Volume 3 — Appendix. VARIANTS AND ANALOGUES OF THE TALES IN THE SUPPLEMENTAL NIGHTS, VOL. III. (continued 3)

So he did everything that he was bidden by the queen, and when he appeared before the one-eyed king he was stupefied at his tremendous ugliness and his bugbear appearance; but he plucked up courage as best he could and gave him the letter and the ring. When the king saw the letter and the ring his face brightened up, and he said, “Surely my sister finds herself in straits now, as she sends me this ring.” And when he had read the letter he bade the king, his brother-in-law, stand up, and declared that he was ready to comply with his sister’s wish and to go off at once without delay. He seized his staff and started away, but stopped now and then for his brother-in-law and his suite, to whom he gave a good chiding for their slowness.^[172] They continued thus their march until they came to the palace of the queen, the ugly king’s sister; but when they arrived there the one-eyed king cried with a roaring voice to his sister, and asked her what she wished, as she had troubled him to come so far from home. She then told him all the matter as it really was and begged him to help her husband out of the trial put before him. He said he was ready to do so, but would brook no delay.

616Now both kings went off, and nothing is told of their journey until they came to the old king. The young king announced to his father his coming and that he brought with him what he had ordered last year. He wished his father to call together a ting,^[173] in order that he might show openly how he had performed his tasks. This was done, and the king and the queen and other great folk were assembled. First the tent was put forward and nobody could find fault with it. Secondly the young king gave the wondrous healing water to his father. The queen was prayed to taste it and see if it was the right water, taken at the right time. She said that both things were as they should be. Then said the old king, “Now the third and heaviest of all the tasks is left: come, and have it off your hands quickly.” Then the young king summoned the king with one eye, and as he appeared on the ting he waxed so hideous that all the people were struck with fright and horror, and most of all the king. When this ugly monarch had shown himself for a while there he thrust his staff against the breast of the queen and tilted her up into the air on the top of it, and then thrust her against the ground with such force that every bone in her body was broken. She turned at once into the most monstrous troll ever beheld. After this the one-eyed king rushed away from the ting and the people thronged round the old king in order to help him, for he was in the very jaws of death from fright. The healing water was sprinkled on him and refreshed him.

After the death of the queen, who was killed of course when she turned into a troll, the king confessed that all the tasks which he had given his son to perform were undeserved and that he had acted thus, egged on by the queen. He called his son to him and humbly begged his forgiveness for what he had done against him. He declared he would atone for it by giving into his hand all that kingdom, while he himself only wished to live in peace and quiet for the rest of his days. So the young king sent for his queen and for the courtiers whom he loved most. And, to make a long story short, they gave up their former kingdom to the king with one eye, as a reward, for his lifetime, but governed the realm of the old king to a high age, in great glee and happiness.

617

THE TWO SISTERS WHO ENVIED THEIR CADETTE—p. 491.

Legends of castaway infants are common to the folk-lore of almost all countries and date far back into antiquity. The most usual mode of exposing them—to perish or be rescued, as chance might direct—is placing them in a box and launching them into a river. The story of Moses in the bulrushes, which must of course be familiar to everybody, is not only paralleled in ancient Greek and Roman legends (e.g. Perseus, Cyrus, Romulus), but finds its analogue in Babylonian folk-lore.^[174] The leading idea of the tale of the Envious Sisters, who substituted a puppy, a kitten, and a rat for the three babes their young sister the queen had borne and sent the little innocents away to be destroyed, appealing, as it does, to the strongest of human instincts, is the theme of many popular fictions from India to Iceland. With a malignant mother-in-law in place of the two sisters, it is the basis of a mediæval European romance entitled “The Knight of the Swan,” and of a similar tale which occurs in “Dolopathus,” the oldest version of the “Seven Wise Masters,” written in Latin prose about the year 1180: A king while hunting loses his way in a forest and coming to a fountain perceives a beautiful lady, whom he carries home and duly espouses, much against the will of his mother, Matabrun. Some time after, having to lead his knights and men-at-arms against an enemy, he commits the queen, now far advanced in pregnancy, to the care of his mother, who undertakes that no harm shall befall her during 618his absence. The queen is delivered at one birth of seven lovely children, six boys and one girl, each of whom has a silver chain round its neck.^[175] The king’s mother plots with the midwife to do away with the babes and place seven little dogs in bed beside the poor queen. She gives the children to one of her squires, charging him either to slay them or cast them into the river. But when the squire enters a forest his heart relents and laying the infants, wrapped in his mantle, on the ground, he returns and tells his mistress that he has done her behest. When the king returns, the wicked Matabrun accuses his wife to him of having had unnatural commerce with a dog, and shows him the seven puppies. The scene which follows presents a striking likeness to that in the Arabian story after the birth of the third child. King Oriant is full of wrath, and at once assembles his counsellors, “dukes, earls, knights and other lords of the realm, with the bishop and prelate of the church,” and having stated the case, the bishop pleads in favour of the queen, and finally induces him not to put her to death, but confine her in prison for the rest of her life. Meanwhile the children are discovered by an aged hermit, who takes them to his dwelling, baptises them, and brings them up. After some years it happens that a yeoman in the service of the king’s mother, while hunting in the forest, perceives the seven children with silver chains round their necks seated under a tree. He reports this to Matabrun, who forthwith sends him back to kill the children and bring her their silver chains. He finds but six of them, one being absent with the hermit, who was gone alms-seeking; and, touched by their innocent looks, he merely takes off the silver chains, whereupon they become transformed into pretty white swans and fly away. How the innocence of the queen is afterwards vindicated by her son Helyas—he who escaped being changed into a swan—and how his brethren and sister are restored to their proper forms would take too long to tell, and indeed the rest of the romance has no bearing on the Arabian tale.^[176]

In another mediæval work, from which Chaucer derived his Man of Law’s Tale, the Life of Constance, by Nicholas Trivet, an English Dominican monk, the saintly heroine is married to a king, in whose absence at the wars his mother plots against her daughter-in-law. When Constance gives birth to a son, the old queen causes letters to be written to the king, in which his wife is declared to be an evil spirit in the form of a woman and that she had borne, not a human child, but a hideous monster. The king, in reply, commands Constance to be tended carefully until his return. But the traitress contrives by means of letters forged in the king’s name to have Constance 619and her son sent to sea in a ship, where she meets with strange adventures. Needless to say, the old queen’s wicked devices ultimately come to naught.

The story of the Envious Sisters as told by Galland was known in Italy (as Dr. W. Grimm points out in the valuable notes to his K. u. H. M.) many generations before the learned Frenchman was born, through the “Pleasant Nights” of Straparola. That Galland took his story from the Italian novelist it is impossible to believe, since, as Mr. Coote has observed, Straparola’s work “was already known in France for a couple of centuries through a popular French translation” and Galland would at once have been an easily convicted copyist. Moreover, the story, imitated from Straparola, by Madame d’Aulnois, under the title of “La Belle Etoile et Le Prince Cheri,” had been published before Galland’s last two volumes appeared, and both those writers had the same publisher. It is clear, therefore, that Galland neither invented the story nor borrowed it from Straparola or Madame d’Aulnois. Whence, then, did he obtain it?—that is the question. His Arabic source has not yet been discovered, but a variant of the world-wide story is at the present day orally current in Egypt and forms No. xi. of “Contes Arabes Modernes. Recueillis et Traduits par Guillaume Spitta Bey” (Paris, 1883), of which the following is a translation:

MODERN ARABIC VERSION.

There was once a King who said to his vazír, “Let us take a walk through the town during the night.” In walking about they came to a house where they heard people talking, and stopping before it they heard a girl say, “If the King would marry me, I would make him a tart (or pie) so large that it would serve for him and his army.” And another said, “If the King would marry me, I would make him a tent that would shelter him and his whole army.” Then a third said, “If the King would marry me, I would present him with a daughter and a son, with golden hair, and hair of hyacinth colour alternately; if they should weep, it would thunder, and if they should laugh, the sun and moon would appear.” The King on hearing these words went away, and on the following day he sent for the three girls and made the contract of marriage with them. He passed the first night with the one who had spoken first, and said to her, “Where is the tart that would be sufficient for me and my army?” She answered him, “The words of the night are greased with butter: when day appears they melt away.” The next night he slept with the second, saying to her, “Where is the tent which would be large enough for me and my army?” She answered him, “It was an idea that came into my mind.” So the King ordered them to go down into the kitchen among the slaves. He passed the third night with the little one, saying, “Where are the boy and girl whose hair is to be like gold and hyacinth?” She replied, “Tarry with me nine months and nine minutes.” In due time she became pregnant, and on the night of her confinement the midwife was sent for. Then 620the other wife of the King went and met her in the street and said to her, “When she has been delivered, how much will the King give you?” She answered, “He will issue orders to give me fifteen mahbúbs.”^[177] The other said, “Behold, here are forty mahbúbs from me. Take these two little blind puppies, and when she has given birth to a son and a daughter, take them and place them in a box and put these two puppies in their stead, and remove the children.” The midwife took the money and the little dogs and went away. When the King’s new wife was safely delivered, the midwife did according to her agreement with the other wife of the King, and then went before him and said, “I fear to speak.” He answered, “Speak; I grant you pardon.” Then said she, “Your wife has been delivered of two dogs.” Then the King gave orders, saying, “Take and cover her with tar, and bind her to the staircase, and let any one who may go up or down spit upon her,” which was done accordingly. And the midwife carried away the children and threw them into the river.

