Stories from Around the World

Once on a time Ananzi planned a scheme. He went to town and bought ever so many firkins of fat, and ever so many sacks, and ever so many balls of string, and a very big frying pan, then he went to the bay and blew a shell, and called the Head-fish in the sea, “Green Eel,” to him. Then he said to the fish, “The King sends me to tell you that you must bring all the fish on shore, for he wants to give them new life.”
So “Green Eel” said he would, and went to call them. Meanwhile Ananzi lighted a fire, and took out some of the fat, and got his frying pan ready, and as fast as the fish came out of the water he caught them and put them into the frying pan, and so he did with all of them until he got to the Head-fish, who was so slippery that he couldn’t hold him, and he got back again into the water.
When Ananzi had fried all the fish, he put them into the sacks, and took the sacks on his back, and set off to the mountains. He had not gone very far when he met Lion, and Lion said to him:
“Well, brother Ananzi, where have you been? I have not seen you a long time.”
Ananzi said, “I have been traveling about.”
“Oh! But what have you got there?” said the Lion.
“Oh! I have got my mother’s bones—she has been dead these forty-eleven years, and they say I must not keep her here, so I am taking her up into the middle of the mountains to bury her.”
Then they parted. After he had gone a little way, the Lion said: “I know that Ananzi is a great rogue; I dare say he has got something there that he doesn’t want me to see, and I will just follow him;” but he took care not to let Ananzi see him.
Now, when Ananzi got into the wood, he set his sacks down, and took one fish out and began to eat; then a fly came, and Ananzi said, “I cannot eat any more, for there is some one near;” so he tied the sack up, and went on farther into the mountains, where he set his sacks down, and took out two fish which he ate; and no fly came. He said, “There is no one near;” so he took out more fish. But when he had eaten about half a dozen the Lion came up and said:
“Well, brother Ananzi, a pretty tale you have told me.”
“Oh! Brother Lion, I am so glad you have come; never mind what tale I have told you, but come and sit down—it was only my fun.”
So Lion sat down and began to eat; but before Ananzi had eaten two fish, Lion had emptied one of the sacks. Then said Ananzi to himself:
“Greedy fellow, eating up all my fish.”
“What do you say, sir?”
“I only said you do not eat half fast enough,” for he was afraid the Lion would eat him up.
Then they went on eating, but Ananzi wanted to revenge himself, and he said to the Lion, “Which of us do you think is the stronger?”
The Lion said, “Why, I am, of course.”
Then Ananzi said, “We will tie one another to the tree, and we shall see which is the stronger.”
Now they agreed that the Lion should tie Ananzi first, and he tied him with some very fine string, and did not tie him tight. Ananzi twisted himself about two or three times, and the string broke.
Then it was Ananzi’s turn to tie the Lion, and he took some very strong cord. The Lion said, “You must not tie me tight, for I did not tie you tight.” And Ananzi said, “Oh! No, to be sure, I will not.” But he tied him as tight as ever he could, and then told him to try and get loose.
The Lion tried and tried in vain—he could not get loose. Then Ananzi thought, now is my chance; so he got a big stick and beat him, and then went away and left him, for he was afraid to loose him lest he should kill him.
Now there was a woman called Miss Nancy, who was going out one morning to get some “callalou” (spinach) in the wood, and as she was going she heard some one say, “Good morning, Miss Nancy!” She could not tell who spoke to her, but she looked where the voice came from, and saw the Lion tied to the tree.
“Good morning, Mr. Lion, what are you doing there?”
He said, “It is all that fellow Ananzi who has tied me to the tree, but will you loose me?”
But she said, “No, for I am afraid, if I do, you will kill me.” But he gave her his word he would not; still she could not trust him; but he begged her again and again, and said:
“Well, if I do try to eat you, I hope all the trees will cry out shame upon me.”
So at last she consented; but she had no sooner loosed him, than he came up to her to eat her, for he had been so many days without food that he was quite ravenous, but the trees immediately cried out, “Shame,” and so he could not eat her. Then she went away as fast as she could, and the Lion found his way home.
When Lion got home he told his wife and children all that happened to him, and how Miss Nancy had saved his life, so they said they would have a great dinner, and ask Miss Nancy. Now when Ananzi heard of it, he wanted to go to the dinner, so he went to Miss Nancy, and said she must take him with her as her child, but she said, “No.” Then he said, “I can turn myself into quite a little child and then you can take me,” and at last she said, “Yes;” and he told her, when she was asked what pap her baby ate, she must be sure to tell them it did not eat pap, but the same food as every one else; and so they went, and had a very good dinner, and set off home again—but somehow one of the Lion’s sons fancied that all was not right, and he told his father he was sure it was Ananzi, and the Lion set out after him.
Now as they were going along, before the Lion got up to them, Ananzi begged Miss Nancy to put him down, that he might run, which he did, and he got away and ran along the wood, and the Lion ran after him. When he found the Lion was overtaking him, he turned himself into an old man with a bundle of wood on his head—and when the Lion got up to him, he said, “Good morning, Mr. Lion,” and the Lion said, “Good morning, old gentleman.”
Then the old man said, “What are you after now?” and the Lion asked if he had seen Ananzi pass that way, but the old man said, “No, that fellow Ananzi is always meddling with some one; what mischief has he been up to now?”
Then the Lion told him, but the old man said it was no use to follow him any more, for he would never catch him, and so the Lion wished him good-day, and turned and went home again.

