He goes\noff on horseback with his money to his mother's house. Everyone\nwas astonished at his arrival, and that he had made his fortune so\nquickly. He goes to his mother, and judge of her joy! He tells her\nhow it is that he has become so rich, and that it all happened far,\nfar away. His mother told it to others, and at last this news comes\nto the ears of the mayor, who sends his servant to this young man to\ntell him to come to his house on the morrow without fault.\n\nHe goes then, leaving his mother in tears. His mother told him to\ntell the mayor how he had made his fortune so quickly. He tells him\nwhat business he had pursued, but that it was very far away, and that\nhe had never killed anybody. The mayor said to him,\n\n\"If you do not steal my finest horse from my stable this very night,\nI will have you killed to-morrow.\" [137]\n\nThis mayor was very rich, and he had a great many servants and a\ngreat many horses. There were three of them finer and more valuable\nthan the others. Our lad goes home and consoles his mother. He\nasks her to give him his old clothes which he wore formerly, and,\nputting them over the others, he takes a big stick, and goes off to\nthe mayor's, crawling along like an old man. He knocks at the door,\nand asks shelter for the night. A lad comes to him, and says--\n\n\"We shall not give you shelter in this house to-night. You may go\non farther.\"\n\nBut he begs so much, and asks him to give him at least a corner of the\nstable--that he does not know where to go to--that at last they let\nhim enter, and give him a little straw (to lie down on). Our lad hears\nwhat they say to each other. Three lads were to stop till midnight on\nthe three finest horses, and at midnight three other servants were to\ntake their places. What does our lad do? They were asleep on their\nhorses. As soon as he hears midnight, he goes and gives one of them\na knock, and says to him,\n\n\"It is midnight; go to bed.\"\n\nHalf asleep, the lad goes off to bed; the others were still asleep on\ntheir horses. He mounts on the horse--he had chosen the finest--and\nopens the doors very gently, and goes off at a trot, without looking\nbehind him. He goes home, and his mother is very delighted to see\nher son.\n\nThe next day he goes to market to sell his horse. When the mayor\ngets up he goes to the stable, and sees that his finest horse is\nmissing. The servants were sleeping on their horses, and the others\nin bed. He gets into a rage, and does not know what to do. He sends\nto the mother's to ask her where her son is. She replies that he\nis gone to sell a horse. They tell her that the mayor summons him\nimmediately. The mother grows sad again, and tells her son what they\nhave said to her, and off he goes.\n\nThe mayor says to him, \"What a fellow you are! You won the game\nyesterday, but if you do not steal from our oven to-night all the\nbread that is in it, it shall be all over with you.\"\n\nThe mayor assembles all the municipal council and all his friends,\nthinking he would have some fun while guarding his oven. They had\ndances, and music, and games, and brilliant lights, and all sorts of\namusements, and all this in front of the oven. What does our lad do? He\ntakes a little hammer, and goes behind the oven. He makes a hole,\nand by that takes out all the loaves, and puts them in his basket,\nand goes home.\n\nThe next day the mayor was proud because they had not stolen his\nloaves, and because they had so well guarded the door of the oven,\nand he sends his servant to fetch a loaf for breakfast. When she\nopens the door of the oven, she sees the sun through the other end\nof the oven. Judge of their astonishment! The mayor was in a red-hot\npassion. He sends to fetch the lad. They go and ask his mother where\nher son is. She answers, \"Selling bread.\" And they tell the mayor. He\nsends to tell her to tell her son to come to him as soon as he comes\nhome. The poor mother is again in great distress. When her son arrives,\nshe tells him the message, and off he goes.\n\nThe mayor says to him, \"Yesterday, too, you have hit the mark; but\nyou have not finished yet. This very night you must steal the sheets\nwhich we have under us in our bed, otherwise your life shall be put\nan end to.\" [138]\n\nHe goes home, and he makes an image of himself from his old clothes;\nand, when night is come, he goes off dragging it to the mayor's. The\nmayor had placed guards at all the windows and doors, with arms. Our\nlad ties his image to a long stick, and, by drawing a cord, he hoists\nit against the wall. When the guards see a man climbing up the wall\nnear a window, they fire, and all begin to cry out \"Hurrah!\" At this\nnoise the mayor leaps out of bed, thinking that they have killed him,\nand that he must go and see him too. Our lad takes advantage of this\nmoment to enter the house, and he goes to the mayor's bed, and says--\n\n\"It is cold, it is cold;\" and keeps pulling and pulling all the\nbed-clothes to his side. When he has all, he says to the lady:\n\n\"I must go and look again, to be quite sure, and to see if they have\nburied him.\"\n\nThe wife said to him, \"Stop here then; you will come back dead\nof cold.\"\n\nHe goes off, and escapes very quickly, as well as he can, with\nthe sheets. The others are out-doing each other, one beating, the\nother stabbing, the other pulling about (the image). At last they go\nin-doors, quite out of breath. All are pleased, and proud that they\nhave their lad at last down there.\n\nThe mayor goes to bed, and his wife says to him:\n\n\"Now, at least, you will remain here without any more of this going\nand coming down there, and making me all cold.\"\n\n\"I have not been going and coming. I!\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; you were certainly here just now, you too.\"\n\nHe gets into bed, and he keeps turning and moving about, not being\nable to find the sheets. At last, getting impatient, he lights the\ncandle, and he sees that the sheets are not there. Judge of their\nanger; they did not know what to do. The wife said to him:\n\n\"You had better leave that man alone, or some misfortune will happen\nto us.\"\n\nHe will not listen to anything, and goes off. He sends to fetch him\nas soon as daylight comes. They find his mother, and ask her where\nher son is. She answers:\n\n\"He has gone to sell some sheets.\"\n\nThey say to her, \"You will send him to the mayor's when he comes\nhome.\" And this poor woman is again in great trouble, for at last\n(she thinks) they will make an end of her son. She sends him again\nto the mayor's, who says to him:\n\n\"This time you shall not escape me. If you do not steal all the money\nof my brother the priest, you are done for.\" [139]\n\nThe brother of the mayor was rector of this town. When evening came\nour lad hides himself in the church, and dresses himself in the finest\nof the church robes, (used only) for the highest festivals. He lights\nall the candles and the lamps, and at midnight he begins to ring all\nthe bells at full swing--dilin, don; dilin, don, don; dilin, don. The\nrector comes running with his servant to see what is happening in\nthe church, and they see on the high altar someone, who says to them:\n\n\"Prostrate yourselves. I am the good God. I am come to fetch you. You\nmust die; but before dying you must bring here all the money, and\nall the riches that you have in your houses.\"\n\nThe priest goes and brings everything. He makes the priest go to the\ntop of the tower, and says to him:\n\n\"You are now going into purgatory, but afterwards you will go to\nheaven.\"\n\nHe makes him get into a sack, takes hold of one end, and drags him\ndown the stairs, bumping, zimpi eta zampa, on all the steps. He cried,\n\"Ay! ay!\" and he says to him:\n\n\"This is nothing; soon you will be in heaven.\"\n\nAnd he carries him like that to his brother's chicken-house, and leaves\nhim there. The next morning the maid goes to feed the fowls. She sees\na sack, and touches it, and the sack moves. The girl goes off running\nto tell her mistress what she has seen. Her mistress goes and touches\nit, and the sack does the same thing. She is frozen with fright,\nand goes to her husband, and says:\n\n\"You see that I told you right to let that man alone. At present,\nwhat will become of us? What can there be in that sack?\"\n\nThe gentleman immediately sends someone to fetch this lad. He was\njust at that moment at home, and they tell him that the mayor orders\nhim to come directly. They tell him to open the sack. He touches it,\nand the sack gives a leap; and he says that he will not open it,\nnot for ten thousand francs.\n\n\"I will give you ten thousand francs.\"\n\n\"No! not for twenty thousand.\"\n\n\"I will give them you.\"\n\n\"No, no, no! not even for forty thousand.\"\n\n\"I will give you thirty thousand.\"\n\n\"No, no, no, no! not even for forty thousand.\"\n\n\"And for fifty thousand?\"\n\nHe agreed to open it, and he hands them their brother, the priest,\nwhom he had left without a sou. After having got his fifty thousand\nfrancs, our lad went off well satisfied to his home, and lived\nthere rich with his mother; and the mayor lived with his brother,\nthe priest, poorer than he was before. And if they had lived well,\nthey would have died well too.\n\n\n\n\nJUAN DEKOS, [140] THE BLOCKHEAD (TONTUA).\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a gentleman and lady who\nhad a son. When he was grown up his father found that (his intellect)\nwas not awakened, although he had finished his education. What does\nhe do? He buys a ship for him, and takes a captain and a crew, and\nloads the ship with sand, and sends his son in it as master. [141]\nThey all set off, and go very, very far away, and they come to a\ncountry where there was no sand. They sell theirs very dear, and our\nJuan Dekos went to take a walk in that place.\n\nOne day, passing before the door of the church, he sees that all\npassers-by used to spit on something; he goes up and asks why they\ndo that. They say to him:\n\n\"It is a dead man who is there, and if no one pays his debts, he will\nremain there until he rots away.\" [142]\n\nWhat does Juan Dekos do? With all the money that he had he pays this\nman's debts. The whole crew and the officers were in a red-hot rage,\nbecause they had all their money there. He goes back again with his\nship, and they arrived in their own city. The father from a distance\nhad recognised his son's ship, and comes to meet him. The sailors\nfrom a long way off shout out to him what he had done with the\nmoney. The father was not pleased, but he sends the ship off again\nloaded with iron. They go on, and at length arrive at a place where\nhe sells his iron for a great deal of money. When they were walking\nabout in this city, he sees Christians being sold by the savages in\nthe market-place. There were eight of them for sale; and he buys\nall the eight, and employs all the money which he had made with\nhis iron in buying them. He sends seven of them to their own homes,\nand keeps with him a young girl whose name was Marie Louise. She was\nvery beautiful. He returns home with his ship, and his crew, and Marie\nLouise. The father comes to meet him, and the sailors tell him before\nJuan Dekos what he had done with the money. His father was very angry,\nand will not give anything more to his son; he may do what he likes.\n\nJuan Dekos had a portrait of Marie Louise made for the figure-head of\nhis ship; and the men agree to go to the country of Marie Louise. They\nset out then. The second in command of the ship was lame, and he was\nvery jealous of Juan Dekos and of Marie Louise. He did not know what\nto do.\n\nOne day he sent for Juan Dekos on deck, saying that he wished to show\nhim a strange fish that was in the water. When he had got him quite\nclose to him, he throws him into the sea. Nobody was there when he did\nthat. When the meal-time comes they all asked where Juan Dekos was,\nand nobody knew what was become of him. The lame man was delighted,\nthinking that Marie Louise would be his. He pays her all sorts of\nattention.\n\nJuan Dekos was taken by an angel and placed upon a rock, and he brought\nhim there every day what was necessary for his maintenance. The\nship at length arrived in the country of Marie Louise. As she was\nthe king's daughter everybody recognised her, and that easily,\nfrom a distance by her portrait. The king was quickly told of it,\nand goes to meet his daughter, and you may imagine what rejoicings\nhe made. He has all the men conducted to his house and treats them\nall well. Marie Louise tells how she had been bought by Juan Dekos,\nand how good he had been to her, and that she does not know what\nhad become of him. She said also that the second officer had taken\nvery great care of her. This second officer wished beyond all things\nto marry her, and the father wished it too, to show his gratitude,\nbecause it was he who had brought his daughter back to him, and because\nhe had not known Juan Dekos. They tormented Marie Louise so much that\nshe promised that, at the end of a year and a day, if Juan Dekos did\nnot make his appearance, she would marry him.\n\nA year and a day passed, and there was no news of Juan Dekos. They\nwere to be married then, and Juan Dekos was still upon his rock. The\nsea-weed was growing upon his clothes, and he had a monstrous\nbeard. And the angel [143] said to him:\n\n\"Marie Louise is married to-day. Would you like to be there?\"\n\nHe says, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"You must give me your word of honour that, at the end of a year,\nyou will give me half the child that Marie Louise will bear to you.\"\n\nHe promises it, and he takes him and carries him to the door of Marie\nLouise's house. This angel was the soul which he had saved of the man\nwho was lying at the gates of the church for his debts. He asks for\nalms. Marie Louise's father was very charitable; they therefore give\nhim something. He asks again if they would not let him go in to warm\nhimself at the fire. They tell him \"No,\" that he would be in the way\non that day. They go and ask the master, and the master bids them to\nlet him come in and to give him a good dinner.\n\nMarie Louise was already married when Juan Dekos arrived. He had\na handsome handkerchief which Marie Louise had given him, and when\nshe passed he showed it in such a way that she could not help seeing\nit. She saw it clearly, and after looking closely at him she recognises\nJuan Dekos. Marie Louise goes to find her father, and says to him:\n\n\"Papa, you must do me a pleasure.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, if I can do so.\"\n\n\"You see that poor man? I wish to have him to dine with us to-day.\"\n\nThe father says, \"That cannot be; he is filthy and disgusting.\"\n\n\"I will wash him, and I will put him some of your new clothes on.\"\n\nThe father then says, \"Yes,\" and he makes them do as Marie Louise\nwished. They place him at table, but Marie Louise alone recognised\nhim. After dinner they asked Juan Dekos to tell a story in his turn\nlike the rest.\n\nHe says, \"Yes, but if you wish to hear my story you must shut all\nthe doors and give me all the keys.\"\n\nThey give them to him.\n\nHe begins: \"There was a father and a mother who had a son who was not\nvery bright, and they decide that they must send him to sea. They load\na ship with sand for him. He sells this sand very well, and pays the\nheavy debts of a dead man whom they were keeping at the church doors\n(without burial).\"\n\nWhen the second officer saw and heard that, he perceived that his life\nwas in danger, and that it was all up with him, and he begs the king\nfor the key of the door, saying that he must go out; but he could\nnot give it him, so he was forced to remain, and not at all at his\nease. Juan Dekos begins again:\n\n\"His father loaded the ship again with iron, and he sells it and\nbought with this money seven Christians, and,\" pointing to the king's\ndaughter, \"there is the eighth.\"\n\nThe king knew this story already from his daughter. What do they do\nthen? When they see how wicked the second officer had been, they had\na cartload of faggots brought into the middle of the market-place,\nthey put a shirt of sulphur upon him, and burn him in the midst of\nthe place.\n\nJuan Dekos and Marie Louise marry and are very happy. They had a child,\nand at the end of a year an angel comes to fetch the half of it. Juan\nDekos was very sorry, but as he had given his word he was going to\ncut it in half. The angel seizes him by the arm, and says to him:\n\n\"I see your obedience; I leave you your child.\"\n\nIf they lived well, they died well too.\n\n\n\n\nVARIATION OF THE ABOVE.\n\nJUAN DE KALAIS. [144]\n\nAs there are many in the world, and as there will be, there was a\nmother and her son. They had a small fortune. Nothing would please\nthe boy but that he should go and learn to be a sailor. The mother\nallows him to do so, and when he was passed as captain she gives\nhim a ship with a valuable cargo. The lad starts off and comes to a\ncity. While he was there he sees a crowd of men on a dung-heap, who\nwere dragging an object, some on one side and others on the other. He\napproaches and sees that they have a dead man there. He asks what\nthey are doing like that for, and why they do not bury him. They\ntell him that he has left debts, and that they will not bury him,\neven though he should fall to pieces.\n\nJuan de Kalais asks, \"And if anyone should pay his debts, would you\nbury him then?\" They say, \"Yes.\"\n\nJuan de Kalais has it cried throughout the city that whoever has to\nreceive anything of that man should show himself. As you may suppose,\nmany came forward, even those who had nothing to receive. Our Juan\nde Kalais sold his cargo, and still, not having enough, he sold his\nship too.\n\nHe returns home and tells his mother what he has done. His mother was\nvery angry, and said that he would never grow rich if he acted like\nthat. But, as he wished much to go again, his mother bought for him\na wretched little ship and loads it with oakum, and tar, and resin,\nand he goes on his voyage. He meets with a large man-of-war, and the\ncaptain tells him that he must buy of him a charming young lady. Juan\nde Kalais tells him that he has no money, but the other captain (he\nwas an Englishman) tells him to give him his cargo at least. Juan de\nKalais says to him:\n\n\"That is not worth much.\"\n\nBut the English captain says to him that it is, that it just happens\nto be most valuable to him, and they make the exchange. Our Juan de\nKalais goes to his mother's house, and his mother was more angry than\nbefore, saying she had nothing now with which to load his ship. She had\nnothing, and would give him nothing; that instead of getting rich they\nhad become poor, and that it would have been better if he had stopped\nat home. After some days he married the young lady whom the captain\nhad given him, and as Juan de Kalais was in poverty and distress, not\nhaving any cargo, his wife told him that he had no need of cargo--that\nshe will give him a flag and a handkerchief, and she gave him her ring\nand told him to go to the roadstead of Portugal and to fire three\nrounds of cannon; and, when people came, to tell them that he must\nsee the king. (She added) that she was called Marie Madeleine. Our\nJuan de Kalais sets off and arrives in the roadstead of Portugal, and\nfires his three rounds of cannon. Everybody is astonished at hearing\nthis noise. The king himself comes on board the ship and asks how they\ndared to fire, and that everyone is a prisoner. [145] He answers that\nhe brings news of Marie Madeleine, and he shows him the flag with\nher portrait and the handkerchief. The king did not know where he\nwas with joy, and he tells him that he must go directly and fetch her.\n\nThe king had with him an old general [146] who had wished to marry\nMarie Madeleine, but she would not; and he asks the king if he might\nnot go too with him--that he would do it quicker. The king told him\nto go then if he wished, and they set out.\n\nWhen they were at sea the old general said to Juan de Kalais one day:\n\n\"Look, Juan de Kalais, what a fine fish there is here!\"\n\nHe looks and does not see anything. The old general says to him again:\n\n\"Stoop down your head, and look here.\"\n\nAnd at the same time he throws him into the sea. The old general goes\non his voyage, and takes the young lady and goes back to the king,\nand makes him believe that Juan de Kalais was drowned, and he still\nwished to marry Marie Madeleine; but she would by no means consent,\n(saying) that she had been married to Juan de Kalais, and that she\nwas so deeply sorry for him that she would remain seven years without\ngoing out of her room. As her father wished her to marry this general\nshe decided to do so then.\n\nLet us now go to the poor Juan de Kalais. He remained seven years\non a rock, eating sea-weed and drinking the sea-water. There came to\nhim a fox, [147] who said to him:\n\n\"You do not know, Juan de Kalais, the daughter of the King of Portugal\nis going to be married to-morrow. What would you give to go there?\"\n\n\"The half of what I have at present, and the half of what I shall\nhave later on.\"\n\nThe fox takes him and carries him to the door of the house of the King\nof Portugal, and leaves him there. Juan de Kalais asks if they want\na servant. They tell him that they will have work for him too--that\nthey will have a wedding in the house to-morrow. The lady's maid\nrecognised Juan de Kalais, and goes running to tell it to the queen,\nwho will not believe it--(she says) that he was drowned. The servant,\nafter having looked at him again, assures her that it is he; and\nthe princess, to put an end to the dispute, goes off to see him,\nand quickly assures herself that it is he, seeing the ring that\nshe had given him. She throws herself into his arms, and makes him\ncome with her to the king. The king said to her that they would have\nthe wedding feast just the same. While they were at table the king\nasked Juan de Kalais to tell them some story. Juan de Kalais says\n\"Yes,\" and takes out his sword, and puts it on the table, saying,\n\"Whoever speaks shall have news of my sword.\" He begins to tell how\nhe had saved a man by selling all that he had and paying his debts;\nhow afterwards he had made an exchange for a young lady--that in\norder to save her he had given all his cargo; then how he had been\nbetrayed by one of his friends and thrown into the water, and that\nhe had lived on sea-weed and sea-water.\n\nWhen the king had heard that he ordered the old general to be arrested,\nand has him burnt immediately in the midst of the market-place.\n\nThe king gives Juan de Kalais all his riches, and they lived very\nhappily. At the end of a year they had a fine boy, and lo! the fox\ncomes and tells him that he has come to look for what he has promised\nhim, and he begins to make a division. If there were two gold chains\nhe put one aside, and of all that there was the same thing. When they\nhad finished the division the fox said to him that there was still\nsomething--that he had told him it was to be the half of all he might\npossess. He remembers then his child, and takes out his sword to cut\nit in half, when the fox with his paw knocks the sword out of his hand,\nsaying that it is enough; that he sees what a sterling good man he is,\nand that he wants nothing; that he (the fox) is the soul which he had\nsaved by paying his debts, and that he is now in Heaven, thanks to him,\nand that he will keep his place and that of all his family ready there;\nand having said that he flew away, taking the form of a pigeon.\n\n\n Laurentine,\n Learnt it from her mother.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DUPED PRIEST. [148]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a man and his wife. The man's\nname was Petarillo. He was fond of sporting. One day he caught two\nleverets, and the parish priest came to see him. The husband said to\nhis wife--\"If the priest comes again you will let one of the hares go,\nas if to meet me, tying, at the same time, a letter round its neck,\nand I will tie another letter to the other hare.\"\n\nThe priest goes to the house one day, and asks where the husband\nis. The woman says:\n\n\"I will send one of the hares with a letter to fetch him. No matter\nwhere he is, she will find him; he has trained them so well.\"\n\nAnd she lets one of the hares loose. They grew impatient at the long\ndelay, and had given it up, when at last the husband came. His wife\nsays to him, \"I sent the hare.\"\n\nHe answers, \"I have it here.\"\n\nThe astonished priest says to him, \"You must sell me that hare,\nI beg you; you have trained it so well.\"\n\nA second time he says, \"You must sell it me.\"\n\nAnd the man said to him, \"I will not give it you for less than five\nhundred francs.\"\n\n\"Oh! you will give it me for three hundred?\"\n\n\"No, no.\"\n\nAt last he gives it him for four hundred. The priest tells his\nhousekeeper:\n\n\"If any one comes, you will let the hare loose; she will find me,\nno matter where I may be.\"\n\nA man comes to the parsonage to say that a sick person is asking for\nthe priest. She immediately lets the hare loose, being quite sure\nthat that would be enough. But the priest did not return. The man got\ntired of waiting, and went off. The housekeeper told the priest that\nshe had let the hare loose, and that she had seen nothing more of it.\n\nIn a rage, he goes to the huntsman's house. But Petarillo, seeing\nhim coming in a rage, gives a wine-skin to his wife, and says to her:\n\n\"Put this under your jacket. When the priest is here, I will plunge\na knife into you in a rage, and you will fall as if you were dead;\nand when I shall begin to play the flute, you will get up as if yon\nwere alive.\"\n\nThe priest arrives in a great rage, (they all three dispute), and\nthe man stabs his wife. She falls on the ground, and the priest says\nto him:\n\n\"Do you know what you have done?\"\n\nHe replies, \"It is nothing; I will soon put it to rights.\"\n\nAnd he takes his flute, and begins to play. She gets up all alive\nagain, and the priest says to him:\n\n\"Do sell me that flute, I beg you.\"\n\nHe answers that it is of great value, and that he will not sell it.\n\n\"But you must sell it me. How much do you want for it? I will give\nyou all you ask.\"\n\n\"Five hundred francs.\" And he gives it him.\n\nThe priest's housekeeper used sometimes to laugh at him. So when he\ncame home he wanted to frighten her a little; and, as usual, she begins\nto make fun of him; and he stabs her with the large carving-knife. His\nsister says to him,\n\n\"Do you know what you have done? You have killed your housekeeper!\"\n\n\"No, no! I can put that to rights.\"\n\nHe begins to play on the flute, but it does no good at all. He rushes\noff in a rage to the huntsman's house, and he ties the huntsman in a\nsack, and hauls him off to throw him into the sea. As he passes near\nthe church, the bell begins to ring for Mass, and he leaves the man\nthere till he has said Mass. Meanwhile a shepherd passes. He asks\nhim what he is doing there. He says to him, \"The priest is going to\nthrow me into the sea because I will not marry the king's daughter.\"\n\nThe other said to him, \"I will put myself in your place, and I will\ndeliver you. When you have tied me up, go away with my flock.\"\n\nWhen the priest returned, after having said Mass, he takes up the sack,\nand the man says,\n\n\"I will marry the king's daughter.\"\n\n\"I will marry you presently.\"\n\nAnd he throws him into the sea.\n\nThe good priest was returning home, when he sees the man with the\nsheep, and says to him,\n\n\"Where did you get that flock from?\"\n\n\"From the bottom of the sea. There are plenty there. Don't you see\nthat white head, how it lifts itself above the sea?\"\n\n\"Yes; and I, too, must have a flock like that.\"\n\n\"Come close to the edge, then.\"\n\nAnd our huntsman pushes him into the sea.\n\n\n Gagna-haurra Hirigaray.\n\n\nWe have other tales about priests, all in the same spirit as this. The\nBasques are a deeply religious people, and are generally on the best\nterms with the clergy; but they will not be dominated by them. Any\nattempt at undue interference in their national games or customs is\nsure to be resented; of this we have known several instances--some\nrather amusing ones. G. H., the narrator of the above tale, did not\nknow a word of French.\n\nSome of Campbell's stories begin a little like these, e.g., Vol. I.,\np. 95, Macdonald's tale--\"There was a king and a knight, as there\nwas and will be, and as grows the fir tree, some of it crooked\nand some of it straight, and he was King of Eirinn.\" The ending,\n\"If they had lived well, they would have died well too,\" recals a\nLatin inscription still occasionally to be seen on Basque houses:--\n\n\n \"Memento tua novissima,\n Et non peccabis in \u00e6ternum.\"\n\n\nThis is on two houses in Baigorry, and on one at Ascarrat, and probably\non many others.\n\n\n\n\n\n(B.)--CONTES DES F\u00c9ES, DERIVED DIRECTLY FROM THE FRENCH.\n\n\nWe do not suppose that the tales here given are the only ones in our\ncollection which are derived more or less directly from or through\nthe French. Several of those previously given under different heads we\nbelieve to have been so. The question, however, still remains: Whence\ndid Madame d'Aulnoy, Perrault, and the other writers of the charming\n\"Contes des F\u00e9es,\" derive their materials? Place their talent as high\nas we may, we still believe them to have been incapable of inventing\nthem. Combine, transpose, dress up, refine--all this they did in an\nincomparable manner. Some portions they may have culled, directly or\nindirectly, from Eastern stories; their own imagination may have filled\nup many a blank, expanded many a hint, clothed many a half-dressed body\nin the habit of their own times--as heraldic painters formed grotesque\nmonsters by selecting and putting together parts from many diverse\nanimals; but to create, even in fancy, was beyond their line, if it\nis not altogether beyond the power of man. Therefore, when we hear\nthese tales related by peasants ignorant of French, we may still ask\nhow far they have learnt them at second or third hand from the printed\nworks, and how far they are reciting the crude materials out of which\nthose works were originally composed? This is a question which can\nonly be fully answered when all the legends in all the languages and\npatois of France shall have been collected and compared. Meanwhile,\nwe beg our readers to accept these few tales as a small and not very\nvaluable stone contributed towards the erection of so vast an edifice.\n\n\n\n\nASS'-SKIN. [149]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a king and a queen. One day\nthere came to them a young girl who wished for a situation. They asked\nher her name, and she said \"Faithful.\" [150] The king said to her,\n\"Are you like your name?\" and she said \"Yes.\"\n\nShe stopped there seven years. Her master gave her all the keys,\neven that of the treasure. One day, when the king and queen were out,\nFaithful goes to the fountain, and she sees seven robbers coming\nout of the house. Judge what a state this poor girl was in! She runs\nstraight to the treasury, and sees that more than half the treasure\nis missing. She did not know what would become of her--she was all\nof a tremble. When the king and queen came home she told them what\nhad happened, but they would not believe her, and they put her in\nprison. She stays there a year. She kept saying that she was not in\nfault, but they would not believe her. The king condemns her to death,\nand sends her with four men to the forest to kill her, telling them\nto bring him her heart.\n\nThey go off, but these men thought it a pity to kill this young girl,\nfor she was very pretty, and she told them that she was innocent of\nthis robbery; and they say to her:\n\n\"If you will not come any more into this land, we will spare your\nlife.\"\n\nShe promises them that she will not be seen again in those parts. The\nmen see an ass, and they tell her that they will carry its heart to\nthe king. The young girl said to them:\n\n\"Flay this ass, I pray you; and, in order that no one may know me,\nI will never take this skin off me.\"\n\nThe men (do so), and go off to the king, and the young girl goes to\nlook for some shelter. At nightfall she finds a beautiful house. She\nasks if they want some one to keep the geese. They tell her, \"Yes,\nyes, yes.\" They put her along with the geese, and tell her that she\nmust go with them every day to such a field. She went out very early\nin the morning and came back late. It was the king's house, and it\nwas the queen-mother and her son who lived there.\n\nAfter some time there appeared to her one day an old woman, who called\nto her:\n\n\"Faithful, you have done penance enough. The son of the king is going\nto give some grand feasts, and you must go to them. This evening\nyou will ask madame permission, and you will tell her that you will\ngive her all the news of the ball if she will let you go for a little\nwhile. And, see, here is a nut. All the dresses and things you want\nwill come out of that. You will break it as you go to the place of\nthe festival.\" [151]\n\nThat evening she asked permission of her mistress to go and see the\nfestival which the king is going to give, for a short time only,\nand that she will return directly and tell her all that she has seen\nthere. Her mistress said, \"Yes.\" That evening she goes then. On her\nway she breaks the nut, and there comes out of it a silver robe. She\nputs it on, and goes there, and immediately she enters all the world\nlooks at her. The king is bewitched, he does not quit her for an\ninstant, and they always dance together. He pays no attention at\nall to the other young ladies. They enjoy the refreshments very\nmuch. Some friends of the king call him, and he has to go there;\nand in this interval Faithful makes her escape to the house.\n\nShe tells the queen how that a young girl had come to the ball,\nhow she had dazzled everybody, and especially the king, who paid\nattention to her alone, but that she had escaped.