Now there was a fisherman who lived on an island with his wife, and they had no children. On the morrow he went to the water-side to fish and found a box driven on to the shore. He carried it home to his wife, and placing it between them, he said, “Listen, my dear, I am going to make a bargain with you: if this contains money, it will be for me; if it contains children, they will be for you.” She replied, “Very well, I am quite content.” They then opened the box and found in it a baby boy and girl. The baby boy had his finger in the baby girl’s mouth and the latter had her finger in his mouth, and they were sucking one another’s fingers. The woman took them out of the box and prayed to Heaven, “Make milk come into my breasts, for the sake of these little ones.” And by the Almighty power the milk came into her breasts, and she continued to bring them up until they had reached the age of twelve years.

One day the fisherman caught two large white fish, and the youth said to him, “These two white fish are pretty, my father; I will take and sell them, or carry them as a present to the King.” So the boy took them and went away. He sat down with them in the Fish Market: people gathered about him, and those who did not look at the fish looked at the boy. The King also came past, and seeing the two white fish and the boy he called to him, saying, “What is the price, my lad?” The boy answered, “They are a present for you, my prince.” Thereupon the King took him to the palace and said to him, “What is your name?” and he replied, “My name is Muhammed, and my father is the fisherman who lives on the island.” Then the King gave him thirty mahbúbs, saying, “Go away, discreet one, and every day return here to my house.” So the lad returned home and gave the money to his father. The next morning two more white fish were caught and Muhammed carried them 621to the King, who took him into his garden and made him sit down opposite him. The King remained there drinking his wine and looking on the beauty of the youth: love for the lad entered his heart and he remained with him two hours.^[178] Then he gave orders to provide the youth with a horse for his use in coming to and returning from his house, and Muhammed mounted the horse and rode home.

When he visited the King the following day he was again led into the garden, and the other wife of the King, looking from her window saw the lad and recognised him. She at once sent for the old midwife, and said to her, “I bade you kill the children, yet they are still living upon the earth.” Replied the old woman, “Have patience with me, O Queen, for three days, and I will kill him.” Then she went away, and having procured a pitcher, tied it to her girdle, bewitched it, mounted on it, and struck it with a whip, and forthwith the pitcher flew away with her and descended upon the island near the fisherman’s cottage.^[179] She found the young girl, Muhammed’s sister, sitting alone, and thus addressed her: “My dear, why are you thus alone and sad? Tell your brother to fetch you the rose of Arab Zandyk, that it may sing to you and amuse you, instead of your being thus lonely and low-spirited.” When her brother came home, he found her displeased and asked her, “Why are you vexed, my sister?” She replied, “I should like the rose of Arab Zandyk, that it may sing to me and amuse me.” “At your command,” said he; “I am going to bring it to you.”

He mounted his horse and travelled into the midst of the desert, where he perceived an ogress seated and pounding wheat with a millstone on her arm. Alighting, he came up to her and saluted her saying, “Peace be with you, mother ogress.” She replied, “If your safety did not prevail over your words, I would eat the flesh from off your bones.” Then she asked, “Where are you going, Muhammed the Discreet?” He answered, “I am in quest of the singing rose of Arab Zandyk.” She showed him the way, saying, “You will find before the palace a kid and a dog fastened, and before the kid a piece of meat and before the dog a bunch of clover: lift the meat and throw it to the dog, and give the clover to the kid.^[180] Then the door will open for you: enter and 622pluck the rose; return immediately, without looking behind you, because, if you do so, you will be bewitched and changed into stone, like the enchanted ones who are there.” Muhammed the Discreet carefully followed the instructions of the ogress: plucked the rose, went out by the door, put back the meat before the kid and the clover before the dog, and carried the rose home to his sister.

Then he again went to the house of the King, who saluted him and said, “Where hast thou been, discreet one? Why hast thou absented thyself so long from my house?” And he answered, “I was sick, O King.” Then the King took him by the hand and entered the garden, and both sat down. The wife of the King saw them seated together, and sending for the midwife she angrily asked, “Why do you befool me, old woman?” She replied, “Have patience with me for three days more, O Queen.” Then she mounted her pitcher, and arriving at the house of the young girl, she said, “Has thy brother fetched thee the rose?” “Yes,” answered the girl, “but it does not sing.” Quoth the old woman, “It only sings with its looking-glass,” and then went away. When the youth returned he found his sister vexed, and he asked, “Why are you so sad, my sister?” She replied, “I should like the looking-glass of the rose, by means of which it sings.” Quoth he, “I obey your orders, and will bring it to you.”

Muhammed the Discreet rode on till he came to the ogress, who asked him what he wanted. “I wish,” said he, “the looking-glass of the rose.” “Well, go and do with the dog and kid as you did before. When you have entered the garden you will find some stairs; go up them, and in the first room you come to you will find the mirror suspended. Take it, and set out directly, without looking behind you. If the earth shake with you, keep a brave heart, otherwise you will have gone on a fruitless errand.” He went and did according to the instructions of the ogress. In taking away the mirror the earth shook under him, but he made his heart as hard as an anvil and cared nothing for the shaking. But when he brought the mirror to his sister and she had placed it before the rose of Arab Zandyk, still the rose sang not.

When he visited the King, he excused his absence, saying, “I was on a journey with my father, but here am I, returned once more.” The King led him by the hand into the garden, and the wife of the King again perceiving him she sent for the midwife and demanded of her, “Why do you mock me again, old woman?” Quoth she, “Have patience with me for three days, O Queen; this time will be the beginning and the end.” Then she rode on her pitcher to the island, and asked the young girl, “Has thy brother brought thee the mirror?” “Yes; but still the rose sings not.” “Ah, it only sings with its mistress, who is called Arab Zandyk,” and so saying she departed. Muhammed the Discreet on his return home again found his sister disconsolate, and in answer to his inquiries she said, “I desire Arab Zandyk, mistress of the rose and of the mirror, that I may amuse myself with her when you are absent.”

He at once mounted his horse and rode on till he came to the house of the ogress. “How fares it with you, mother ogress?” “What do 623you want now, Muhammed the Discreet?” “I wish Arab Zandyk, mistress of the rose and of the mirror.” Quoth the ogress, “Many kings and pashas have not been able to bring her: she has changed them all into stone; and thou art small and poor—what will become of thee?” “Only, my dear mother ogress, show me the way, and I shall bring her, with the permission of God.” Said the ogress: “Go to the west side of the palace; there you will find an open window. Bring your horse under the window and then cry in a loud voice, ‘Descend, Arab Zandyk!’” Muhammed the Wary went accordingly, halted beneath the window, and cried out, “Descend, Arab Zandyk!” She looked from her window scornfully and said, “Go away, young man.” Muhammed the Discreet raised his eyes and found that half of his horse was changed into stone. A second time cried he in a loud voice, “Descend, Arab Zandyk!” She insulted him and said, “I tell you, go away, young man.” He looked again and found his horse entirely enchanted and half of himself as well. A third time he cried in a loud voice, “I tell you, descend, Arab Zandyk!” She inclined herself half out of the window, and her hair fell down to the ground. Muhammed the Discreet seized it, twined it round his hand, pulled her out, and threw her on the earth. Then said she, “Thou art my fate, Muhammed the Wary; relinquish thy hold of my hair, by the life of thy father the King.” Quoth he, “My father is a fisherman.” “Nay,” she replied, “thy father is the King; by-and-by I will tell thee his history.” Quoth he, “I will leave hold of your hair when you have set at liberty the enchanted men.” She made a sign with her right arm and they were at once set free. They rushed headlong towards Muhammed the Prudent to take her from him, but some of them said, “Thanks to him who hath delivered us: do you still wish to take her from him?” So they left him and went their several ways.