Ananzi and the Lion

Once upon a time, there was a Rat Princess, who lived with her father, the Rat King, and her mother, the Rat Queen, in a ricefield in far away Japan. The Rat Princess was so pretty that her father and mother were quite foolishly proud of her, and thought no one good enough to play with her. When she grew up, they would not let any of the rat princes come to visit her, and they decided at last that no one should marry her till they had found the most powerful person in the whole world; no one else was good enough. And the Father Rat started out to find the most powerful person in the whole world. The wisest and oldest rat in the ricefield said that the Sun must be the most powerful person, because he made the rice grow and ripen; so the Rat King went to find the Sun. He climbed up the highest mountain, ran up the path of a rainbow, and travelled and travelled across the sky till he came to the Sun’s house.
“What do you want, little brother?” the Sun said, when he saw him.
“I come,” said the Rat King, very importantly, “to offer you the hand of my daughter, the princess, because you are the most powerful person in the world; no one else is good enough.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed the jolly round Sun, and winked with his eye. “You are very kind, little brother, but if that is the case the princess is not for me; the Cloud is more powerful than I am; when he passes over me I cannot shine.”
“Oh, indeed,” said the Rat King, “then you are not my man at all”; and he left the Sun without more words. The Sun laughed and winked to himself. And the Rat King travelled and travelled across the sky till he came to the Cloud’s house.
“What do you want, little brother?” sighed the Cloud when he saw him.
“I come to offer you the hand of my daughter, the princess,” said the Rat King, “because you are the most powerful person in the world; the Sun said so, and no one else is good enough.”
The Cloud sighed again. “I am not the most powerful person,” he said; “the Wind is stronger than I,—when he blows, I have to go wherever he sends me.”
“Then you are not the person for my daughter,” said the Rat King proudly; and he started at once to find the Wind. He travelled and travelled across the sky, till he came at last to the Wind’s house, at the very edge of the world.
When the Wind saw him coming he laughed a big, gusty laugh, “Ho, ho!” and asked him what he wanted; and when the Rat King told him that he had come to offer him the Rat Princess’s hand because he was the most powerful person in the world, the Wind shouted a great gusty shout, and said, “No, no, I am not the strongest; the Wall that man has made is stronger than I; I cannot make him move, with all my blowing; go to the Wall, little brother!”
And the Rat King climbed down the sky-path again, and travelled and travelled across the earth till he came to the Wall. It was quite near his own ricefield.
“What do you want, little brother?” grumbled the Wall when he saw him.
“I come to offer you the hand of the princess, my daughter, because you are the most powerful person in the world, and no one else is good enough.”
“Ugh, ugh,” grumbled the Wall, “I am not the strongest; the big grey Rat who lives in the cellar is stronger than I. When he gnaws and gnaws at me I crumble and crumble, and at last I fall; go to the Rat, little brother.”
And so, after going all over the world to find the strongest person, the Rat King had to marry his daughter to a rat, after all; but the princess was very glad of it, for she wanted to marry the grey Rat, all the time.