\n\nWhen the son comes to the house, his mother says to him:\n\n\"She escaped from you then, your young lady? She did not care for\nyou, doubtless.\"\n\nHe says to his mother, \"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Ass'-skin; she wished to go and see it.\"\n\nThe king goes to where Faithful was and gives her two blows with his\nslipper, saying to her:\n\n\"If you return there again I will kill you on the spot.\"\n\nThe next day Ass'-skin goes with her geese, and there appears to her\nagain the old woman. She tells her that she ought to go to the ball\nagain this evening--that her mistress would give her permission. \"Here\nis a walnut; you have there all that is necessary to dress yourself\nwith. The king will ask you your name--Braf-le-mandoufle.\" [152]\n\nIn the evening she asks permission of her mistress, but she is\nastonished (at her asking), and says to her:\n\n\"You do not know what the king has said--that if he catches you he\nwill kill you on the spot?\"\n\n\"I am not afraid. He will be sure not to catch me.\"\n\n\"Go, then.\"\n\nShe goes off, and on the way she breaks the walnut, and there comes\nout of it a golden robe. She goes in. The king comes with a thousand\ncompliments, and asks her how she had escaped the evening before\nwithout saying anything to him, and that he had been very much hurt\nat it.\n\nThey amuse themselves thoroughly. The king has eyes for her alone. He\nasks her her name. She tells him, \"Braf-le-mandoufle.\" They feast\nthemselves well, and some friends having called to him he goes to them,\nand the young lady escapes.\n\nAss'-skin goes to tell the queen that yesterday evening's young lady\nhad come, but still more beautiful--that she had escaped in the very\nmiddle of the ball. She goes off to her geese. The king comes to his\nhouse. His mother says to him:\n\n\"She came then, the young lady you love? but she only loves you so-so,\nsince she has gone off in this fashion.\"\n\n\"Who told you that?\"\n\n\"Ass'-skin.\"\n\nHe goes off to her and gives her two kicks with his slipper, and says\nto her:\n\n\"Woe to you if you go there again; I will kill you on the very spot.\"\n\nShe goes off to her geese, and the old woman comes to her again and\ntells her to ask permission again for this evening--that she must go\nto the dance. She gives her a peach, and tells her that she will have\nthere all that is necessary to dress herself with. She goes then to\nask her mistress if she will give her permission, like last night,\nto go to the ball. She says to her:\n\n\"Yes, yes, I will give you leave. But are you not afraid lest the king\nshould catch you? He has said that he will kill you if you go there.\"\n\n\"I am not afraid, because I am sure that he will not catch\nme. Yesterday he looked for me again, but he could not catch me.\"\n\nShe goes off then. On the way she opens her peach, and finds there\na dress entirely of diamonds, and if she was beautiful before,\njudge what she is now! She shone like the sun. The king was plunged\ninto joy when he saw her. He was in an ecstasy. He did not wish\nto dance, but they sat down at their ease on beautiful arm-chairs,\nand with their refreshments before them they passed such a long time\ntogether. The king asked her to give him her promise of marriage. The\nyoung lady gives him her word, and the king takes his diamond ring\noff his finger and gives it to her. His friends call him away to\ncome quickly to see something very rare, and off he goes, leaving\nhis lady. She takes advantage of this opportunity to escape. [153]\nShe tells her mistress all that has passed--how that this young lady\nhad come with a dress of diamonds, that all the world was dazzled\nby her beauty, that they could not even look at her she shone so\nbrightly, that the king did not know where he was for happiness,\nthat they had given each other their promise of marriage, and that\nthe king had given her his diamond ring, but that the best thing of\nall was that to-day again she has escaped him.\n\nThe king comes in at that very instant. His mother says to him:\n\n\"She has not, she certainly has not, any wish for you. She has gone\noff with your diamond ring. Where will you go and look for her? You do\nnot know where she lives. Where will you ask for a young lady who has\nsuch a name as 'Braf-le-mandoufle!' She has given you her promise of\nmarriage too; but she does not wish to have you, since she has acted\nlike that.\"\n\nOur king did not even ask his mother who has told her that. He went\nstraight to bed thoroughly ill, and so Ass'-skin did not have her\ntwo kicks that evening.\n\nThe queen was in great trouble at seeing her son ill like that. She\nwas continually turning over in her head who this young lady might\nbe. She said to her son, \"Is this young lady our Ass'-skin? How else\ncould she have known that you had given your promise to one another,\nand that you had given her the ring too? She must have been very\nclose to you. Did you see her?\"\n\nHe says, \"No,\" but remains buried in thought.\n\nHis mother says, \"She has a very pretty face under her ass'-skin.\"\n\nAnd she says that she must send for her, and that he must have a good\nlook at her too; that he shall have some broth brought up by her.\n\nShe sends for Ass'-skin to the kitchen, has the broth made for her\nson, and Ass'-skin puts in the middle of the bread the ring which\nthe king had given her. The lady had her well dressed, and she goes\nto the king. The king, after having seen her, was still doubtful. He\ndrank his broth; but when he puts the bread into his mouth he finds\nsomething (hard), and is very much astonished at seeing his ring. He\nwas ill no longer. He goes and runs to his mother to tell her his\njoy that he has found his lady. He wishes to marry directly, and\nall the kings of the neighbourhood are invited to the feast; and,\nwhile they were dining, everyone had some fine news to relate. They\nask the bride, too, if she had not something to tell them. She says\n\"Yes,\" but that she cannot tell what she knows--that it would not\nplease all at the table. Her husband tells her to speak out boldly;\nhe draws his sword, and says,\n\n\"Whosoever shall speak a word shall be run through with this sword.\"\n\nShe then tells how a poor girl was servant at a king's house; how she\nremained there seven years; that they liked her very much, and treated\nher with confidence, even to giving her the keys of the treasure. One\nday, when the king and his wife were out, robbers entered, and stole\nalmost all the treasure. The king would not believe that robbers had\ncome. He puts the young girl in prison for a whole year, and at the\nend of that time he sends her to execution, telling the executioners\nto bring her heart to the house. The executioners were better than\nthe king; they believed in her innocence, and, after having killed\nan ass, they carried its heart to the king; \"and for the proof,\nit is I who was servant to this king.\"\n\nThe bridegroom says to her, \"Who can this king be? Is it my uncle?\"\n\nThe lady says, \"I do not know if he is your uncle, but it is that\ngentleman there.\"\n\nThe bridegroom takes his sword and kills him on the spot, saying to\nhis wife,\n\n\"You shall not be afraid of him any more.\"\n\nThey lived very happily. Some time afterwards they had two children,\na boy and a girl. When the elder was seven years old he died, telling\nhis father and mother that he was going to Heaven to get a place there\nready for them. At the end of a week the other child dies too, and\nshe says to them that she, too, is going to Heaven, and that she will\nkeep their place ready; that they, too, would quickly go to them. And,\nas she had said, at the end of a year, at exactly the very same time,\nboth the gentleman and lady died, and they both went to Heaven.\n\n\n Laurentine.\n\n\nWe have four other variations of the above story, written down, with\nothers, that we heard, but did not copy out. One, which much resembles\nthe above, excepting in the commencement, opens with the proposal of a\nking's son to marry one of the three daughters of another king. This\nking asks his three daughters (like King Lear) how much they love\nhim. The eldest says, \"As much as I do my little finger.\" That did\nnot please him. The second says, \"As much as my middle finger.\" The\nyoungest says, \"As much as the bread loves the salt.\" In a rage the\nfather sends her into the forest, with two servants, to be killed. They\nspare her, and carry the horse's heart to the king, and the girl lives\nin the forest \"on the plants which the birds brought her, and on the\nflowers which the bees brought her.\" The king's son finds her there\nwhile hunting, takes her home, and marries her. At the wedding feast\nshe gives her father bread without salt, and then discovers herself,\nand all is made right, and they live all happily, except the two\nsisters, who remain old maids.\n\nTwo others open like Campbell's \"The King who Wished to Marry his\nDaughter.\" A king loses his wife, who on her deathbed makes him\npromise only to marry some one just like her. This is, of course,\nher daughter. The daughter will not, and takes counsel of her\ngodmother. She bids her ask for a wedding dress made of the wings\nof flies; but this impossibility is performed. Then the daughter\nescapes--in the one tale in a ship, in the other on foot--and takes\na place as servant. The king has a ball; the old woman appears, and\ngives her the nut with the dresses, etc. But in one of these tales,\non the wedding-day she was more handsomely dressed than ever before,\n\"and think! they had their dresses made for each other\"--i.e., they\ndress each other! \"I don't understand how it is,\" said the narrator,\n\"but the story says so.\"\n\nOur fifth version is short, and, as it puts the step-mother in an\nunusual light, we give it entire:--\n\n\n\n\nTHE STEP-MOTHER AND THE STEP-DAUGHTER.\n\nA father and his daughter were living together. The daughter told her\nfather to marry again. The father said, \"Why? you will be unhappy.\" \"It\nis all the same to me; I prefer to see you happy.\" And after some\ntime he marries again. This lady asked her husband to give her full\npower over this young girl to do what she will with her. The husband\nconsents, and does not think any more about her; he did not even see\nher again. This lady says to the young girl, \"If you do all I tell\nyou, you will be the better for it.\" The king lived near their house,\nand one day her step-mother gave her the keys of the king's house and\ntold her to go at such an hour of the night into the king's bed-room,\n\"and without waking him you will bring me back his sash.\" The daughter\ndid not like it at all, but in spite of that she goes off, and without\nany person seeing her, she returns home with the king's girdle. The\nnext day the step-mother says to her step-daughter, \"You must go again,\nand you must bring the king's watch chain.\" While she was taking it,\nthe king moved in his bed, and the young girl is so frightened that\nshe runs off, and loses her shoe at the door of the king's room. At the\nend of some days they hear that the king has made a proclamation that\nhe will go from house to house with a shoe, and that she whom it fits\nperfectly shall be his wife. The king goes looking and looking, first\nof all, in the houses of the rich; but he had said that he would go\ninto all the houses. He goes then to this gentleman's who had married\nagain, because it was close at hand. The persons of his suite asked\nhim why he went there, for they were only poor people. The king will\ngo all the same. He finds this lady, who says that they are poor, and\nthat she is ashamed to receive the king in her bed-room; but it was\nthere she had her step-daughter very nicely dressed, with only one\nshoe on her feet. She was dazzling with beauty, and the king finds\nher very much to his taste. They are married immediately; he takes\nthe father and step-mother to his house, and they all live happily,\nand this step-daughter owed her good fortune to her step-mother.\n\n\n Louise Lanusse.\n\n\n\nThere are two curious versions of these tales in Blad\u00e9's \"Contes\nPopulaires Recueillis en Agenais\" (Paris, Baer, 1874), Nos. I. and\nVIII. Those who wish to compare others may follow up the references\nthere given by Reinhold K\u00f6hler, on pp. 145 and 153; also those given\nat pp. 44 and 47 of Brueyre's \"Contes Populaires de la Grande Bretagne\"\n(Paris, Hachette, 1875).\n\n\n\n\nBEAUTY AND THE BEAST. [154]\n\nAs there are many in the world in its state now, there was a king who\nhad three daughters. He used continually to bring handsome presents\nto his two elder daughters, but did not pay any attention at all to\nhis youngest daughter, and yet she was the prettiest and most amiable.\n\nThe king kept going from fair to fair, and from feast to feast,\nand from everywhere he used to bring something for the two eldest\ndaughters. One day, when he was going to a feast, he said to his\nyoungest daughter:\n\n\"I never bring anything home for you; tell me then what you want and\nyou shall have it.\"\n\nShe said to her father: \"And I do not want anything.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, I am going to bring you something.\"\n\n\"Very well then, bring me a flower.\"\n\nHe goes off, and is busy buying and buying; for one a hat, for the\nother a beautiful piece of stuff for a dress, and for the first again\na shawl; and he was returning home, when in passing before a beautiful\ncastle, he sees a garden quite full of flowers, and he says to himself:\n\n\"What! I was going home without a flower for my daughter; here I\nshall have plenty of them.\"\n\nHe takes some then, and as soon as he has done so, a voice says to him:\n\n\"Who gave you permission to take that flower? As you have three\ndaughters, if you do not bring me one of them before the year be\nfinished, you shall be burnt wherever you are--you, and your whole\nkingdom.\"\n\nThe king goes off home. He gives his elder daughters their presents,\nand her nosegay to the youngest. She thanks her father. After a\ncertain time this king became sad. His eldest daughter said to him:\n\n\"What is the matter with you?\"\n\nHe says to her: \"If one of my daughters will not go to such a spot\nbefore the end of the year, I shall be burned.\"\n\nHis eldest daughter answers him, \"Be burned if you like; as for me,\nI shall not go. I have no wish at all to go there. Settle it with\nthe others.\"\n\nThe second also asks him, \"You seem very sad, papa; what is the matter\nwith you?\"\n\nHe told her how he is bound to send one of his daughters to such a\nplace before the end of the year, otherwise he should be burned.\n\nThis one too says to him, \"Manage your own business as you like,\nbut do not reckon upon me.\"\n\nThe youngest, after some days, said to him, \"What is the matter with\nyou, my father, that you are so sad? Has someone done you some hurt?\"\n\nHe said to her, \"When I went to get your nosegay, a voice said to me,\n'I must have one of your daughters before the year be completed,'\n[155] and now I do not know what I must do. It told me that I shall\nbe burned.\"\n\nThis daughter said to him, \"My father, do not be troubled about it. I\nwill go.\"\n\nAnd she sets out immediately in a carriage. She arrives at the castle\nand goes in, and she hears music and sounds of rejoicing everywhere,\nand yet she did not see anyone. She finds her chocolate ready (in\nthe morning), and her dinner the same. She goes to bed, and still\nshe does not see anyone. The next morning a voice says to her:\n\n\"Shut your eyes; I wish to place my head on your knees for a moment.\"\n\n\"Come, come; I am not afraid.\"\n\nThere appears then an enormous serpent. Without intending it, the\nyoung lady could not help giving a little shudder. An instant after\nthe serpent went away; and the young lady lived very happily, without\nlacking anything. One day the voice asked her if she did not wish to\ngo home.\n\nShe answers, \"I am very happy here. I have no longing for it.\"\n\n\"Yes, if you like, you may go for three days.\"\n\nHe gives her a ring, and says to her, \"If that changes colour, I shall\nbe ill, and if it turns to blood, I shall be in great misery.\" [156]\n\nThe young lady sets out for her father's house. Her father was very\nglad (to see her). Her sisters said to her:\n\n\"You must be happy there. You are prettier than you were before. With\nwhom do you live there?\"\n\nShe told them, \"With a serpent.\" They would not believe her. The three\ndays flew by like a dream, and she forgot her serpent. The fourth\nday she looked at her ring, and she saw that it was changed. She\nrubs it with her finger, and it begins to bleed. Seeing that she\ngoes running to her father, and says to him that she is going. She\narrives at the castle, and finds everything sad. The music will not\nplay--everything was shut up. She called the serpent (his name was\nAzor, and hers Fifine). She kept on calling and crying out to him,\nbut Azor appeared nowhere. After having searched the whole house,\nafter having taken off her shoes, she goes to the garden, and there\ntoo she cries out. She finds a corner of the earth in the garden\nquite frozen, and immediately she makes a great fire over this spot,\nand there Azor comes out, and he says to her: [157]\n\n\"You had forgotten me, then. If you had not made this fire, it would\nhave been all up with me.\"\n\nFifine said to him, \"Yes, I had forgotten you, but the ring made me\nthink of you.\"\n\nAzor said to her, \"I knew what was going to happen; that is why I\ngave you the ring.\"\n\nAnd coming into the house, she finds it as before, all full of\nrejoicings--the music was playing on all sides. Some days after that\nAzor said to her:\n\n\"You must marry me.\"\n\nFifine gives no answer. He asks her again like that three times,\nand still she remained silent, silent. The whole house becomes sad\nagain. She has no more her meals ready. Again Azor asks her if she\nwill marry him. Still she does not answer, and she remains like that in\ndarkness several days without eating anything, and she said to herself,\n\"Whatever it shall cost me I must say, Yes.\"\n\nWhen the serpent asks her again, \"Will you marry me?\" she answers,\n\"Not with the serpent, but with the man.\"\n\nAs soon as she had said that the music begins as before. Azor says to\nher that she must go to her father's house and get all things ready\nthat are necessary, and they will marry the next day. The young lady\ngoes as he had told her. She says to her father that she is going to\nbe married to the serpent to-morrow, (and asks him) if he will prepare\neverything for that. The father consents, but he is vexed. Her sisters,\ntoo, ask her whom she is going to marry, and they are astounded at\nhearing that it is with a serpent. Fifine goes back again, and Azor\nsays to her:\n\n\"Which would you prefer, from the house to the church, serpent,\nor from the church to the house, (serpent)?\"\n\nFifine says to him, \"From the house to the church, serpent.\"\n\nAzor says to her, \"I, too.\"\n\nA beautiful carriage comes to the door. The serpent gets in, and Fifine\nplaces herself at his side, and when they arrive at the king's house\nthe serpent says to her:\n\n\"Shut the doors and the curtains, that nobody may see.\"\n\nFifine says to him, \"But they will see you as you get down.\"\n\n\"No matter; shut them all the same.\"\n\nShe goes to her father. Her father comes with all his court to\nfetch the serpent. He opens the door, and who is astonished? Why,\neverybody. Instead of a serpent there is a charming young man; and\nthey all go to the church. When they come out there is a grand dinner\nat the king's, but the bridegroom says to his wife:\n\n\"To-day we must not make a feast at all. We have a great business to\ndo in the house; we will come another day for the feast.\"\n\nShe told that to her father, and they go on to their house. When they\nare come there her husband brings her in a large basket a serpent's\nskin, and says to her:\n\n\"You will make a great fire, and when you hear the first stroke of\nmidnight you will throw this serpent's skin into the fire. That must\nbe burnt up, and you must throw the ashes out of window before the\nlast stroke of twelve has ceased striking. If you do not do that I\nshall be wretched for ever.\"\n\nThe lady says to him, \"Certainly; I will do everything that I can\nto succeed.\"\n\nShe begins before midnight to make the fire. As soon as she heard the\nfirst stroke she throws the serpent's skin (on the fire), and takes\ntwo spits and stirs the fire, and moves about the skin and burns it,\ntill ten strokes have gone. Then she takes a shovel, and throws the\nashes outside as the last twelfth stroke is ending. Then a terrible\nvoice says:\n\n\"I curse your cleverness, and what you have just done.\"\n\nAt the same time her husband comes in. He did not know where he was\nfor joy. He kisses her, and does not know how to tell his wife what\ngreat good she has done him.\n\n\"Now I do not fear anything. If you had not done as I told you, I\nshould have been enchanted for twenty-one years more. Now it is all\nover, and we will go at our ease to-morrow to your father's house\nfor the wedding feast.\"\n\nThey go the next day and enjoy themselves very much. They return to\ntheir palace to take away the handsomest things, because they did\nnot wish to stop any more in that corner of the mountain. They load\nall their valuable things in carts and waggons, and go to live with\nthe king. This young lady has four children, two boys and two girls,\nand as her sisters were very jealous of her, their father sent them\nout of the house. The king gave his crown to his son-in-law, who was\nalready a son of a king. As they had lived well, they died well too.\n\n\n Laurentine.\n\n\n\nWe have another version of this tale, which is a little more like its\nprototype, the \"Cupid and Psyche\" of Apuleius. In this the monster\ncomes only at night. At first she is horribly frightened at it, but\nlittle by little she becomes accustomed to it, and loves it. At last,\nafter having been left alone for some days, a magnificent young man\nappears to her, a king's son, who had been bewitched into the monster\nuntil some one should love him. Of course they marry and are happy.\n\n\n Estefanella Hirigaray.\n\n\nIn a third version, which was not taken down, the father was a sailor\ninstead of a king.\n\n\n\n\nTHE COBBLER AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS (BLUE BEARD).\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a cobbler who had three\ndaughters. They were very poor. He only earned enough just to feed\nhis children. He did not know what would become of him. He went about\nin his grief, walking, walking sadly on, and he meets a gentleman,\nwho asks him where he is going, melancholy like that. He answers him,\n\n\"Even if I shall tell you, I shall get no relief.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes; who knows? Tell it.\"\n\n\"I have three daughters, and I have not work enough to maintain\nthem. I have famine in the house.\"\n\n\"If it is only that, we will manage it. You will give me one of your\ndaughters, and I will give you so much money.\"\n\nThe father was very grieved to make any such bargain; but at last he\ncomes down to that. He gives him his eldest daughter. This gentleman\ntakes her to his palace, and, after having passed some time there,\nhe said to her that he has a short journey to make--that he will\nleave her all the keys, that she might see everything, but that\nthere is one key that she must not make use of--that it would bring\nmisfortune on her. He locks the door on the young lady. This young\ngirl goes into all the rooms, and finds them very beautiful, and she\nwas curious to see what there was in that which was forbidden. She\ngoes in, and sees heaps of dead bodies. Judge of her fright! With\nher trembling she lets the key fall upon the ground. She trembles\nfor the coming of her husband. He arrives, and asks her if she has\nentered the forbidden chamber. She tells him \"Yes.\" He takes her and\nputs her into an underground dungeon; hardly, hardly did he give her\nenough to eat (to live on), and that was human flesh.\n\nThis cobbler had finished his money, and he was again melancholy. The\ngentleman meets him again, and says to him,\n\n\"Your other daughter is not happy alone; you must give me another\ndaughter. When she is happy, I will send her back; and I will give\nyou so much money.\"\n\nThe father did not like it; but he was so poor that, in order to have\na little money, he gives him his daughter. The gentleman takes her\nhome with him, like the other. After some days he said to her too,\n\n\"I must take a short journey. I will give you all the keys of the\nhouse, but do not touch such a key of such a room.\"\n\nHe locks the house-door, and goes off, after having left her the\nfood she needed. This young girl goes into all the rooms, and, as she\nwas curious, she went to look into the forbidden chamber. She was so\nterribly frightened at the sight of so many dead bodies in this room,\nthat she lets the key fall, and it gets stained. Our young girl was\ntrembling as to what should become of her when the master should come\nback. He arrives, and the first thing he asks--\n\n\"Have you been in that room?\"\n\nShe told him \"Yes.\" He takes her underground, like her other sister.\n\nThis cobbler had finished his money, and he was in misery; when the\ngentleman comes to him again, and says to him,\n\n\"I will give you a great deal of money if you will let your daughter\ncome to my house for a few days; the three will be happier together,\nand I will send you the two back again together.\"\n\nThe father believes it, and gives him his third daughter. The gentleman\ngives him the money, and he takes this young girl, like the others. At\nthe end of some days he leaves her, saying that he is going to make a\nshort journey. He gives her all the keys of the house, saying to her--\n\n\"You will go into all the rooms except this one,\" pointing out the key\nto her. He locks the outside door, and goes off. This young girl goes\nstraight, straight to the forbidden chamber; she opens it, and think\nof her horror at seeing so many dead people. She thought that he would\nkill her too, and, as there were all kinds of arms in this chamber,\nshe takes a sabre with her, and hides it under her dress. She goes a\nlittle further on, and sees her two sisters almost dying with hunger,\nand a young man in the same condition. She takes care of them as well\nas she can till the gentleman comes home. On his arrival, he asks her--\n\n\"Have you been in that room?\"\n\nShe says, \"Yes;\" and, in giving him back the keys, she lets them fall\non the ground, on purpose, and at the instant that this gentleman\nstoops to pick them up, the young lady cuts off his head (with her\nsword). Oh, how glad she was! Quickly she runs to deliver her sisters\nand that young man, who was the son of a king. She sends for her\nfather, the cobbler, and leaves him there with his two daughters,\nand the youngest daughter goes away with her young gentleman, after\nbeing married to him. If they lived well, they died well too.\n\n\n\nIn another version, by Estefanella Hirigaray, we have the more ordinary\ntale of \"Blue Beard\"--that of a widower who has killed twenty wives,\nand marries a twenty-first, who has two brothers. She drops the key\nin the forbidden chamber, and is detected by the blood on it. She\nmanages to write to her brothers, and the dialogue by which she\nendeavours to gain time is rather spirited. She is allowed to put on\nher wedding-dress, etc., to die in. She goes to get ready, and she\nhears the cries of her husband, \"Are you ready?\" \"I am putting on\nmy dress.\" He bawls out again, \"Are you ready?\" \"Give me a moment\nmore.\" \"Are you ready?\" \"I am fastening my dress.\" \"Are you ready\nyet?\" \"I am putting on my stockings.\" And she kept constantly\nlooking out of window to see if her brothers were coming. \"Are\nyou ready?\" \"Stop one moment; I am putting on my shoes.\" \"Are you\nready?\" \"I am brushing my hair.\" \"Are you ready?\" \"Let me put on my\nwreath.\" And she sees her brothers coming on horseback in the forest,\nbut a very long way off. She hears again, \"Are you ready?\" \"I am\ncoming in an instant.\" \"You are coming? I'll come, if you do not come\ndown.\" \"Don't come; I will come down myself, without you.\" He seizes\nher on the stairs to kill her; but the brothers rush in just in time\nto prevent her death, and they put him in prison.\n\nWe heard, also, another version, which, unfortunately, we did not\ntake down. It had something about a horse in it, and was like \"The\nWidow and her Daughters,\" in Campbell, Vol. II., Tale xli., p. 265.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SINGING TREE, THE BIRD WHICH TELLS THE TRUTH, AND THE WATER THAT\nMAKES YOUNG.\n\nLike many others in the world, there were three young girls. They\nwere spinning together, and as girls must always talk about something\nwhile they are spinning, the eldest said:\n\n\"You will not guess what I am thinking about?\"\n\n\"Tell it us, tell it us,\" (said the other two).\n\n\"That I should like to be married to the king's valet.\"\n\n\"And I with his son-in-law,\" said the second.\n\nAnd the third said: \"And I with the king himself.\"\n\nNow, the king lived not far from these girls, and just at that moment\nhe was passing before the door of their house, and heard what they\nsaid. The next day the king asked the eldest:\n\n\"What were you saying yesterday at such a time?\"\n\nAnd she was ashamed to tell him, but the king pressed her so much\nthat at last she told it:\n\n\"I said that I wished to be married to your servant.\"\n\nHe made the second come, and asked her the same question: \"What were\nyou talking about yesterday?\"\n\nShe would not tell; but the king pressed her so much that she said:\n\n\"I--I was saying that I wished to marry your son-in-law.\"\n\nHe sends them back home, and sends for the third, and asks her what she\nsaid the evening before. She never dared to tell it, because that would\nhave been too great an impudence, but at the last she told it him; and\nthe king told her that they must really be married together, because\nshe was so very pretty. This young girl goes running off home. She\ntold her sisters that she is to marry the king, and all three go\nto live in the king's house. The two sisters were very jealous. The\nprincess became in the family-way; and the king was obliged to go to\nanother kingdom. His poor wife was confined of a fine girl. But her\nsisters made the queen believe that she had given birth to a cat,\nand they wrote this too to the king. The king wrote back to them:\n\n\"If it be a cat, take all possible care of it.\" [158]\n\nWhen the king returned he did not mention the cat at all. She became\npregnant a second time, and the king was obliged to go to another\nkingdom, and when the princess was confined her sisters made her\nbelieve that she had given birth to a dog. Think what grief and pain\nthis poor queen suffered. Her sisters wrote to the king that his wife\nhad given birth to a dog, and that without doubt she had something to\ndo with animals. He wrote again: \"If it be a dog, take all possible\ncare of it.\" But they said that they had already thrown it into the\nwater, as they had done with the cat.\n\nFortunately a gardener was there, the same that had been there the\nfirst time. He caught hold of the basket, and finds a beautiful child\ninside. He is very glad, and carries the child to his wife, who puts\nthe infant out to nurse.\n\nThe princess became pregnant the third time. The king had intended to\nstop at home; but at the moment of the confinement he was obliged to\ngo away somewhere, and the sisters wrote to the king that she had been\nconfined of a bear. The king flew into a great rage, and ordered her to\nbe put into a dungeon underground. They gave her a little food through\na hole, so that she might not die of starvation; and nevertheless she\nhad given birth to a handsome boy. The same gardener found this basket\ntoo, which they had thrown into the water. He carries it to his wife,\nand she gave it to the same nurse. They were very happy with it, and\nsaid that Heaven had sent them these three children, and they loved\ntheir father and mother very much; but when they were very old they\nboth died.\n\nThe two brothers and their sister got on very well together. They loved\neach other very much. The boys used to go out hunting and shooting,\nand they were so well off that they had something to give to the\npoor. One day there came an old woman begging, and she said to them:\n\n\"You cannot be happy.\"\n\n\"Yes, yes, we certainly are,\" they answered.\n\nAnd the woman said to them: \"No, no, you want three things before you\ncan be happy--the tree which sings, the bird which tells the truth,\nand the water which makes young again.\"\n\nThe young girl grows sad at that. Her brothers remarked it immediately,\nand they asked her what was the matter with her. But she would not\ntell them. At last they forced her to tell it to them. She told them\nwhat this woman had told her.\n\nThe elder of the brothers sets out immediately, taking with him a horse\nand a little money. He gives an apple to his sister, saying to her:\n[159]\n\n\"If this apple changes I shall be in some trouble, and if it turns\nrotten I shall be dead.\"\n\nAnd he starts off, and travels on, and on, and on. He finds a monk who\ntells him to retrace his steps, that there are great dangers before\nhim; but he will go on notwithstanding. He meets again another monk,\nwho tells him that he will never return. He confesses himself and\nprepares for death, such great dangers will he have to pass through. He\nsaid to him:\n\n\"You will hear terrible cries. It will seem to you as if they will\npull you by your clothes, but never turn your head round.\" [160]\n\nBut our lad grew frightened and turned his head round, and was changed\ninto stone.