Arab Zandyk then took him by the hand and led him into her castle. She gave her servants orders to build a palace in the midst of the isle of the fisherman, which being accomplished, she took Muhammed the Discreet and her soldiers and proceeded thither, and then said she to him, “Go to the King, and when he asks where you have been, reply, ‘I have been preparing my nuptials and invite you, with your army.’” He went to the King and spoke as Arab Zandyk had instructed him, upon which the King laughed and said to his vazír, “This young man is the son of a fisherman and comes to invite me, with my army!” Quoth the vazír, “On account of your love for him, command that the soldiers take with them food for eight days, and we also will take our provender for eight days.” The King having issued orders to that effect, and all being ready, they all set out, and arriving at the house of the fisherman’s son, they found a large number of beautiful tents erected for the soldiers’ accommodation and the King was astonished. Then came the feasting—one dainty dish being quickly followed by another still more delicious, and the soldiers said among themselves, “We should like to remain here for two years to eat meat and not be obliged to eat only beans and lentils.” They continued there forty days until the nuptials were completed, well content with their fare. Then 624the King departed with his army. The King sent a return invitation, and Arab Zandyk commanded her soldiers to set out in order to precede her to the capital. When the soldiers arrived they filled the town so that there was scarcely sufficient house-room for them. Then Arab Zandyk set out accompanied by Muhammed and his sister. They entered the royal palace, and as they ascended the staircase Arab Zandyk perceived the mother of Muhammed covered with tar and in chains, so she threw over her a cashmere shawl and covered her. The servants who were standing about said to Arab Zandyk, “Why do you cover her with a shawl? Spit upon her when you go up and also when you come down.” She asked, “Why so?” Said they, “Because she gave birth to two dogs.” Then they went to the King and said, “A lady amongst the strangers has thrown a cashmere shawl over her who is fastened to the staircase, and has covered her without spitting upon her.” The King went and met Arab Zandyk and asked, “Why have you covered her?” Said she, “Give orders that she be conducted to the bath, cleansed, and dressed in a royal robe, after which I will relate her history.” The King gave the required orders, and when she was decked in a royal robe they conducted her into the divan. Then said the King to Arab Zandyk, “Tell me now the history.” Said she, “Listen, O King, the fisherman will speak,” and then Arab Zandyk said to the fisherman, “Is it true that your wife gave birth to Muhammed and his sister at one time or at separate times?” He replied, “My wife has no children.” “Where, then, did you get them?” Quoth he, “I went one morning to fish, and found them in a box on the bank of the river. I took them home, and my wife brought them up.” Arab Zandyk then said, “Hast thou heard, O King?” and turning to his wife, “Are these thy children, O woman?” Said she, “Tell them to uncover their heads that I may see them.” When they uncovered their heads, they were seen to have alternately hair of gold and hair of hyacinth. The King then asked her, “Are these thy children?” “Tell them to weep: if it thunders and rains, they are my children, and if it does not thunder or rain, they are not mine.” The children wept, and it thundered and rained. Then he asked her again, “Are these thy children?” And she said, “Tell them to laugh: if the sun and moon appear, they are my children.” They told them to laugh, and the sun and moon appeared. Then he asked her once more, “Are these thy children?” and she said, “They are my children!” Then the King appointed the fisherman vazír of his right hand, and commanded that the city be illuminated for forty whole days; on the last day he caused his other wife and the old witch (the midwife) to be led out and burnt, and their ashes to be dispersed to the winds.

The variations between this and Galland’s story are very considerable, it must be allowed, and though the fundamental outline is the same in both, they should be regarded as distinct versions of the same tale, and both are represented by Asiatic and European stories. Here the fairy Arab Zandyk plays 625the part of the Speaking-Bird, which, however, has its equivalent in the preceding tale (No. x.) of Spitta Bey’s collection:

A man dies, leaving three sons and one daughter. The sons build a palace for their sister and mother. The girl falls in love with some one who is not considered as an eligible parti by the brothers. By the advice of an old woman, the girl asks her brothers to get her the singing nightingale, in hope that the bird would throw sand on them and thus send them down to the seventh earth. The eldest before setting out on this quest leaves his chaplet with his younger brother, saying that if it shrank it would be a token that he was dead. Journeying through the desert some one tells him that many persons have been lost in their quest of the singing nightingale: he must hide himself till he sees the bird go into its cage and fall asleep, then shut the cage and carry it off. But he does not wait long enough, and tries to shut the cage while the bird’s feet are still outside, so the bird takes up sand with its feet and throws it on him, and he descends to the seventh earth. The second brother, finding the chaplet shrunk, goes off in his turn, leaving his ring with the youngest brother—if it contract on the finger it will betoken his death. He meets with the same fate as his elder brother, and now the youngest, finding the ring contract, sets out, leaving with his mother a rose, which will fade if he dies. He waits till the singing nightingale is asleep, and then shuts him in the cage. The bird in alarm implores to be set at liberty, but the youth demands first the restoration of his brothers, and the bird tells him to scatter on the ground some sand from beneath the cage, which he does, when only a crowd of negroes and Turks (? Tátárs) appear, and confess their failure to capture the singing nightingale. Then the bird bids him scatter white sand, which being done, 500 whites and the two lost brothers appear and the three return home with the bird, which sings so charmingly in the palace that all the people come to listen to it outside.—The rest of this story tells of the amours of the girl and a black, who, at her instigation, kills her eldest brother, but he is resuscitated by the Water of Life.

Through the Moors, perhaps, the story found its way among the wandering tribes (the Kabail) of Northern Africa, who have curiously distorted its chief features, though not beyond recognition, as will be seen from the following abstract of their version, from M. Rivière’s collection of “Contes Populaires de la Kabylie du Djurdjura” (Paris, 1882):

KABA’IL VERSION.

A man has two wives, one of whom is childless, the other bears in succession seven sons and a daughter. The childless wife cuts off the little finger of each and takes them one by one into the forest, where they are brought up. An old woman comes one day and tells the daughter that if her brothers love her they will give her a bat. The girl cries to her brothers for a bat, and one of them 626consults an aged man, who sends him to the sea-shore. He puts down his gun under a tree, and a bat from above cries out, “What wild beast is this?” The youth replies, “You just go to sleep, old fellow.” The bat comes down, touches the gun and it becomes a piece of wood; touches the youth and he becomes microscopic. This in turn happens to all the brothers, after which the girl goes to the sea-shore, and when she is under the tree the bat calls out, “What wild beast is this?” But she does not answer; she waits till the bat is asleep, then climbs the tree, and catching the “bird” (sic), asks it where her brothers are, and on her promising to clothe the bat in silver and gold, the creature touches the guns and the brothers, and they are restored to their proper forms. The bat then conducts them to their father’s house, where he asks lodgings and is refused by the childless wife. The husband takes them in however and kills a sheep for their entertainment. The childless wife poisons the meat, and the bat warns the children, bidding them try a cock, a dog, and a cat with it, which is done, and the animals die. The brothers now decline the food and ask that their sister be allowed to prepare somewhat for them to eat. Then the bat touches the eyes of the children, who immediately recognise their parents, and great is the rejoicing. The childless wife is torn in pieces by being dragged at the tail of a wild horse, and the bat, having been dressed in silver and gold, is sent back to his tree.

Sir Richard has given (p. 491, note) some particulars of the version in Hahn’s collection of modern Greek tales, which generally corresponds with Galland’s story. There is a different version in M. Legrand’s “Recueil de Contes Populaires Grecs” (Paris, 1881), which combines incidents in the modern Arabic story of Arab Zandyk with some of those in Galland and some which it has exclusively:

MODERN GREEK VERSION.

Three daughters of an old woman disobey the order of the King, not to use a light at night because of the scarcity of oil, and work on as usual. The King in going round the town to see if his order is obeyed comes to their house, and overhears the eldest girl express a wish that she were married to the royal baker, so that she should have plenty of bread. The second wishes the King’s cook for her husband, to have royal meals galore. The youngest wishes to have the king himself, saying she would bear him, as children, “Sun,” “Moon,” and “Star.” Next day the King sends for them and marries each as she had wished. When the youngest brings forth the three children, in successive years, her mother-in-law, on the advice of a “wise woman,” (? the midwife) substitutes a dog, a cat, and a serpent, and causes the infants to be put in a box and sent down the river, and the queen is disgraced.

