THE TAILOR AND THE HURRICANE

A BRETON STORY

Once there was a tailor and his wife. Tailors’ wives are generally lazy, and this one was like the rest. Her name was Jeanne ar Balc’h and her husband’s name was Iann troad scarbet (John Cross-foot). In the morning, as soon as Jean had gone out to his work, Jeanne got back into bed, and when she rose again, about eleven or twelve o’clock, she went to gossip in the village, and chatted from door to door like a magpie. When Jean returned in the evening she was always at her spinning-wheel; so he thought she had not left it the whole day.

One morning Jean said to Jeanne,—

“I shall not go out to-day, wife, for a day’s work, and we will both go together to the market to sell the yarn; for you must have a great deal by this time.”

Jeanne was greatly embarrassed at this; what should she do? She had not three bobbins of yarn. She went to the house, of a neighboring gossip, and told how it was.

“Tell your husband,” said the gossip, “that after having washed your thread, you had put it to dry in the oven of the furnace, and that he, not knowing of it, lighted the fire as usual and burned up all the thread.”

Jeanne returned to her house, and told her husband, word for word, what the gossip said.

“Fool!” cried Jean angrily; “you must have lost the little sense you had, and I shall never be anything but poor with you. Now, to punish you, you shall sow in the garden the half-bushel of flaxseed that we have there; and this evening when I come home, the flax must be ripe, reaped, retted, dried, and put in bundles in the barn.”

“But my poor husband,” said Jeanne, “how can you talk in such a way? No one in the world can do this; and how can you expect me to do it?”

“You may manage it as you like,” answered Jean; “but it must be done when I come back this evening, or woe to you!”

Then he went away as usual. Jeanne, much disturbed, ran at once to the house of her gossiping neighbor.

“If you only knew, neighbor, what my husband has ordered me to do! He must have lost his senses completely.”

“What has he ordered you to do?”

“What has he ordered me to do? He says that this evening when he turns from his day’s work, I must have sown in our garden a half-bushel of flaxseed, and that, moreover, the flax must be ripe, reaped, retted, dried, and put in bundles in the barn! I should like to know if you do not think he must have lost his senses to ask such an impossible thing of me?” And she cried as she said this.

“Be comforted, neighbor,” said the other woman; “we will find out some way of deceiving Jean yet; he thinks himself cunning, but he is only a fool. This is what you must do. I have a little flax in my barn from last year. Take two or three bundles of it, and scatter it over the fields and meadows around, and hang some on the hedges and bushes, and when he returns in the evening, you can tell him that you have done all that he ordered you, but that a hurricane came while the flax was drying in the meadow, and carried it all away; and as a proof of this you can show him what is left hanging on the trees and bushes.”

This appeared to Jeanne to be an excellent plan; so she took three bundles of her neighbor’s dry flax, and went and scattered it over the fields and meadows, and hung it on the bushes and the branches of the trees.

When Jean returned in the evening he asked at once,—

“Well, wife, have you done what I told you, this morning?”

“Certainly, I did just exactly what you told me; but we have no luck, my poor husband.”

“Well, what has happened?”

“What has happened? Think of it! The flax, after being taken out of the pond where it had been retted, was drying in the meadow, and I was getting ready to pick it up and bind it in bundles to put it up in the barn, when a hurricane came which has carried it all away.”

“Tut, tut, tut! I do not believe any such stories,” said Jean.

“But, my husband, this is not a story at all; come with me and I will show you that it is the pure truth.”

And she led him to the field, where she pretended to have spread her flax to dry, and showed it to him, scattered all over the neighboring fields and meadows, or hanging on the bushes and branches of the trees.

Jean believed her then, and he exclaimed,—

“Very well! since it is the hurricane that has done all this damage, it is he that shall pay for it, and I will go this moment and complain to the master of the winds.”

Then he went into his house, took his pennbaz, a taste of barley bread and some buttered rolls, and started off. He traveled a long time; after going straight ahead, farther and farther off, he came, one day, to the foot of a hill on which there was seated an old woman as large as a giantess. Her white hair floated in the wind, and one long, black tooth, the only one she had left, shook in her mouth.