\n\nAfter some days the apple begins to get bad, and they fall into great\nsorrow because something must have happened to their brother, and\nthe second brother said that he must go off too; and off he goes with\na horse and a little money. Like the other brother he meets a monk,\nwho wishes to stop him; but he said to him that it was all the same to\nhim. He goes on till he meets another monk. This one also said to him:\n\n\"Return on your steps. You will not be able to pass; you will hear\ncries and see horrors and terrible things--you will never be able to\npass through.\"\n\nBut he prepares himself to go forward. He warned him well not to\nlook round. He leaves his horse and sets out. When he has gone a\nshort distance he hears frightful cries, and (sees) terrible things;\nand after having gone some distance further he looks on one side,\nand is changed into stone.\n\nThe apple which he had left with his sister first changes, then goes\nquite rotten. You may judge of the sorrow and the grief of this poor\ngirl. She says to herself that she must dress herself like a man. She\nlocks the door (of their house), and sets out on horseback. The same\nmonk wishes to prevent her going on. But she has a still greater desire\nto do so, and, notwithstanding all she hears, she will go on. She\narrives at the last monk, who was a great saint. He did not recognise\nthat it was a young girl. For a hundred years past he had been on the\nsame spot, until someone should get to the end of the mountain, and\nhe hoped that this young girl might pass. He gives her a bottle into\nwhich she might put the water that makes young again, and says to her:\n\n\"You will sprinkle one drop on each stone, and they will live.\"\n\nShe sets off. The horrible cries did not frighten her. All kinds\nof things were said to her. She goes on and on, constantly running,\nand gets to the top of the mountain, and she is saved.\n\nAt the same instant she hears a thrilling song from a tree, which\nwas warbling like a bird. A bird, too, flies on to her shoulder, and\ntells her so many things that she is quite astounded. But she does not\nlose her time--she takes out her bottle and fills it with water. She\npours a drop on each stone, and finds her brothers at last. Think,\nthink how they all three rejoiced together! They take their horses\n(they too had been changed into stones) and go home with their tree,\nand the bird, and the water.\n\nThey lived very happily. The brothers went out hunting every day,\nand sometimes they met the king. One day the king invited them to\ndine with him, but they said that they must first ask permission\nof their sister. When they came home they asked her, and the bird\nanswered immediately:\n\n\"On condition that the king will come here to-morrow.\"\n\nThey go with this answer to the king, and he says, \"Yes.\"\n\nThey dine very well with the king, but their sister was not at all\npleased; she did not know how to receive the king. The bird says\nto her:\n\n\"Lay the table with a fine cloth, and three dishes; put lentils into\none, parched peas into the other, and haricot beans into the other.\"\n\nNext day the king comes with his two brothers. The king is astonished\nto hear this beautiful tree and this fine singing. He had never heard\nanything so wonderful. He was surprised to see these three dishes,\nand he said to them:\n\n\"Is it not strange to receive a king like this?\"\n\nAnd the bird, hopping out of its cage, begins, \"It is not more strange\nthan to see this young woman pass for a cat. Is she a cat?\"\n\nIn the same way it points to the elder brother, \"Is this a dog,\nthis young man? Is not this a thing more astonishing?\"\n\nThe king is confounded. And the same thing for the third time,\npointing to the second son, \"Is this a bear, this one? Is this not\nan astonishing thing?\"\n\nThe king, in his amazement, does not know what to answer to the bird;\nbut it continues:\n\n\"Is it not a shame to leave one's wife, and make her live eighteen\nyears in a dungeon underground?\"\n\nThe king is terribly frightened, and off he goes with his sons and his\ndaughter, intending to free their mother; but they did not forget the\nprecious water, and they wash this princess in it, and she becomes\nas young as at eighteen years old. Judge of the joy of the king, of\nthe queen, and of their children! The king fell into a great rage,\nand condemns the queen's sisters to be burnt alive in the midst of\nthe market-place, with shirts of sulphur on them.\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\n\n\nWe have also the more common version of this story--of an aged\nking with three sons. He reads of this water, and the three sons\nsuccessively set out to fetch it. The two first fail, and stop,\ndrinking, &c., in a certain city. The youngest meets an old woman,\nwho tells him how to charm all the beasts in a forest he has to pass\nthrough, and how to get the water, but he is not to take anything\nelse. But he steals the bird, and the magic horse as well, and when\nhe gets to the forest finds all the animals awake. The old woman\nappears again, and gives him a magic stick, with the aid of which\nhe passes. He finds his brothers against the advice of the old lady,\nand they throw him into a pit and take away the water, the horse, and\nthe bird; but the water has no effect in their hands. The old woman\nappears, and sends a fox to help him out of the pit. He comes home,\nthe horse neighs, the bird sings, he gives the water to his father,\nand from one hundred years old he becomes twenty.\n\n\n E. Hirigaray.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WHITE BLACKBIRD.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a king who had three\nsons. This king was blind, and he had heard one day that there was a\nking who had a white blackbird, which gave sight to the blind. When\nhis eldest son heard that, he said to his father that he would go\nand fetch this white blackbird as quickly as possible.\n\nThe father said to him, \"I prefer to remain blind rather than to\nseparate myself from you, my child.\"\n\nThe son says to him, \"Have no fear for me; with a horse laden with\nmoney I will find it and bring it to you.\"\n\nHe goes off then, far, far, far away. When night came he stopped. One\nevening he stopped at an inn where there were three very beautiful\nyoung ladies. They said to him that they must have a game of cards\ntogether. He refuses; but after many prayers and much pressing\nthey begin. He loses all his money, his horse, and also has a large\ndebt against his word of honour. In this country it was the custom\nfor persons who did not pay their debts to be put in prison, and if\nthey did not pay after a given time they were put to death, and then\nafterwards they were left at the church doors until someone should\npay their debts. [161] They therefore put this king's son in prison.\n\nThe second son, seeing that his brother did not return, said to his\nfather that he wished to go off, (and asked him) to give him a horse\nand plenty of money, and that certainly he would not lose his time. He\nsets off, and, as was fated to occur, he goes to the inn where his\nbrother had been ruined. After supper these young ladies say to him:\n\n\"You must have a game of cards with us.\"\n\nHe refuses, but these young ladies cajole him so well, and turn him\nround their fingers, that he ends by consenting. They begin then,\nand he also loses all his money, his horse, and makes a great many\ndebts besides. They put him in prison like his brother.\n\nAfter some time the king and his youngest son are in deep grief\nbecause some misfortune must have happened to them, and the youngest\nasks leave to set out.\n\n\"I assure you that I will do something. Have no anxiety on my account.\"\n\nThis poor father lets him go off, but not with a good will. He kept\nsaying to him that he would prefer to be always blind; but the son\nwould set off. His father gives him a beautiful horse, and as much\ngold as his horse could carry, and his crown. He goes off far, far,\nfar away. They rested every night, and he happened, like his brothers,\nto go to the same inn. After supper these young ladies say to him:\n\n\"It is the custom for everyone to play at cards here.\"\n\nHe says that it is not for him, and that he will not play. The young\nladies beg him ever so much, but they do not succeed with this one in\nany fashion whatever. They cannot make him play. The next morning he\ngets up early, takes his horse, and goes off. He sees that they are\nleading two men to death. He asks what they have done, and recognises\nhis two brothers. They tell him that they have not paid their debts\nwithin the appointed time, and that they must be put to death. But\nhe pays the debts of both, and goes on. Passing before the church he\nsees that they are doing something. He asks what it is. They tell him\nthat it is a man who has left some debts, and that until someone pays\nthem he will be left there still. He pays the debts again.\n\nHe goes on his journey, and arrives at last at the king's house\nwhere the blackbird was. Our king's son asks if they have not a\nwhite blackbird which restores sight. They tell him, \"Yes.\" Our young\ngentleman relates how that his father is blind, and that he has come\nsuch a long way to fetch it to him.\n\nThe king says to him, \"I will give you this white blackbird, when you\nshall have brought me from the house of such a king a young lady who\nis there.\"\n\nOur young man goes off far, far, far away. When he is near the king's\nhouse a fox [162] comes out and says to him, \"Where are you going to?\"\n\nHe answers, \"I want a young lady from the king's house.\"\n\nHe gives his horse to the fox to take care of, and the fox says to him:\n\n\"You will go to such a room; there will be the young lady whom you\nneed. You will not recognise her because she has old clothes on, but\nthere are beautiful dresses hanging up in the room. You will make\nher put on one of those. As soon as she shall have it on, she will\nbegin to sing and will wake up everybody in the house.\"\n\nHe goes inside as the fox had told him. He finds the young lady. He\nmakes her put on the beautiful dresses, and as soon as she has them\non she begins to sing and to carol. Everyone rushes into this young\nlady's room. The king in a rage wished to put him in prison, but the\nking's son shows his crown, and tells how such a king sent him to\nfetch this young lady, and when once he has brought her he promises\nhim the white blackbird to open his father's eyes.\n\nThe king then says to him, \"You must go to the house of such a king,\nand you must bring me from there a white horse, which is very,\nvery beautiful.\"\n\nOur young man sets out, and goes on, and on, and on. As he comes near\nthe house of the king, the fox appears to him and says to him:\n\n\"The horse which you want is in such a place, but he has a bad saddle\non. You will put on him that which is hanging up, and which is handsome\nand brilliant. As soon as he shall have it on he will begin to neigh,\nso much as not to be able to stop. [163] All the king's people will\ncome to see what is happening, but with your crown you will always\nget off scot free.\"\n\nHe goes off as the fox had said to him. He finds the horse with the\nbad saddle, and puts on him the fine one, and then the horse begins\nto neigh and cannot stop himself. People arrive, and they wish to put\nthe young man in prison, but he shows them his crown, and relates\nwhat king had sent him to fetch this horse in order to get a young\nlady. They give him the horse, and he sets off.\n\nHe comes to the house of the king where the young lady was. He shows\nhis horse with its beautiful saddle, and asks the king if he would not\nlike to see the young lady take a few turns on this beautiful horse\nin the courtyard. The king says, \"Yes.\" As the young lady was very\nhandsomely dressed when she mounted the horse, our young man gives\nthe horse a little touch with his stick, and they set off like the\nlightning. The king's son follows them, and they go both together to\nthe king who had the white blackbird. They ask him for the blackbird,\nand the bird goes of itself on to the knees of the young lady, who\nwas still on horseback. The king's son gives him a blow, and they\nset off at full gallop; he also escapes in order to rejoin them. They\njourney a long, long time, and approach their city.\n\nHis brothers had heard the news how that their brother was coming\nwith the white blackbird. These two brothers had come back at last\nto their father's house, and they had told their father a hundred\nfalsehoods; how that robbers had taken away their money, and many\nthings like that. The two brothers plotted together, and said that\nthey must hinder their brother from reaching the house, and that they\nmust rob him of the blackbird.\n\nThey keep expecting him always. One day they saw him coming, and\nthey say that they must throw him into a cistern, [164] and they do\nas they say. They take the blackbird and throw him and the lady into\nthe water, and leave the horse outside. The fox comes to them on the\nbrink of the cistern, and says to them:\n\n\"I will leap in there; you will take hold of my tail one by one,\nand I will save you.\"\n\nThe two wicked brothers had taken the blackbird, but he escaped from\nthem as they entered the house, and went on to the white horse. Judge\nof the joy of the youngest brother when he sees that nothing is wanting\nto them! They go to the king. As soon as they enter the young lady\nbegins to carol and to sing, the bird too, and the horse to neigh. The\nblackbird of its own accord goes on to the king's knees, and there by\nits songs restored him to sight. The son relates to his father what\nlabours he underwent until he had found these three things, and he\ntold him how he had saved two men condemned to death by paying their\ndebts, and that they were his two brothers; that he had also paid\nthe debts of a dead man, and that his soul (the fox was his soul)\nhad saved him from the cistern into which his brothers had thrown him.\n\nThink of the joy of the father, and his sorrow at the same time, when\nhe saw how wisely this young son had always behaved, and how wicked\nhis two brothers had been. As he had well earned her, he was married\nto the young lady whom he had brought away with him, and they lived\nhappily and joyfully. The father sent the two brothers into the desert\nto do penance. If they had lived well, they would have died well.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SISTER AND HER SEVEN BROTHERS.\n\nThere was a man and a woman very poor, and over-burdened with\nchildren. They had seven boys. When they had grown up a little, they\nsaid to their mother that it would be better that they should go on\ntheir own way--that they would get on better like that. The mother\nlet them go with great regret. After their departure she gave birth\nto a little girl, and when this little girl was grown up a little she\nwent one day to a neighbor's to amuse herself, and having played some\nchildish trick the neighbor said to her:\n\n\"You will be a good one, you too, as your brothers have been.\" [165]\n\nThe child goes home and says to her mother, \"Mother, have I some\nbrothers?\" [165]\n\nThe mother says, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Where are they?\"\n\n\"Oh, gone off somewhere.\"\n\nThe daughter said to her, \"I must go too, then. Give me a piece of\nlinen enough to make seven shirts.\"\n\nAnd she would go off at once. The mother was very sorry for it,\nhaving already seven children away from home, and the only one she\nhad wished to go away. She let her go then.\n\nThis young girl went off, far, far, far away. She asks in a town if\nthey know seven brothers who work together. They tell her \"No.\" She\ngoes off to a mountain and asks there too, and they tell her in\nwhat house they live. She goes to this house, and sees that all the\nhousehold work is to be done, and that there is nobody at home. She\nmakes the beds, and cleans the whole house, and puts it in order. She\nprepares the dinner, and then hides herself in the dust-hole. Her\nbrothers come home, and are astonished to see all the household work\ndone and the dinner ready. They begin to look if there is anyone in\nthe house, but they never think of looking in the dust-hole, and they\ngo off again to their work. Before night this young girl does all the\nrest of the work, and had the supper ready against the return of her\nbrothers, and hides herself again in the dust-hole. Her brothers are\nastonished, and again search the house, but find nothing.\n\nThey go to bed, and this young girl takes to sewing and sews a whole\nshirt. She gives it to her eldest brother, and in the same way she\nmade a shirt every night, and took it to one of her brothers. They\ncould not understand how that all happened. They always said that\nthey would not go to sleep, but they fell asleep as soon as they\nwere in bed. When the turn of the youngest came to have the shirt,\nhe said to them, \"Certainly I will not fall asleep.\" After he is in\nbed the young girl goes and says to him, thinking that he is asleep:\n\n\"Your turn has come now at last, my dearly loved brother.\"\n\nAnd she begins to put the shirt on him on the bed, when her brother\nsays to her:\n\n\"You are then my sister, you?\"\n\nAnd he kisses her. She tells him then how she had heard that she\nhad brothers, and how she had wished to go to them to help them. The\nother brothers get up and rejoice, learning that it was their sister\nwho had done all the household work.\n\nThe brothers forbad her ever to go to such a neighbour's, whatever\nmight happen. But one day, without thinking about it, when she was\nbehindhand with her work, she went running to the house to ask for some\nfire, [166] in order to make the supper ready quicker. She was very\nwell received; the woman offered to give her everything she wanted, but\nshe said she was satisfied with a little fire. This woman was a witch,\nand gives her a parcel of herbs, telling her to put them as they were\ninto the footbath--that they relieved the fatigue very much. [167]\nEvery evening the seven brothers washed their feet at the same time\nin a large copper. She therefore put these herbs into the copper,\nand as soon as they had dipped their feet in they became six cows,\nand the seventh a Breton cow. [168] This poor girl was in such trouble\nas cannot be told. The poor cows all used to kiss their sister, but\nthe young girl always loved much best the Breton one. Every day she\ntook them to the field, and stopped with them to guard them.\n\nOne day when she was there the son of a king passes by, and is\nquite astonished to see so beautiful a girl there. He speaks to her,\nand tells her that he wishes to marry her. The young girl says to\nhim that she is very poor, and that that cannot be. The king says,\n\"Yes, yes, yes, that makes no difference.\"\n\nThe young girl makes as conditions that, if she marries him, he must\nnever kill these cows, and especially this little Breton one. [169]\nThe king promises it her, and they are married.\n\nThe princess takes these cows home with her; they were always well\ntreated. The princess became pregnant, and was confined while the king\nwas absent. The witch comes, and takes her out of her bed, and throws\nher down a precipice that there was in the king's grounds, and the\nwitch puts herself into the princess' bed. When the king comes home,\nhe finds her very much changed, and tells her that he would not have\nrecognised her. The princess tells him that it was her sufferings\nthat had made her thus, and, in order to cure her more quickly,\nhe must have the Breton cow killed.\n\nThe king says to her--\n\n\"What! Did you not make me promise that she should never be killed? How\nis it you ask me that?\"\n\nThe witch considered that one her greatest enemy; and, as she left\nhim no peace, he sent a servant to fetch the cows. He finds them all\nseven by the precipice; they were lowing, and he tried to drive them\nto the house, but he could not do it in any way; and he hears a voice,\nwhich says,\n\n\"It is not for myself that I grieve so much, but for my child, and for\nmy husband, and for my dearly-loved cows. Who will take care of them?\"\n\nThe lad could not succeed (in driving them), and goes and tells to the\nking what is taking place. The king himself goes to the precipice,\nand hears this voice. He quickly throws a long cord down, and, when\nhe thinks that she has had time to take hold of it, he pulls it up,\nand sees that they have got the princess there. Judge of the joy of\nthe king! She relates to her husband all that the witch had done\nto her, both formerly and now. The king goes to the witch's bed,\nand says to her,\n\n\"I know your villanies now; and, if you do not immediately change\nthese cows, as they were before, into fine boys, I will put you into\na red-hot oven.\"\n\nThe witch makes them fine men, and, notwithstanding that, the king had\nher burnt in a red-hot oven, and threw her ashes into the air. The\nking lived happily with his wife, and her seven brothers married\nladies of the court, and sent for their mother, and they all lived\nhappily together.\n\n\n Louise Lanusse.\n\n\n\n\nWe have also, in Basque, a version of Madame d'Aulnoy's \"Abenan.\" It\nseems to be a mixture of various legends strung together by this\nfanciful writer; but we do not think it worth either our own or our\nreaders' while to try to disentangle its separate parts. The pretty\nlittle tale of \"The Faded Roses\" has been told us from two quite\ndifferent sources. This tale, though without doubt derived from the\nFrench, we can trace up in Basque further than any other. It was\ntold us by a lady of between seventy and eighty, who heard it as a\nchild from an old nurse, whom she distinctly remembers to have told\nher that she learnt it as a child from her mother. It must thus have\nexisted in Basque over a century.\n\nWe have also two versions of Tom Thumb, who is called in the one\n\"Ukhailtcho,\" or \"Baratchuri\"--\"a clove of garlic;\" [170] in the other,\n\"Mundua-mila-pes,\" both containing the episode of his being swallowed\nby an ox; in the last, he himself is swallowed, as they are washing\nout the ox' entrails, by \"a thief of a dog\"--\"Oho\u00f1 chakhurra.\" It\nis singular that the same episode is preserved in the Gaelic;\ncf. Campbell, Vol. III., p. 114.\n\nWe have in MS. a long Rabelesian legend, which opens like\nCenac-Moncaut's tale of \"Le Coffret de la Princesse,\" in his\n\"Litt\u00e9rature Populaire de la Gascogne\" (Paris, 1868). A king will\ngive one of his daughters to whoever can guess what the skin of a\ncertain animal is. It is the devil who guesses it, and who marries\nthe princess. She is saved by the \"white mare,\" which appears in\nso many of our tales. She then dresses as a man, but, nevertheless,\na prince falls in love with her; and then follow a lot of scenes, the\nconverse of the adventure of Achilles in Scyros. They marry; but, after\nseven years, the devil-husband reappears. After strange adventures,\nthey are again succoured and united by the \"white mare,\" who binds\nthe devil for ever, and then flies to heaven as a white pigeon, and\nthe rest live happily ever after. This legend is from \"Laurentine,\nSister of Toutou,\" and may be mingled with Cascarrot legends. We have\ngiven it as derived from the French, partly because the heroine's name\nis Fifine, and because this, and \"Petit Perroquet and the Tartaro,\"\nare the only tales in our collection in which the term \"prince\" is\nemployed in the Basque instead of \"the king's son.\" Cf. Campbell's\n\"Highland Tales,\" passim.\n\n\n\nWe owe the following notes to the kindness of M. H. Vinson, Judge at\nLa R\u00e9ole, Gironde. They may be of assistance to some of our readers\nin the endeavour to trace out the length of time which is required\nfor the translations of exotic legends to become popular traditions\namong a people who know the language of the translation only by\n\"social contact.\"\n\n\nPremi\u00e8res Editions de la Premi\u00e8re Traduction en Fran\u00e7ais des Mille\net une Nuits.\n\n Les Mille et une Nuits, Contes Arabes, trad. par\n Galland. Paris, 12 vols. in 12mo. 1704-1717\n Les Mille et une Nuits, Contes Arabes, trad. par\n Galland. Paris, 6 vols. in 12mo. 1774\n Les Mille et une Nuits, Revues et Corrig\u00e9es par\n M. Caussin de Percival. Paris, Lenormant, 9 vols. 8vo. 1806\n\nPremi\u00e8re Traduction de Bidpai et Loqman.\n\n Contes et Fables Indiennes de Bidpai et de Loqman,\n trad. (posth.) par Ante Galland. Paris, 2 vols. in 12mo. 1724\n Contes et Fables Indiennes, Traduction d'apr\u00e8s la\n Version Turque d'Ali-Tchelebt-ben-Salet, par Galland,\n termin\u00e9e et publi\u00e9e par D. Gardonne. Paris, 3 vols. 12mo. 1778\n Fables de Loqman, \u00c9dition Arabe, accomp. d'une Traduction\n Franc: (par M. Mariel) au Caire, de l'imp. Nation, au VII.\n 8vo. [171] 1799\n\nContes de Grimm.\n\n Contes de la Famille, par les Fr\u00e8res Grimm, traduit de\n l'Allemand, par M. Martin et Pitre-Chevalier. Paris,\n Renouard, 12mo. 1846\n Edition Originale, Kinder und Hausm\u00e4rchen. Berlin,\n 2 vols. 16mo. 1812-14\n\nLes Plus Anciens Recueils de Contes en Fran\u00e7ais.\n\n Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles. Paris, Ant. Verard,\n pet. in fol. Goth. 1486\n Le Parangon de Nouvelles Honnestes. Lyon, in 8vo. 1531\n Les Nouvelles R\u00e9creations de Bonaventure des Periers.\n Lyon, in 4to. 1558\n L'Heptameron de Margaret de Valois. Paris, 8vo. 1559\n Baliverneries ou Contes Nouveaux d'Entrapel, publ.\n par Noel Du Fail. Paris, 16mo. 1548\n Les Ser\u00e9es de Guillaume Bouchet. Poitiers, 4to.\n Paris, 3 vols. 12mo. 1584, 1608\n Nouvelles Choisies, par Ch. Sorel. Paris, 2 vols. 8vo. 1645\n Contes des F\u00e9es, par Madame d'Aulnoy. 1630-1705\n Contes des F\u00e9es, par Ch. Perrault. 1697\n\n\n\n\n\n\nVII.--RELIGIOUS TALES.\n\n\nWe give these tales simply as specimens of a literature which in\nmedi\u00e6val times rivalled in popularity and interest all other kinds of\nliterature put together. That even yet it is not without attraction,\nand that to minds which in some aspects seem most opposed to its\ninfluence, the preface of the late Charles Kingsley to \"The Hermits\"\nconclusively shows. Such tales have, too, a deeper interest to all\nwho study the manner in which at a certain stage of intellectual\ncultivation the human mind seems alone able to take hold upon religious\ntruth; or, at least, the side on which it is then most susceptible\nto its impressions. It is easy enough to laugh at these legends,\nand to throw them aside in contempt, as alternately irreverent\nor superstitious; but their very existence has an historical value\nwhich no ecclesiastical historian should neglect. Their grossness and\nrudeness to a great extent hide from us their real tenderness and true\nreligious feeling; but they were, doubtless, to those who first heard\nthem, and are still to those who now recite them, fully as instructive,\nand have quite as beneficial, purifying, and ennobling influence on\nthem as the most polished and refined of the religious tales of the\npresent day have on the young of our own generation.\n\n\n\n\nFOURTEEN. [172]\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a mother and her son. The\nlad was as strong as fourteen men together, but he was also obliged\nto eat as much as fourteen men. They were poor, and on that account\nhe often suffered from hunger. He said one day to his mother, that\nit would be better for him to try and go somewhere else to see if he\ncould be any better off; that he could not bear it any longer like\nthis; that he was pained to see how much it cost her to feed him.\n\nThe mother with regret allows him to depart. He goes off then far,\nfar, far away, and comes to a large house. He asks if they want a\nservant there, and they answer that they will speak to the master. The\nmaster himself comes and says to him, \"I employ experienced labourers\ngenerally, but I will take you nevertheless.\"\n\nThe lad answers, \"I must forewarn you, that I eat as much as fourteen\nmen, but I do work in proportion.\"\n\nHe asks him, \"What do you know how to do?\"\n\nHe says to him, \"I know a little of everything.\"\n\nThe next day the master takes him into a field, and says to him:\n\n\"You must mow all this meadow.\" He says to him, \"Yes.\"\n\nThe master goes away. At eight o'clock the servant comes with\nthe breakfast. She had a basket full of provisions; there were six\nloaves, half a ham, and six bottles of wine. Our lad was delighted.\nThe servant was astonished to see that all the meadow was mown, and\nshe goes and tells it to the master. He too was pleased to see that\nhe had such a valuable servant. He tells him to go and cut another\nmeadow. Before mid-day he had it all down. The servant comes with\nthe dinner, and was astonished to see how much work he had done. She\nbrought him seven loaves, seven bottles of wine, and ever so much ham,\nbut he cleared it all off. The master gives him again another field\nof grass to cut. Before night he had done it easily. Our master was\ndelighted at it, and gave him plenty to eat. The servant too was\nhighly pleased.\n\nAs long as he had work the master said nothing, but afterwards,\nwhen he saw that all the harvest served only for the servant to eat,\nhe did not know how to get rid of him. He sends him to a forest in\nwhich he knew that there were terrible beasts, and told him to bring\nwood from there. As soon as he has arrived a bear attacks him. He\ntakes him by the nostrils and throws him on the ground, and twists\nhis neck. He keeps pulling up all the young trees, and again a wolf\nattacks him; he takes him like the bear by the nostrils, throws him\ndown, and twists his neck.\n\nIn the evening he arrives at the house, and the master is astonished\nto see him return. He gave him a good supper; but he was not pleased,\nbecause he had torn up all the young trees. At night the master turns\nover in his head what he could do with his servant, and he determines\nto send him into a still more terrible forest, in the hope that some\nanimal will devour him. Our lad goes off again. He tears up many large\ntrees, when a lion attacks him. He kills him in a moment. There comes\nagainst him another terrible animal, and he finishes him off too. In\nthe evening, when he comes home, he said to himself:\n\n\"Why does my master send me into the forest? Perhaps he is tired\nof me.\"\n\nAnd he resolves to tell him that he will leave the house. When he\narrives his master receives him well, but cannot understand how it\nis that he comes back. He gives him a good supper, and our lad says\nto him:\n\n\"It is better for me to go off somewhere. There is no more work for\nme here.\"\n\nYou may reckon how pleased the master was. He gives him his wages\nat once, and he goes away. He goes off, far, far, far away; but soon\nhis money is exhausted, and he does not know what is to become of him.\n\nHe sees two men standing on the bank of a river. He went up to them,\nand the men ask him if he will cross them over to the other side of\nthe water. He answers, \"Yes,\" and takes them both at once on his back;\nand these men were our Lord and St. Peter. Our Lord says to him in\nthe middle of the stream:\n\n\"I am heavy.\"\n\n\"I will throw you into the water if you do not keep quiet, for I have\nquite enough to do.\"\n\nWhen they had come to the other side, the Lord said to him,\n\n\"What must I give you as a reward?\"\n\n\"Whatever you like; only give it quickly, for I am very hungry.\"\n\nHe gives him a sack, and says to him, \"Whatever you wish for will\ncome into this sack.\"\n\nAnd he goes off, far away. He comes to a town, and passing before a\nbaker's shop he smells an odour of very good hot loaves, and he says to\nthem, \"Get into my sack,\" and his sack is quite full of them. He goes\noff to a corner of a forest, and there he lives by his sack. He returns\nagain into the town, and passes before a pork-butcher's. There were\nthere black puddings, sausages, hams, and plenty of good things. He\nsays, \"Come into my sack,\" and as soon as he has said it the sack\nis full. He goes again to empty it as he had done with the loaves,\nand he returns into the town. In front of an inn he says, \"Come into\nmy sack.\" There were there bottles of good wine and of liqueurs,\nand to all these good things he says, \"Come into my sack,\" and his\nsack was filled.\n\nHe goes off to his corner of the forest, and there he had provision\nfor some days; and, when he had well stuffed himself, he went out for\na walk. One day he saw some young girls weeping, and he asks them,\n\"What is the matter with you?\" They answer that their father is very\nill. He asks if he can see him. They tell him, \"Yes.\"\n\nHe goes there then, and the poor man tells him how he has given his\nsoul to the devil, and that he was expecting him that very day, and\nhe was trembling even then. Our Fourteen asks if he will let him be\non a corner of the bed, that he might see the devil. He tells him,\n\"Yes.\" He then hides himself with his sack. A moment after the devil\narrives, and our lad says to him:\n\n\"Come into my sack.\"\n\nAnd as soon as he had said it, in goes the devil. Judge of the joy\nof our man! Our lad goes off to some stone-breakers, and says to them:\n\n\"Hit hard! the devil is in this sack.\"\n\nThey went at it, blow upon blow, stroke upon stroke, and the devil\nwent:\n\n\"Ay! ay! ay! let me out! let me go! ay! ay! ay!\"\n\nThe lad said, \"You shall bring me, then, a paper, signed by all the\ndevils of hell, that you have no rights over this man.\" The devil\nagrees, and he lets him go. In a moment he comes back with the paper,\nand the lad makes him go into the sack again, and has him beaten by\nthe stone-breakers, while he carries the precious paper to the former\nman; and think how happy they were in that house!\n\nOur man goes off, walking, walking, on, and on, and always on, and\nhe grew tired of this world. He said to himself, \"I should like to\ngo to Heaven.