An old monk, in the habit of going down to the river and taking one fish daily, one day gets two fishes, and asks God the reason. In reply he is told that 627he will henceforth have two mouths to feed. Presently, he finds the box with the infant “Sun” in it and takes him home. Next year he gets one day three fishes, and finds the infant “Moon”; and the third year he has four fishes one day and finds the baby girl, “Star.” When the children have grown up the monk sends them to town in order that they should learn the ways of the world. The eldest hearing a Jew offering a box for sale, saying, “Whoever buys this box will be sorry for it, and he who does not buy it will be equally sorry,” purchases it and on taking it home finds his sister weeping for the golden apple which the “wise woman” (who had found them out) told her she must get. He opens the Jew’s box and finds a green and winged horse in it. The horse tells him how to get the golden apple from the forty guardian dragons. They go and get it. After this the old woman comes again and tells the sister that she must get the golden bough, on which all the birds in the world sing, and this also is procured by the help of the green and winged horse. A third time the old trot comes and says to the girl, “You must get Tzitzinæna to explain the language of birds.” The eldest brother starts off on the horse, and arriving at the dwelling of Tzitzinæna he calls her name, whereupon he, with the horse, is turned to stone up to the knees; and calling again on her they become marble to the waist. Then the youth burns a hair he had got from the monk, who instantly appears, calls out “Tzitzinæna,” and she comes forth, and with the water of immortality the youth and horse are disenchanted. After the youth has returned home with Tzitzinæna, the King sees the three children and thinks them like those his wife had promised to bear him. He invites them to dinner, at which Tzitzinæna warns them of poisoned meats, some of which they give to a dog they had brought with them, and the animal dies on the spot. They ask the King to dine at their house and he goes. Tzitzinæna by clapping her hands thrice procures a royal feast for him; then, having induced the King to send for his wife, she tells the whole story of the mother-in-law’s evil doings, and shows the King that “Sun,” “Moon” and “Star” are his own children. The King’s mother and the old woman are torn to pieces.

In Albania, as might be expected, our story is orally current in a form which resembles both the Greek version, as above, and the tale of Arab Zandyk, more especially the latter; and it may have been derived from the Turks, though I am not aware that the story has been found in Turkish. This is an abstract of the second of M. Dozon’s “Contes Albanais” (Paris, 1881), a most entertaining collection:

ALBANIAN VERSION.

There was a King who had three daughters. When he died, his successor proclaimed by the crier am order prohibiting the use of lights during the night of his accession. Having made this announcement, the King disguised himself and went forth alone. After walking about from place to place he came to the 628abode of the daughters of the late King, and going up close to it he overheard their conversation. This is what the eldest was saying, “If the King took me for his wife, I would make him a carpet upon which the whole of his army could be seated and there would still be room to spare.” Then said the second, “If the King would take me for his wife, I would make him a tent under which the whole army could be sheltered, and room would still remain.” Lastly, the youngest said, “If the King should espouse me, I would bring him a son and a daughter with a star on their foreheads and a moon on their shoulders.”

The King, who had not lost a word of this conversation, sent for the sisters on the morrow and married all three.^[181] The eldest, as she had declared, made a carpet on which the whole army was seated, and yet there was room to spare. The second, in her turn, made a tent under which all the army found shelter. As to the youngest, after a time, she grew great, and her confinement approached. The day she was delivered the King was absent, and on his return he inquired what she had given birth to. The two elder sisters replied, “A little cat and a little mouse.” On hearing this the King ordered the mother to be placed upon the staircase, and commanded every one who entered to spit upon her.

Now she had given birth to a boy and a girl, but her two sisters, after having shut them up in a box, sent them away by a servant to be exposed on the bank of the river, and a violent wind afterwards arising, the box was drifted to the other side. There was a mill on that side, where dwelt an old man and his wife. The old man having found the box brought it home. They opened it, and discovered the boy and the girl, with a star on their foreheads and a moon on their shoulders. Astonished thereat, they took them out and brought the children up as well as they could.

Time passed away; the old woman died, and soon after came the turn of the old man. Before dying he called the youth to him and said, “Know, my son, that in such a place is a cave where there is a bridle which belongs to me. That bridle is thine; but avoid opening the cave before forty days have elapsed, if you wish the bridle to do whatever you command.” The forty days having expired, the young man went to the cave, and on opening it found the bridle. He took it in his hand and said to it, “I want two horses,” and in a moment two horses appeared. The brother and sister mounted them, and in the twinkling of an eye they arrived in their father’s country. There the young man opened a café, and his sister remained secluded at home.

As the café was the best in the country, the King came to hear of it, and when he entered it he saw the youth, who had a star on his forehead. He thought him so beautiful [and lingered so long] that he returned late to the palace, when he was asked why he had tarried so late. He replied, that a young lad had opened a café, and was so beautiful that he had never seen his equal; and, what was most extraordinary, there was a star on his brow. The sisters no 629sooner heard these words of the King than they understood that he referred to their younger sister’s son. Full of rage and spite, they quickly devised a plan of causing his death. What did they do? They sent to his sister an old woman, who said to her, “Thy brother, O my daughter, can hardly love thee, for he is all day at the café and has a good time of it, while he leaves thee here alone. If he truly loves thee, tell him to bring thee a flower from the Belle of the Earth, so that thou too mayest have something to divert thyself with.” On returning home that evening the young man found his sister quite afflicted, and asked the cause of her grief. “Why should I not grieve?” said she. “You leave me alone, secluded here, while you go about as your fancy directs. If you love me, go to the Belle of the Earth and bring a flower, so that I too may be amused.” “Console yourself,” replied he, and at once gave orders to the bridle. An enormous horse appeared, which he mounted and set off.

As he journeyed, a lamia presented herself before him, and said, “I have a great desire to eat thee, but thou also excitest pity, and so I leave thee thy life.” The young man then inquired of her how he could find the Belle of the Earth. “I know nothing about it, my son,” replied the lamia; “but go ask my second sister.” So he rode off and came to her, and she drew near, intending to devour him, but seeing him so beautiful, she asked where he was going. He told his story and said, “Do you know the way to the Belle of the Earth?” But she in her turn sent him to her elder sister, who on seeing him rushed out to eat him, but, like the others, was touched by his comeliness and spared him; and when he inquired after the Belle of the Earth, “Take this handkerchief,” said she, “and when thou arrivest at her abode, use it to open the door. Inside thou wilt see a lion and a lamb; throw brains to the lion and grass to the lamb.” So he went forward and did all the lamia advised. He tried the door and it opened; threw brains to the lion and grass to the lamb, and they allowed him to pass. He went in and pulled a flower, and he had no sooner done so than he found himself at his own door.

Great was his sister’s joy as she began playing with the flower. But on the morrow the two sisters sent the old woman to her again. “Has he brought thee the flower?” she asked. “Yes, he has.” “Thou art content,” said the old hag; “but if thou hadst the handkerchief of the Belle of the Earth, it would be quite another thing.” When her brother came home he found her in tears, and in reply to his inquiries, “What pleasure,” said she—“what pleasure can this flower give me? So long as I have not the handkerchief of the Belle of the Earth I shall not be happy.” Then he, desirous that his sister should have no cause for grief, mounted his horse, and in the same manner as he had obtained the flower, possessed himself of the handkerchief and brought it home to his sister.

On the morrow, when the young man had gone to his café, the old witch again visited his sister, who informed her that her brother had brought her the handkerchief. “How happy,” said the sorceress—“how happy thou art in having a brother who brings thee whatever thou desirest! But if thou dost 630wish to spend thy life like a pasha’s wife, thou must also obtain the owner of that handkerchief.”

To please his sister, the young man once more sets out, and coming to the eldest of the lamiæ and telling her his errand, “O my son,” said she, “thou canst go there, but as to carrying away the mistress of the handkerchief, that is not so easy. However, try in some way to obtain possession of her ring, for therein lies all her power.” So he continues his journey, and after passing the lion and the lamb he comes to the chamber of the Belle of the Earth. He finds her asleep, and approaching her noiselessly draws the ring from her finger, upon which she awakes and discovering that she had not her ring, there was no alternative but to submit to his will. They set out together and in the twinkling of an eye arrived at the young man’s house. On perceiving them the sister was overcome with joy.

It happened next day that the King again went to the café, and on his return home ordered supper to be prepared, saying that he had invited the young man and all his friends. The sisters instructed the cooks to put poison in the food, which they did accordingly. At nightfall the young man arrived, accompanied by the Belle of the Earth, whom he had married, and his sister. But none of them, notwithstanding the entreaties of the King, would touch any food, for the Belle of the Earth had revealed to them that the meats were poisoned: they merely ate a few mouthfuls out of the King’s mess.