“Good morning, grandmother!” said Jean.

“Good morning, my son,” answered the old woman; “what do you want?”

“I am looking for the dwelling-place of the winds.”

“Then, my son, you are at the end of your journey, for this is the dwelling-place of the winds, and I am their mother. What do you want with them?”

“I want to complain of the damage they have caused me.”

“What damage have they caused you? Tell me, and I will repay you if it is possible.”

“Your son Hurricane has ruined me”; and he told the whole affair to the old woman.

She said to him, “Come into my house, my son, and when my son the Hurricane returns I will make him repay you.”

And she then descended the hill and took Jean to her house, which was at the foot of it. It was a hut built of branches and clods of earth, and the wind came in and blew through and through it. She gave him something to eat, and told him not to be afraid of her son, when he returned, although he might threaten to eat him up, for she would know very well how to manage him.

Soon a terrible noise was heard; the trees cracked, small stones flew through the air, and the wolves howled.

“That is my son the Hurricane, coming,” said the old woman.

Jean was so terribly frightened that he hid himself under the table. The Hurricane came in muttering, sniffing the air, and cried out,—

“I smell the blood of a Christian! There is a Christian here, and I must eat him up!”

“Do not think, my son, that I am going to let you eat up this pretty little Christian; think rather of repaying him for the damage you have done him,” said the old woman; and, taking Jean by the hand, she made him come out from under the table.

The Hurricane, as soon as he saw him, opened his enormous mouth, and sprang at him to swallow him. But his mother said to him, pointing with her finger to a bag which was hanging from one of the beams of the hut,—

“Do you want to be put in prison?” And he became calm immediately. Then the tailor grew bold and said to him,—

“Good morning, Mr. Hurricane; you have ruined me.”

“How is that, my good man?” answered the Hurricane gently.

“You carried away all my flax from the meadow where my wife had spread it to dry.”

“That is not true; and your wife is a liar and a good-for-nothing creature. But as you are an honest man and a good workman, and because in spite of all the trouble you take you will always be poor with such a wife, I will reward you for the trouble you have taken in coming here, and for your confidence in my justice. See! here is a mule, and when you are in want of silver and gold you have only to spread a white napkin under his mouth and say to him, ‘Mule, do your duty!’ and he will furnish you with gold and silver as much as you want. But take care not to let him be stolen from you, or you will find yourself poor as before.”

Then the Hurricane gave him a mule which was in a corner of a hut, and which was not at all different from an ordinary mule. The tailor thanked the Hurricane, bade farewell to him and also to his mother, and then went away, taking with him the precious animal.

When he had gone a considerable distance, as he was crossing a large field, he wished to assure himself that his mule really possessed the virtue which had been attributed to him. He spread his handkerchief under his mouth and said, “Mule, do your duty!” And immediately pieces of gold and silver fell in his handkerchief until it would not hold any more. He filled his pockets with them, then he started again on his way, singing, laughing, dancing, and jumping for joy, as if he were foolish.

Toward sunset he stopped to pass the night in an inn by the roadside. As he left his mule with the stable-boy, he charged him to take special care of it and never to say to it, “Do your duty.” Poor Jean, as we have seen, was none of the sharpest. After having supped comfortably, eaten and drunk of the best there was in the house, he went to bed and slept without anxiety till morning.

The stable-boy was astonished at Jean’s charging him not to say to the mule, “Do your duty”; no traveler had ever told him such a thing. “There is something back of this,” said he to himself.

This thought kept him from sleeping: he went to tell his master about it. When all the household was asleep, the inn-keeper, his wife, and the stable-boy, went to the stable, and going up to the mule the stable-boy said,—

“Mule, do your duty!”

And pieces of gold and silver fell at once, making a ringing sound. They were overcome with astonishment. After they had all three filled their pockets, they put another mule in place of the tailor’s and hid his in a room well fastened up, far from the stable.

The next day, Jean breakfasted well, paid his reckoning, and then set out again on his journey, taking with him the mule which the stable-boy brought him, and not dreaming of the trick that had been played on him.