\" He goes on, and on, and on, but he comes to hell;\nbut as soon as ever the devils saw that it was Fourteen they shut\nall the gates. He goes off again, far, far, very far, and comes to\nHeaven. There the gates are shut against him. What does Fourteen\ndo? He put his sack in through the keyhole, and says to himself:\n\n\"Go into the sack.\"\n\nAs soon as he has said it he finds himself inside, and he is there\nstill behind the door; and when you go to Heaven, look about well,\nand you will see him there.\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\n\n\nWe add another version of this popular tale, collected by M. Vinson\nfrom M. Larralde de Lesaca, of St. P\u00e9e-sur-Nivelle:--\n\n\n\n\nJESUS CHRIST AND THE OLD SOLDIER.\n\nOnce upon a time, when Jesus Christ was going with His disciples to\nJerusalem, He met an old man, and asked alms of him. The old man said\nto Him:\n\n\"I am an old soldier, and they sent me away from the army with only\ntwo sous, because I was no longer good for anything. I have already\ngiven away one sou on the road; I have only one left, and I give that\nto you.\"\n\nThen our Lord says to him, \"Which would you prefer, a sack of gold\nor Paradise?\"\n\nSt. Peter gently nudges the old man in the ribs, \"Say Paradise.\"\n\n\"What! Paradise!\" says the old soldier. \"Afterwards we shall have\nParadise as well. I prefer a sack of gold.\"\n\nAnd our Lord gives him the sack of gold, and He said as He gave it\nto him:\n\n\"When this sack is empty it will be sufficient to say, 'Artchila\nmurtchila! go into my sack,' and everything you wish for will go into\nthe sack.\"\n\nOur man takes the sack and goes on his road. When he had gone a little\nway he passed before the door of an inn, and sees a fine leg of mutton\non the table. He was hungry, and, opening his sack, he said:\n\n\"Artchila murtchila! fine leg of mutton, come into my sack!\" and in\nan instant it was in it; and in the same way he had everything he\nwished for.\n\nOne day the devil came to tempt this old man, but, as soon as he\nheard him, he opened his sack and said:\n\n\"Artchila murtchila! go into my sack!\"\n\nAnd the devil himself entered into the sack. He takes the sack with the\ndevil in it to a blacksmith, and for a long time and very vigorously\nhe pounded it with his sledgehammer.\n\nWhen the old soldier died he went to Paradise. When he arrived there\nSt. Peter appears, and says to him:\n\n\"Why are you standing there? And what are you asking for?\"\n\n\"Paradise.\"\n\n\"What! Paradise!! Did not you prefer to have a sack of gold when God\ngave you the choice? Be off from here. Be off to hell. There are the\ngates, there.\"\n\nOur old man, in deepest sadness, goes to the door of hell, and knocks;\nbut as soon as the door was opened the devil recognised his soldier,\nand began to cry out:\n\n\"Don't let him come in! Don't let him come in! He will cause us too\nmuch trouble, and too many misfortunes. He is so very vicious!\"\n\nAnd he will not receive him; so he returns again to Paradise, and God\ncommanded St. Peter to let this man enter who had been such a foe to\nthe devil.\n\n\n\n\nTHE POOR SOLDIER AND THE RICH MAN.\n\nLike many others in the world, there was a man and his wife. They had\nan only son. The time for the conscription arrived. He went away with\nmuch regret. At the end of the seven years he was returning home with\nfive sous in his pocket. As he was walking along a poor man came up to\nhim, and asked charity in the Name of God. He gave him a sou, telling\nhim that he had only five sous, but that he could not refuse at the\nName of God. A moment after another poor man presents himself, and asks\ncharity in the Name of God. He gives to him, telling him repeatedly:\n\n\"I, who had only five sous to take home after seven years of service--I\nhave already given away one of them; but I cannot refuse you--I shall\nhave still enough left to get a breakfast with.\"\n\nAnd he goes on, but a moment after comes another poor man, and he\ngives again. This poor man says to him:\n\n\"You will go to such a house, and you must ask charity of M. Tahentozen\nin the Name of God. He gives charity to no one; but he will ask you in\nfrom curiosity, and to hear the news. When you have told him all that\nyou have seen, he will ask you where you have come from. You must say\nthat you come from Heaven, but that you have seen nothing there but\npoor and maimed people, and that in hell there was nothing but rich\nmen; and that at the gate of hell there are two devils sitting in\narm-chairs, 'and I saw one arm-chair empty, and I went and asked whom\nit was for; and there came two devils from the gate, limping as if they\nwere lame, and they said: \"This is for M. Tahentozen. He never gives\nanything in charity, and, if he does not change, his place is there.\"'\"\n\nOur soldier goes as he has been told, and asks charity in the Name of\nGod. But the servant, as she always did, sent him away. The master,\nhaving heard someone, asks the servant who is there. The servant\nanswers that it is a soldier who asks for charity. He tells her to\nbring him up, in order to ask the news. Our soldier tells him all\nthat the poor man had told him to say. And there upon the rich man\nbegins to reflect, and he keeps the soldier at his house, and makes\nhim rich, and the rest (of his money) he divides among the poor.\n\n\n Gachina,\n the Net-maker.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WIDOW AND HER SON. [173]\n\nOnce upon a time, and like many others in the world, there was a\nwidow who had a son. This son was so good to his mother that they\nloved one another beyond all that can be told. One day this son said\nto his mother that he must go to Rome. The mother was in the greatest\ndistress, but she let him go. (At parting) she gave him three apples,\nand said to him:\n\n\"If you make acquaintance (with anyone) on the road, and if you are\nthirsty, give him one of these apples to divide; and he who will\ngive you back the largest part, he will be a good friend to you for\nthe journey.\"\n\nHe set out then. When he has gone a little way he falls in with three\nmen. They made acquaintance, and they told him that they were going to\nRome. They went on, and on, and on, and as talking makes one thirsty,\nthe widow's son said to them:\n\n\"I have in my pocket an apple which my mother gave me at starting;\nwe will eat it. Here, take and divide it.\"\n\nOne of them divides it, and gives him the smallest part. When he\nsaw that he made some excuse and quitted his companions. He goes\ntravelling on, on, on, along the road, when he meets with three\nmonks. They tell him that they are going to Rome, and offer to make\ntheir journey together. When they had gone a little way, they get\nthirsty also. The widow's son says to them:\n\n\"I have an apple which my mother gave me at starting. Here it is;\ntake and divide it.\"\n\nThey, too, were no better comrades than the others. They give him only\na small piece. Fortunately he remembers the advice of his mother,\nand he leaves them. He goes on a short way alone, and sees in the\ndistance something shining under an oak; as he approaches he sees\nthat it is a king. He tells him where he is going, and learns that he\ntoo is going to Rome. The king engages him to rest himself along with\nhim, and he stays there a long time; and at length they get thirsty,\nand the son of the widow gives him the last apple, telling him that it\nis his mother who gave it him at starting. The king's son divides it,\nand gives him the largest piece. The son of the widow is rejoiced that\nhe has found a good comrade, and they vow great friendship under the\noak. The son of the widow engages himself to bring the king's son to\nRome alive or dead, and the other binds himself to serve and aid him\nas long as he has a drop of blood in his veins. Resuming their journey\nthey go on, and on, and on, and at length night surprises them, and\nthey do not know where to go to. They meet a young girl who was going\nto the fountain. They ask her if shelter would be given them in the\nhouse which they see there.\n\nShe answers \"Yes;\" and then, lowering her voice, she adds, \"Yes,\nto your misfortune.\"\n\nIt was only the widow's son who heard these last words. So they go\nthere, and enter, and are very well received. They had a good supper\ngiven them, and a good bed on the third story. The widow's son puts\nthe prince on the outside of the bed, and he himself goes next the\nwall. The former falls asleep immediately, because he was very tired;\nbut the widow's son was kept awake by his fear, and, just as twelve\no'clock struck, he hears someone coming up stairs, and sees the owner\ncome into the bed-room with a large knife in his hand. The mistress\nheld the light and the servant a basin. They come near and cut the\nthroat of the king's son, and carry him down stairs. While they are\ndoing this the widow's son gets out on the roof, and from there he\nshouts and cries out for the justice. When he had made himself heard,\nhe told the people what had taken place. As they had never before heard\nanything like this of the people in the house, they would not believe\nhim, and put him in prison. The next day he was condemned to death.\n\nBefore dying he asks one favour. It is granted him. He then asks\nfor two blood-hounds to go and search the house with. They grant him\nthat, and he goes with the servants of the justice. After having gone\nover the whole castle, without having found one drop of blood, they\ngo down to the cellar. The dogs kept smelling about, but the master\nrefused to open the door, saying there was nothing there but dirt and\nrubbish. They told him that he must open it all the same, and there\nthey found the king's son with his crown. This was all they wanted.\n\nThey set the widow's son at liberty; and he asks for the body of\nthe king's son, and puts it into a sack. He takes the sack on his\nshoulders, and starts for Rome, where he arrives fatigued and worn out;\nbut he has kept his word.\n\nHe goes to see the Holy Father, and told him all that had taken place,\nand what had happened to his friend.\n\nOur Holy Father says to him, \"To-morrow, at the moment of the\nElevation, you will place the head on the body.\"\n\nHe does so, and at the very same moment the body of the king's son\nis seized with a trembling, and he calls out--\n\n\"Where am I?\"\n\nThe widow's son answers, \"At Rome. Do you not remember how your throat\nwas cut yesterday? And I myself have carried you, as I promised,\nto Rome.\"\n\nThe king's son went to pay his visit to our Holy Father, and (after\nthat) they set out (home). And when they had gone a long way, they\ncome to the oak where they had (first) made each other's acquaintance,\nand it is there, too, that they must part.\n\nThey renew their promises (to each other). The king's son takes\noff his ring, and gives it to the other as a keep-sake to remember\nhim by. And the king's son, on counting his money, remarks that he\nhas just the same sum as he had when he was under the oak the last\ntime. And they quit each other, each to go to his own home.\n\nWhen the widow's son reaches home, the mother is delighted to see her\nson again, and the son also (to see his mother). But the next day he\nwas covered with a frightful disease, which was very like leprosy,\nand it had an infectious smell; but, fortunately, the mother did not\nsmell it. The poor mother did all that she could to cure her son,\nbut nothing relieved him. She heard that there was a monk in the\nneighbourhood, a great saint, who cured diseases. She sends for him,\nand the widow's son relates to him his journey to Rome, and all that\nhad taken place there, and he tells also the promises which they had\nmade to each other.\n\nThen the monk says to him, \"If you wish to be cured, there is only\none remedy--you must wash yourself in the blood of this king.\"\n\nThis news made the young man very sad, but his mother would start\nthe very next day; and they set out on their journey in an old\ncarriage. Everyone where they passed stopped their noses, and said,\n\"Pheu! pheu!\" After some time they came to the king's house. The mother\nasks leave to speak to the king, but a servant drives her far away,\nbecause of the smell, telling her not to approach nearer. So she\ncould not say anything to the king. But one day the king goes out,\nand sees the carriage, and he asks what it is. They tell him that\nit is a sick man, who smells like putrid fish, and who wishes to see\nthe king. The king is angry because they had not told him of it before.\n\nNow this king was married, and already he had a son. He orders the\npeople in the carriage to come to him, and the widow's son told\nhim who he was, and showed him the ring which he had formerly given\nhim. Without paying the least attention to his malady, the king takes\nhim in his arms and embraces him. The widow's son tells him the grief\nthat he had felt at what the monk had told him.\n\nThe king goes to find his wife, and tells her what has happened\nabout the sick man at the gate, and how this sick man had already\nrestored him to life, and that now it was his turn, and that he\ncould not be cured except by washing in his blood; and (he bids her)\nchoose between her child and himself. This poor mother sacrifices her\nson. They kill him. The sick man washes himself immediately (in the\nblood), and is cured at the same instant. The queen, in her grief,\ngoes into her child's bedroom, and there she finds her son full of\nlife again. Overflowing with joy, she takes up her son, and goes\nout crying to everyone, and showing them her infant. Judge what a\ndelight for them all! The widowed mother and her son lived in the\nking's palace so happily, and never left him more.\n\n\n Catherine Elizondo.\n\n\n\n\nTHE STORY OF THE HAIR-CLOTH SHIRT (LA CILICE).\n\nOnce upon a time, like many others in the world, there was a gentleman\nand a lady. They had no children, but they longed for one above\neverything. They made a vow to go to Rome. As soon as they had made\nthe vow, the woman became pregnant.\n\nThe husband said to her, \"We shall do well to go there at once.\"\n\nThe wife said, \"We have not time enough now; we can go afterwards\njust as well.\"\n\nThe lady was confined of a boy. The boy grows up and he sees that\nhis father is constantly sad, and he finds him often crying in all\nthe corners. The little boy was now seven years old, and the mother\nhad not yet decided to go to Rome. One day this young boy goes into\nhis father's bed-room, and finds him weeping again. He therefore said\nto him:\n\n\"What is the matter with you, father?\"\n\nBut he will not answer him, and the child takes a pistol, and says\nto his father:\n\n\"If you will not tell me what is the matter with you, I will shoot\nfirst you and myself afterwards.\"\n\nThe father then said that he would tell him, (and he told him) how\nthat his mother and he had made a vow to go to Rome if they had a\nchild, and that they had never been there.\n\nThe child said to him, \"It is for me that this vow was made, and it\nis I who will go and fulfil it.\"\n\nHe says \"Good-bye,\" and sets out.\n\nHe was seven years on the road, and begged his bread. At last he comes\nto the Holy Father, and tells him what has brought him there. Our\nHoly Father puts him in a room alone for an hour.\n\nWhen he comes out, he says to him, \"Oh, you have made a mistake;\nyou have made me stay there two hours at least.\"\n\nOur Holy Father tells him \"No!\"--that he has been there only one\nhour. And he puts him into another room for two hours.\n\nWhen he came out from there he said, \"You have made me stop more than\ntwo hours.\"\n\nHe says to him, \"No,\" and puts him in another room for three hours.\n\nWhen he came out of that he said, \"You have only left me there three\nminutes.\"\n\nAnd he said to him, \"Yes, yes, yes; you have been there three hours.\"\n\nAnd our Holy Father told him that the first room was Hell; that the\nsecond was Purgatory; and that the last was Heaven. [174]\n\nThe child says to him, \"Where am I? I in Paradise! And my father?\"\n\n\"In Paradise too.\"\n\n\"And my mother?\"\n\n\"In hell.\"\n\nThe boy was grieved, and said to him, \"Can I not save my mother? I\nwould let my blood flow for her for seven years long.\"\n\nOur Holy Father tells him that he can, and he puts on him a hair-cloth\nshirt with a padlock, and throws the key into the water.\n\nAnd our Holy Father says to him, \"When you shall find this key,\nyour mother will be saved.\"\n\nHe starts off, begging his way as before, and takes seven more years\nbefore arriving in his own country. He goes from house to house asking\nalms. His father meets him and asks him where he comes from. He says,\n\"From Rome.\" He asks him if he has not seen on the road a boy of his\nown age. He says to him, \"Yes, yes,\" and tells him that he has gone on\nwalking for seven years, shedding his blood to save his mother. And he\nkeeps on talking about his son. His mother comes out on the staircase\nand tells her husband to send that poor man away--that he must be\noff from there. But he pays no attention to her. He brings him in,\nand tells her that he is going to dine with them. His wife is not\npleased. He sends the servant to market, telling her to buy the\nfinest fish that she can find. When the young girl comes back, she\ngoes to the poultry yard to clean the fish. The young man follows her,\nand as she was cleaning the fish she found a key inside it.\n\nThe young man said to her, \"That key belongs to me.\"\n\nAnd she gives it to him.\n\nThe lady could not endure this young man, and she gives him a push,\nand he falls into the well. All on a sudden the water of the well\noverflows, and the young man comes out all dripping. The husband had\nnot seen that his wife had pushed him into the well, and the young\nman told him that he had fallen into it. This poor man wishes to give\nhim some clothes, but he will not accept them, saying that he will\ndry himself at the fire. At table the lady is not at all polite to\nhim. The young man asks her if she would recognise her son.\n\nShe says, \"Yes, yes; he has a mark between his two breasts.\"\n\nAnd the young man opens his clothes, and shows the mark. At the same\ntime he gives the key to his mother that she may open his hair-cloth\nshirt, and the mother sees nothing but blood and gore. He has suffered\nfor her. The three die. And the servant sees three white doves fly\naway. I wish I could do like them in the same way.\n\n\n Gachina,\n the Net-maker.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SAINTLY ORPHAN GIRL.\n\nThere was a young girl who lived far from the world, alone, in\nsanctity. Every day a dove brought her her food.\n\nOne day she saw a young girl whom two gens-d'armes were taking to\nprison or to execution. The orphan said to herself:\n\n\"If she had lived like me, they would not have taken her to\nprison.\" And thereupon she had a thought of pride, and from that\nday the dove no longer brought her anything to eat. She goes to seek\na priest, and tells him what has happened, and since when she does\nnot receive any more food. This priest tells her that she has been\npunished on account of that thought, and that she must be present at\nthe birth of three children, and see what their gifts would be. The\nfirst was the son of a king. She asks the queen permission to remain\nin the bed-chamber, no matter in what corner; all would be the same to\nher if she would only give her leave. She consents to it. When this\nqueen gives birth to a boy, the infant has round its neck a white\ncord, and this orphan understood that he would be guillotined [175]\nwhen he was eighteen years old. She sees the birth of another child;\na girl with a red cord round her neck, and she sees that she will turn\nout badly, and that she would go to ruin. She sees a third; this was\na boy, and he had blue cord on, which meant that he would be very good.\n\nAfter having seen that this orphan goes back to the house of the\nqueen. There she lived happily, busying herself especially about this\nchild. As she caressed it she often used to say in a sad tone:\n\n\"Poor child!\"\n\nThe mother remarked that, and one day she said: \"One would say that\nthis child was very unfortunate. Do you always act thus when you\ncaress a child, as if it were very wretched, or as if something were\ngoing to happen to it?\"\n\nShe said that to her more than once. And when the (fated) age was\ndrawing near, this orphan told the queen what must happen at the age of\neighteen. I leave you to judge of the distress of this queen. She told\nit to her husband, and the father and mother told it to their son; and\nhe said that he must leave the house immediately. He goes then a long\nway off to another town. And as he was a pretty good scholar, he got\na place in a house where there was a large shop. They sold everything\nthere; and as this lad was very good everybody loved him. They heard\nhim go out of the house every night, but they did not know where. The\nmaster was curious (to learn this), and he made a hole above the shop,\nfor he went there too in the night. He sees him take a wax candle, and\nput the price of this candle into the cash-box by the hole, counting\nthe money aloud. Taking the candle with him he falls on his knees,\nand went a considerable distance to a chapel, walking still on his\nknees. The master follows him during a whole week, and the boy did\nalways the same thing; and on the eighth day the master looks through\nthe key-hole of the chapel, and sees an angel descend and throw a\nchain to our lad, and the angel lifted him up in the air. A moment\nafter he comes down again, and goes back to his master's house.\n\nThe master tells him that he has seen all, and the boy says that his\npenance is also finished, and that he must go home. The master does\nnot wish it.\n\n\"You shall go afterwards, if you wish it; but first you must marry\nmy daughter.\"\n\nHe tells him that he has a father and mother, and that he cannot do\nit without telling them; but if they wish it, he will do so willingly.\n\nHe starts home then at once. You may imagine what joy for the king\nand the queen. They were constantly trembling lest they should hear\nthat their dearly loved son had been hanged. They did not know what\nto do for joy. He told them how he had done penance, and that without\ndoubt the good God had pardoned him; and how his old master wished him\nto marry his daughter. He does so, and all live happily and die well.\n\n\n Louise Lanusse.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SLANDERED AND DESPISED YOUNG GIRL.\n\nLike many others of us in the world, there was a mother and her\ndaughter. They were very poor, and the daughter said that she wished\nto go out to service, in order to do something for her mother. The\nmother will not listen to it; what would become of her without her\ndaughter? She prefers to be poor with her to being rich alone. The\nyoung girl stays at home. She used to go out as needlewoman; but\nsuddenly her mother falls ill, and quickly she dies.\n\nThis poor young girl had the deepest sorrow, and she continued to\ngo out to work as before. One day, while she was at work in a house,\nsome acquaintance came and said to them--\n\n\"What! you have this young girl here to work! She is a bad girl;\nshe is not at all what she ought to be. You should not take her.\"\n\nIn the evening they give her her day's wages, and say that they do\nnot want her any more. She goes to another house, and there the same\nthing happens. Some people come and say in the same way--\n\n\"You have that young girl to work! She will come to a bad end, that\ngirl will. She is even a thief; do not have her again.\"\n\nIn the evening they give her her day's wages, and say to her that they\ndo not want her any more. No one asked her to work any more, and she\nremained at home. By charity and pity, some neighbours, without any\nnecessity, let her come to work for them, because they were pained\nto see her distress. But there, too, someone comes and says,\n\n\"I am astonished to see that young girl here. She is a worthless\ngirl. How is it that you have her here?\"\n\nThey answer, \"Moved by charity, just to help her.\"\n\n\"Do not have her any more; she is a thief, and as bad as can be.\"\n\nAfter having given her her day's wages, they send her off, and say\nthat they do not want her any more. [176]\n\nThis poor young girl was in the greatest distress; if she wished to\neat, she must beg. She set to work begging then, and everyone disliked\nher so much that, when they saw her, they used to spit at her.\n\nThere came home from one of his voyages a ship's captain, and, while\nhe was amusing himself with his friends, this young girl asks for\ncharity. His friends tell him that she was a bad girl, and they spit\nat her, and he does like the rest. Our captain goes off for another\nvoyage; but he was overtaken by a terrible tempest. The storm was\nso violent, and the rain came down as if it would never leave off;\nit made them all tremble. In the midst of his prayers the captain\nmade a vow that, if he escaped, he would marry the worst and most\ndespised girl that he could find. Immediately the weather became\nfine. He makes a very successful voyage, and one which brought him\nplenty of money; but, when he reached land, he forgot his vow, and\nbegan to amuse himself as much as possible.\n\nThis same young girl asks charity, and, after his friends have told\nhim that she was a bad girl, they spat at her, and he did so too.\n\nAgain he goes to sea, and he is overtaken by a storm, much worse than\nthe former one. The wind was most violent, and the lightning terrible;\nthey saw nothing but that. All trembled, and were praying. The captain\nagain makes a vow of marrying, if he should get safe home, with the\nmost abandoned and the poorest girl he can find, and he regrets that\nhe has not kept his vow. He said to himself,\n\n\"If I had kept it, perhaps I should not have had such weather as this;\nbut nothing now shall make me forget my promise.\"\n\nImmediately the weather becomes fine; he has immense good fortune,\nand gains as much money as he wishes.\n\nWhen he comes home, he sees this young girl again. His friends spit\nat her, but he says to them,\n\n\"I will not spit at her--I wish to marry her.\"\n\nHis friends burst out into roars of laughter, \"Ha! ha! ha!\" The\nsailor goes home to his mother, and tells her that he is going to be\nmarried. His mother answers him,\n\n\"If you make a good and rich marriage, very well.\"\n\nThe son said to her, \"She is not at all rich. She is that girl there.\"\n\nThe mother was not pleased. \"Leave that bad girl alone.\"\n\nHe said, \"It is all the same to me; I will marry none but her.\"\n\nHe asks his friends where she lives. They point to an old house. The\ncaptain goes there in the evening and knocks at the door. The girl\nsays, \"Who is there?\"\n\nThe man says, \"Open the door for me. It is I.\"\n\nThe young girl says, \"I will not open the door--I am in bed.\"\n\n\"Never mind, open it.\"\n\n\"No! I will not do it.\"\n\n\"I am going to break in the door.\"\n\n\"Do what you will, but I will not open it.\"\n\nHe breaks open the door, as he said, and goes in. He sees this young\ngirl on a little straw, covered only by her dress. The man wants to\ngo near her. The girl says:\n\n\"You may kill me if you like, but you shall not come near me.\"\n\nThey were like that a long time. The man says to her:\n\n\"Give me your promise of marriage, then?\"\n\nThe young girl says, \"What do you mean? I so poor and you so rich--how\ncan we marry?\"\n\nThe man says that they will do so. The young girl will not believe him,\nand the gentleman says to her:\n\n\"If you will give me your promise I will go away at once.\" And the\nyoung girl says \"Yes,\" in order to make him go away. Then he goes away.\n\nThe next day he goes to a priest and tells him what has taken place,\nand gives him forty thousand francs, and tells him to build a fine\nhouse with it, and to furnish it, and if anything more is wanting\nhe will pay it at his next voyage. The young girl, too, goes to the\npriest, for before this she had been helped and comforted by him. The\npriest tells her how the captain had given him forty thousand francs\nfor her to build a fine house with, and for her to make use of for all\nshe wanted. The priest said that he would undertake building the house,\nand she said that she would see to all that was wanting for herself.\n\nThe captain goes off, and has as successful a voyage as could be\nmade--he had nothing but fair weather. He brought back plenty of\nmoney, and they were married soon after his arrival. His mother and\nhis brothers and sister were at the wedding. After some time the\ncaptain wished to go and make another voyage. He left his fine house\nto take his wife to his mother's house, and he said to her:\n\n\"My wife will be better with you than all alone. You will have her\nalways dressed as becomes her position, and keep a good table for her,\nand take good care of her.\"\n\nThe husband went to sea. He often wrote to his wife; but what do the\ncaptain's mother and her daughter do after he is gone? They take away\nfrom this lady all her pretty dresses, and make her put on old ones,\nand wooden shoes too with straw inside, and send her off to keep the\ngeese with a bit of bread, telling her that she must bring home a\nload of small wood (to light the fire with), and that she must keep\nspinning while she is watching the geese. This poor young girl says\nnothing. She goes off with her flock of geese. When night comes\nshe returns with four skeins of thread spun and a load of small\nwood. Every day she does the same. They do not even tell her that\nher husband has written to her.\n\nThe captain has a fine voyage. He had some fears about his mother and\nhis sister, and he thought to himself that it would be best to come\nhome secretly, in silence, and see how they were treating his wife. He\ncomes then as a foreigner, in the dress of a captain. He says that\nhe comes from a distance, and that he wishes to pass a week in their\nhouse. The mother and the daughter receive him very well. They tell\nhim to choose his own room, and he chooses his own wedding-chamber. At\nnightfall the geese come home, cackling, cackling, and with them the\nyoung girl. This gentleman tells them that it is his habit to have\nsome young girl with him when he travels like that, and asks them\nif they can get him one. They tell him \"Yes,\" that there would be\nnone more glad than this young girl, and that they will give her to\nhim. They go and tell it to the goose girl.\n\nShe says that certainly she will not go. They say to her that he has\nchests full of gold, and that they would willingly go, but that he has\nchosen her; and they push her by force into the room. The gentleman\norders an excellent supper, and says that he has the habit of supping\nwell. The goose girl stands sadly before the table. She would not eat\nanything; the gentleman presses her, and she kept saying that she was\nnot hungry--that she had eaten as much as she usually did. He asks her:\n\n\"Where have you eaten? and what have you eaten?\"\n\n\"A piece of bread that I took with me in the morning.\"\n\nHe tells her again to eat these good things. She says that she does\nnot want anything, and that the greatest pleasure he can give her is\nto let her go off to her geese. The gentleman says to her:\n\n\"You do not know then why you have come here? You are to sleep\nwith me.\"\n\nThe young girl says: \"You shall cut me in pieces on the spot before\nI will go to your bed. I have a husband, and I wish to be faithful\nto him.\"\n\nAnd she tells, on his asking her, how that she was very poor, and no\none loved her, and how a rich gentleman had wished to marry her--how\nvery good he had been to her even after the marriage, and how when\nhe went on a voyage he had left her at his mother's house, thinking\nthat she would be best there, and that since he was gone she had had\nno news of her husband. The gentleman said to her:\n\n\"Would you recognise your husband?\" She says, \"Yes.\"\n\n\"Has he any marks?\"\n\nThe young girl says, \"Yes; he has a mole between his two breasts with\nthree hairs on it.\"\n\nThe gentleman opens his shirt and shows her his birthmark.\n\nThis young girl was seized with such joy that she fainted away, and\nfell down on the floor. As this gentleman knew the ways of the room\nhe burst open the closet, and took a bottle of liqueur to bring his\nwife round again, and at last she came to herself, and passes a sweet\nnight with her husband.\n\nThe next morning the geese come, cackle, cackle, before the door, and\nthe mistress of the house and her daughter come to the gentleman's\ndoor, calling out, if they have not stopped there long enough, that\nit is time to set off, and that it is a shame to be in bed at that\nhour. The gentleman gets up and says to his mother:\n\n\"What, mother, was this the way that you ought to have treated my\ndearly-loved wife?\"\n\nAnd he was in such a rage that, if his wife had not begged him to\nforgive her, he would even have beaten her; but his wife prevented\nhim. He sent his mother and his sister out of the house, and he and\nhis wife lived for many years happy and pleased with each other;\nand as they lived well they died well too.\n\n\n The Sister of Laurentine.\n\n\nThis may be Toutou, but in the Basque country it is sometimes difficult\nto get hold of a person's surname. \"Who is Laurentine?\" you ask. \"She\nis Toutou's sister,\" is the reply. \"But who is Toutou?\" \"She is\nLaurentine's sister.\" If you want to get anything more out you have\nto cross-examine for half-an-hour. Some of our tales are not signed;\nwe believe these are to be divided between Catherine Elizondo and\nLaurentine Kopena. Fresh names we think we always put down, but these\nbrought so many tales that we sometimes omitted it with them, and in\nthe rearrangement for printing we have lost our clue.\n\nWe have some thirteen other tales of all kinds, besides variations,\nwhich we have not given. They are mostly short, and not very different\nin character from those given above, except in being more stupid in\ntwo or three cases; and a few of them are to be found in M. Cerquand's\ncollection.