Supper over, the King invited each one to tell a story, and when it came to the young man’s turn, he recounted the whole story of his adventures. Then the King recognised in him the son of his fairest wife, whom, deceived by the lies of her sisters, he had exposed on the staircase. So he instantly ordered the two sisters to be seized and cut to pieces, and he took back his wife. As for the young man, he became his heir. He grew old and prospered.

The points of difference between, and the relative merits of, Galland’s story and Straparola’s

ITALIAN VERSION,

and whence both were probably obtained, will be considered later on, as several other versions or variants remain to be noticed or cited, before attempting a comparative analysis, not the least interesting of which is a

BRETON VERSION.

In “Melusine,” for 1878, col. 206 ff., M. Luzel gives a Breton version, under the title of “Les Trois Filles du Boulanger; ou, L’Eau qui danse, la Pomme qui chante, et l’Oiseau de Vérité,” which does not appear to have been derived from Galland’s story, although it corresponds with it closely in the first part. A prince overhears the conversation of three daughters of an old baker, 631who is a widower. The eldest says that she loves the king’s gardener; the second, that she loves the king’s valet; and the youngest says the prince is her love, to whom she would bear two boys, each with a star of gold on his brow, and a girl, with a star of silver. The father chides them for talking nonsense and sends them to bed. The following day the prince sends for the girls to come to the palace one after the other, and having questioned them, tells the youngest that he desires to see her father. When she delivers the royal message the old baker begins to shake in his shoes, and exclaims, “I told you that your frivolous remarks would come to the ears of the prince, and now he sends for me to have me punished, without a doubt.” “No, no, dear father; go to the palace and fear nothing.” He goes, and, to be brief, the three marriages duly take place. The sisters married to the royal gardener and valet soon become jealous of the young queen, and when they find she is about to become a mother they consult a fairy, who advises them to gain over the midwife and get her to substitute a little dog and throw the child into the river, which is done accordingly, when the first son with the gold star is born. For the second son, a dog is also substituted, and the king, as on the former occasion, says, “God’s will be done: take care of the poor creature.” But when the little girl with the silver star is smuggled away and the king is shown a third puppy as the queen’s offspring, he is enraged. “They’ll call me the father of dogs!” he exclaims, “and not without cause.” He orders the queen to be shut up in a tower and fed on bread and water. The children are picked up by a gardener, who has a garden close to the river, and brought up by his wife as their own. In course of time the worthy couple die, and the king causes the children to be brought to the palace (how he came to know of them the story-teller does not inform us), and as they were very pretty and had been well brought up, he was greatly pleased with them. Every Sunday they went to grand mass in the church, each having a ribbon on the brow to conceal the stars. All the folk were astonished at their beauty.

One day, when the king was out hunting, an old woman came into the kitchen of the palace, where the sister happened to be, and exclaimed, “O how cold I am,” and she trembled and her teeth chattered. “Come near the fire, my good mother,” said the little girl. “Blessings on you, my child! How beautiful you are! If you had but the Water that dances, the Apple that sings, and the Bird of Truth, you’d not have your equal on the earth.” “Yes, but how to obtain these wonders?” “You have two brothers who can procure them for you,” and so saying, the old woman went away. When she told her brothers what the old woman had said, the eldest before setting out in quest of the three treasures leaves a poignard which as long as it can be drawn out of its sheath would betoken his welfare. One day it can’t be drawn out, so the second brother goes off, leaving with his sister a rosary, as in Galland. When she finds the beads won’t run on the string, she goes herself, on horseback, as a cavalier. She comes to a large plain, and in a hollow tree sees a little old man with a beard of great length, which she trims for him. The old man tells 632her that 60 leagues distant is an inn by the roadside, she may enter it, and having refreshed herself with food and drink, leave her horse there, and promise to pay on her return. After quitting the inn she will see a very high mountain, to climb which will require hands and feet, and she’ll have to encounter a furious storm of hail and snow; it will be bitterly cold: take care and not lose courage, but mount on. She’ll see on either side a number of stone pillars—persons like herself who have been thus transformed because they lost heart. On the summit is a plain, bordered with flowers, blooming as in May. She will see a gold seat under an apple-tree and should sit down and make it appear as if asleep; presently the bird will descend from branch to branch and enter the cage; quickly close it on the bird, for it is the Bird of Truth. Cut a branch of the tree, with an apple on it, for it is the Apple that sings. Lastly, there is also the fountain of Water which dances: fill a flask from the fountain and in descending the hill sprinkle a few drops of the water on the stone pillars and the enchanted young princes and knights will come to life again. Such were the instructions of the little old man, for which the princess thanked him and went on her way. Arriving at the summit of the mountain, she discovered the cage and sitting down under the tree feigned to be asleep, when presently the merle entered and she at once rose up and closed it. The merle, seeing that he was a prisoner, said, “You have captured me, daughter of the King of France. Many others have tried to seize me, but none has been able till now, and you must have been counselled by some one.” The princess then cut a branch of the tree with an apple on it, filled her flask with water from the fountain that danced, and as she went down the hill sprinkled a few drops on the stone pillars, which were instantly turned into princes, dukes, barons, and knights, and last of all her two brothers came to life, but they did not know her. All pressed about the princess, some saying, “Give me the Water which dances,” others, “Give me the Apple which sings,” and others, “Give me the Bird of Truth.” But she departed quickly, carrying with her the three treasures, and passing the inn where she had left her horse she paid her bill and returned home, where she arrived long before her brothers. When at length they came home she embraced them, saying, “Ah, my poor brothers! How much anxiety you have caused me! How long your journey has lasted! But God be praised that you are back here again.” “Alas, my poor sister, we have indeed remained a long time away, and after all have not succeeded in our quest. But we may consider ourselves fortunate in having been able to return.” “How!” said the princess, “do you not bring me the Water which dances, the Apple which sings, and the Bird of Truth?” “Alas! my poor sister, a young knight who was a stranger to us carried them all away—curse the rascal.” The old king who had no children (or rather, who believed he had none) loved the two brothers and the sister very much and was highly delighted to see them back again. He caused a grand feast to be prepared, to which he invited princes, dukes, marquises, barons, and generals. Towards the end of the banquet the young girl placed on the table the Water, the Apple, and the 633Bird, and bade each do its duty, whereupon the Water began to dance, and the Apple began to sing, and the bird began to hop about the table, and all present, in ecstasy, mouth and eyes wide open, looked and listened to these wonders. Never before had they seen such a sight. “To whom belong these marvels?” said the king when at length he was able to speak. “To me, sire,” replied the young girl. “Is that so?” said the King. “And from whom did you get them?” “I myself procured them with much trouble,” answered she. Then the two brothers knew that it was their sister who had delivered them. As to the king, he nearly lost his head in his joy and admiration. “My crown and my kingdom for your wonders, and you yourself, my young girl, shall be my queen,” he exclaimed. “Patience for a little, sire,” said she, “until you have heard my bird speak—the Bird of Truth, for he has important things to reveal to you. My little bird, now speak the truth.” “I consent,” replied the bird; “but let no one go out of this room,” and all the doors were closed. The old sorceress of a midwife and one of the king’s sisters-in-law were present, and became very uneasy at hearing these words. “Come now, my bird,” then said the girl, “speak the truth,” and this is what the bird said: “Twenty years ago, sire, your wife was shut up in a tower, abandoned by everybody, and you have long believed her to be dead. She has been accused unjustly.” The old midwife and the king’s sister-in law now felt indisposed and wished to leave the room. “Let no one depart hence,” said the king. “Continue to speak the truth, my little bird.” “You have had two sons and a daughter, sire,” the bird went on to say—“all three born of your lady, and here they are! Remove their bandages and you will see that each of them has a star on the forehead.” They removed the bandages and saw a gold star on the brow of each of the boys and a silver star on the girl’s brow. “The authors of all the evil,” continued the bird, “are your two sisters-in-law and this midwife—this sorceress of the devil. They have made you believe that your wife only gave birth to little dogs, and your poor children were exposed on the Seine as soon as they were born. When the midwife—that sorceress of hell—learned that the children had been saved and afterwards brought to the palace, she sought again to destroy them. Penetrating one day into the palace, disguised as a beggar, and affecting to be perishing from cold and hunger, she incited in the mind of the princess the desire to possess the Dancing-Water, the Singing-Apple, and the Bird of Truth—myself. Her two brothers went, one after the other, in quest of these things, and the sorceress took very good care that they should never return. Nor would they have returned, if their sister had not succeeded in delivering them after great toil and trouble.” As the bird ended his story, the king became unconscious, and when he revived he went himself to fetch the queen from the tower. He soon returned with her to the festive chamber, holding her by the hand. She was beautiful and gracious as ever, and having ate and drank a little, she died on the spot. The king, distraught with grief and anger, ordered a furnace to be heated, and threw into it his sister-in-law and the midwife—“ce tison de l’enfer!” As to the princess and her two brothers, I think 634they made good marriages all three, and as to the bird, they do not say if it continues still to speak the truth;—“mais je présume que oui, puisque ce n’était pas un homme!”