As he had his pockets filled with gold and silver, he had no need, during the rest of his journey, to say to his mule, “Do your duty.”

When he reached his home, his wife and children were ready to die of hunger. On seeing him, Jeanne began to heap abuses upon him: “So here you are at last, wicked, heartless man; you run off, no one knows where, and leave your wife and children at home to die of hunger.”

And she shook her fist at him.

“Hold your tongue! wife,” said Jean, quietly, and with the air of a man sure of his powers; “you will never again want for bread or anything else; we are rich now, as you shall see! Take off your apron and spread it on the ground under the mule’s mouth.”

Jeanne spread her apron on the ground and Jean said,—

“Mule, do your duty!”

But to his astonishment nothing fell in the apron. He said, a second time, louder than before, thinking perhaps he had not heard,—

“Mule, do your duty!”

Still nothing; then a third time he cried still louder,—

“Mule, do your duty!”

But neither gold nor silver fell on the apron. Jeanne, now persuaded that her husband was mocking her, seized a stick and darted at him. Poor Jean, to get out of her way, ran out, and not daring to go into his house, and not knowing just where his mule had been stolen, he determined to go again to see the Hurricane.

When the latter saw him returning all cast down he said to him,—

“I know why you have come back; you let them steal your mule from you at the first inn where you lodged on your way home. Here is a napkin, and when you spread it on a table or even on the ground, saying to it, ‘Napkin, do your duty!’ it will furnish you immediately with all you want to eat and drink. But take care not to let this be stolen also.”

“Do not be anxious! they shall steal my life first.”

Then he bade farewell to the Hurricane and his mother and set out on his journey. He lodged, the first night, at the same inn as before. There was a wedding feast going on when he arrived. He was heartily welcomed and asked to sit at the table with the newly married pair, to which he agreed with pleasure. Finding the repast not much to his taste, or perhaps being anxious to excite the astonishment of the guests and to pass for a great scholar or a magician, he drew his napkin from his pocket, spread it on the table, and profoundly uttered the words, “Napkin, do your duty!”

Immediately there was a magnificent repast, delicious meats, such as are seen only on the tables of kings, and fine wines from all countries. Intoxicated, as much by the praises as by the wine, Jean let them steal away his napkin also, and the next day he was as poor and destitute as ever.

This time he dared not show himself before his wife in such a condition, and he thought that the only thing he could do was to go again to the home of the mother of the winds. So he went there again, but this time very much ashamed and cast down.

When the Hurricane saw him, he said to him,—

“You have let them steal away your napkin also, unfortunate man!”

“Have pity on me, Mr. Hurricane,” said the tailor, humbly; “my wife and my children are dying of hunger at home, and I cannot go back to them without taking them something.”

“I consent to come to your assistance one last time, for you are not a wicked man”; and handing him a stick—“Here is a stick, and when whoever has it in his hand says, ‘Stick, do your duty!’ he will immediately begin to beat his master’s enemies, and nothing can stop it until he cries, ‘Enough!’ With this stick, you can recover your mule and your napkin.”

Jean thanked him and departed. He lodged at the same inn as before. They welcomed him in the heartiest manner, in the hope of stealing some other talisman from him. He invited the inn-keeper and his wife and also the stable-boy to supper with him. When the repast was nearly over, he said to his stick, which he had held constantly in his hand, not being willing to be separated from it,—

“Stick, do your duty!”

And immediately the stick was in motion and beat the inn-keeper and his wife and the stable-boy with all its might. All their efforts to stop it were useless, and in vain they tried to hide themselves under the table and other things; the stick reached them everywhere, and Jean laughed and made a joke of it. “Pity! Mercy!” they cried to him, and he said to them,—

“That will teach you to steal mules and napkins!”

“Pity! We will give them all back to you! You will kill us!”

“Enough!” cried Jean, at the end of half an hour of this exercise; and the stick stopped striking, and Jean returned to his home with his mule, napkin, and stick. If he has been wise enough to keep them, he has nothing to complain of. For my part I have heard nothing of him since that time.

Told by Barbe Tassel, of Plouaret (Côtes-du-Nord).

F. M. Luzel.