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nAN ESSAY ON THE BASQUE LANGUAGE,\n\nBY M. JULIEN VINSON.\n\n\nThe Basque Language is one which is particularly attractive to\nspecialists. Its place in the general series of idioms has at last\nbeen well defined--it is an agglutinative and incorporating language,\nwith some tendency to polysynthetism. It consequently finds a place in\nthe second great morphological linguistic group, between the Finnic\nand the North American family of languages. I shall now attempt a\nvery short sketch of its general features; but I must ask permission,\nfirst, briefly to state some of the most essential principles of the\nscience of language.\n\nIt is acknowledged that the science of language--that is to say,\nthe science of the characteristic phenomenon of the human species,\nis a purely natural science. It has nothing in common with philology,\nwhich is mainly a historical study. Whether it be called linguistique,\nglottology, phonology, or even, by a too common abuse, comparative\nphilology, the science of language follows the same method as the other\nnatural sciences, and advances by observation and experience. The\ndirect subject-matter of this science is those vocal organisms\nwhich express, by sensible sounds, thought and its divers modes of\nexistence. These organisms are the spontaneous and unconscious product\nof organs which, as natural phenomena, fall under the general law of\nperpetual variation, acted on by their surroundings, climate, &c.; but\nas incapable of being modified by the external or internal exercise of\nhuman volition as any other of the organized beings which surround us.\n\nBut as the object of language is to express thought in all its\nniceties, both the fact that gives rise to it, and the modifications\nof it caused by time and space, so it is seen that different idioms\nhave adopted different methods of expressing, in the best and readiest\nmanner, the idea, the conception or intuition, with its variable\nforms, in order to translate with precision its signification, and\nits relations. From this point of view language has been divided into\nthree great groups: the first, that of isolating languages, wherein\nthe monosyllabic roots all retain their meaning, and wherein the\nrelations are only expressed conventionally, i.e., were not originally\nexpressed at all; the second, that of agglutinative languages,\nin which the relations are expressed by roots once significative,\nbut now reduced to a secondary and subordinate office; lastly,\nthe third, that of inflectional languages, in which the change of\nrelations is expressed by a modification in the root itself, and\neven in the radical vowel. It is clear that the idioms of the second\ngroup were once isolating, and that inflectional idioms have passed\nthrough both the former states. We conclude from this that language\nis essentially progressive and variable in the sense of a constant\nimprovement in the expression of relations. And yet, in the study of\nexisting languages we find, on the contrary, that they are often in\nthis respect inferior to their ancestors.\n\nThis contradiction, however, is only an apparent one. Thus, as\nSchleicher has demonstrated, languages are born, grow up, become\nstationary, decline and die; in a word, live after the same fashion\nas do organized beings. There are in every language two principal\nperiods--that of formal development, during which the idiom passes\nfrom the first (monosyllabic) stage to the second (agglutinative)\nby reducing certain roots to a secondary and dependent office, then\nfrom the second to the third (inflectional) by a new effort to express\nsimultaneously signification and relation; and that of formal decay,\nduring which the original meaning of the relative affixes is more and\nmore forgotten, they get worn out, change by degrees, and often end\nby perishing altogether. Formal decay begins when a language becomes\nhistorical, and it often gives rise to remarkable cases of regressive\nmetamorphosis. One remark which we must make on this subject is that\nthe known agglutinative languages have not spontaneously arrived at\nhistorical life--that is to say, have not commenced their decay,\nexcept under the influence of a foreign idiom either isolating or\ninflectional. Nevertheless, during their decay, languages can adopt\nfresh forms, but these are merely composed of words already in use; man\nin the historical period has no longer bare roots at his service. [177]\n\nThese linguistic elements are, moreover, subject to the terrible law\nof the struggle for existence, and of vital competition. Many of them\nhave perished and have left no trace; others are preserved to us merely\nin some scanty records. The Basque, pressed hard by Latin and its\nderived languages, has lost ground, especially in Spain. Beyond its\nactual limits, there are in Navarre many villages, the names of which\nare Basque, but in which Spanish only is spoken; and all along the\nfrontiers of the actual region of the Basque in the Spanish provinces\nthis idiom is spoken only by a minority of the inhabitants. It is,\nmoreover, undergoing modification everywhere; the children often\nreplace the old expressive native terms by a vocabulary drawn from\nthe Romance tongues. In those places which are most in contact with\nstrangers, and in which the movement of modern life is most keenly\nfelt--at St. Sebastian and at St. Jean de Luz, for instance--the\nlanguage has become exceedingly debased and incorrect. Everything\npresages the speedy extinction of the Escuara or Euscara, which is the\nname given to the Basque by those who speak it. The word, apparently,\nmeans merely \"manner of speaking.\" All people have, in a greater\nor less degree, the pretension which caused the Greeks to treat all\nforeigners as barbarians--that is, as not properly-speaking men.\n\nPrince L. L. Bonaparte reckons the actual number of the Basques,\nnot including emigrants established in Mexico, at Monte Video, and at\nBuenos Ayres, at 800,000, of whom 660,000 are in Spain, and 140,000\nin France.\n\nThe phonetic laws of the Escuara are simple; the sounds most\nfrequently employed are the sibilants, nasals, and hard gutturals;\nthe soft consonants are often suppressed between two vowels. The\nmixed sounds, between palatals and gutturals, characteristic of the\nsecond large group of languages, are also frequently met with. One of\nthe predominant features is the complete absence of reduplication of\nconsonants, the aversion to groups of consonants, and the care taken\nto complete the sound of final mute consonants by an epenthetic\nvowel. It is probable that originally the words were composed of\na series of syllables formed regularly of a single consonant and a\nvowel. We must mention, besides, the double form of the nominatives,\none of which is used only as the subject of an active verb; the other\nserves equally for the subject of the intransitive, and the object of\nthe active verb. This is absolutely the same distinction remarked by\nM. Fried. M\u00fcller in the Australian languages between the subjective\nand the predicative nominative.\n\nFormal derivation is accomplished by means of suffixing the elements\nof relations; pronominal signs are nevertheless not only suffixed,\nbut also prefixed to verbs. Except in this respect, nouns and verbs\nare not treated in two distinct manners; they are both equally\nsusceptible of receiving suffixes which mark the relations of time\nand space, and many of which have preserved in their integrity both\ntheir proper signification and their primitive sonorous form. The\narticle is the remote demonstrative pronoun. The pronouns \"we\" and\n\"ye\" are not the plurals of \"I\" and \"thou,\" but have the appearance\nof special individualities. There are no possessive derivative terms;\n\"my house,\" for example, is expressed by \"the house of me,\" and has\nno analogy with \"I eat,\" or any other verbal expression. There are\nno genders, although some suffixes are specially replaced by others\nin the names of animate beings; and in the verb there are special\nforms to indicate if a man or woman is being spoken to. There is no\ndual. The sign of the plural is interposed between the article and\nthe suffixes. In the singular alone can there be an indefinite or\nindeterminate declension without the article.\n\nThe conjugation is exceedingly complicated. The Basque verb includes\nin a single verbal expression the relations of space; of one person to\nanother--(1) subjective (the idea of neutrality, of action limited to\nits author), (2) objective (the idea of action on a direct object),\nand (3) attributive (the idea of an action done to bear on an object\nviewed indirectly, the idea of indirect action); the relations of time;\nthe relations of state, corresponding to as many distinct moods; the\nvariations of action, expressed by different voices; the distinctions\nof subject or object, marked by numerous personal forms; the conditions\nof time and state which are expressed by conjunctions in modern\nlanguages--to each of these relations is appropriated an affix, often\nconsiderably abbreviated and condensed, but almost always recognisable.\n\nThe primitive Basque verb--that is to say, in its full development--did\nnot differ from that of other languages of the globe. It comprised\nonly two moods, the indicative, and the conjunctive, which was derived\nfrom the indicative by a suffix; and three tenses, the present, the\nimperfect, and a kind of aorist indicating eventual possibility. There\nwas only one secondary voice, the causative, formed by a special\naffix. To these forms it joined the signs of the direct and indirect\nobject, which is the essential characteristic of incorporating idioms.\n\nDuring its historic life, during its period of formal decay, the\nverb has experienced in Basque modifications which are not found\nto a similar extent elsewhere. The primitive conjugation, or, so to\nsay, the simple and direct one of verbal nouns, has little by little\nfallen into disuse, and has been replaced by a singular combination\nof verbal nouns, of adjectives, and of some auxiliary verbs. Thus\nit is that the Escuara, in all its dialects, has developed eleven\nmoods and ninety-one tenses (each of which has three persons in\neach number), variable according to the sex or rank of the person\naddressed; it receives besides a certain number of terminations,\nwhich perform the office of our conjunctions. Moreover, from the\ntotality of these auxiliaries two parallel series have been formed,\nwhich, joined alternatively to nouns of action, produce the active\nand middle voices, or rather the transitive and intransitive. The\nauxiliaries of the periphrastic conjugation are almost the only verbs\nthat have been preserved belonging to the simple primitive system.\n\nWith regard to syntax, the Basque resembles all agglutinative\nlanguages. The sentence is always simple. The phrases are generally\nshort; relative pronouns are unknown. The complexity of the verb, which\nunites many ideas in a single word, contributes to this simplicity\nof the sentence, in which the subject and the attribute, with their\nrespective complements, tend to form but one expression. This object\nis attained by the invariability of the adjectives, and especially\nby composition.\n\nThe adjective is placed after the noun it qualifies, whilst the\ngenitive, on the contrary, precedes the governing noun.\n\nComposition is of such common use in Basque, that it has caused\nseveral juxta-posed words to be contracted and reduced, so as to\nbe partially confounded one with the other. This phenomenon is\nfamiliar to languages of the New World; it is this which properly\nconstitutes polysynthetism, and which we must carefully distinguish\nfrom incorporation. This last word should be reserved to designate\nmore particularly the phenomena of objective or attributive conjugation\ncommon to idioms of the second form.\n\nThe Basque vocabulary appears to be very poor. Although it is still\nimperfectly known (for the old books, and the names of places,\nas well as certain little studied dialectic variations, must have\nretained some words generally forgotten), we are yet able to assert\nthat pure Basque terms do not express abstract ideas. Except in\nwords borrowed from the Gascon, French, Spanish, and Latin, we find\nno trace of any advanced civilization, and we can discover but very\nfew expressions which imply collectivity or generalization--e.g.,\nthere is no word which has the wide signification of our word \"tree,\"\nof our \"animal.\" \"God\" is simply, by anthropomorphism, \"the Master on\nHigh.\" One and the same word translates our ideas of \"will, desire,\nfancy, thought.\" Borrowed words are more numerous, from the fact that\nthe influence of Aryan dialects has been felt through many ages;\nit is probably owing to their contact with the Indo-European races\nthat the Basques, or those who used to speak the Basque, have any\nhistorical existence.\n\nThus, in order to study this singular idiom, it is necessary to\nunderstand thoroughly the history of the intervention of Latin in\nthe Pyrenean region. No assistance is to be obtained from written\ndocuments, for there is not (and there cannot have been) any primitive\nBasque literature. The oldest book was published in 1545. [178] The\nsecond is the Protestant version of the New Testament, printed at La\nRochelle by order of Jeanne d'Albret, in 1571. [179]\n\nAnother difficulty arises from the extreme variability of the\nlanguage. There are, perhaps, not two villages where it is spoken\nabsolutely in the same manner. This is natural enough among an\nunlettered people, and one which can only rise to the level of the\nsurrounding civilization by forgetting its ancient language. These\ndifferent varieties are easily grouped into secondary dialects. Prince\nL. L. Bonaparte recognises twenty-five of them, but they are reduced\nwithout difficulty to eight great dialects. A closer inspection\nfurther reduces these eight divisions to three; that is to say,\nthe differences between the eight principal dialects are unequal,\nand admit of partial resemblances.\n\nThe eight dialects are: (1) The Labourdine, (2) The Souletine,\n(3) The Eastern Lower-Navarrese, (4) The Western Lower-Navarrese,\n(5) The Northern Upper-Navarrese, (6) The Southern Upper-Navarrese,\n(7) The Guipuzcoan, (8) The Biscayan. The Souletine and the two\nLower-Navarrese dialects form the first group, which may be called the\nOriental division. The Biscayan alone forms the Western, and the four\nothers form the Central group. These names are taken from territorial\ndivisions. La Soule was formerly a province feudatory to Navarre, and\nnow embraces, within the French department of the Basses-Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es,\nthe cantons of Maul\u00e9on and Tardets, as well as some parishes of the\ncanton of St. Palais, in the arrondissement of Maul\u00e9on. The Labourd,\na viscounty, vassal of the Duchy of Aquitaine, corresponded to\nthe cantons of Bayonne (excepting the city itself and three other\nparishes), of St. Jean de Luz, of Ustaritz, of Espelette, and part\nof Hasparren, in the arrondissement of Bayonne. The remaining part of\nthe two French arrondissements which we have just named composes Lower\nNavarre, which is again subdivided into the districts of Cize, Mixe,\nArberoue, Ostabaret, and the valleys of Osses and Baigorry. This was\noriginally the sixth merindad of Navarre, a kingdom which extended\ninto Spain as far as the Ebro, from Garde and Cort\u00e9s on the one side\nto Vera and Viana on the other. Basque is still spoken along the\nFrench frontier and in several valleys forming the upper part of the\nterritory. Guipuzcoa contains the cantons (partidos) of St. Sebastian,\nTolosa, Azpeitia, and Vergara. Biscay comprises all the territory\nbetween Ondarroa and the river of Sommorostro, between La Carranza\nand the Pe\u00f1a de Gorbea.\n\nThe dialects do not correspond exactly to the territorial subdivisions\nwhose names they bear. Thus the Western Lower-Navarrese is spoken in a\npart of the ancient Labourd; the Biscayan in Guipuzcoa. Lastly, on the\nSpanish maps, there is another Basque province, Alava; but Basque is\nscarcely spoken there, excepting in a narrow strip along the northern\nfrontier. The dialect of these Alavese districts is included in the\nBiscayan. To resume, the Biscayan dialect is now spoken in Alava,\nBiscay, and the western third part of Guipuzcoa, in Vergara, and in\nLas Salinas; the Guipuzcoan in almost all the rest of Guipuzcoa;\nthe Northern Upper-Navarrese in some villages of Guipuzcoa on the\nFrench frontier, in Fontarabie, Irun, and in the northern part of\nNavarre; the Southern Upper-Navarrese in the rest of Basque Navarre;\nthe Labourdine in the south-western part of the arrondissement of\nBayonne; the Western Lower-Navarrese in the north-eastern part of the\nsame arrondissement; the Souletine is spoken in the two cantons of\nMaul\u00e9on and Tardets, and at Esquiule in the arrondissement of Oloron;\nthe Eastern Lower-Navarrese extends into the arrondissement of Bayonne\nas far as St. Pierre d'Irube, by Meharrin, Ayherre, Briscous, Urcuit.\n\nOf these arrondissements, of these provinces, none is entirely Basque\nin a linguistic point of view, except Guipuzcoa. Navarre is only half\nso, Alava only a tenth part. A little less than a fourth part has\nto be subtracted from Biscay, and certain Gascon villages from the\narrondissements of Maul\u00e9on and Bayonne in France. Neither Bayonne,\nnor Pampeluna, nor Bilbao are Basque. [180] And, moreover, skirting\nthe districts where the Basque is the native idiom of the majority of\nthe inhabitants, on many points there is an intermediate zone in which\nBasque is known only by a minority of the population; nevertheless,\nthis zone must be included in the geographical area of the idiom,\nsince the persons who speak Basque in it know it as their native\nlanguage, and have never learnt it. This zone is most extensive in\nNavarre, but exists also in Alava and in Biscay. In France there is\nno analogous mixed zone; and, as M. P. Broca remarks (\"Sur l'Origine\net la Repartition de la Langue Basque,\" Paris, 1875, p. 39), \"the\ndemarcation is brusque, and may be indicated by a single line.\" The\nBasques, moreover, in this respect, present some curious points for\nstudy. \"In the valley of Roncal the men speak Spanish together; with\nthe women they speak Basque, as do the women to each other. A similar\nstate of things is to be observed at Ochagavia in Salazar. But this\ncustom is not observed in the Roncalese villages of Uztarroz and\nIsaba, where the men among themselves speak indifferently Basque or\nSpanish.\" (Prince L. L. Bonaparte, \"Etudes sur les Dialects d'Aezcoa,\"\n&c., p. 3).\n\nThe preceding description justifies the opinion advanced at the\nbeginning of this notice. The Basque is an agglutinative idiom,\nand must be placed, in a morphological point of view, between the\nFinnic family, which is simply incorporating, and the North American\nincorporating and polysynthetic families. But we must not conclude\nthence that the Escuara is a near relation either of the Finnic or\nof the Magyar, of the Algonquin or of the Irokese. The relationship\nof two or more languages cannot, in fact, be concluded merely from\na resemblance of their external physiognomy. To prove a community\nof origin, it is indispensable that (if compared at the same\nstage of development) their principal grammatical elements should\nnot only be analogous in their functions, but should also have a\ncertain phonetic resemblance, in order to render the hypothesis of\ntheir original identity admissible. It is better to abstain from\nasserting that such languages are derived from the same source, if\nthe significant roots--which, after all, constitute the proper basis,\nthe true originality of a language--should be found to be totally\ndifferent. At present, no language has been discovered which presents\nany root-likeness to the Basque, analogous to that which exists\nbetween the Sanscrit, Greek, and Gothic, or between Arabic and Hebrew.\n\nNevertheless, there are in the world minds so devoted to the worship of\ntheir own fixed ideas, so smitten with their own metaphysical dreams,\nso full of faith in the necessity of the unity of language, that\nthey have acquired the habit of torturing the radical elements of a\nlanguage, and of making them flexible and variable to an inconceivable\ndegree. They pass their lives in seeking etymologies, such as those\nwhich Schleicher calls \"Etymologizerungen ins blanc hinein,\" and in\ndiscovering phonetic miracles--worthy children of those students of\nthe last centuries who, in the general ignorance of the science of\nlanguage, traced up all languages to Hebrew. The adventurous spirits\nto whom I allude have invented a theory of languages in which the\nvocabulary is incessantly renewed, and have formed the great \"Turanian\"\nfamily, in which everything which is neither Aryan, nor Semitic,\nnor Chinese, must be perforce included. In this olla podrida, where\nthe Japanese elbows the Esquimaux, and the Australian shakes hands\nwith the Turkish, where the Tamul fraternizes with the Hungarian,\na place is carefully reserved for the Basque. Many amateurs, more\ndaring still, have wedded the Escuara, or at least those who speak it,\nto the soi-disant Khamitic tribes of Egypt; others have united them\nto the ancient Phoenicians; others have seen in them the descendants\nof the Alans; others again, thanks to the Atlantides, make them a\ncolony of Americans. It is not long since it was seriously affirmed,\nand in perfect good faith, that the Basques and the Kelts, the Welsh\nor Bretons, understood each other, and could converse at length,\neach using his native tongue. I refer these last to the poet Rulhi\u00e8re:\n\n\n \"La contrari\u00e9t\u00e9 tient souvent au langage:\n On peut s'entendre moins parlant un m\u00eame son,\n Que si l'un parlait Basque et l'autre Bas-Breton.\"\n\n\nThe more serious of these foes of negative conclusions, of these\nrefiners of quintessences, assert that the ancestors of the Basques\nare incontestably the Iberians. In the first place I will remark that,\nsupposing this proved, the Basques, or, if you will, the Iberians,\nwould not be the less isolated; for how could the Iberian, any more\nthan the Basque, be allied to the Keltic or to the Carthaginian? But\nthis Iberian theory is not yet at all proved, and it will be easy\nto show it to be so in a few words. It reposes first of all on the\nfollowing \u00e0 priori--the Iberians have occupied all Spain and the south\nof Gaul, but the Escuara lives still at the foot of the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es;\ntherefore the Escuara is a remnant of the language of the Iberians. The\nerror of the syllogism is patent; the conclusion does not follow,\nand is wrongly deduced from the premises. As to the direct proofs,\nthey are reduced to essays of interpretation, either of inscriptions\ncalled Iberian or Keltiberian, or of numismatic legends, or of proper,\nand especially of topographical names. [181] The inscriptions and\nlegends are written in characters evidently of Phoenician origin,\nbut their interpretation is anything but certain. All the readings,\nall the translations into Basque, proposed by MM. Boudard, Phillips,\nand others, are disputed by the linguists who are now studying the\nBasque. The names collected from ancient authors form a more solid\nbasis; but the explanations proposed by W. von Humboldt, and after\nhim by many etymologists without method, [182] are equally for the\nmost part inadmissible. The Iberian theory is not proved, though it\nis perfectly possible.\n\nThe Basques do not present, in an anthropological point of view, as far\nas we know at present, any original and well-defined characteristic\nother than their language. [183] Nothing in their manners or customs\nis peculiar to them. It is in vain that some writers have tried to\ndiscover the strange custom of the \"couvade\" among them, a custom still\nobserved, it is said, by the natives of South America and in the plains\nof Tartary. It consists in the husband, when his wife is confined,\ngoing to bed with the new-born infant, and there he \"couve,\" \"broods\nover it,\" so to say. No modern or contemporaneous writer has found\nthis custom among the Basques; and as to historical testimony, it is\nreduced to a passage of Strabo--which nothing proves to be applicable\nto the ancestors of the present Basques--and to certain allusions in\nwriters of the last two centuries. These allusions always refer to\nthe B\u00e9arnais, the dialect whence the word \"couvade\" is borrowed.\n\nPrince L. L. Bonaparte has discovered that in the Basque dialect of\nRoncal the moon is called \"Goicoa;\" Jaungoicoa is the word for \"God\"\nin Basque, and would mean \"the Lord Moon,\" or rather \"our Lord the\nMoon.\" He cites, with reference to this, \"the worship of the moon by\nthe ancient Basques.\" The only evidence in favour of this worship is\na passage of Strabo (Lib. iii., iv. 16), where it is said that the\nKeltiberians, and their neighbours to the north, honour a certain\nanonymous God by dances before their doors at night during the full\nmoon. But it must be proved that the Keltiberians and their neighbours\nto the north were Basques.\n\nAnother passage of Strabo has furnished arguments to the \"Iberists.\" He\nsays (Lib. iii., iv. 18) that among the Cantabrians the daughters\ninherited, to the detriment of their brothers. M. Eug\u00e8ne Cordier\nhas endeavoured, after Laferri\u00e8re (\"Histoire du Droit Fran\u00e7ais\"),\nto establish that this arrangement is the origin of the right\nof primogeniture without distinction of sex, and which is found\nmore or less in all the \"coutumes\" of the Western Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es. He has\ndeveloped this theory in an interesting essay, \"Sur l'Organisation\nde la Famille chez les Basques\" (Paris, 1869). But an able lawyer of\nBayonne, M. Jules Balasque, has shown in Vol. II. of his remarkable\n\"Etudes Historiques sur la Ville de Bayonne\" (Bayonne, 1862-75) that\nthere is nothing peculiar to the Basques in this fact; and we can\nonly recognise in it, as in the opposite custom of \"juveignerie\" in\ncertain northern \"coutumes,\" an application of a principle essentially\nKeltic or Gallic for the preservation of the patrimony.\n\nIn conclusion, I beg my readers to excuse the brevity of the preceding\nnotes; but, pressed for time, and overwhelmed with a multitude of\noccupations, it has not been possible for me to do more. If I am\nstill subject to the reproach which Boileau addresses to those who,\nin striving to be concise, become obscure, I have at least endeavoured\nto conform to the precept of the Tamul poet, Tiruvalluva--\"To call\nhim a man who lavishes useless words, is to call a man empty straw\"\n(I. Book, xx. chap., 6th stanza).\n\n\n Bayonne, August 28, 1876.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBASQUE POETRY.\n\n\nI.--PASTORALES.\n\nPerhaps there is no people among whom versification is so common,\nand among whom really high-class poetry is so rare, as among the\nBasques. The faculty of rhyming and of improvisation in verse is\nconstantly to be met with. Not unusually a traveller in one of the\ncountry diligences, especially on a market-day, will be annoyed by\nthe persistent crooning of one of the company, like Horace of old,\nmore or less under the inspiration of Bacchus; and if he enquire what\nthe man is about, he will be told that he is reciting a narrative\nin verse of all the events of the past day, mingled probably with\nmore or less sarcastic reflections on the present company, and with\nespecial emphasis on the stranger. At the yearly village f\u00eates,\nwhen the great match of Jeu de Paume au Rebot has been lost or won,\nprizes are sometimes given for improvisation on themes suggested\nat the moment, and the rapidity of the leading improvisatori [184]\nis something marvellous. Moreover, there are two species of native\nDrama. One, the Pastorale, the more regular and important, is now\nconfined to the Vall\u00e9e of La Saison and the Souletin district. The\nother, the Charivari, or Mascarade, more unfettered and impromptu,\ngiving free rein to the invention of the actors, is occasionally,\nbut rarely, acted in all districts of the Pays Basque.\n\nThe Pastorale, or Tragedy, is certainly a representative and survival\nof the Medi\u00e6val Mystery, or Miracle Play; and in the remoter districts\nis acted almost as seriously as is the Ammergau Passion Play. It is\nan open-air performance, which unites in interminable length, and in\nthe same piece, tragedy and comedy, music, dancing, and opera. Though\nundoubtedly the oldest form in which Basque poetry of any kind is\npreserved, it can have no claim to be an indigenous product. The\nsubjects of the older Pastorales are drawn from three sources--from the\nBible; from the lives of the Saints, or Hagiology; from the Chansons\nde Geste and Romances of Chivalry. None of the extant Pastorales,\neven in their earliest form, would, we think, be anterior to the\nthirteenth century. The anachronisms, the prejudices, the colouring,\nthe state of education evinced, are all those of the date when the\nChansons de Geste and the Legenda Aurea were the favourite literature\nof high and low; the epoch at the close of which flourished the\nbrilliant petty courts of Gaston de Foix at Orthez, and of the Black\nPrince at Bordeaux. The anachronisms make Charlemagne a contemporary\nof the Crusaders; Mahomet is an idol, and in the shape of a wooden\npuppet sits on a cross-bar over one of the stage-entrances, where\nhe is worshipped by all his followers as they pass in and out. The\nmake-up of the characters and the dresses are conventional. But though\nwe cannot assign any higher antiquity even to the original form of\nany of the extant Pastorales--we say original form, because they\nhave been edited and re-edited generation after generation by almost\nevery prompter at each successive representation--yet several of the\naccessories and part of the stage-business point to possibly older\ntraditions. The stage, at least in the more inaccessible villages,\nwhere alone the Pastorales are now to be seen in anything like their\ngenuine form, may still be described as \"modicis pulpita tignis.\"\nIt is generally constructed against a house in the \"Place\" of the\nvillage, and is composed of boards resting on inverted barrels; one\nor more sheets, suspended from cross-bars, hide the house walls, and\nform the background; to this drapery bunches of flowers and flags are\naffixed, and thus is formed the whole \"scenery\"; the rest is open\nair and sky. Usually behind the sheet, though sometimes in front on\na chair, sits the prompter, or stage-director; at the corners and\nsides of the stage are the stage-keepers, armed with muskets, which\nare fired off at certain effective moments, and always at the end of\na fight. But there are four points in which a Pastorale recalls more\nancient traditions: (1) The sexes are never mingled; the Pastorale\nbeing played either entirely by men, or entirely by women. [185]\n(2) The speech is always a kind of recitative or chant, varying in\ntime according to the step of the actors. (3) There is a true chorus.\n(4) The feet and metre of the verse correspond to the step and march\nof the actors, and to the dancing of the chorus.\n\nNow, as to (1), the effect is not unpleasing; the boy-lady or the\nboy-angel is often one of the most successful actors, and makes an\nexcellent substitute for the real lady. There is no coarseness in\nhis acting; on the contrary, there is a certain reserve of movement\ncaused by the unwonted dress, which looks like a pleasing modesty,\nand makes the boy appear really lady-like. His get-up is generally\nunexceptionable.\n\nWe have once only had an opportunity of seeing a girl's Pastorale,\n\"Ste. Hel\u00e8ne,\" at Garindein, in April of the present year,\n1879. Unfortunately it was interrupted, almost as soon as commenced,\nby violent rain. The costumes were very modest and pretty. The heroines\nof the piece wore blue or scarlet-jackets, with long white skirts;\nthe lady-heroes had shorter skirts and white unmentionables. The\nPastorale of \"Ste. Hel\u00e8ne\" has nothing to do with the mother of\nConstantine the Great, or with the Invention of the Cross. It is an\nolla podrida of old legends. The opening scene is taken from \"The King\nwho wished to marry his own daughter\" (see above, p. 165.) A King\nAntoina wishes to marry his daughter Hel\u00e8ne, and for that purpose\nprocures a dispensation from the Pope, who appears on the scene,\nattended by an angel. Hel\u00e8ne, however, still refuses, and escapes; she\nembarks for England, but the captain of the vessel falls outrageously\nin love with her (cf. \"Juan Dekos,\" p. 148). A shipwreck saves her\nfrom his persecutions; she lands alone in England, is seen by Henry,\nKing of England, who falls in love with her and forthwith marries\nher, in spite of his mother's objections. He is forced to go to the\nwars; Hel\u00e8ne gives birth to twin boys, but the queen-mother changes\nthe letter, and sends word to the King that she is confined of two\npuppies (cf. \"The singing tree, the bird which tells the truth, and\nthe water that makes young,\" p. 177). Ste. Hel\u00e8ne is condemned to\ndeath; Clarice, her maid, offers to die in her stead, but both escape;\nthe boys, who were supposed to have been murdered, at last reappear,\nand all ends happily as in the legends. The part of the \"Satans\" was\ntaken by three middle-aged men, in buff breeches and white stockings,\nwho danced very well. The preliminary procession on horseback, and\nthe opening scene on the stage, were exceedingly pretty.