It would indeed be surprising did we not find our story popularly known throughout Germany in various forms. Under the title of “The Three Little Birds” a version is given in Grimm’s K. u. H. M. (No. 96, vol. i. of Mrs. Hunt’s English translation), which reproduces the chief particulars of Galland’s tale with at least one characteristic German addition:

GERMAN VERSION.

A king, who dwelt on the Keuterberg, was out hunting one day, when he was seen by three young girls who were watching their cows on the mountain, and the eldest, pointing to him, calls out to the two others, “If I do not get that one, I’ll have none;” the second, from another part of the hill, pointing to the one who was on the king’s right hand, cries, “If I don’t get that one, I’ll have none;” and the youngest, pointing to the one who was on the king’s left hand, shouts, “And if I don’t get him, I’ll have none.” When the king has returned home he sends for the three girls, and after questioning them as to what they had said to each other about himself and his two ministers, he takes the eldest girl for his own wife and marries the two others to the ministers. The king was very fond of his wife, for she was fair and beautiful of face, and when he had to go abroad for a season he left her in charge of the two sisters who were the wives of his ministers, as she was about to become a mother. Now the two sisters had no children, and when the queen gave birth to a boy who “brought a red star into the world with him,” they threw him into the river, whereupon a little bird flew up into the air, singing:

“To thy death art thou sped,

Until God’s word be said.

In the white lily bloom,

Brave boy, is thy tomb.”

When the king came home they told him his queen had been delivered of a dog, and he said, “What God does is well done.” The same thing happens the two following years: when the queen had another little boy, the sisters substituted a dog and the king said, “What God does is well done;” but when she was delivered of a beautiful little girl, and they told the king she had this time born a cat, he grew angry and ordered the poor queen to be thrown into prison. On each occasion a fisherman who dwelt near the river drew the child from the water soon after it was thrown in, and having no children, his wife lovingly reared them. When they had grown up, the eldest once went with some other boys to fish, and they would not have him with them, saying to him, “Go away, foundling.” The boy, much grieved, goes to the fisherman 635and asks whether he is a foundling, and the old man tells him the whole story, upon which the youth, spite of the fisherman’s entreaties, at once sets off to seek his father. After walking for many days he came to a great river, by the side of which was an old woman fishing. He accosted her very respectfully, and she took him on her back and carried him across the water. When a year had gone by, the second boy set out in search of his brother, and the same happened to him as to the elder one. Then the girl went to look for her two brothers, and coming to the water she said to the old woman, “Good day, mother. May God help you with your fishing.” (The brothers had said to her that she would seek long enough before she caught any fish, and she replied, “And thou wilt seek long enough before thou findest thy father”—hence their failure in their quest.)

When the old woman heard that, she became quite friendly, and carried her over the water, gave her a wand, and said to her, “Go, my daughter, ever onwards by this road, and when you come to a great black dog, you must pass it silently and boldly, without either laughing or looking at it. Then you will come to a great high castle, on the threshold of which you must let the wand fall, and go straight through the castle and out again on the other side. There you will see an old fountain out of which a large tree has grown, whereon hangs a bird in a cage, which you must take down. Take likewise a glass of water out of the fountain, and with these two things go back by the same way. Pick up the wand again from the threshold and take it with you, and when you again pass by the dog strike him in the face with it, but be sure that you hit him, and then just come back here to me.” The maiden found everything exactly as the old woman had said, and on her way back she found her two brothers who had sought each other over half the world. They went together where the black dog was lying on the road; she struck it in the face and it turned into a handsome prince, who went with them to the river. There the old woman was still standing. She rejoiced much to see them again, and carried them all over the water, and then she too went away, for now she was freed. The others, however, went to the old fisherman, and all were glad that they had found each other again, and they hung the bird in its cage on the wall. But the second son could not settle at home, and took his crossbow and went a-hunting. When he was tired he took his flute and played on it. The king happened to be also hunting, and hearing the music went up to the youth, and said, “Who has given thee leave to hunt here?” “O, no one.” “To whom dost thou belong, then?” “I am the fisherman’s son.” “But he has no children.” “If thou wilt not believe it, come with me.” The king did so, and questioned the fisherman, who told the whole story, and the little bird on the wall began to sing:

“The mother sits alone

There in the prison small;

O King of the royal blood,

These are thy children all.

636The sisters twain, so false,

They wrought the children woe,

There in the waters deep,

Where the fishers come and go.”

Then the king took the fisherman, the three little children, and the bird back with him to the castle, and ordered his wife to be taken out of prison and brought before him. She had become very ill and weak, but her daughter gave her some of the water of the fountain to drink and she became strong and healthy. But the two false sisters were burnt, and the maiden was married to the Prince.

Even in Iceland, as already stated, the same tale has long cheered the hardy peasant’s fire-side circle, while the “wind without did roar and rustle.” That it should have reached that out-of-the-way country through Galland’s version is surely inconceivable, notwithstanding the general resemblance which it bears to the “Histoire des Deux Sœurs jalouses de leur Cadette.” It is found in Powell and Magnússon’s “Legends of Iceland,” second series, and as that excellent work is not often met with (and why so, I cannot understand), moreover, as the story is told with much naïveté, I give it here in full:

ICELANDIC VERSION.

Not very far from a town where dwelt the king lived once upon a time a farmer. He was well to do and had three daughters; the eldest was twenty years of age, the two others younger, but both marriageable. Once, when they were walking outside their father’s farm, they saw the king coming riding on horseback with two followers, his secretary and his bootmaker. The king was unmarried, as were also those two men. When they saw him, the eldest of the sisters said, “I do not wish anything higher than to be the wife of the king’s shoemaker.” Said the second, “And I of the king’s secretary.” Then the youngest said, “I wish that I were the wife of the king himself.” Now the king heard that they were talking together, and said to his followers, “I will go to the girls yonder and know what it is they were talking about. It seemed to me that I heard one of them say, ‘The king himself.’” His followers said that what the girls had been chattering about could hardly be of much importance. The king did not heed this, however, but declared that they would all go to the girls and have a talk with them. This they did. The king then asked what they had been talking about a moment ago, when he and his men passed them. The sisters were unwilling to tell the truth, but being pressed hard by the king, did so at last. Now as the damsels pleased the king, and he saw that they were both handsome and fair-spoken, particularly the youngest of them, he said that all should be as they had wished it. The sisters were amazed at this, but the king’s will must be done.

So the three sisters were married, each to the husband she had chosen. 637But when the youngest sister had become queen, the others began to cast on her looks of envy and hatred, and would have her, at any cost, dragged down from her lofty position. And they laid a plot for the accomplishment of this their will. When the queen was going to be confined for the first time, her sisters got leave to act as her midwives. But as soon as the child was born they hid it away, and ordered it to be thrown into a slough into which all the filth was cast. But the man to whom they had entrusted this task could not bring himself to do it, so put the child on the bank of the slough, thinking that some one might find it and save its life. And so it fell out; for an old man chanced to pass the slough soon afterwards, and finding a crying child on the bank, thought it a strange find, took it up and brought it to his home, cherishing it as he could. The queen’s sisters took a whelp and showed it to the king as his queen’s offspring. The king was grieved at this tale, but, being as fond of the queen as of his own life, he restrained his anger and punished her not.

At the second and third confinement of the queen her sisters played the same trick: they exposed the queen’s children in order to have them drowned in the slough. The man, however, always left them on the bank, and it so happened that the same old carl always passed by and took up the children, and carried them home, and brought them up as best he could. The queen’s sisters said that the second time the queen was confined she had given birth to a kitten, and the third time, to a log of wood. At this the king waxed furiously wroth, and ordered the queen to be thrown into the house where he kept a lion, as he did not wish this monster to fill his kingdom with deformities. And the sisters thought that they had managed their boat well and were proud of their success. The lion, however, did not devour the queen, but even gave her part of his food and was friendly towards her, and thus the queen lived with the lion a wretched enough life, without anybody’s knowing anything about it.