The Rat Princess

It is a common saying among men that to forget favours received is the part of a bird or a beast: an ungrateful man will be ill spoken of by all the world. And yet even birds and beasts will show gratitude; so that a man who does not requite a favour is worse even than dumb brutes. Is not this a disgrace?
Once upon a time, in a hut at a place called Namékata, in Hitachi, there lived an old priest famous neither for learning nor wisdom, but bent only on passing his days in prayer and meditation. He had not even a child to wait upon him, but prepared his food with his own hands. Night and morning he recited the prayer “Namu Amida Butsu,”[3] intent upon that alone. Although the fame of his virtue did not reach far, yet his neighbours respected and revered him, and often brought him food and raiment; and when his roof or his walls fell out of repair, they would mend them for him; so for the things of this world he took no thought.
One very cold night, when he little thought any one was outside, he heard a voice calling, “Your reverence! Your reverence!” So he rose and went out to see who it was, and there he beheld an old badger standing. Any ordinary man would have been greatly alarmed at the apparition; but the priest, being such as he has been described above, showed no sign of fear, but asked the creature its business. Upon this the badger respectfully bent its knees and said:
“Hitherto, sir, my lair has been in the mountains, and of snow or frost I have taken no heed; but now I am growing old, and this severe cold is more than I can bear. I pray you to let me enter and warm myself at the fire of your cottage, that I may live through this bitter night.”
When the priest heard what a helpless state the beast was reduced to, he was filled with pity and said:
“That’s a very slight matter: make haste and come in and warm yourself.”
The badger, delighted with so good a reception, went into the hut, and squatting down by the fire began to warm itself; and the priest, with renewed fervour, recited his prayers and struck his bell before the image of Buddha, looking straight before him.
After two hours the badger took its leave, with profuse expressions of thanks, and went out; and from that time forth it came every night to the hut. As the badger would collect and bring with it dried branches and dead leaves from the hills for firewood, the priest at last became very friendly with it, and got used to its company; so that if ever, as the night wore on, the badger did not arrive, he used to miss it, and wonder why it did not come. When the winter was over, and the springtime came at the end of the second month, the badger gave up its visits, and was no more seen; but, on the return of the winter, the beast resumed its old habit of coming to the hut. When this practice had gone on for ten years, one day the badger said to the priest, “Through your reverence’s kindness for all these years, I have been able to pass the winter nights in comfort. Your favours are such that during all my life, and even after my death, I must remember them. What can I do to requite them? If there is anything that you wish for, pray tell me.”
The priest, smiling at this speech, answered: “Being such as I am, I have no desire and no wishes. Glad as I am to hear your kind intentions, there is nothing that I can ask you to do for me. You need feel no anxiety on my account. As long as I live, when the winter comes, you shall be welcome here.” The badger, on hearing this, could not conceal its admiration of the depth of the old man’s benevolence; but having so much to be grateful for, it felt hurt at not being able to requite it. As this subject was often renewed between them, the priest at last, touched by the goodness of the badger’s heart, said: “Since I have shaven my head, renounced the world, and forsaken the pleasures of this life, I have no desire to gratify, yet I own I should like to possess three riyos in gold. Food and raiment I receive by the favour of the villagers, so I take no heed for those things. Were I to die to-morrow, and attain my wish of being born again into the next world, the same kind folk have promised to meet and bury my body. Thus, although I have no other reason to wish for money, still if I had three riyos I would offer them up at some holy shrine, that masses and prayers might be said for me, whereby I might enter into salvation. Yet I would not get this money by violent or unlawful means; I only think of what might be if I had it. So you see, since you have expressed such kind feelings toward me, I have told you what is on my mind.” When the priest had done speaking, the badger leant its head on one side with a puzzled and anxious look, so much so that the old man was sorry he had expressed a wish which seemed to give the beast trouble, and tried to retract what he had said. “Posthumous honours, after all, are the wish of ordinary men. I, who am a priest, ought not to entertain such thoughts, or to want money; so pray pay no attention to what I have said;” and the badger, feigning assent to what the priest had impressed upon it, returned to the hills as usual.