\n\n(2) The recitative is always accompanied by music; generally a violin\nor two, a flute, the chirola, and the so-called Basque tambourine,\na species of six-stringed guitar, beaten by a short stick, or\nplectrum. The tune is almost a monotone, but differs in time, being\nfaster or slower according to the action of the piece; with the\nexception of those parts in which the chorus alone has possession\nof the stage, when the Saut Basque or other lively dancing airs are\nplayed. The strong, clear chant of the actor accompanying this music,\nwhich is never overpowering in its loudness, is heard much better and\nto a greater distance in the open air than any mere speaking would\nbe; and, moreover, it prevents rant, without altogether effacing\nvivacity. For (3) there is a singular idea running through all\nthese Basque Pastorales, according to which sanctity and nobility\nof character are associated with calmness of demeanour and tone, and\nvillany and devilry of all kinds with restlessness and excitement. The\nangels and saints, the archbishops and bishops, move with folded\nhands and softly gliding steps; the heroes walk majestically slow;\nthe common soldiers are somewhat more animated and careless in their\ngestures; the Saracens, the enemies, the villains, rush wildly about;\nbut the chorus, or \"Satans,\" are ever in restless, aimless, agitated\nmovement, except when engaged in actual dancing. It is on these last,\nthe chorus--of whom there should be three, or two at least--that\nthe great fatigue and burden of the acting weighs. None but the most\nactive and well-knit lads can play the part, and even them it tries\nseverely. This chorus is invariably called \"Satans;\" their dress is\nalways rigidly the same, and a pretty one it is--red beret or cap, red\nopen jacket, white trousers with red stripes, red sashes, spartingues\n(hempen sandals) bound with red ribands; and they carry a little\nwand ornamented with red ribands and terminating in a three-forked\nhooked prong. [186] Blue is the colour consecrated to the good and\nvirtuous; red to the enemy and the vicious, to the English, Saracens,\nand \"Satans.\" The task of the \"Satans\" is not only to take part among\nthe actors, but the difficulty of their utterance is much heightened\nby the compelled rapidity of their movements, while at intervals, when\nthe stage is empty of other actors, they occupy the front corners\nof it, and dance the wild Saut Basque, singing at the same time some\nreflections on, or anticipations of, the action of the piece played,\nmuch like the chorus of a Greek tragedy; but, in addition to this,\nthere is generally a comic interlude, more or less impromptu, and\nvery slightly, if at all, connected with the main piece, wherein the\n\"Satans\" take the principal r\u00f4le, together with the best comedian of\nthe other actors. This is done to relieve the tedium of the heavy\ntragedy, and, oddly enough, is often spoken partly in Gascon or in\nFrench, while only Basque is used in the Pastorale proper. (4) As will\nbe judged from the above remarks, there is, perhaps, no spectacle in\nEurope from which the original relations of feet, line, pause, metre,\nverse, strophe, antistrophe, and rhythm in music, dance, and poetry\ncan be better studied than at a Basque Pastorale. It will be seen\nthere at a glance how far these terms are from being mere metaphors.\n\nNow, when we add that many of the actors in these Pastorales\ncannot--scarcely any could before the present generation--read or\nwrite; that the Pastorales extend from three to seven thousand lines,\ndistributed in ballad verses of four lines each, the second and fourth\nrhyming; and that the representations last from six to eight hours,\nour readers may imagine the amount of serious preparation required\nwhere every sentence has to be learned by heart from repetition of\na reader or reciter. Consequently, to get up a Pastorale, a whole\nwinter is not too long. The task is generally performed at home in\nthe actor's family, or in a house where two or three meet together\nfor the study, if neighbours. We have seen some pleasing instances of\nthe pride the whole family take in the success of the actor. Asking\nonce a pretty boy where he could have learnt to play his part of\nlady in so very ladylike a manner, he answered, \"From my father\nand my mother in the winter.\" At another time we had as companion\nin a long day's walk a man upwards of sixty, who had been a \"Satan\"\nin his youth. He explained how very trying it is both to dance well\nand to sing at the same time so as to be clearly heard. His father\nhad been a \"Satan\" before him, and had trained him for the occasion,\nand had made him eat two raw eggs before commencing. He spoke of the\njoy of the whole family when his performance was successful, though he\nlost his voice for several days afterwards. To show what his former\nagility must have been, he cleared every fence and obstacle in our\npath gallantly, despite his sixty years. These Pastorales are seldom,\nif ever, acted as a money speculation, but during the acting of them\none or two young men, accompanied by a pretty girl, make the round\nof the spectators, offering a glass of wine, in quasi-payment for\nwhich you are expected to place a coin in the plate which the maiden\ncarries. The amount collected is seldom much beyond what is required\nfor the necessary expenses; more often it is below, but if anything\nremains it is spent on a grand feast to all the actors. The number\nof Pastorales in existence is variously stated at from seventy to\ntwo hundred. The former number we believe to be the nearer to the\nfact. The names of those best known are as follows:--\n\n\nFrom the Bible and Hagiology.\n\nAbraham, avec Sara and Agar S. Claudieus et Ste. Marsimissa\nJosu\u00e9 de Mo\u00efse Ste. Engrace\nNabuchodonosor Ste. Hel\u00e8ne, or Elaine\nS. Pierre Ste. Genevi\u00e8ve\nS. Jacques Les Trois Martyrs\nS. Jean Baptiste Ste. Agnes\nS. Louis Ste. Catherine\nS. Alexis Ste. Marguerite\nS. Roch La Destruction de Jerusalem\n\n\nClassical.\n\nBacchus Alexandre\n\n\nChansons de Geste, etc.\n\nClovis Les Douze Pairs de France\nMustafa, le Grand Turc Les Quatre Fils Aymon\nAstiaga Genevi\u00e8ve de Brabant\nCharlemagne Richard Sans Peur, Duc de Normandie [187]\nThibaut Jeanne d'Arc\nGodefroi de Bouillon et la Jean Caillabit\n Deliverance de Jerusalem La Princesse de Gamatie\nMarie de Navarre Jean de Paris\nRoland Jean de Calais [188]\n\n\nModern.\n\nNapoleon--(1) Le Consulat\n (2) L'Empire\n (3) Ste. Hel\u00e8ne\n\n\nWe will now give a brief epitome of \"Abraham\" as a specimen, not of\nthe best, but of the only one which we have at hand in MS., [189]\nfor none of the Pastorales, we believe, have ever been printed in\nextenso. The dramatis person\u00e6 are:\n\n\n\nThe Eternal Father, who speaks chiefly in Latin quotations from the\nVulgate, and always from behind the scenes, i.e., the suspended sheets\nmentioned above.\n\nThree Angels--Michael, Raphael, Gabriel--all of whom mingle quotations\nfrom the Vulgate with their Basque.\n\nAbraham, Sara, Agar, Isaac, and Ismael.\n\nLot, and Uxor (sic) Lot's wife.\n\nTina and Mina, Lot's daughters.\n\nSalamiel and Nahason, shepherds of Abraham.\n\nSylva and Milla, shepherds of Lot.\n\nMelchisedec.\n\nEscol, a companion of Abraham.\n\nAll / Raphel (Amraphel) \\\nthese | Arioch | Kings of the Turks (Turcac).\nnames | Thadal |\nare | Chodorlaomor /\nfrom < Sennaab \\\nthe | Bara |\nVulgate. | Bersa > Good Kings.\n | Semeber |\n \\ Bala /\n\nPharaon, King of Egypt.\n\nCorion and Gober, Pharaon's courtiers.\n\nAstaroch \\\nTelemar | Good Soldiers, defenders of the Holy Religion.\nCormaim |\nZuzite /\n\nChavoq and Chorre, good giants, killed by the Turkish kings.\n\nCocor, Patar; Maneton, and Catilie, inhabitants of Sodom. The last\ntwo are ladies. Maneton is a diminutive from Marie--Manon, Manette,\nManeton; like Jeannette, Jeanneton, from Jeanne.\n\n\"Satans\"--Satan and Bulgifer--who swear most frightfully in French,\non the principle, perhaps, of omne ignotum pro magnifico, and because\nswearing, while more terrible, is less mischievous when uttered in\na tongue \"not understanded of the people.\"\n\n\n\nAbraham is the model of a Christian, and Abraham and Pharaon both\naddress their followers as \"barons.\" Satan flatteringly addresses the\nshepherds by the Spanish title \"Caballeros\" when he wants to lead them\ninto mischief. The actors are by no means so numerous as the \"r\u00f4les\";\none takes several successive parts, often without change of dress,\na custom which heightens not a little the difficulty of following an\nacted Pastorale.\n\nThere is more dramatic unity in \"Abraham,\" and the main plot is\nmore skilfully conducted than might be expected from its title. The\nkey-note of the action is given at once when Satan and Bulgifer\nappear on horseback in the \"Place\" in front of the stage, and\nannounce their project of \"tormenting Abraham,\" and of \"weakening\nthe Christian Faith.\" The plot then follows pretty closely the Bible\nnarrative. Only it is Satan and Bulgifer who are the authors of all\nAbraham's misfortunes and vexations; although the angels constantly\nappear to save him when matters are at their worst. It is the\n\"Satans\" who inflame Pharaon in Egypt with the report and sight\nof Sara's beauty; it is they who stir up strife between Abraham's\nand Lot's herdsmen; they are delighted with the wickedness of the\ninhabitants of Sodom, which they direct to suit their own purposes;\nthey stir up war against Abraham and Lot in the persons of the\nTurkish kings with Biblical names. These at first conquer Lot, and\none by one slay all his partisans, including the good giants Chavoq\nand Chorre, whose corpses are carried off by Satan to be feasted\nupon, with the licorish exclamation: \"O what cutlets! what a fine\nleg!!\" Then they tempt Agar, and make her quarrel with Sara. In the\nscene preceding the destruction of Sodom, although the angels are\npresent, the inhabitants round Lot's door are blinded, not by them,\nbut \"by some magician.\" Lot's wife, Uxor, when to be changed into\na pillar of salt, ingeniously falls under the stage, and there the\ntransformation takes place unseen. When Isaac is born, he is forthwith\nbaptised. Agar and Ismael are driven into the desert, and are saved\nby the angel Gabriel. The play then gradually works up to the climax,\nthe sacrifice of Isaac--the last and terrible temptation--in which the\n\"Satans\" tempt the \"two Christians,\" Abraham and Isaac, to unbelief\nand disobedience, and are foiled as ever. After this, the action\nlanguishes, Abraham dies, and the Pastorale comes to an end. All the\nactors appear on the stage and chant the De Profundis, then the angels\nsing, and all unite in a concluding chant. We give a few verses from\nthe scene of the sacrifice as a specimen of the whole:--\n\n\nSATAN AND BULGIFER; ABRAHAM AND ISAAC.\n\nSatan.\n\n Abraham, art thou ignorant?\n What art thou thinking of?\n Leave him in life;\n Thou hast some wise hairs.\n\n I tell thee to return\n To the house with the child;\n And there you shall live\n With very great joy.\n\n\nAbraham.\n\n Ah! alas! wretched torment!\n Always thus on this earth\n Satan doth vex me\n In all my doings.\n\n Nevertheless, I take courage;\n Yes, even now\n To slay Isaac\n I am ready on the instant.\n\n He has given me the order,\n The good God Himself,\n That I sacrifice Isaac\n On this mountain myself.\n\n\nBulgifer.\n\n He who gave you this order\n Was not God. No!\n Go off to your house,\n And take your young son.\n\n\nAbraham.\n\n My only son Isaac,\n If I sacrifice him,\n All of my race\n I quickly destroy.\n\n The good God had told me\n That he would marry;\n But if he dies now,\n How can that be?\n\n I trust, nevertheless,\n On our Lord God;\n I am willing to offer to Him,\n To Him alone, my son.\n\n\nAt last Satan and Bulgifer go off, exclaiming:--\n\n\n O, you accursed one!\n You always overcome us;\n To confusion always\n You do put us.\n\n But, if we no more tempt you,\n We will tempt some one else;\n And we will even take down\n To hell some soul.\n\n In despair we depart\n For ever from thee;\n And we leave you now\n In a very sad case.\n\n\nAfter a few words between father and son, Isaac then offers himself,\nand prays as follows:--\n\n\n People, I pray you, look\n On this poor innocent child;\n I am about to leave the world,\n And have done harm to none. (Music.)\n\n O Lord! our Saviour!\n Unjustly crucified!\n Lord, I must also\n Soon leave this world. (Music.)\n\n O King of Heaven!\n Who art powerful\n Above all other,\n Wise and triumphant. (Music.)\n\n I ask pardon of Thee\n For all my sins,\n Wherewith I oft have offended\n Thee from my birth.\n\n\nHe binds himself, and goes on:--\n\n\n All those, O Lord!\n Blot from remembrance;\n To Thy glory, I pray,\n Receive me immediately.\n\n King of the Angels,\n Prince of the Heaven,\n May'st Thou grant me,\n I pray Thee, Thy rest.\n\n I ask Thee pardon\n From my whole heart;\n Succour me, O Lord!\n With Thy holy hand.\n\n I have not enough wit\n To thank Thee therewith;\n But if to Heaven I should go,\n There will I praise Thee.\n\n O Lord! I pray Thee, have pity!\n Thou shouldest grant it me;\n For to leave this world\n I am determined.\n\n Angel of the Lord,\n Grant me strength,\n Since Thou art\n My Guide!\n\n Lord, I commend\n To Thee my spirit;\n It is Thou Who first\n Hast created me.\n\n And O! great God! I pray,\n If it be Thy will,\n In the repose of the blessed\n Place my soul.\n\n Father,--whenever You will,--\n Sacrifice me now;--\n To find my God\n I would depart.\n\n\nAbraham is in the act of sacrificing when the Angel Gabriel seizes\nhim from behind, and bids him not do it, &c., &c. Any foreigner who,\nunless he has a most charming interpreter or interpretress, can sit\nout a whole Pastorale would surely deserve the first prize in the\nschool of patience.\n\nThe other kind of dramatic performance is much more irregular, and\nmay assume various forms according to the circumstances which give\noccasion to it. It may be only a wild kind of carnival procession,\nthe Mascarade, where each gesticulates as the character he represents;\nor a charivari in honour (?) of a dotard's marriage, wherein the\nadvantages of celibacy over married life are sarcastically set forth;\nor it may take the form of a really witty impromptu comedy played\non a tiny stage in honour of the marriage or the good fortune of\nthe most popular persons of the village. One of the first kind is\nexcellently described in Chaho's \"Biarritz, entre les Pyr\u00e9ne\u00e9s et\nl'Oc\u00e9an,\" vol. ii. pp. 84-121, to which we refer the reader. One\nof the last kind was acted at Louhossoa about 1866, on the double\noccasion of some marriages, and of the return of some young men from\nSouth America. There were three actors; the piece was witty and well\nplayed, and seemed to give the greatest satisfaction to the audience.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\nIf we except the Pastorales, the whole of Basque poetry may be\ndescribed as lyrical; either secular, as songs, or religious, as hymns\nand no\u00ebls. There is no epic in Basque, [190] and scarcely any narrative\nballads; even those chiefly are of uncertain date. A few sonnets\nexist, but they are almost exclusively translations or imitations\nof French, Spanish, or classical poems, and cannot be considered as\ngenuine productions of the Basque muse. Some of the religious poetry\nmay be described as didactic, but this again is mostly paraphrase\nor translation. All that is really native is lyrical. But even in\nsong the Basques show no remarkable poetical merit. The extreme\nfacility with which the language lends itself to rhyming desinence\nhas a most injurious effect upon versification. There are not verses\nonly, but whole poems, in which each line terminates with the same\ndesinence. Instead of striving after that perfection of form which\nthe change of a single word or even letter would affect injuriously,\nthe Basques are too often satisfied with this mere rhyme. Their\ncompositions, too, if published at all, are usually printed only on\nsingle sheets of paper, easily dispersed and soon lost. Hence the\npreservation of Basque poetry is entrusted mainly to the memory,\nand thus it happens that one scarcely meets with two copies of the\nsame song exactly alike. If the memory fails, the missing words and\nrhymes are so easily supplied by others that it is not worth the effort\nto recall the precise expression used. And so it comes to pass that,\nwhile versification is very common among the Basques, high-class poetry\nis extremely rare. They have no song writers to compare with Burns or\nwith B\u00e9ranger. And if it be alleged that poets like these are rare,\neven among people far more numerous and more cultivated, the Basques\nstill fall short, when measured by a much lower standard. They have no\npoets to rival the Gascon, Jasmin, or to compare with the Proven\u00e7al or\nthe Catalan singers at the other end of the Pyrenean chain. There is no\nmodern Basque song which can be placed by the side of \"Le Demiselle\"\nand others of the Biarritz poet, Justin Larrebat; and among the\nolder poets neither Dechepare nor Oyhenart is equal to the B\u00e9arnais,\nDespourrins. While the Jacobite songs of Scotland are among the finest\nproductions of her lyric muse, the Carlist songs, on the contrary,\nthough telling of an equally brave and romantic struggle, are one and\nall below mediocrity. But, while fully admitting this, there is yet\nmuch that is pleasing in Basque poetry. If it has no great merits,\nit is still free from any very gross defects. It is always true and\nmanly, and completely free from affectation. It is seldom forced,\nand the singer sings just because it pleases him to do so, not to\nsatisfy a craving vanity or to strain after the name and fame of\na poet. The moral tone is almost always good. If at times, as in\nthe drinking songs, and in some few of the amatory, the expression\nis free and outspoken, vice is never glossed over or covered with a\nfalse sentimentality. The Basque is never mawkish or equivocal--with\nhim right is right, and wrong is wrong, and Basque poetry leaves no\nunpleasant after-taste behind. [191]\n\nThe only peculiarity, in a poetical sense, is the extreme fondness\nfor, and frequent employment of, allegory. In the love songs the fair\none is constantly addressed under some allegorical disguise. It is\na star the lover admires, or it is the nightingale who bewails his\nsad lot. The loved one is a flower, or a heifer, a dove or a quail,\na pomegranate or an apple, figures common to the poets of other\ncountries; but the Basques, even the rudest of them, never confuse\nthese metaphors, as more famous poets sometimes do--the allegory\nis ever consistently maintained throughout. Even in prose they are\naccustomed to this use of allegory, and catch up the slightest allusion\nto it; but to others it often renders their poetry obscure, and very\ndifficult of successful translation. The stranger is in doubt whether\na given poem is really meant only for a description of the habits of\nthe nightingale, or whether the bird is a pseudonym for the poet or\nthe poet's mistress. Curiously enough, sometimes educated Basques\nseem to have almost as much difficulty in seizing this allegory as\nhave foreigners. Thus, in a work now in course of publication, [192]\none of the most famous of these allegorical complaints is actually\ntaken for a poetical description of the nightingale itself.\n\nThe historical songs, like all other historical remains among\nthe Basques, are few and doubtful. There are two songs, however,\nfor which are claimed a greater historical importance and a higher\nantiquity than any others can pretend to. These are the so-called\n\"Leloaren Cantua\" and the \"Altabiskarco Cantua.\" Both these are\nreputed by some writers to be almost contemporaneous with the events\nwhich they relate. The first is said to be founded on the wars of the\nRoman Emperor Augustus with the Cantabri; the second is an account of\nthe defeat of Charlemagne's rearguard at Roncesvalles, A.D. 778. The\nformer may be some three hundred years old, but the latter is certainly\na production of the nineteenth century, though none the less it is\nthe most spirited offspring of the Basque muse. We will give the text\nand translation of each, and then justify our conclusions.\n\n\n LELOAREN CANTUA. SONG OF LELO.\n\n 1. 1.\n\n lelo. yl lelo; Lelo, dead (is) Lelo;\n lelo. yl lelo; Lelo, dead (is) Lelo;\n leloa \u00e7arat [193] Lelo, Zara (?) [193]\n il leloa. Killed Lelo.\n\n 2. 2.\n\n Romaco armac The arms of Rome\n aleguin eta do all they can, and\n Vizcayac daroa Biscay raises\n Zanzoa. The song of war.\n\n 3. 3.\n\n Octabiano Octavianus,\n munduco jauna Of the world lord,\n le coby di [193] Lecobidi (?) [193]\n Vizcayocoa. of Biscay.\n\n 4. 4.\n\n Ichasotati By sea\n eta leorres and by land\n y mini deusco he has placed us\n molsoa. the siege.\n\n 5. 5.\n\n leor celayac The dry plains\n bereac dira are theirs;\n menditan tayac the high mountains,\n leusoac. the caverns (are ours).\n\n 6. 6.\n\n lecu yronyan In favourable ground\n gagozanyan when we are,\n nocbera sendo each one firm\n daugogoa. has heart (?)\n\n 7. 7.\n\n bildurric guichi Little fear\n armabardinas (with) equal arms,\n oramayasu (but) our kneading-trough\n guexoa. (goes) ill.\n\n 8. 8.\n\n Soyacgogorrac Hard corselets\n badyri tuys wear they;\n narrubiloxa Bare body;\n surboa. (more) agility (?)\n\n 9. 9.\n\n bost urteco For five years,\n egun gabean by day, by night,\n gueldi bagaric without ceasing,\n pochoa. (lasts) the siege (?)\n\n 10. 10.\n\n gurecobata One of ours\n ylbadaguyan when he is dead,\n bost amarren five tens\n galdoa. they lose (?)\n\n 11. 11.\n\n aecanista They many and\n gue guichitaya we few (?)\n asqugudugu at last we have made\n lalboa. the peace.\n\n 12. 12.\n\n gueurelurrean In our land\n ta aen errian and in his village\n biroch ainbaten are tied in the same way\n zamoa. the loads (of wood).\n\n 13. 13.\n\n Ecin gueyago (It is) impossible more.\n \u00a0\n (The rest of this\n verse is lost through\n a rent in the paper.)\n\n 14. 14.\n\n tiber lecua Tiber the place\n gueldico zabal remains broad (?)\n Uchin tamayo Uchin Tamayo (?)\n grandoya. very large.\n\n 15.\n\n (Torn.)\n\n 16. 16.\n\n andiaristac The great oaks\n gueisto syndoas yield\n beticonayas to the constant strokes\n narraca. (of) the woodpecker.\n\n\nThe history of the above song is as follows: At the close of the\nsixteenth century a notary of Zornoza, J. I\u00f1iguez de Ibarg\u00fcen, was\ncommissioned by the Junta of Biscay to search the principal libraries\nof Spain for documents relating to the Basques. In the archives of\nSimancas he discovered an ancient MS. on parchment, containing verses\nin Basque, some almost, others wholly obliterated. Of these he copied\nwhat he could, and inserted them in p. 71 of his \"Cronica general de\nEspa\u00f1a y sumaria de Vizcaya,\" a work which still exists in manuscript\nin the town of Marquina. From this history of Ibarg\u00fcen the song was\nfirst reproduced by the celebrated Wilhelm von Humboldt, and published\nby him in 1817 in a supplement to Vater's \"Mithridates.\" The text\nabove given is taken from that of the \"Cancionero Vasco,\" Series\n2, iii., pp. 18, 20, and claims to be a new and literal copy from\nthe MS. \"Cronica\" of Ibarg\u00fcen. From the date of its publication by\nHumboldt, this piece has been the subject of much discussion. That\nit is one of the oldest fragments of Basque poetry hardly admits\nof doubt. But, when asked to believe that it is contemporary with\nAugustus, we must hesitate. The question arises: Did Ibarg\u00fcen copy\nthe almost defaced original exactly as it was, or did he suffer\nhis declared predilections unconsciously to influence his reading\nof it? [194] Many of the words are still very obscure, and the\ntranslation of them is almost guess work. The first verse has little\nor no apparent connection with the rest of the poem, and has given\nrise to the most fanciful interpretations. Lelo has been imagined by\nsome to be the name of a Basque hero; Zara, or Zarat, who kills him,\nthe name of another; and the two reproduce the story of Agamemnon and\n\u00c6gisthus. Others, with more probability, take Lelo, as is certainly\nthe case in other poems, for a mere refrain (the everlasting Lelo,\nas a Basque proverb has it) used by the singer merely to give the\nkey to the tune or rhythm to which he modulates the rest. Chaho, with\nhis usual audacity, would translate it \"glory,\" and render it thus:--\n\n\n Finished is the glory! dead is the glory,\n Our glory!\n Old age has killed the glory,\n Our glory!\n\n\nBut it has been very plausibly suggested [195] that the verse bears a\nsuspicious likeness to a vague reminiscence of the Moslem cry \"L\u00e2 \u00calah\nUl\u00e2 Allah!\" &c.; and if so, this, in the north of Spain, would at one\nbound place the poem some eight centuries at least after the time of\nAugustus. The proper names have a too correct look. Octabiano, Roma,\nand Tiber are far too much like the Latin; for if Greeks and Romans\ncomplained, as do Strabo and Mela, of the difficulty of transcribing\nBasque or Iberian names into their own language, the Basques might\npossibly find a somewhat corresponding difficulty in transcribing\nGreek and Latin names into Basque. Moreover, in a later verse appears\n\"Uchin,\" a sobriquet for \"Augustino,\" as a baptismal name in use among\nthe Spanish Basques to this day. What the poem really refers to we\ndare not assert. We present the \"Leloaren Cantua\" to our readers\nsimply as one of the oldest curiosities of Basque verse, without\npledging ourselves to any particular date or interpretation thereof.\n\nFortunately, we shall be able to speak with much more decision of the\n\"Altabiskarco Cantua,\" of which the following is the latest text:--\n\n\n ALTABISKARCO CANTUA.\n\n 1.\n\n Oyhu bat aditua izan da\n Escualdunen mendien artetic,\n Eta etcheco jaunac, bere athearen aitcinean chutic\n Ideki tu beharriac, eta erran du: \"Nor da hor? Cer nahi dautet?\"\n Eta chacurra, bere nausiaren oinetan lo zag\u00fcena,\n Altchatu da, eta karrasiz Altabiscarren inguruac bethe ditu.\n\n 2.\n\n Iba\u00f1etaren lepoan harabotz bat aghertcen da,\n Urbiltcen da, arrokac ezker eta ezcuin jotcen dituelaric;\n Hori da urrundic heldu den armada baten burrumba.\n Mendien copetetaric guriec errespuesta eman diote;\n Beren tuten soinua adiaraci dute,\n Eta etcheco jaunac bere dardac zorrozten tu.\n\n 3.\n\n Heldu dira! heldu dira! cer lantzazco sasia!\n Nola cer nahi colorezco banderac heien erdian aghertcen diren\n Cer simistac atheratcen diren heien armetaric!\n Cembat dira? Haurra condatzic onghi!\n Bat, biga, hirur, laur, bortz, sei, zazpi, zortzi, bederatzi,\n hamar, hameca, hamabi,\n Hamahirur, hamalaur, hamabortz, hamasei, hamazazpi, hemezortzi,\n hemeretzi, hogoi.\n\n 4.\n\n Hogoi eta milaca oraino!\n Heien condatcea demboraren galtcea liteque.\n Urbilditzagun gure beso zailac, errotic athera ditzagun arroca\n horiec,\n Botha ditzagun mendiaren patarra behera\n Hein buruen gaineraino;\n Leher ditzagun, herioz jo ditzagun.\n\n 5.\n\n Cer nahi zuten gure mendietaric Norteco guizon horiec?\n Certaco jin dira gure bakearen nahastera?\n Jaungoicoac mendiac eguin dituenean nahi izan du hec guizonec ez\n pasatcea.\n Bainan arrokac biribilcolica erortcen dira, tropac lehertcen\n dituzte.\n Odola churrutan badoa, haraghi puscac dardaran daude.\n Oh! cembat hezur carrascatuac! cer odolezco itsasoa!\n\n 6.\n\n Escapa! escapa! indar eta zaldi dituzeneac!\n Escapa hadi, Carlomano erreghe, hire luma beltzekin eta hire\n capa gorriarekin;\n Hire iloba maitea, Errolan zangarra, hantchet hila dago;\n Bere zangartasuna beretaco ez tu izan.\n Eta orai, Escualdunac, utz ditzagun arroca horiec,\n Jauts ghiten fite, igor ditzagun gure dardac escapatcen direnen\n contra.\n\n 7.\n\n Badoazi! badoazi! non da bada lantzazco sasi hura?\n Non dira heien erdian agheri ciren cer nahi colorezco bandera hec?\n Ez da gheiago simiztarik atheratcen heien arma odolez bethetaric.\n Cembat dira? Haurra, condatzac onghi.\n Hogoi, hemeretzi, hemezortzi, hamazazpi, hamasei, hamabortz,\n hamalaur, hamairur,\n Hamabi, hameca, hamar, bederatzi, zortzi, zazpi, sei, bortz, laur,\n hirur biga, bat.\n\n 8.\n\n Bat! ez da bihiric aghertcen gheiago. Akhabo da!\n Etcheco jauna, joaiten ahal zira zure chacurrarekin,\n Zure emaztearen eta zure haurren besarcatcera,\n Zure darden garbitcera eta alchatcera zure tutekin,\n Eta ghero heien gainean etzatera eta lo gitera.\n Gabaz, arranoac joainen dira haraghi pusca lehertu horien jatera,\n Eta hezur horiec oro churituco dira eternitatean.\n\n\n\n SONG OF ALTABISCAR.\n\n 1.\n\n A cry is heard\n From the Basque mountain's midst.\n Etcheco Jauna, [196] at his door erect,\n Listens, and cries, \"What want they? Who goes there?\"\n At his lord's feet the dog that sleeping lay\n Starts up, his bark fills Altabiscar [197] round.\n\n 2.\n\n Through Iba\u00f1eta's* pass the noise resounds,\n Striking the rocks on right and left it comes;\n 'Tis the dull murmur of a host from far,\n From off the mountain heights our men reply,\n Sounding aloud the signal of their horns;\n Etcheco Jauna whets his arrows then.\n\n 3.\n\n They come! They come! See, what a wood of spears\n What flags of myriad tints float in the midst!\n What lightning-flashes glance from off their arms!\n How many be they? Count them well, my child.\n 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12,\n 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20.\n\n 4.\n\n Twenty, and thousands more!\n 'Twere but lost time to count.\n Our sinewy arms unite, tear up the rocks,\n Swift from the mountain tops we hurl them down\n Right on their heads,\n And crush, and slay them all.\n\n 5.\n\n What would they in our hills, these Northern men?\n Why come they here our quiet to disturb?\n God made the hills intending none should pass.\n Down fall the rolling rocks, the troops they crush!\n Streams the red blood! Quivers the mangled flesh!\n Oh! what a sea of blood! What shattered bones!\n\n 6.\n\n Fly, to whom strength remaineth and a horse!\n Fly, Carloman, red cloak and raven plumes!\n Lies thy stout nephew, Roland, stark in death;\n For him his brilliant courage naught avails.\n And, now, ye Basques, leaving awhile these rocks,\n Down on the flying foe your arrows shower!\n\n 7.\n\n They run! They run! Where now that wood of spears?\n Where the gay flags that flaunted in their midst?\n Rays from their bloodstained arms no longer flash!\n How many are they? Count them well, my child.\n 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, 15, 14, 13,\n 12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.\n\n 8.\n\n One! There is left not one. 'Tis o'er!\n Etcheco Jauna home with thy dog retire.\n Embrace thy wife and child,\n Thine arrows clean, and stow them with thine horn;\n And then, lie down and sleep thereon.\n At night yon mangled flesh shall eagles [198] eat,\n And to eternity those bones shall bleach.\n\n (This translation is due to the kindness of a friend.)\n\n\nThe history of this song is very curious, and shows the little value of\nsubjective criticism in any but the most competent hands. The MS. of\nit is alleged to have been found on the 5th of August, 1794, in a\nconvent at Fuenterrabia, by La Tour d'Auvergne, the celebrated \"premier\ngrenadier\" of the French Army. It was printed about the year 1835, by\nMonglave, and accepted as a genuine contemporary document by Fauriel,\nChaho, Cenac-Moncaut, and many other French writers; by Lafuente,\nAmador de los Rios, and other Spanish authors; by Araquistain,\nand by the Editors of the \"Revista Euskara\" and of the \"Cancionero\nVasco\" among the Basques. It is needless to say that all guide-books,\ntourist sketches, et hoc genus omne, have adopted it. It was inserted\nas genuine by Fr. Michel, in the Gentleman's Magazine, in 1858, and in\nmore recent years a translation appeared in another London magazine. In\nthe \"Basques et Navarrais\" of M. Louis Lande, lately published, it is\nalluded to as genuine; and the Saturday Review of the 17th of August,\n1878, quotes it as a corroboration of the \"Chanson de Roland.\" [199]\nThere have been some, however, who have stoutly opposed these claims;\namong them M. Barry, of Toulouse, M. Gaston Paris, and M. J. F. Blade,\nwhich last writer, both in a separate pamphlet and in his \"\u00c9tudes\nsur l'Origine des Basques\" (Paris, 1859), has shown from internal\ngrounds its want of authenticity. M. Alexandre Dihinx, a Basque, in\na series of articles in the Impartial, of Bayonne, for 1873, which\nhave since been reprinted by M. J. Vinson, in L'Avenir, of Bayonne,\nMay of the present year, conclusively proved both the incorrectness\nand the modern character of its Basque. But all these authors seem\neither to have been unaware of, or to have unaccountably overlooked,\nthe true history of the piece. When M. Fr. Michel published this,\nand another song called \"Abarcaren Cantua,\" in the Gentleman's\nMagazine, in 1858, as specimens of ancient Basque poetry, a letter\nfrom M. Antoine d'Abbadie, Membre de l'Institut, appeared forthwith in\nthe number for March, 1859, stating that the Abarca song had actually\nbeen among the unsuccessful pieces submitted for the prize in the\npoetical competition at Urrugne, of the previous August; and he adds:--\n\n\n \"I am sorry that the Altabiscarraco cantua, mentioned in your\n same number, is acknowledged as a gem of ancient popular poetry.\n Truth compels me to deny that it is universally admitted as such,\n for one of my Basque neighbours has often named the person who,\n about twenty four years ago, composed it in French, and the other\n person, who translated it into modern but indifferent Basque. [200]\n The latter idiom, on purely philological ground, stands peerless\n among the most ancient languages in Europe, and I have felt it my\n duty to disclaim unfounded pretensions of which it has no\n need.--I am, etc.,\n\n\n \"Antoine d'Abbadie,\n\n \"London, Jan. 31, 1859.\"\n Correspond. de l'Institut de France.\n\n\nIn the next number M. Fr. Michel writes, \"henceforth I will believe\nthat the songs called Abarcaren Cantua and Altabiscarraco Cantua are\nforgeries\"; this testimony is decisive. It has often been repeated by\nM. d'Abbadie, with the additional assurance that he knows not only the\nhouse, but the very room in which the song was first composed. That\nthe language is modern and indifferent Basque is very evident in the\ntext given by M. Fr. Michel in \"Le Pays Basque, Paris, 1857.