Now the story turns to the old man who fostered the king’s children. The eldest of these, a boy, he called Vilhjámr, the second, also a boy, Sigurdr; the third child was a girl and her name is unknown. All that came to him, or with whom he met, the old man would ask if they knew nothing of the children he had found on the bank of the slough. But no one seemed to have the faintest notion about their birth or descent. As the children grew up they were hopeful and fine-looking. The carl had now waxed very old, and, expecting his end, he gave the children this rede, always to ask every one to whom they spoke for news of their family and birth, in order that they might perchance be able at last to trace out the truth. He himself told them all he knew about the matter. After this the old man died, and the children followed closely his advice. Once there came to them an old man, of whom they asked the same questions as of all others. He said he could not give them any hints on the matter himself, but that he could point out one to them who was able to do so. He told them that a short way from their farm was a large stone, whereupon was always sitting a bird 638which could both understand and speak the tongue of men. It would be best for them, he went on, to find this bird; but there was a difficulty in the matter to be got over first, for many had gone there but none had ever returned. He said that many king’s children had gone to this bird in order to know their future fate, but they had all come short in the very thing needed. He told them that whosoever wanted to mount the stone must be so steady as never to look back, whatever he might hear or see, or whatever wonders seemed to take place around the rock. All who did not succeed in this were changed into stones, together with everything they had with them. This steadiness no one had had yet, but whosoever had it could easily mount the rock, and having once done so would be able to quicken all the others who have been turned to stone there. For the top of the rock was flat, and there was a trap-door on it, wherein the bird was sitting. Underneath the trap-door was water, the nature of which was that it would turn all the stones back to life again. The old man ended by saying, “Now he who succeeds in getting to the top is allowed by the bird to take the water and sprinkle the stone-changed folk, and call them to life again, just as they were before.” This the king’s children thought no hard task. The brothers, however, were the most outspoken about the easiness of the thing. They thanked the old man much for his story and took leave of him.

Not long after this, Vilhjámr, the eldest brother, went to the rock. But before he left he said to his brother, that if three drops of blood should fall on his knife at table while he was away, Sigurdr should at once come to the rock, for then it would be sure that he fared like the others. So Vilhjámr went away, following the old man’s directions, and nothing further is told of him for a while. But after three days, or about the time when his brother should have reached the stone, three drops of blood fell upon Sigurdr’s knife, once, while at table. He was startled at this and told his sister that he must needs leave her, in order to help his brother. He made the same agreement with his sister as Vilhjámr had before made with him. Then he went away, and, to make the story short, all came to the same issue with him as with his brother, and the blood-drops fell on his sister’s knife, at the time when Sigurdr should have reached the stone.

Then the damsel went herself, to see what luck she might have. She succeeded in finding the rock, and when she came there she was greatly struck with the number of stones that surrounded it, in every shape and position. Some had the form of chests, others of various animals, while some again were in other forms. She paid no heed to all this, but going straight forward to the great rock began climbing it. Then she heard, all of a sudden, behind her a loud murmur of human voices, all talking, one louder than another, and amongst the number she heard those of her brothers. But she paid no heed to this, and took good care never to look back, in spite of all she heard going on behind her. Then she got at last to the top of the rock, and the bird greatly praised her steadiness and constancy and promised both to tell her anything she chose to ask him and to assist her in every way he could. First, she would have the surrounding stones recalled to their natural shapes 639and life. This the bird granted her, pointing to one of the stones and saying, “Methinks you would free that one from his spell, if you knew who he was.” So the king’s daughter sprinkled water over all the stones and they returned to life again, and thanked her for their release with many fair words. Next she asked the bird who were the parents of herself and her brothers, and to whom they might trace their descent. The bird said that they were the children of the king of that country, and told her how the queen’s sisters had acted by them at their birth, and last of all told her how her mother was in the lion’s den, and how she was nearer dead than alive from sorrow and want of good food and comfort.

The stone which the bird had pointed out to the princess was a king’s son, as noble as he was handsome. He cast affectionate looks to his life-giver and it was plain that each loved the other. It was he who had brought the greater part of the chest-shaped stones thither, the which were coffers full of gold and jewels. When the bird had told to every one that which each wanted to know, all the company of the disenchanted scattered, the three children and the wealthy prince going together. When they came home the first thing they did was to break into the lion’s den. They found their mother lying in a swoon, for she had lost her senses on hearing the house broken into. They took her away, and she soon afterwards recovered. Then they dressed her in fitting attire, and taking her to the palace asked audience of the king. This granted, Vilhjamr, Sigurdr, and their sister declared to the king that they were his children and that they had brought with them their mother from the lion’s den. The king was amazed at this story and at all that had happened. The sisters of the queen were sent for and questioned, and, having got into scrapes by differing in accounts, confessed at last their misdeed and told the truth. They were thrown before the same lion that the queen had been given to, and it tore them to pieces immediately and ate them up, hair and all.

Now the queen took her former rank, and a banquet was held in joy at this happy turn of affairs, and for many days the palace resounded with the glee of the feast. And at the end of it the foreign prince wooed the king’s daughter and gained easily her hand, and thus the banquet was begun afresh and became the young people’s marriage-feast. Such glee has never been witnessed in any other kingdom. After the feast the strange prince returned to his home with his bride and became king after his father. Vilhjamr also married and took the kingdom after his father. Sigurdr married a king’s daughter abroad, and became king after the death of his father-in-law; and all of them lived in luck and prosperity. And now is the story ended.

From bleak Iceland to sunny India is certainly a “far cry,” but we had already got half-way thither in citing the Egypto-Arabian versions, and then turned westwards and northwards. We must now, however, go all the way to Bengal for our next form of the story, which is much simpler in construction than any of the foregoing versions, and may be considered as a transition 640stage of the tale in its migration to Europe. This is an abridgment of the story—not of Envious Sisters but of jealous co-wives—from the Rev. Lal Behari Day’s “Folk-Tales of Bengal,”^[182] a work of no small value to students of the genealogy of popular fictions:

BENGALÍ VERSION.

A certain King had six wives, none of whom had children, in spite of doctors and all sorts of doctors’ stuff. He was advised by his ministers to take a seventh wife. There was in the city a poor woman who earned her livelihood by gathering cow-dung from the fields, kneading it into cakes, which, after drying in the sun, she sold for fuel. She had a very beautiful daughter, who had contracted friendship with three girls much above her rank, namely, the daughter of the King’s minister, the daughter of a rich merchant, and the daughter of the King’s chaplain. It happened one day that all four were bathing together in a tank near the palace, and the King overheard them conversing as follows: Said the minister’s daughter, “The man who marries me won’t need to buy me any clothes, for the cloth I once put on never gets soiled, never gets old, and never tears.” The merchant’s daughter said, “And my husband will also be a happy man, for the fuel which I use in cooking never turns to ashes, but serves from day to day, and from year to year.” Quoth the chaplain’s daughter, “My husband too will be a happy man, for when once I cook rice it never gets finished; no matter how much we may eat, the original quantity always remains in the pot.”^[183] Then said the poor woman’s daughter, “And the man who marries me will also be happy, for I shall give birth to twin children, a son and a daughter; the girl will be divinely beautiful, and the boy will have a moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands.”