\" That\nabove, taken from the \"Cancionero Vasco\" of the present year, is\nconsiderably corrected and improved. All attempts, and many efforts\nhave been made, to force these irregular lines into any known form\nof Basque rhythm have hitherto signally failed. For the amusement of\nsome of our readers we give below a list of the more evident foreign\nwords in this and in the \"Leloaren Cantua.\" The relative antiquity\nwill thus be seen at a glance:--\n\n\n L, Latin; S, Spanish; F, French; G, German words.\n\n\n SONG OF LELO.\n\n Romako Roma L\n Armac arma L\n Octabiano Octavianus L\n Munduco mundus L\n Lecu (?) locus L\n Tiber Tiber L\n Grandoya / grandis L\n \\ grandioso S\n\n\n SONG OF ALTABISCAR.\n\n Copetetaric (?) caput L\n Armada armada S\n Errespuesta respuesta S\n Dardac dard F\n Colorezco color S\n Banderac bandera S\n Simistac / quimista S\n | chimiste F\n \\ both from Arabic\n Tropac tropa S\n Arroca roca S\n Escapa escapar S\n Carlomano Karlomann G\n Errolan Roland F\n Erreghe rex, rege L\n Luma [201] (?) pluma S\n Fite vite F\n Capa capa S\n Condatcea contar S\n Milaca / mille L\n \\ mil S\n Demboraren tempus tempora L\n Norteco norte S\n Pasatcea pasar S\n Contra contra L\n Lantzazco lanza S\n Akhabo acabar S\n Besarcatcera besar S\n Eternitatean eternidad S\n\n\nWith reference to the above list we may observe that the Basque never\nbegins a word with r, but always prefixes a euphonic er, ar, ir;\nhence er-respuesta, ar-roca, Er-rolan, er-rege, hir-risko, risque,\nF. In later copies editors have altered \"Romaco,\" in the \"Song of\nLelo,\" into \"Er-romaco,\" to give it more of a Basque look. Aren,\nor aen, eco-aco-co are case terminations; tcea-cea marks the verbal\nnoun. Carlomann was never the name of Charlemagne, but of his\nbrother and his uncle. Er-rolan is evidently from the French Roland;\nneither from the Hruotlandus of Einhardus, nor from the Spanish\nRoldan. Defenders of the authenticity of the piece allege that these\nwords are only corruptions, introduced in the course of ages; but\nour readers can judge for themselves how far they enter into the very\nstructure of the composition.\n\nThe first book printed in Basque, the \"Lingu\u00e6 Vasconum Primiti\u00e6,\nper Dominum Bernardum Echepare\" (Bordeaux, 1545), is a collection of\nhis poems, religious and amatory, the latter predominating. Echepare\nwas the parish priest of the pretty little village of St. Michel, on\nthe B\u00e9h\u00e9robie Nive, above St. Jean Pied de Port; and, if Nature alone\ncould inspire a poet, he ought at least to have rivalled those of our\nown English Lakes. But, in truth, his verses are of scant poetical\nmerit, and of little interest save as a philological curiosity. [202]\nThey belong so distinctly to that irritating mediocrity which never\ncan be excused in a poet. After Echepare the next author is Arnauld\nOyhenart, of Maul\u00e9on, who published a collection of his youthful\nBasque poems in Paris, 1657. These have, if anything, less poetical\nvalue than Echepare's; but Oyhenart's collection of proverbs and his\n\"Notitia Utriusque Vasconi\u00e6\" will always make his name stand high\namong Basque writers. Except hymns and no\u00ebls (Christmas carols),\nof which many collections and editions have been published from 1630\ndownwards, and some of which are noteworthy on account of higher than\nmere poetical merit, the deep and evidently genuine spirit of piety\nthey evince, [203] little else is preserved much older than the present\ncentury. One ballad indeed there is, \"The Betrothed of Tardetz,\" which\nmay be somewhat older. No two versions of it are exactly alike, though\nthe outline of the story is always the same. The Lord of the Castle of\nTardetz wishes to give the elder of his two daughters in marriage to\nthe King of Hungary, or of Portugal, as some have it. But the lady's\nheart has been already won by Sala, the son of the miller of Tardetz,\nand she bitterly bewails being \"sold like a heifer.\" The bells which\nring for her wedding will soon toll for her funeral. The romance in\nits present form is evidently incomplete, but apparently ended with\nthe corpse of the bride being brought back to her father's castle.\n\nMost of the Basque songs, except the drinking ones, are set, more or\nless, in a minor key. The majority of the love songs would have been\ndescribed by our forefathers as \"complaints.\" One of the prettiest,\nboth in words and music, is the fragment entitled \"The Hermitage of\nSt. Joseph\":--\n\n\n 1. 1.\n\n Chorittua, nurat hua Little bird, where goest thou\n Bi hegalez airian? On thy two wings in the air?\n Espa\u00f1alat juaiteko To Spain to go,\n Elh\u00fcrra d\u00fck borthian: The snow is on the passes:\n Juanen g\u00fct\u00fck alkharreki We will go together\n Hura hurt\u00fc denian. When the snow is melted.\n\n 2. 2.\n\n San-Josefan ermita The Hermitage of Saint Joseph\n Desertian gora da; Is high in the desert\n Espa\u00f1alat juaitian. In going to Spain.\n Han da ene phausada; There is my resting-place,\n Guibelilat so' gin eta There have I looked behind, and\n Hasperena ard\u00fcra! The sigh is frequent.\n\n 3. 3.\n\n Hasperena, habilua Sigh, go\n Maitenaren borthala: To the door of my beloved.\n Habil, eta erran izok Go, and tell her\n Nik igorten haidala; It is I who send you:\n Bihotzian sar hakio Enter into her heart,\n Hura eni bezala. As she (is) in mine. [204]\n\n\nThe songs of the Agots, or Cagots, those Pariahs of the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es,\nwho dwelt apart shunned and despised by all, are, as might be\nexpected, uniformly sad. The misery of the labourer's lot, and even\nof that of the contrabandista, is more frequently dwelt upon than the\ncompensations to the poverty of the one, or the transient gleams of\ngood fortune of the other. At least, such is the case in all those\nwhich are really songs of the people. In these there are not many\ndelights of \"life under the greenwood tree,\" as in Robin Hood, or our\nfactitious gipsies' songs. The forest is an object of dread to the\nBasque poet, and it requires courage and all the powerful attraction\nof a loved one to induce him to traverse by night its gloomy shades;\nbut then--\n\n\n Mortu, oihan illuna Deserts and forests dark\n Deusere ez da neretzat. They are then nought to me.\n\n\nThe following is an illustration of the Cagots' or Agots' songs. This\npiece, of which the author was the hero, was written about 1783,\nwhen he was eighteen years old. Cf. Fr. Michel, \"Les Races Maudites\nde France et de l'Espagne,\" vol. ii. p. 150, and \"Le Pays Basque,\"\np. 270; and, for the music, Sallaberry, \"Chants Populaires du Pays\nBasque,\" p. 172. [205]\n\n\n 1.\n\n --Argi askorrian jinik ene arresekila,\n Bethi beha entz\u00fcn nahiz numbaitik zure botza;\n Ardiak nun \u00fctzi t\u00fcz\u00fc? Zerentako errada\n Nigarrez ikhusten deiz\u00fct zure begi ederra?\n\n 2.\n\n --Ene aitaren ichilik jin n\u00fcz\u00fc zure gana,\n Bihotza erdirat\u00fcrik, zihauri erraitera,\n Khambiat\u00fc deitadala ardien alhagia,\n Sek\u00fclakoz defendat\u00fc zureki minzatzia.\n\n 3.\n\n --Gor niza, ala entz\u00fcn d\u00fct? erran deitadazia?\n Sek\u00fclakoz jin zaiztala adio erraitera?\n Etziradia orhitzen g\u00fck hitz eman d\u00fcg\u00fcla\n L\u00fcrrian bizi gireno alkharren maithtzia?\n\n 4.\n\n --Atzo nurbait izan d\u00fcz\u00fc ene ait' ametara,\n G\u00fck alkhar maite d\u00fcg\u00fcla haien abertitzera;\n H\u00fcr\u00fcntaaztez alkhar ganik fite ditin lehia\n Eta eztitian j\u00fcnta kasta Agotarekila.\n\n 5.\n\n --Agotak badiadila badiz\u00fct entz\u00fctia;\n Z\u00fck erraiten deitadaz\u00fct ni ere banizala:\n Eg\u00fcndano \u00fckhen ban\u00fc demendren lei\u00f1h\u00fcria\n En\u00fcnd\u00fcz\u00fcn ausart\u00fcren begila so' gitera.\n\n 6.\n\n --Jentetan den ederrena \u00fcmen d\u00fcz\u00fc Agota:\n Bilho holli, larr\u00fc churi eta begi \u00f1abarra.\n Nik ikhusi artzai\u00f1etan z\u00fc zira ederrena:\n Eder izateko aments Agot izan behar da?\n\n 7.\n\n --So' iz\u00fc nuntik ezag\u00fctzen dien zui\u00f1 den Agota:\n Lehen sua egiten zaio hari beharriala;\n Bata handiago diz\u00fc, eta aldiz bestia\n Biribil et' orotarik bilhoz \u00fcng\u00fcratia.\n\n 8.\n\n --Hori hala balimbada haietarik etzira,\n Ezi zure beharriak alkhar \u00fcd\u00fcri dira.\n Agot denak chipiago bad\u00fc beharri bata,\n Aitari erranen diot biak bardin tuz\u00fcla.\n\n 9.\n\n --Agot denak b\u00fcr\u00fca aphal, eta diz\u00fc begia\n L\u00fcrrean bethi sarturik gaizki eg\u00fcinak bezala.\n Izan banintz ni aberatz z\u00fc zira din bezala,\n Aitak etzeyz\u00fcn erranen ni Agobat nizala.\n\n\n\n 1.\n\n Since daybreak arrived here with my flock,\n Always listening, wishing to hear somewhere thy voice.\n Where have you left the sheep? Whence is it\n I see your beautiful eye full of tears?\n\n 2.\n\n Unknown to my father I have come towards you,\n Heart-broken, to tell you yourself\n That he has changed for me the sheep-pasture,\n Forbidden me for ever speaking with you.\n\n 3.\n\n Am I deaf, or have I heard it? Did you say it?\n That you are come to bid farewell for ever?\n Do you not remember that we have given our word\n To love each other as long as we live upon the earth?\n\n 4.\n\n Yesterday some one came to my father and mother\n To warn them that we loved each other;\n That they should hasten at once to separate us from each other,\n And that they should not ally themselves with the Agots' caste.\n\n 5.\n\n That there are Agots I have heard tell;\n You tell me, too, that I am of them!\n If I had ever had only the shadow of them,\n I had not had the boldness to lift my eyes to you.\n\n 6.\n\n Of all men, they say, the Agot is the handsomest;\n Fair hair, white skin, and blue eye.\n Of the shepherds I have seen you are the handsomest:\n In order to be handsome, must one be an Agot?\n\n 7.\n\n It is by this one recognises who is an Agot--\n One gives the first glance at his ear;\n He has one too large, and, as for the other,\n It is round and covered all over with hair. [206]\n\n 8.\n\n If that is so, you are not of those folk;\n For your ears resemble each other perfectly.\n If he who is Agot has one of his ears smaller,\n I will tell my father you have the two alike.\n\n 9.\n\n The Agot walks with his head low, and his eye\n Is fixed on the earth like a criminal.\n If I had been rich, like you,\n Your father would not have said that I was Agot.\n\n\nThere are, too, verses of grim and bitter humour, which tell better\nthan the pen of the historian how wretched was formerly the lot\nof the peasant, even in this favoured corner of France. Famine is\npersonified, and has a name given it, drawn in biting irony from\nthat of the highest Saint of the Church Calendar, Petiri Sanz\n(S. Peter). He wanders round the country seeking where to settle\npermanently; at one place he is driven off by (the sale of) rosin,\nat another little maize, at another by cheese and cherries; but at\nlast he fixes his abode definitively at St. P\u00e9e (another form of\nPeter), on the Nivelle, where they have nothing at all to sell, and\nwhere he torments the inhabitants by forcing them to keep many a fast\nbeyond those of ecclesiastical obligation. The same strain of gloomy\nhumour appears in another form in a poem entitled \"Mes M\u00e9ditations,\"\n[207] in which a young priest of Ciboure, slowly dying of consumption,\ntraces in detail all the physical and mental agonies of his approaching\ndissolution. A much less grim example, however, is contained in the\nfollowing, which we quote mainly because of its brevity. It may remind\nsome of our readers of a longer but similar strain which used often\nto be sung at harvest-homes in the Midland Counties:--\n\n\n DOTE GALDIA. [208] THE LOST DOWRY.\n\n 1. 1.\n\n Aitac eman daut dotia, My father has given me my dowry,\n Neuria, neuria, neuria; Mine, mine, mine;\n Urde\u00f1o bat bere cherriekin, A sow with pigs ten,\n Oilo corroca bere chituekin, Her chicks with the hen,\n Tipula corda hayekin. And of onions a rope to stow by.\n\n 2. 2.\n\n Oxuac jan daut urdia, But the wolf has devoured my sow,\n Neuria, neuria, neuria; Mine, mine, mine;\n Acheriac oilo coroca, My chickens are killed by the cats,\n Garratoinac tipula corda; My onions are gnawn by the rats;\n Adios ene dotia. Good-bye to my dowry now.\n\n\nMore literally:--\n\n\n 1.\n\n My father has given me the dowry,\n Mine, mine, mine;\n A sow with her little pigs,\n A brood hen with her chickens,\n A cord of onions with them.\n\n 2.\n\n The wolf has eaten my sow,\n Mine, mine, mine;\n The fox my brood hen,\n The rats my cord of onions,\n Good-bye, my dowry.\n\n\nThe lack of good poetry in Basque is certainly not due to want of\nencouragement. Moreover, the wish to produce it is there, but the\npower seems lacking. For over twenty years prizes have been annually\ngiven, first at Urrugne, and then at Sare, by M. Antoine d'Abbadie,\nof Abbadia. But among the multitude of competing poems few have been\nof any real value, and both in merit and in the number presented they\nseem to diminish annually. The best of them have been written by men\nof the professional class, whose taste has been formed on French,\nor Spanish, or classical, rather than on native models. The following\nis considered by native critics to be among the best, though several\nothers are very little, if at all, inferior [209]:--\n\n\n ARTZAIN DOHATSUA.\n\n 1.\n\n Etchola bat da ene jauregia\n Aldean, salhatzal, hariztegia;\n Arthalde bat\n Halakorik ez baita hambat,\n Bazait niri behar besembat.\n Ai! etzait itsusi!\n Ni naiz etchola huntako nausi\n\n 2.\n\n Goiz-arratsak bethi deskantsu ditut,\n Deuseren beldurrik nihondik ez dut;\n Hemen nago,\n Erregue baino fierrago.\n Nik zer behar dut gehiago?\n Ha! ez da itsusi!\n Etchola huntan Piarrez nausi.\n\n 3.\n\n Goizetan jaikirik argialdera,\n Igortzen ditut ardiak larrera;\n Eta gero\n Itzalpean jarririk nago,\n Nor da ni baino urusago?\n Ez! etzait itsusi!\n Ni naiz arthalde huntako nausi.\n\n 4.\n\n Aitoren semeak gasteluetan,\n Bihotzak ilhunik daude goguetan.\n Alegera\n (Bethi naiz; tristatucera) [210]\n Nik ez dut dembora sobera.\n Ai! etzait itsusi!\n Etcholan nor da ni baizen nausi.\n\n 5.\n\n Jan onegiak barnea betherik,\n Aberatsak nihoiz ez du goserik;\n Eta bethi\n Ene trempuaz da bekhaizti;\n Diruz ez baitaite erosi.\n Ha! ez da itsusi!\n Etchola gasteluaren nausi.\n\n 6.\n\n Noizbait Jaunari nik dainu egunik,\n Igortzen banindu aberasturik;\n Zorigaitzez\n Hesturik nindauke bihotzez,\n Ene etchola hemen minez.\n Jauna! ba ha niri!\n Utz nezazu etcholako nausi.\n\n\n\n THE HAPPY SHEPHERD.\n\n 1.\n\n A cottage my castle is,\n By the side of willows, wood, and oak copse;\n A flock\n Such as mine is of no great worth,\n Yet it is all I need.\n Ah! my lot is not so bad!\n I am master of this little house.\n\n 2.\n\n Tranquil I live by night and day,\n Of aught from no quarter afraid am I;\n Here dwell\n No king more proud.\n What need I more?\n Ha! it is not so bad!\n Peter is master in this little house.\n\n 3.\n\n Almost at daybreak each morn I rise,\n My sheep I drive to the pastures;\n And then\n 'Neath the shade reclined I pass the day.\n Where is there one more happy than I?\n No! my lot is not so bad!\n I of my flock the master am.\n\n 4.\n\n The sons of the nobles in the castles,\n Their hearts are black, their thoughts dull.\n Joyful\n (Always am I; to be sad)\n I have not time enough for that.\n Ah! my lot is not so bad!\n In the cottage of which I the master am.\n\n 5.\n\n Eating too much, and ever full,\n The rich they never feel hunger;\n Yet always\n My rude good health they envy;\n With money they cannot purchase that.\n Ha! it is not so bad!\n The cottage the lord of the castle is.\n\n 6.\n\n Once on a time I grieved the Lord,\n Sending me full of riches;\n Of sorrow\n Full then was I at heart,\n My little house here suffering.\n Lord! spare me!\n Leave me the master of my little house.\n\n\n\nA pretty cradle song, \"Lo! Lo! ene Maitea\" (\"Sleep! Sleep! my\nDarling\"), by M. Larralde, a physician of St. Jean de Luz, won the\nprize at Urrugne in 1859. It is written to a tune composed by the\nVicomte de Belzunce; the words have been printed in the \"Lettres\nLabourdines,\" par H. L. Fabre (Bayonne, 1869).\n\n\n 1. 1.\n\n Lo! Lo! nere maitea! Sleep! Sleep! my darling!\n Lo! ni naiz zurekin! Sleep! I am with thee!\n Lo! Lo! paregabea! Sleep! Sleep! without peer!\n Nigarrik ez-eghin; Shed no tears;\n Goizegui da! Munduko It is too soon! Of the world,\n Gelditzen bazira, If thou seest long days,\n Nigarretan urtzeco For tears thou wilt have\n Baduzu dembora. Enough time.\n\n 2. 2.\n\n Lo! nik zaitut higitzen, Sleep! I am rocking thee,\n Lo! Lo! nombait goza. Sleep! Sleep! and be still.\n Es duzuya ezagutzen Dost thou not recognise\n Amattoren boza? Of thy mother the voice?\n Exai guzietaric From every foe\n Zure begiratzen To guard thee\n Bertze lanak utzirik. I quit all else.\n Egonen naiz hemen. I am watching here.\n\n 3. 3.\n\n Lo! Lo! nere aingerua! Sleep! Sleep! my angel!\n Bainan amexetan, But borne on the wings of a dream\n Dabilkasu burua; Thy spirit far away flies;\n Hirria ezpainetan; A smile plays on thy lips;\n Norekin othe zare? Who are with thee?\n Non othe zabiltza? Where dost thou wander?\n Ez urrun ama-gabe Not far without your mother\n Gan ene bihotza. Go my (dear) heart.\n\n 4. 4.\n\n Lo! Lo! zeruetarat Sleep! Sleep! toward the heavens\n Airatu bazare, If thy spirit has flown,\n Ez bihar zu lurrerat Do not to earth return\n Ardiexi-gabe Without having obtained\n Ungi zure altchatzeko To bring thee up well\n Enetzat gracia; For me the favour;\n Guciz eni hortako This duty is all\n Zait ezti bizia! That is life to me!\n\n 5. 5.\n\n Lo! Lo! gauak oraindik, Sleep! Sleep! now it is night,\n Nombait du eguna; The day is still distant;\n Ez da nihon argirik There is no other light\n Baizik izarrena. Than that of the stars.\n Izarrez! mintzazean The stars! At the word\n Zutaz naiz orhoitzen; I am thinking of thee;\n Zein guti, zure aldean And (I say) than thee\n Duten distiratzen! A star is less bright.\n\n 6. 6.\n\n Lo! Lo! dembora dela! Sleep! Sleep! while there is time!\n Iduri zait albak I see that the dawn\n Histen hari tuela Is making pale\n Ekhi gabazkoak. The stars of the night.\n Choriac arboletan The birds in the trees\n Kantaz hasi dire; Their songs have begun;\n Laster nere besoetan Soon on my bosom\n Gochatuko zare. Thou wilt begin to play.\n\n 7. 7.\n\n Bainan atzarri zare But thou art waking\n Uso bat iduri. Like a sweet dove.\n Una nik zembat lore(ac) See what flowers\n Zuretzat ekharri! I have gathered for thee\n Ametsetan ait-amez Tell me, in thy dream\n Othe zare orhoitu? Didst thou think of me?\n Ai! hirri maite batez Ah! what a dear smile\n Baietz erradazu! Doth answer me, Yes!\n\n\nThe following belongs to a more quaint and popular class of lullaby,\nor cradle songs; as it is so simple we do not give the Basque:--\n\n\n LITTLE PETER. [211]\n\n 1. 5.\n\n Ah, my little Peter, Dear little Peter,\n I am sleepy, and-- I have bleached it, and--\n Shall I go to bed? Shall I go to bed?\n Go on spinning, and-- Weave it, and--\n Then, then, then, Then, then, then,\n Go on spinning, and-- Weave it, and--\n Then, then, yes. Then, then, yes.\n\n 2. 6.\n\n Dear little Peter, Dear little Peter,\n I have spun, and-- I have woven it, and--\n Shall I go to bed? Shall I go to bed?\n Put the thread up in skeins, and-- Cut it, and--\n Then, then, then, Then, then, then,\n Put the thread up in skeins, and-- Cut it, and--\n Then, then, yes. Then, then, yes.\n\n 3. 7.\n\n Dear little Peter, Dear little Peter,\n I have put it in skeins, and-- I have cut it, and--\n Shall I go to bed? Shall I go to bed?\n Wind off the thread, and-- Sew it, and--\n Then, then, then, Then, then, then,\n Wind off the thread, and-- Sew it, and--\n Then, then, yes. Then, then, yes.\n\n 4. 8.\n\n Dear little Peter, Oh! my little Peter,\n I have wound it off, and-- I have sewn it, and--\n Shall I go to bed? Shall I go to bed?\n Bleach it, and-- It is daylight! and--\n Then, then, then, Then, then, then,\n Bleach it, and-- It is daylight! and--\n Then, then, yes. Then, then, yes!\n\n\nThe best living Basque poets are--on the French side, Captain\nElisamboure, of Hendaye; and Iparraguirre, of San Sebastian, among the\nSpanish Basques. Iparraguirre is now very old. He is the author of the\nsong \"Guernicaco Arbola\" (\"The Tree of Guernica,\" in Biscay), an oak\nunder which the Lords of Biscay swore fidelity to the Fueros. This\nhas become almost the national song of the Basques. [212] A few\nwords on two other classes of songs, the drinking and the macaronic,\nmust conclude our remarks. The most spirited drinking song is the\nfollowing. [213] It must be remembered, in excuse, that the shepherds\nlive a very hard life on the mountains the greater part of the year,\nand taste little wine there.\n\n\nARTZAIN ZAHARRAC. THE OLD SHEPHERDS.\n\n1. 1.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nArtzain zaharrac tafarnan. The old shepherds (are) at the inn.\n Hordi gira? Are we drunk?\n Ez, ezgira. No, we are not.\nBasoak detzagun bira! Long live the glass!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nBasoak detzagun bira! Long live the glass!\n\n2. 2.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nNork joiten derauku borthan? Who knocks at the door?\n Behabada Perhaps\n Otsoa da! It's the wolf!\nNihor ez gaiten athera! We won't go to the door, not one (of us)!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nBasoak detzagun bira! Long live the glass!\n\n3. 3.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nUria hari karrikan. The rain begins in the street.\n Gauden hemen, Let us stop the night here,\n Arno hunen This good wine\nGostu onean edaten. To drink with pleasure.\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nGauden gostuan edaten! In the night to drink with pleasure!\n\n4. 4.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nBabazuza tarrapatan! The hail comes rattling down!\n Dugun edan Let us drink\n Hamarretan. For the tenth time.\nAberats gira gau huntan. We are rich to-night.\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nAberats gira gau hutan. We are rich this night.\n\n5. 5.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nEz dut minik sabeletan! I am so jolly inside!\n Nahi nuke I wish (I could live)\n Ehun urthe, A hundred years,\nHola egon banindaite! If I might remain like this!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nHola egon banindaite! If I might remain like this!\n\n6. 6.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nArnorik ez da boteilan! There's no more wine in the bottle!\n Ostalera, Landlord,\n Ez ikhara, Don't be afraid,\nArnoko bethi sos bada! There's always money for wine!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nArnoko bethi sos bada! There's always money for wine!\n\n7. 7.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nZer othe dut beguietan? What's gone wrong with my eyes?\n Non da bortha? Where's the door?\n Airatu da. It has flown away.\nMahaya dantzan dabila! The table's beginning to dance!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nMahaya dantzan dabila! The table's beginning to dance!\n\n8. 8.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nZangoak amor bidean! My feet won't go straight on the road!\n Hanketan min! I'm bad in my legs!\n Gaizo, Martin, To-morrow, Martin,\nUrkatsik ez dirok egin! You will not be able to walk at all!\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nUrkatsik ez dirok egin! You will not be able to walk at all!\n\n9. 9.\n\nTam, tam, tam, tam, Tam, tam, tam, tam,\n Rapetanplan. Rapetanplan.\nEri-tchar naiz hilzekotan. I am very ill, I am like to die.\n Sendo nintzan I should have been cured\n Aski edan; Had I drunk enough;\nIzan banu gau hunetan, If I had but this night,\n Iohoho! Iohoho! Iohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho! Hohoho!\nAski edan gau hunetan! Drunk enough this night!\n\n\nIt is not at all uncommon in a country where, within the space of some\ntwenty miles, the traveller may hear at least four languages--French,\nGascoun, Basque, and Spanish--to find two or more of these mixed in\nthe same poem, and sometimes with a little Latin as well. This occurs\nfrequently in the no\u00ebls, where the angel speaks in French or Latin,\nand the shepherds reply in Gascoun or Basque; also sometimes in the\nlove songs, where the French or Spanish lover will try to soften the\nheart of a Basque maiden by compliments in French or Spanish, while she\ngreatest tour de force of this kind we know, both as to language and\nrhyme, is the song given in Fr. Michel's \"Le Pays Basque,\" p. 429. We\nquote the first verse only; but the song continues with twenty-eight\nsuccessive Basque rhymes in \"in,\" and the last seven in \"en.\"\n\n\n Latin. Sed libera nos a malo. Deliver us from evil.\n Sit nomen Domini. God's holy Name be\n praised;\n Spanish. Vamos \u00e1 cantar un Let's sing a song, my\n canto para diverti. friends, and a joyous\n clamour raise;\n Basque. Jan dugunaz gueroz For we of rare good\n chahalki houneti meat have eaten to our\n fill,\n Basque. Eta edan ardoa And the good wine of\n Juranzouneti. Juran\u00e7on\n French. Chantons, chantons, have drunken at our\n mes chers amis, je will. Then sing,\n suis content pardi! friends, sing, i'faith,\n I'm right well pleased!\n Gascoun. Trinquam d'aquest Let's hear the\n boun bi, glasses ring,\n Basque. Eta dezagun canta And our new song, my\n cantore berri. friends, let's all\n together sing.\n\n\nAlmost every one of these Basque songs, like all true lyrics,\nhas been adapted to some tune, either older than the words, or\ncomposed specially by the author. The music is often superior to\nthe words. In the Nineteenth Century for August, 1878, Grant-Duff\nspeaks of some of the Basque airs sung by the B\u00e9arnais tenor,\nPascal Lamazou, as \"extraordinarily beautiful.\" [214] Lamazou died\nat Pau in May, 1878. His r\u00e9pertoire consisted of fifty Pyrenean\nsongs, of which thirty-four are B\u00e9arnais, fourteen Basque, and two\nare from the \"Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es Orientales.\" [215] One of the Basque airs\n\"Artzaina,\" has somehow got attached to the popular American hymn,\n\"I want to be an angel.\" Another, and larger collection, including\nmore correct renderings of some of Lamazou's fourteen, is that of\nSallaberry, \"Chants Populaires du Pays Basque\" (Bayonne, 1870). But,\nlong before this, a collection of Basque Songs, Zorzicos, and dance\nmusic was published in San Sebastian, by J. D. Iztueta, in 1824 and\n1826. Excellent reviews of these two works, with translations of\nsome of the words, appeared in the Foreign Review and Continental\nMiscellany, vol. ii., pp. 338, 1828; and in vol. iv., p. 198. Some\nspecimens of music are to be found at the end of Michel's \"Le Pays\nBasque,\" in the \"Cancionero Vasco\"--now in course of publication,\nand so often referred to--and in other local publications, besides\nthose in private hands. Basquophiles love to narrate that Rossini\npassed a summer in the Basque village of Cambo, and believe that they\ncan recognise the influence of Basque airs in some of his subsequent\noperas. However this may be, let no one judge of Basque music by the\nno\u00ebls usually howled in the streets at Christmas and the New Year,\nor by the doleful productions of the last Carlist War. It would\nbe equally fair to judge of English music by the serenades of the\nwaits at Christmas. We refer those who wish to investigate further\nthe subject of this chapter to the excellent work, \"Le Pays Basque,\"\npar M. Fr. Michel (Paris and London, 1857), for the French, to the\n\"Cancionero Vasco,\" by Don Jos\u00e9 Manterola, now in course of publication\nat San Sebastian, for the Spanish, Basque; and to M. Sallaberry's\n\"Chants Populaires du Pays Basque\" for the music.\n\n\n\n\n\n\nNOTES\n\n[1] See on this head M. Vinson's Essay in Appendix.\n\n[2] The second part of M. Cerquand's \"L\u00e9gendes et R\u00e9cits Populaires du\nPays Basque\" (Pau, 1876), appeared while the present work was passing\nthrough the press. It is chiefly occupied with legends of Basa-Jaun\nand Lami\u00f1ak.\n\n[3] Not that we suppose all these tales to be atmospheric myths;\nwe adopt this only as the provisional hypothesis which appears at\npresent to cover the largest amount of facts. It seems certainly to\nbe a \"vera causa\" in some cases; but still it is only one of several\npossible \"ver\u00e6 caus\u00e6,\" and is not to be applied to all.\n\n[4] Cf. Campbell's \"Introduction,\" p. xxviii.:--\"I have never heard a\nstory whose point was obscenity publickly told in a Highland cottage;\nand I believe such are rare. If there was an occasional coarse word\nspoken, it was not coarsely meant.\"\n\n[5] One class, of which we have given no example, is that of the\nStar Legend given by M. Cerquand, \"L\u00e9gendes et R\u00e9cits Populaires du\nPays Basque,\" p. 19, and reprinted, with variations, by M. Vinson,\n\"Revue de Linguistique,\" Tom. VIII., 241-5, January, 1876.\n\n[6] Cf. \"Etudes Historiques sur la Ville de Bayonne, par MM. Balasque\net Dulaurens,\" Vol. I., p. 49.\n\n[7] We have purposely omitted references to Greek and Latin mythology,\nas these are to be found \"passim\" in the pages of Max M\u00fcller and of\nCox. The preparation for the Press was made at a distance from our\nown library, or more references to Spanish and patois sources would\nhave been given.\n\n[8] See page 192.\n\n[9] There seems to be a Basque root \"Tar,\" which appears in the\nwords, \"Tarro, Tarrotu, v., devenir un peu grand. Tarrapataka, adv.,\nmarchant avec pr\u00e9cipitation et en faisant du bruit.\"--Salaberry's\n\"Vocabulaire Bas-Navarrais,\" sub voce. Cf. Campbell's \"Tales of the\nWestern Highlands,\" Vol. II., 94:--\"He heard a great Tartar noise,\"\nTartar being printed as if it were a Gaelic word.\n\n[10] Cf. also M\u00fcller's \"Fragmenta Historicorum Gr\u00e6corum\" (Didot, Paris,\n1841), Vol. I., p. 246. \"Ephori Fragmenta,\" 51, with the references\nthere given.\n\n[11] Cf. also the Gaelic, \"The Story and the Lay of the Great Fool,\"\nCampbell, Vol. III., pp. 146-154.\n\n[12] This talking giant's ring appears in Campbell's \"Popular Tales\nof the West Highlands,\" Vol. I., p. 111, in the tale called \"Conall\ncra Bhuidhe.\" He also refers (p. 153) to Grimm's tale of the \"Robber\nand his Sons,\" where the same ring appears:--\"He puts on the gold\nring which the giant gave him, which forces him to cry out, 'Here I\nam!' He bites off his own finger, and so escapes.\"\n\n[13] Cf. Campbell's \"Mac-a-Rusgaich,\" Vol. II., 305:--\"I am putting it\ninto the covenant that if either one of us takes the rue, that a thong\nshall be taken out of his skin, from the back of his head to his heel.\"\n\n[14] Salamanca was the reputed home of witchcraft and devilry in\nDe Lancre's time (1610). He is constantly punning on the word. It\nis because \"Sel y manque,\" etc. See also the story of Gerbert, Pope\nSylvester II., in the 10th century.\n\n[15] This incident is found in Cenac-Moncaut's Gascon tale, \"Le\nCoffret de la Princesse.\" \"Litterature Populaire de la Gascogne,\"\np. 193 (Dentu, Paris, 1868).\n\n[16] For this incident compare the death of the giant in one of the\nversions of \"Jack the Giant-Killer;\" and especially \"the Erse version\nof Jack the Giant-Killer.\" Campbell, Vol. II., p. 327.\n\n[17] This agreement is found also in the Norse and in Brittany. See\n\"Contes Populaires de la Grande Bretagne,\" by Loys Brueyre, pp. 25,\n26. This is an excellent work. The incident of Shylock, in the\n\"Merchant of Venice,\" will occur to every one.\n\n[18] Literally, \"Marsh of the Basa-Andre.\" The \"Puits des F\u00e9es\"\nare common in France, especially in the Landes and in the Gironde.\n\n[19] Only in this, and one other tale, is the word \"prince\" used\ninstead of \"king's son.\" Compare the Gaelic of Campbell in this\nrespect. This tale is probably from the French, and the Tartaro is\nonly a giant.\n\n[20] One of the oddest instances of mistaken metaphors that we know of\noccurs in \"La Vie de St. Savin, par J. Abbadie, Cur\u00e9 de la Paroisse\"\n(Tarbes, 1861). We translate from the Latin, which is given in a\nnote:--\"Intoxicated with divine love, he was keeping vigil according\nto his custom, and when he could not find a light elsewhere, he gave\nlight to his eyes from the light that was in his breast. The small\npiece of wax-taper thus lit passed the whole night till morning\nwithout being extinguished.\"--Off. S. Savin.\n\n[21] This Fleur-de-lis was supposed by our narrator to be some mark\ntattooed or impressed upon the breast of all kings' sons.\n\n[22] This, of course, is \"Little George,\" and makes one suspect that\nthe whole tale is borrowed from the French; though it is just possible\nthat only the names, and some of the incidents, may be.\n\n[23] Cf. \"Ezkabi Fidel,\" 112, below.\n\n[24] In Campbell's \"Tale of the Sea-Maiden,\" instead of looking in\nhis ear, the king's daughter put one of her earrings in his ear,\nthe last two days, in order to wake him; and it is by these earrings\nand her ring that she recognises him afterwards, instead of by the\npieces of dress and the serpent's tongues.\n\n[25] Campbell, Vol. I., lxxxvii., 8, has some most valuable remarks\non the Keltic Legends, showing the Kelts to be a horse-loving, and not\na seafaring race--a race of hunters and herdsmen, not of sailors. The\ncontrary is the case with these Basque tales. The reader will observe\nthat the ships do nothing extraordinary, while the horses behave as\nno horse ever did. It is vice vers\u00e2 in the Gaelic Tales, even when\nthe legends are identical in many particulars.\n\n[26] The three days' fight, and the dog, appear in Campbell's \"Tale\nof the Sea-Maiden,\" Vol. I., pp. 77-79.\n\n[27] The Basque word usually means \"Eau de Cologne.