The King didn’t care to have any of the three young ladies, but resolved at once to marry the fourth girl, who would present him with such extraordinary twin children, notwithstanding her humble birth, and their nuptials were celebrated in due form, much to the chagrin of his six wives. Some time after the King had occasion to go for six months to another part of his dominions, and when about to set out he told his new wife that he expected her to be confined before the period of his absence was expired, and that he would like to be present with her at the time, lest her enemies (her co-wives) might do her some injury. So giving her a golden bell he bade her hang it in her room, and when the pains of labour came on to ring it, and he would be with her in a moment, no matter where he might be at the time; but she must only ring it when her labour pains began. The six other wives had overheard all this, and the day after the King had departed went to the new wife’s room and affected to admire the golden bell, and asked her where she got it and what was its use. The unsuspecting 641creature told them its purpose, upon which they all exclaimed that it was impossible the King could hear it ring at the distance of hundreds of miles, and besides, how could the King travel such a distance in the twinkling of an eye? They urged her to ring the bell and convince herself that what the King had said to her was all nonsense. So she rang the bell, and the King instantly appeared, and seeing her going about as usual, he asked her why she had summoned him before her time. Without saying anything about the six other wives, she replied that she had rung the bell merely out of curiosity to know if what he had said was true. The King was angry, and, telling her distinctly she was not to ring the bell until the labour pains came upon her, went away again. Some weeks after the six wives once more induced her to ring the bell, and when the King appeared and found she was not about to be confined and that she had been merely making another trial of the bell (for, as on the former occasion, she did not say that her co-wives had instigated her), he was greatly enraged, and told her that even should she ring when in the throes of childbirth he should not come to her, and then went away. At last the day of her confinement arrived, and when she rang the bell the King did not come.^[184] The six jealous wives seeing this went to her and said that it was not customary for the ladies of the palace to be confined in the royal apartments, and that she must go to a hut near the stables. They then sent for the midwife of the palace, and heavily bribed her to make away with the infant the moment it was born. The seventh wife gave birth, as she had promised, to a son who had a moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands, and also to an uncommonly beautiful girl. The midwife had come provided with a couple of newly-littered pups, which she set before the mother, saying, “You have given birth to these,” and took away the twin children in an earthen vessel, while the mother was insensible. The King, though he was angry with his seventh wife, yet recollecting that she was to give birth to an heir to his throne, changed his mind, and came to see her the next morning. The pups were produced before the King as the offspring of his new wife, and great was his anger and vexation. He gave orders that she should be expelled from the palace, clothed in leather, and employed in the market-place to drive away crows and keep off dogs, all of which was done accordingly.

The midwife placed the vessel containing the twins along with the unburnt clay vessels which a potter had set in order and then gone to sleep, intending to get up during the night and light his furnace; in this way she thought the little innocents would be reduced to ashes. It happened, however, that the potter and his wife overslept themselves that night, and it was near daybreak when the woman awoke and roused her husband. She then hastened to the furnace, and to her surprise found all the pots thoroughly baked, although no fire had been applied to them. Wondering at such good luck, she summoned her husband, who was equally astonished and pleased, and attributed it all to 642some benevolent deity. In turning over the pots he came upon the one in which the twins were placed, and the wife looking on them as a gift from heaven (for she had no children) carried them into the house and gave out to the neighbours that they had been borne by herself. The children grew in stature and in strength and when they played in the fields were the admiration of every one that saw them. They were about twelve years of age when the potter died, and his wife threw herself on the pyre and was burnt with her husband’s body. The boy with the moon on his forehead (which he always kept concealed with a turban, lest it should attract notice) and his beautiful sister now broke up the potter’s establishment, sold his wheel and pots and pans, and went to the bazár in the King’s city, which they had no sooner entered than it was lit up brilliantly. The shopkeepers thought them divine beings and built a house for them in the bazár. And when they used to ramble about they were always followed at a distance by the woman clothed in leather who was appointed by the King to drive away the crows, and by some strange impulse, she also used to hang about their house.^[185]

The youth presently bought a horse and went hunting in the neighbouring jungles. It happened one day, while following the chase, that the King met him, and, struck with his beauty, felt an unaccountable yearning for him.^[185] As a deer went past the youth shot an arrow and in so doing his turban fell off, on which a bright light, like that of the moon, was seen shining on his forehead. When the King perceived this, it brought to his mind the son with the moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands who was to have been born of his seventh queen, and would have spoken with the youth, but he immediately galloped off. When the King reached home his six wives observing his sadness asked him its cause, and he told them of the youth he had seen in the forest with a moon on his forehead. They began to wonder if the twins were not still alive, and sending for the midwife closely questioned her as to the fate of the children. She stoutly declared that she had herself seen them burnt to ashes, but she would find out who the youth was whom the King had met while hunting. She soon ascertained that two strangers were living in a house in the bazár which the shopkeepers had built for them, and when she entered the house the girl was alone, her brother having gone into the jungle to hunt. Pretending to be her aunt, the old woman said to her, “My dear child, you are so beautiful, you require only the kataki^[186] flower to properly set off your charms. You should tell your brother to plant a row of that flower in your courtyard.” “I never saw that flower,” said the girl. “Of course not; how could you? It does not grow in this country, but on the other side of the ocean. Your brother may try and get it for you, if you ask him.” This suggestion the old trot made in the hope that the lad would lose his life in 643venturing to obtain the flower. When he returned and his sister told him of the visit of their aunt and asked him to get her the kataki flower, on which she had set her heart, he at once consented, albeit he thought the woman had imposed upon his sister by calling herself their aunt.

Next morning he rode off on his fleet horse, and arriving on the borders of an immense forest he saw a number of rákshasí^[187] roaming about, he went aside and shot with his arrows some deer and rhinoceroses and then approaching the rákshasís called out, “O auntie dear, your nephew is here.” A huge rakshasí strode towards him and said, “O, you are the youth with the moon on your forehead and stars on the palms of your hands. We were all expecting you, but as you have called me aunt, I will not eat you. What is it you want? Have you brought anything for me to eat?” The youth gave her the game he had killed, and she began devouring it. After swallowing all the carcases she said, “Well, what do you want?” He answered, “I want some kataki flowers for my sister.” She told him it would be very difficult for him to get them, as they were guarded by seven hundred rákshasas, but if he was determined to attempt it, he had better first go to his uncle on the north side of the jungle. He goes, and greets the rákshasa, calling him uncle, and having regaled him with deer and rhinoceroses as he had done his “aunt,” the rákshasa tells him that in order to obtain the flower he must go through an impenetrable forest of kachiri^[188], and say to it, “O mother kachiri, make way for me, else I perish,” upon which a passage will be opened for him. Next he will come to the ocean, which he must petition in the same terms, and it would make a way for him. After crossing the ocean he’ll come to the gardens where the kataki blooms. The forest opens a passage for the youth, and the ocean stands up like two walls on either side of him, so that he passes over dryshod.^[189] He enters the gardens and finds himself in a grand palace which appeared unoccupied. In one of the apartments he sees a young damsel of more than earthly beauty asleep on a golden bed, and going near discovers a stick of gold lying near her head and a stick of silver near her feet. Taking them in his hand, by accident the gold stick fell upon the feet of the sleeping beauty, when she instantly awoke, and told him she knew that he was the youth with the moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands; that the seven hundred rákshasas who guarded the kataki flowers were then out hunting, but would return by sundown, and should they find him they’d eat him. A rákshasí had brought her from her father’s palace, and is so fond of her that she will not allow her to return home. By means of the gold and silver sticks the rákshasí kills her when she goes off in the morning, and by means of them also she is 644revived when she comes back in the evening. He had better flee and save his life. But the youth told her he would not go away without the kataki flower, moreover, that he would take her also with him. They spent the day in walking about the gardens, and when it was drawing near the time for the return of the rákshasas, the youth concealed himself under a great heap of the kataki flower which was in one of the rooms, having first “killed” the damsel by touching her head with the golden stick. The return of the seven hundred rákshasas was like the noise of a mighty tempest. One of them entered the damsel’s room and revived her, saying at the same time, “I smell a human being!”^[190] The damsel replied, “How can a human being come to this place?” and the rákshasa was satisfied. During the night the damsel worms out of the rákshasí who was her mistress the secret that the lives of the seven hundred rákshasas depended on the lives of a male and female bee, which were in a wooden box at the bottom of a tank, and that the only person who could seize and kill those bees was a youth with a moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands—but there could be no such youth, and so their lives were safe.^[191] When the rákshasas had all gone out as usual next morning, the damsel, having been revived by the youth, told him how the demons could be killed, and, to be brief, he was not slow to put her directions into practice. After the death of the seven hundred rákshasas, the youth took some of the kataki flowers and left the palace accompanied by the beautiful damsel, whose name was Pushpavati. They passed through the ocean and forest of kachiri in safety, and arriving at the house in the bazár the youth with the moon on his forehead presented the kataki flower to his sister. Going out to hunt the next day, he met the king, and his turban again falling off as he shot an arrow, the King saw the moon on his forehead and desired his friendship. The youth invited the King to his house, and he went thither at midday. Pushpavati then told the King (for she knew the whole story from first to last) how his seventh wife had been induced by his six other wives to ring the bell twice needlessly; how she gave birth to a boy and a girl, and pups were substituted for them; how the twins were miraculously saved and brought up in the house of a potter, and so forth. When she had concluded the King was highly enraged, and next day caused his six wicked wives to be buried alive. The seventh queen was brought from the market-place and reinstated in the palace, and the youth with a moon on his forehead and stars on the palms of his hands lived happily with his beautiful twin-sister.