\"\n\n[28] This is a much better game than the ordinary one of tilting at a\nring with a lance, and is a much more severe test of horsemanship. The\nring, an ordinary lady's ring, is suspended by a thread from\na cross-bar, at such a height that a man can just reach it by\nstanding in his stirrups. Whoever, starting from a given point,\ncan put a porcupine's quill, or a small reed, through the ring, and\nthus carry it off at a hand-gallop, becomes possessor of the ring. We\nhave seen this game played at Monte Video, in South America; and even\nthe Gauchos considered it a test of good horsemanship. Formerly, it\nseems, the ring was suspended from the tongue of a bell, which would\nbe set ringing when the ring was carried away. The sword, of course,\nwas the finest rapier.\n\n[29] One of those present here interrupted the reciter--\"What did\nshe hit the serpent on the tail for?\" \"Why, to kill him, of course,\"\nwas the reply; \"ask Mr. Webster if serpents are not killed by hitting\nthem on the tail?\"\n\n[30] I have a dim recollection of having read something very similar\nto this either in a Slavonic or a Dalmatian tale.\n\n[31] This incident is in the translation of a tale by Chambers,\ncalled \"Rouge Etin,\" in Brueyre's \"Contes de la Grande Bretagne,\"\np. 64. See notes ad loc.\n\n[32] In the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es the ewes are usually milked, and either\n\"caill\u00e9\"--a kind of clotted cream--or cheese is made of the milk. The\nsheep for milking are often put in a stable, or fold, for the night.\n\n[33] For the \"fairies' holes,\" see Introduction to the \"Tales of the\nLami\u00f1ak,\" p. 48.\n\n[34] Cf. \"Mahistruba,\" p. 100; and \"Beauty and the Beast,\" p. 167.\n\n[35] Silk kerchiefs are generally used, especially by women, as\nhead-dresses, and not as pocket-handkerchiefs, all through the south\nof France.\n\n[36] \"L\u00e9gendes et R\u00e9cits Populaires du Pays Basque,\" par\nM. Cerquand. Part I., Pau, 1875, and Part II., p.28, Pau, 1876.\n\n[37] Cf. Campbell's tale, \"The Keg of Butter,\" Vol. III., 98, where\nthe fox cheats the wolf by giving him the bottoms of the oats and\nthe tops of the potatoes. See also the references there given.\n\n[38] Cf. Cerquand, Part I., p. 27, \"Ancho et les Vaches,\" and\nnotes. Also Part II., 34, et seq.\n\n[39] Cf. Cerquand, Part I., pp. 33, 34, \"La Dame au Peigne d'Or.\"\n\n[40] Cerquand, Part I., p. 30, \"Basa-Jauna et le Salve Regina.\"\n\n[41] Cerquand, \"L'Eglise d'Esp\u00e9s.\" \"Le Pont de Licq,\" Part I., pp. 31,\n32, and Part II., pp. 50-52.\n\n[42] But compare the well or marsh of the Basa-Andre in the Tartaro\ntale, p. 15.\n\n[43] Cerquand, Part I., pp. 32, 33.\n\n[44] The owner of the farm and the \"m\u00e9tay\u00e8re,\" or tenant's wife. Under\nthe \"m\u00e9tayer\" system the landlord and tenant divide the produce of the\nfarm. This is the case almost universally in South-Western France,\nas elsewhere in the South. The \"m\u00e9tayer's\" residence often adjoins\nthe landlord's house.\n\n[45] Cf. \"The Sister and her Seven Brothers.\"\n\n[46] This is the only representation that we know of Basa-Jaun as\na vampire.\n\n[47] As the Basques commonly go barefooted, or use only hempen sandals,\nthe feet require to be washed every evening. This is generally done\nbefore the kitchen fire, and in strict order of age and rank. Cf. also\n\"The Sister and her Seven Brothers.\"\n\n[48] The running water, we suspect, gives the girl power over the\nwitch.\n\n[49] \"Hazel sticks.\" In the sixteenth century the dog-wood, \"cornus\nsanguinea,\" seems to have been the witches' wood. In the \"Pastorales,\"\nall the enchantments, etc., are done by the ribboned wands of the\nSatans. This tale ends rather abruptly. The reciter grew very tired\nat the last.\n\n[50] Basque Lami\u00f1ak always say exactly the contrary to what they mean.\n\n[51] Cf. Blad\u00e9's \"Contes Agenais,\" \"Les Deux Filles,\" and K\u00f6hler's\n\"Notes Comparatives\" on the tale, p. 149.\n\n[52] That is, the wife span evenly with a clear steady sound of the\nwheel, but the man did it unevenly.\n\n[53] Cf. Campbell's \"The Brollachan,\" Vol. II., p. 189, with the\nnotes and variations. \"Me myself,\" as here, seems the equivalent of\nthe Homeric \"o>'utic.\"\n\n[54] M. Cerquand has the same tale, Part I., p. 41.\n\n[55] This is a very widely spread legend. Cf. Patra\u00f1as, \"What Ana saw\nin the Sunbeam;\" \"Duffy and the Devil,\" in Hunt's \"Popular Romances of\nthe West of England,\" p. 239; also Kennedy's \"Idle Girl and her Aunts,\"\nwhich is very close to the Spanish story; and compare the references\nsubjoined to the translation of the Irish legend in Brueyre's \"Contes\nPopulaires de la Grande Bretagne,\" p. 159.\n\n[56] Cf. \"The Brewery of Egg-shells,\" in Croker's \"Fairy Legends of\nthe South of Ireland,\" pp. 32-36.\n\n[57] This tale, or at least this version of it, with the names Rose\nand Bellarose, must come from the French.\n\n[58] \"A little dog\" is mentioned in Campbell's \"The Daughter of the\nSkies,\" Vol. I., 202, and notes.\n\n[59] \"Kopetaen erdian diamanteko bista batez\"--\"a view of diamonds\nin the middle of the forehead.\"\n\n[60] Nothing has been said about this dress before. Something must\nhave dropped out of the story.\n\n[61] At a Pyrenean wedding the bride and bridegroom, with the wedding\nparty, spend nearly the whole day in promenading through the town or\nvillage. The feast often lasts several days, and the poor bride is\nan object of pity, she sometimes looks so deadly tired.\n\n[62] Cerquand, Part I., p. 29, notes to Conte 8; Fr. Michel, \"Le Pays\nBasque,\" p. 152 (Didot, Paris, 1857).\n\n[63] \"Akhelarre,\" literally \"goat pasture.\" This was the name in the\n16th century.\n\n[64] This belief in a toad sitting at the church door to swallow the\nHost is found in De Lancre.\n\n[65] That is, one with bran, or herbs, wood-ashes, &c., or plain water.\n\n[66] M. Cerquand gives this tale at length, Part II., pp. 10, 11. The\nincidents are very slightly changed.\n\n[67] Compare this with the scene in Apuleius, \"De Asino Aureo;\" and,\nfor a somewhat similar \"fairy ointment,\" see Hunt's \"Popular Romances\nof the West of England,\" pp. 110-113.\n\n[68] The blunder is confounding \"dessus,\" over, and \"dessous,\"\nunder. This shows that the tale is originally French, or, at least,\nthe witch's part of it; for this punning mistake could not be made in\nBasque. The two words are not in the least similar in sound. \"Gai\u00f1etik\"\nand \"azpetik\" are the words here used.\n\n[69] Witches still appear in the shape of cats, but generally black\nones. About two years ago we were told of a man who, at midnight,\nchopped off the ear of a black cat, who was thus bewitching his cattle,\nand lo! in the morning it was a woman's ear, with an earring still\nin it. He deposited it in the Mairie, and we might see it there;\nbut we did not go to look, as it was some distance off.\n\n[70] Literally, \"red misery.\" In Basque the most intense wretchedness\nof any kind is always called \"red.\"\n\n[71] There are several superstitions connected with cross-roads\nin the Pays Basque. When a person dies, the bedding or mattress is\nsometimes burnt at the nearest cross-roads, and every passer-by says a\n\"Paternoster\" for the benefit of the deceased. This custom is becoming\nextinct, but is still observed in old families.\n\n[72] This is, of course, only a mispronunciation of \"Dominus\ntecum\"--\"The Lord be with you.\" Compare the opposite effect of \"God\nsave us,\" in Croker's tale of \"Master and Man,\" pp. 96, 97.\n\n[73] See notes to \"Juan Dekos,\" p. 146.\n\n[74] I think this word occurs in some \"Chanson de Gestes,\" and in the\nBasque \"Pastorales,\" as a Mahommedan devil. If not, it is probably our\nown \"Duke of Marlborough\" thus transformed. Cf. the song, \"Malbrouk\ns'en va en guerre.\"\n\n[75] This is again, \"red, angry.\"\n\n[76] Cf. Campbell, \"The Tale of Connal,\" Vol. I., p. 142.\n\n[77] This looks uncommonly like \"Ho, you!\" but it is given by Salaberry\nas a Basque cry, \"Appel par un cri fort, par la voix \u00e9lev\u00e9e.\" \"Play,\"\nas an exclamation to begin at games of ball, has no meaning in Basque,\nand is believed to come from the English. We have borrowed \"Jingo,\"\n\"by Jingo,\" from \"Jinkoa,\" \"the deity.\"\n\n[78] In Campbell's first tale, \"The Young King of Easaidh Ruadh,\nthe hero is assisted by a dog, a falcon, and an otter. Cf. the notes\nin the translation of this tale in Brueyre's \"Contes de la Grande\nBretagne;\" cf. also, \"The Sea-Maiden,\" pp. 73 and 94, for a still\ncloser resemblance.\n\n[79] Cf. \"Tabakiera,\" p. 94, and \"Old Deccan Days,\" pp. 83-91. It is\ncurious to hear of the Red Sea from narrators so far apart, on opposite\nsides, as the Lingaets of the Deccan and the Basques, neither of whom,\nprobably, had the most distant idea of its geographical position;\ncertainly our Basque narrators had not.\n\n[80] In Campbell's \"Sea-Maiden,\" the hero has only to think of the\nanimals, and they are at his side; but he is not transformed into them.\n\n[81] Campbell refers to \"The Giant who had no Heart in his Body,\"\n\"Norse Tales,\" 1859. See his references, and those in the \"Contes\nPopulaires de la Grande Bretagne,\" cited above. M. d'Abbadie has\nalso communicated to us the outlines of a wild Tartaro story, told\nin Basque, in which the hero \"fights with a body without a soul.\"\n\n[82] Cf. Campbell's \"Tales,\" before quoted, and \"Old Deccan Days\"\n(\"Punchkin\"), pp. 14, 15, for the whole of this incident.\n\n[83] Malbrouk seems now to assume the character of \"Hermes, the clever\nthief.\" If we mistake not, this cow appears also in Indian mythology.\n\n[84] For the whole of this tale compare Campbell's \"Sea-Maiden,\"\nVol. I., p. 71. The sea-maiden takes the place of the fish. Besides the\nthree sons, the three foals, and the three puppies, three trees grow\nbehind the house, and serve as a sign like the well boiling. Blad\u00e9's\n\"Les Deux Jumeaux,\" in his \"Contes Agenais,\" is identical with this;\ncf. also K\u00f6hler's notes, p. 148.\n\n[85] Much more is made of the sword in the Gaelic tales. In them it\nis always a magic or a mystic weapon.\n\n[86] This episode of the fight with the seven-headed beast is\nintroduced in the same way in the Gaelic--\"The Sea-Maiden,\" pp. 76,\n77. Cf. also \"Rouge Etin,\" in Brueyre.\n\n[87] In the Gaelic the charcoal-burner is a general.\n\n[88] This takes place not on the wedding night, but some time after in\nthe \"Sea-Maiden,\" p. 82. The wife at prayers and the husband standing\nby indifferent is but too true a picture, we fear.\n\n[89] The \"Sea-Maiden,\" p. 82--\"Go not, go not,\" said she, \"there\nnever went man to this castle that returned.\" See below.\n\n[90] Basque, \"as must needs be.\"\n\n[91] We were also told, in Basque, \"The Powerful Lantern,\" which\nwas the story of Aladdin's lamp, with only one incident omitted. The\npresent is much more like the Gaelic, but there (Campbell, Vol. II.,\n297-9) it is a lady who gives the snuff-box, which says, \"Eege gu\ndjeege,\" on being opened. Campbell's note is:--\"The explanation of\nthese sounds was, that it was 'as if they were asking.' The sounds\nmean nothing, that I know of, in any language.\" \"Que quieres?\" is\npure Spanish--\"What dost thou want?\"\n\n[92] Cf. MacCraw's variation in Campbell, note, Vol. II., p. 301,\nfor the rest of the story.\n\n[93] \"Power\" in these tales, in the Basque, seems always to mean\n\"magic power,\" some wonder-working gift or charm.\n\n[94] In Campbell's versions it is \"the realm of the king under the\nwaves,\" or \"the realm of the rats;\" but a voyage has to be made to\nthat, and a rat takes the place of the servant in stealing the box\nagain for the hero. \"The Deccan Tales\" mention the Red Sea.\n\n[95] The south wind is the most dreaded local wind in the Pays\nBasque. It is always hot, and sometimes very violent. After two or\nthree days it usually brings on a violent thunderstorm and rain.\n\n[96] The lad here calls his snuff-box affectionately \"Que quieres,\"\nas if that were its name.\n\n[97] The likeness and the variation of this tale from Campbell's Gaelic\none, \"The Widow's Son,\" etc., Vol. II., pp. 293-303, prove that both\nmust be independent versions of some original like Aladdin's lamp,\nbut not mere copies of it.\n\n[98] This doubling of a price is to get a thing more quickly done--in\nhalf the usual time. At least, that was the narrator's explanation.\n\n[99] These three clever men are found in Gascon (Blad\u00e9's \"Armagnac\nTales,\" p. 10), in Spanish, in Campbell's \"The King of Lochlin's\nThree Daughters,\" Vol. I., p. 238, and in many others. Cf. Brueyre,\npp. 113-120, and notes.\n\n[100] Cf. The tale from the Servian, in Naak\u00e9's \"Slavonic Fairy Tales,\"\np. 7.\n\n[101] i.e., the piece of \"braise,\" or glowing ember from the wood fire,\nwhich is always nearly on a level with the floor in a Basque house.\n\n[102] Through the whole of the South of Europe, in Greece, Italy,\nSpain, Portugal, etc., the firing of guns, pistols, crackers,\nis universal at all kinds of \"f\u00eates,\" especially religious ones;\nthe half-deafened foreigner often longs for some such law as that\ninfringed by \"Mahistruba;\" but cf. \"Juan de Kalais,\" p. 151.\n\n[103] Cf. supra, p. 38, \"The Serpent in the Wood.\"\n\n[104] This tale is somewhat like Campbell's \"Three Soldiers,\" with\nthe variations, Vol. I., p. 176. It is said to be very widely spread.\n\n[105] This is an interpolation by the narrator.\n\n[106] At Bayonne one part of the town is called \"Les Cinq Cantons.\"\n\n[107] For like involuntary sleep, where the lady cannot awaken her\nlover, cf. Campbell, \"The Widow's Son,\" Vol. II., p. 296.\n\n[108] For the incident of the eagle, cf. Campbell, \"The King of\nLochlin's Three Daughters,\" Vol. I., pp. 238-9:--\"When they were at\nthe mouth of the hole, the stots were expended, and she was going to\nturn back; but he took a steak out of his own thigh, and he gave this\nto the eagle, and with one spring she was on the surface of the earth.\"\n\n[109] Cf. the horse in Naak\u00e9's \"Slavonic Fairy Tales,\" \"Ivan Kruchina\"\n(from the Russian), p. 117, and \"the dun shaggy filly,\" in Campbell's\n\"The Young King of Easaidh Ruadh,\" Vol. I., p. 5, and elsewhere;\nalso the horse in the \"Uso-Andre,\" and \"The Unknown Animal,\"\nbelow. Campbell, Vol. I., p. 63, remarks that the horses in Gaelic\nstories are always feminine; but they are red as well as grey.\n\n[110] In this, and the following tale, Ezkabi's golden hair is\nevidently like \"Diarmaid's\" beauty spot. \"He used to keep his cap\nalways down on the beauty-spot; for any woman that might chance to\nsee it, she would be in love with him.\"--Campbell's \"Diarmaid and\nGrainne,\" Vol. III., p. 39, notes and variations.\n\n[111] Compare the following legend, and \"Old Deccan Days\" (\"Truth's\nTriumph\"), pp. 62, 63.\n\n[112] Cf. above, \"The Grateful Tartaro and the Heren-Suge,\" p. 22.\n\n[113] Cf. note, supra, p. 113, and Grainne seeing Diarmaid as he lifts\nhis cap or helmet. These beauty-spots seem to be the counterpart of\nAphrodite's cestus.\n\n[114] Cf. the two golden pears in the Spanish \"Juanillo el Loco,\"\nPatra\u00f1as, p. 38, given in exchange for the same water.\n\n[115] Cf. below, \"The Singing Tree,\" etc., p. 176.\n\n[116] Cf. \"Old Deccan Days,\" p. 139; and Cox, \"Aryan Mythology,\"\nVol. I., p. 160, seq.\n\n[117] Cf. below, p. 156.\n\n[118] The word \"Ezkabi\" is \"the scab;\" he either really had it,\nas in the next version, or was supposed to have it from keeping his\nhead covered, as in this. In both cases the hair is most beautiful,\nprecious, golden, and love-compelling.\n\n[119] Cf. with the whole of this tale, Campbell's second tale,\n\"The Battle of the Birds,\" and the variations, especially the one of\n\"Auburn Mary,\" Vol. I. pp. 52-58.\n\n[120] Cf. Baring Gould's chapter, \"Swan-Maidens\"--\"Curious Myths of\nthe Middle Ages,\" p. 561, seq.\n\n[121] In the Gaelic the labours are more like those of Herakles--to\nclean out a byre, to shoot birds, and to rob a magpie's nest. The\nBasque incidents seem to fit better into a climatological myth.\n\n[122] In \"Old Deccan Days\" (\"Truth's Triumph\") it is the hair and\nnot the comb that does the wonders. In M. Cerquand's \"R\u00e9cits\" the\ncomb is an attribute of the Basa-Andre.\n\n[123] In Campbell's \"Battle of the Birds\" the hero always sleeps\nwhile the giant's daughter does his task for him.\n\n[124] Here the narrator interposed, \"You see it is just as it happens;\nthe women are always the worst.\" But in Campbell it is the giant\nhimself who says, \"My own daughter's tricks are trying me.\"\n\n[125] In Campbell the finger is lost in climbing the tree to get the\nmagpie's nest; but, as here, the bride is recognised by the loss of it.\n\n[126] In \"Auburn Mary\" the hero has to catch a young filly, \"with an\nold, black, rusty bridle.\"--Campbell, Vol. I., p. 55.\n\n[127] See below for a second marriage. In Campbell, p. 37, there is\na double marriage.\n\n[128] In Campbell, p. 55, \"Auburn Mary,\" there is the same \"talking\nspittle.\"\n\n[129] Cf. \"Truth's Triumph,\" in \"Old Deccan Days;\" and Campbell,\npp. 33, 34; and supra, \"Ezkabi-Fidel,\" pp. 113, 114.\n\n[130] Campbell, pp. 34 and 56.\n\n[131] In Campbell, it is an old greyhound that kisses him, but with\nthe same result, pp. 34 and 56.\n\n[132] In one of Campbell's \"Variations,\" pp. 51, 52, the ending is\nsomething like this. In more than one, the hero marries another bride\nin his period of oblivion.\n\n[133] Cf. Campbell's \"The Chest,\" Vol. II., p. 1. The tales seem\nalmost identical.\n\n[134] The usual term for \"the Pope;\" the French, \"Le Saint-P\u00e8re.\"\n\n[135] This is a curious testimony to an ancient practice. In the\nsame way the Basques call \"La F\u00eate Dieu,\" \"Corpus Christi Day;\"\n\"Phestaberria,\" \"The New Feast,\" though it was instituted in the\nthirteenth century.\n\n[136] This is a very old and wide-spread story. The Gaelic versions\nare given in Campbell, Vol. II., p. 239, seq. Cf. also Cox, \"Aryan\nMythology,\" Vol. I., p. 111, seq.\n\n[137] In the Gaelic it is the bishop's horse.\n\n[138] This is in the Norse and Teutonic versions.\n\n[139] This, again, is more like the Gaelic.\n\n[140] This name was written thus phonetically from the Basque, and\nit was not till I saw the Gaelic tale that it struck me that it is\nsimply \"Jean d'Ecosse\"--\"John of Scotland,\" or \"Scotch John.\" In the\nanalogous tale in Campbell, \"The Barra Widow's Son,\" Vol. II., p. 111,\nwe read--\"It was Iain Albanach\" (literally, Jean d'Ecosse) \"the boy was\ncalled at first; he gave him the name of Iain Mac a Maighstir\" (John,\nmaster's son) \"because he himself was master of the vessel.\" This\nseems decisive that in some way the Basques have borrowed this tale\nfrom the Kelts since their occupation of the Hebrides. The Spanish\nversions, too, are termed \"The Irish Princess\" (Patra\u00f1as, p. 234).\n\n[141] See note on preceding page, and Campbell, Vol. II., p. 3.\n\n[142] Whether this refers to any real custom about dead men's debts,\nwe cannot say. It occurs in the Gaelic, in \"Ezkabi,\" and in other\ntales and versions, notably in the Spanish; see as above, and \"The\nWhite Blackbird,\" below, p. 182.\n\n[143] In other versions it is the soul of the man whose debts he\nhad paid, either in the shape of a hermit or a fox. In the Gaelic\nit is left vague and undetermined. He is called \"one,\" or \"the\nasker.\" (Campbell, Vol. II., pp. 119 and 121.) The same contract is\nmade in each case, and with the same result.\n\n[144] This is, of course, \"Jean de Calais\"--\"John of Calais\"--and\nwould seem to show that it was through some French, and not Spanish,\nversions that the Basques learnt it.\n\n[145] This seems inserted from \"Mahistruba,\" p. 105.\n\n[146] In the Gaelic it is a general, as here, and not a lame second\nofficer, as in \"Juan Dekos,\" who wants to marry the lady, and who\nsets the hero on a desert island.--Campbell, Vol. II., p. 118.\n\n[147] See note on page 149.\n\n[148] We had put this tale aside, with some others, as worthless,\nuntil we found from Campbell how widely it is spread. The earliest\nversion seems to be the Italian of Straparola, 1567. The first\nincident there, persuading that a pig is an ass, we have in another\nBasque tale; the last two incidents are identical. They are found,\ntoo, in the Gaelic, though in separate versions. For killing the\nwife, see Campbell, Vol. II., p. 232; for the last, pp. 222 and\n234. Cf. also \"The Three Widows,\" with all the variations and notes,\nVol. II., pp. 218-238. Is this a case of transmission from one people\nto another of the Italian of Straparola? or do all the versions\npoint back to some lost original? and is there, or can there be,\nany allegorical meaning to such a tale? The answer to these questions\nseems of great importance, and the present tale to be a good instance\nto work upon. Petarillo seems an Italian name.\n\n[149] \"Peau d'Ane.\"\n\n[150] \"Fid\u00e8le.\"\n\n[151] The narrator was here asked \"if the place of the dance was at the\nking's palace.\" \"No,\" she gravely replied, \"it was at the mairie.\" In\nother tales it is on the \"place,\" i.e., the open square or market-place\nwhich there is in most French towns and villages in the south. It is\ngenerally in front either of the church or of the mairie.\n\n[152] This was explained as meaning \"Beaten with the Slipper.\" This\nversion came from the Cascarrot, or half-gipsy quarter of St. Jean\nde Luz, and may not be purely Basque. Except in one or two words the\nlanguage is correct enough--for St. Jean de Luz.\n\n[153] At an exclamation of surprise from one of the auditors, the\nnarrator piously said, \"It is the Holy Virgin who permitted all that.\"\n\n[154] Cf. \"The Serpent in the Wood,\" p. 38.\n\n[155] Literally, \"be full.\"\n\n[156] Cf. the well behind the house in the \"Fisherman and his Three\nSons,\" p. 87.\n\n[157] Cf. \"Dragon,\" p. 108.]\n\n[158] Here the narrator evidently forgot to tell about the child's\nbeing exposed, and the gardener finding it, as appears by the sequel.\n\n[159] Cf. the well that boils in \"The Fisherman and his Three Sons,\"\nand the ring in \"Beauty and the Beast.\"\n\n[160] Can Bunyan have taken his description of the \"Valley of the\nShadow of Death,\" in the \"Pilgrim's Progress,\" partly from such tales\nas this?\n\n[161] Cf. above in \"Ezkabi\" and \"Juan Dekos.\" There is some similarity\nbetween this tale and Campbell's \"Mac Ian Direach,\" Vol. II.,\np. 328. Compare also \"The Greek Princess and the Young Gardener,\"\nin Kennedy's \"Fireside Stories of Ireland.\" We know only the French\ntranslation of this last in Brueyre, p. 145. \"Le Merle Blanc\" is one\nof the best known of French stories.\n\n[162] Cf. \"Juan Dekos\" for paying the debts, and the fox. In the\nGaelic the fox is called \"An Gille Mairtean,\" \"the fox.\" (Campbell,\nVol. II., p. 329, seq.)\n\n[163] Cf. the stealing of the bay filly in Campbell's \"Mac Iain\nDireach,\" Vol. II., p. 334.\n\n[164] Huge cisterns, partly underground, for holding rain water,\nare common in the Pays Basque. They are, of course, near the houses\noff which the water drains.\n\n[165] Cf. \"Basa-Jauna,\" p. 49.\n\n[166] A piece of the braise, or burnt stick. This is constantly done\nall through the South of France, where wood is burnt. If your fire\nis out you run to get a stick from your neighbour's fire.\n\n[167] Cf. note to \"Basa-Jauna,\" p. 49.\n\n[168] Cf. \"Old Deccan Days\" (\"Truth's Triumph\"), pp. 57-58. The little\ngirl is the rose tree there among the mango trees, her brothers. Cows\nare very gentle in the Pays Basque, and are often petted, especially\nthe tiny black and white Breton ones. We have known a strong man weep\nat the death of a favourite cow, and this one of ten others.\n\n[169] The Ranee makes the same conditions in \"Truth's Triumph\"--\"You\nwill let me take these crows\" (her brothers) \"with me, will you\nnot? for I love them dearly, and I cannot go away unless they may\ncome too.\"--\"Old Deccan Days,\" p. 59.\n\n[170] This was recited to M. Vinson, and has been published by him\nin the \"Revue de Linguistique,\" p. 241 (Janvier, 1876). We have since\nheard of a longer form preserved at Renteria, in Guipuzcoa.\n\n[171] To these should perhaps be added the Latin of the Dolopathos and\n\"Gesta Romanorum\" of the 12th or 13th century.\n\n[172] The first portion of this tale is told of the Tartaro as\n\"Twenty-Four.\" We suspect that it is an old Tartaro tale joined on to\na Christopheros legend, unless indeed this be the very peculiarity and\nmeaning of the Christopheros legend--the enlisting of the old gods\ninto the service of Christ, and including the most human of them in\nHis salvation. The last part of the tale is very widely spread. It is\ngiven by F. Caballero in the Spanish, and by Cenac-Moncaut, \"Le Sac\nde la Ram\u00e9e,\" p. 57--\"Litt\u00e9rature Populaire de la Gascogne.\" There is\nsomething like it in Campbell's \"Tale of the Soldier,\" Vol. II., p.276.\n\n[173] This seems to be one of the many variations of the \"Golden\nLegend,\" the \"Aurea Legenda\" which Longfellow has so well versified.\n\n[174] The idea of this incident is not confined to Christianity; a\nsimilar story is told of a Mahommedan saint, and a caliph or king. The\nscene of the story is Cairo.\n\n[175] As is plain by the sequel, where the angel hangs him for a\nmoment, the original story must have had \"hanged.\" This is a good\nexample of the way in which the dress of a story gets gradually\naltered, as old customs are forgotten among a people.\n\n[176] This whole picture is, unhappily, more true to life than one\nwould think at first sight. The whole history of the Cagots, and\na good deal of that of witchcraft, shows how virulent this kind of\nirrational dislikes is, and how difficult to deal with and to overcome\nwhen once they have been introduced into a rural population.\n\n[177] I am not unaware that certain portions of the theory above stated\nhave been recently disputed, especially by Mr. Sayce (\"Principles\nof Comparative Philology,\" Tr\u00fcbner, London, 1874). But I am unable,\nfor the present at least, to accept all these criticisms, and I have\nhere no opportunity of discussing them fully, or to good purpose.\n\n[178] \"Po\u00e9sies Basques de Bernard Dechepare.\" A most careful reprint,\nword for word, was published by Cazals, Bayonne, in 1874.\n\n[179] An exact reprint of the Gospel of St. Mark in this version,\nwith notes, &c., by M. J. Vinson, was also published at Bayonne\n(Cazals), 1874.\n\n[180] For more minute and complete topographical details, see the\nexcellent linguistic maps of Prince L. L. Bonaparte, which are models\nof the application of geography to the aid of philological study. The\npeculiar dialect spoken in every village, and, in some instances,\nin almost every house, may be there traced.\n\n[181] M. Van Eys has consecrated an excellent article to these\netymologies in the \"Revue de Linguistique,\" Juillet, 1874, pp. 3-15.\n\n[182] It must, however, be acknowledged that M. Luchaire, in various\npamphlets relating to the ancient toponymy of Spain, has made certain\nof these explanations more acceptable.\n\n[183] A form of skull, postero-dolichocephalous, with good facial\nangle, ortho- or opistho-gnathous, but of comparatively small cerebral\ncontent, is claimed by some as peculiar to the Basques.--W. W.\n\n[184] The names of some of the most famous improvisatori,\nor Coblacaris, as they are called in Basque, have been preserved:\nFernando Amezquetarra, in the Spanish Provinces; and Pierre Topet\ndit Etchehun, and Bernard Mardo of Barcus, in the French Pays Basque.\n\n[185] An exception is occasionally made in the case of the \"Satans,\"\nas the part is almost too fatiguing for girls.\n\n[186] This little wand plays an important part of its own. In many\nof its uses it resembles the Caduceus of Mercury; a touch from it\nrenders invisible, puts to death, or restores to life at the will of\nthe Satanic possessor. It appears also as given to the hero in many\nof the \"Legends;\" cf. pp. 34, 35, above.\n\n[187] An account of the acting of Richard Sans Peur, at Larrau,\nin June 1864, is given in Macmillan's Magazine, January, 1865.\n\n[188] Cf. Legends above, p. 151.\n\n[189] This MS. was kindly lent by M. J. Vinson, to whom we have been\nso often indebted.\n\n[190] Ercilla, the author of the \"Araucana,\" was however of Basque\nblood, and Basque names occur frequently among the poets and dramatists\nof Spain, especially in recent years.\n\n[191] The claim put forth in the \"Revista Euskara,\" p. 61, April,\n1878, may be fully conceded:--\"Si; \u00e9ste es el car\u00e1cter distintivo\nde la poes\u00eda euskara; su exquisita moralidad. Jam\u00e1s se encuentra\nen ella nada que se parezca, ni \u00e1 una apolog\u00eda del vicio, ni \u00e1 una\nexcusa del crimen.\"\n\n[192] \"Cancionero Vasco, acompa\u00f1ado de traducciones\ncastellanas, juicios criticos,\" etc., por Jos\u00e9 Manterola. San\nSebastian. 1877-8. Serie I., 2, p. 39.\n\n[193] The reader will remark that there is really no authority for\ntreating these words as proper names. This, however, is the universal\ninterpretation among Basques.\n\n[194] Ibarg\u00fcen's words after quoting the song are: \"Por este \u00f3rden\nreferidas yba este cantar contando toda esta historia que habemos\ndicho atr\u00e1s en este cap\u00edtulo de las guerras ceviles que en cinco\na\u00f1os Octaviano Cesar Augusto hizo en esta Provincia Cant\u00e1brica, y\naunque esta hereciat (historical song) tenga otros muy muchos versos\nrodados tan solamente dellos he tomado los diez e seis primeros,\nporque los demas estaban carcomidos, y los pongo aqu\u00ed para el que\nfuere bascongado, content\u00e1ndome con solo ellos ebitando largueza\nimportuna de los dem\u00e1s, que el pergamino est\u00e1 muy ro\u00f1oso e viejo,\"\ncited in the \"Cancionero Vasco,\" 2, iii., pp. 4, 5.\n\n[195] Cf. Alexandre Dihinx in the Impartial de Bayonne, in 1873. These\narticles have been reprinted by M. J. Vinson in L'Avenir de Bayonne,\nMay, 1878.\n\n[196] \"The master of the house,\" the usual respectful address to\na Basque proprietor of any rank. His wife is \"Etcheco Anderea,\"\n\"The mistress of the house.\"\n\n[197] Altabiscar is the mountain on the East, Iba\u00f1eta that on the\nWest of the supposed scene of conflict.\n\n[198] Of course it ought to be \"vultures.\" The Basque is distinctly\n\"eagles;\" an error which no Basque shepherd could have made.\n\n[199] The use of rocks \"is confirmed by the Basque ballad of\nAltabiscar, in which, however, there is no allusion to the powerful\ninducement of booty.\"\n\n[200] There are other examples of similar mystification in later Basque\nliterature. \"Les \u00c9chos du Pas de Roland,\" par J. B. Dasconaguerre,\nBayonne, 1868, professes on the title to be \"traduit du Basque\";\nbut the \"Atheko-gaitzeko Oiharzunak\" (the echoes of the bad door or\npass), Bayonan, 1870, is really a translation from the French. To the\nBasques the name of Roland is unknown in connection with this beautiful\nravine. M. Fr. Michel's \"Le Romancero du Pays Basque,\" Didot, Paris,\n1859, is scarcely less an embroidery on themes of which the ground\nonly is Basque.\n\n[201] Cf. lorea, from the Latin flos flore.\n\n[202] An exact reprint of Echepare's \"Poems,\" edited by M. Vinson,\nwas published by Cazals, Bayonne, 1874.\n\n[203] The most curious fact to notice in these hymns is, how very soon\nafter their death the Jesuit Fathers, Ignatius de Loyola and Fran\u00e7ois\nde Xavier, were celebrated and addressed as saints in Basque verse.\n\n[204] This song is prettily translated in Miss Costello's \"B\u00e9arn\nand the Pyr\u00e9n\u00e9es,\" London, 1844, where are also translations of some\nother Basque songs, the originals of which I have failed to trace.\n\n\n 1.\n\n Borne on thy wings amidst the air,\n Sweet bird, where wilt thou go?\n For if thou wouldst to Spain repair,\n The ports are filled with snow.\n Wait, and we will fly together,\n When the Spring brings sunny weather.\n\n 2.\n\n St. Joseph's Hermitage is lone,\n Amidst the desert bare,\n And when we on our way are gone,\n Awhile we'll rest us there;\n As we pursue our mountain track,\n Shall we not sigh as we look back?\n\n 3.\n\n Go to my love, oh! gentle sigh,\n And near her chamber hover nigh;\n Glide to her heart, make that thy shrine,\n As she is fondly kept in mine.\n Then thou may'st tell her it is I\n Who sent thee to her, gentle sigh!\n\n\n[205] For the most recent theory on the Cagots, see \"Les Parias de\nFrance et de l'Espagne,\" par M. de Rochas (Hachette, Paris, 1876).\n\n[206] More often the Cagots' ears were said to be either completely\nround or with very long lobes, or with the lobes adhering. We have\nfound examples of all of these in the Basque country, but not confined\nor peculiar to the Cagots. A case like that described in the verse\nabove we have never seen.\n\n[207] Michel, \"Le Pays Basque,\" p. 352.\n\n[208] Michel, \"Le Pays Basque,\" p. 414.\n\n[209] I owe the MS. of this song to the kindness of M. Achille\nFouquier, author, sportsman, and artist.\n\n[210] A line has dropped out of the MS. here. We supply the probable\nmeaning. The composer is one P. Mendibel, 1859.\n\n[211] Taken down by M. J. Vinson, February 21, 1874. Cf. \"Proverbes du\nPays de B\u00e9arn,\" par V. Lespy (Montpellier, 1876), p. 84, for another\nsong on \"Little Peter\" in Gascoun.\n\n[212] Cf. Fr. Michel, \"Le Pays Basque,\" p. 260. \"Cancionero Vasco,\"\nSeries 2, iii., 82, etc.\n\n[213] From the MS. of M. A. Fouquier. This song took the prize at\nUrrugne, 1858.\n\n[214] The latest traveller in the Basque countries corroborates\nthis. Major Campion writes, \"I had no idea how fine were the old\nBasque songs, or, more correctly speaking, chants; some of them\nbeing perfectly charming.\"--\"On Foot in Spain,\" by J. S. Campion,\np. 73. (Chapman and Hall, 1879.)\n\n[215] These are to be obtained chez Ribaut, Pau, and the other\nbooksellers at Biarritz and Pau.\n\n\n\n\n\n Fleet Street Printing Works, 52, Fleet Street, London, E.C.\n\n\n
","title":"Basque Legends; With an Essay on the Basque Language","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":96806}