From that time forth the badger came no more to the hut. The priest thought this very strange, but imagined either that the badger stayed away because it did not like to come without the money, or that it had been killed in an attempt to steal it; and he blamed himself for having added to his sins for no purpose, repenting when it was too late: persuaded, however, that the badger must have been killed, he passed his time in putting up prayers upon prayers for it.
After three years had gone by, one night the old man heard a voice near his door calling out, “Your reverence! Your reverence!”
As the voice was like that of the badger, he jumped up as soon as he heard it, and ran to open the door; and there, sure enough, was the badger. The priest, in great delight, cried out: “And so you are safe and sound, after all! Why have you been so long without coming here? I have been expecting you anxiously this long while.”
So the badger came into the hut and said: “If the money which you required had been for unlawful purposes, I could easily have procured as much as ever you might have wanted; but when I heard that it was to be offered to a temple for masses for your soul, I thought that, if I were to steal the hidden treasure of some other man, you could not apply to a sacred purpose money which had been obtained at the expense of his sorrow. So I went to the island of Sado,[4] and gathering the sand and earth which had been cast away as worthless by the miners, fused it afresh in the fire; and at this work I spent months and days.” As the badger finished speaking, the priest looked at the money which it had produced, and sure enough he saw that it was bright and new and clean; so he took the money, and received it respectfully, raising it to his head.
“And so you have had all this toil and labour on account of a foolish speech of mine? I have obtained my heart’s desire, and am truly thankful.”
As he was thanking the badger with great politeness and ceremony, the beast said: “In doing this I have but fulfilled my own wish; still I hope that you will tell this thing to no man.”
“Indeed,” replied the priest, “I cannot choose but tell this story. For if I keep this money in my poor hut, it will be stolen by thieves: I must either give it to some one to keep for me, or else at once offer it up at the temple. And when I do this, when people see a poor old priest with a sum of money quite unsuited to his station, they will think it very suspicious, and I shall have to tell the tale as it occurred; but I shall say that the badger that gave me the money has ceased coming to my hut, you need not fear being waylaid, but can come, as of old, and shelter yourself from the cold.” To this the badger nodded assent; and as long as the old priest lived, it came and spent the winter nights with him.
From this story, it is plain that even beasts have a sense of gratitude: in this quality dogs excel all other beasts. Is not the story of the dog of Totoribé Yorodzu written in the Annals of Japan? I[5] have heard that many anecdotes of this nature have been collected and printed in a book, which I have not yet seen; but as the facts which I have recorded relate to a badger, they appear to me to be passing strange.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 3: A Buddhist prayer, in which something approaching to the sounds of the original Sanscrit has been preserved. The meaning of the prayer is explained as, “Save us, eternal Buddha’” Many even of the priests who repeat it know it only as a formula, without understanding it.]
[Footnote 4: An island on the west coast of Japan, famous for its gold mines.]
[Footnote 5: The author of the tale.]

“The Badger’s Money”

Once there was a good old man who lived up on a mountain, far away in Japan. All round his little house the mountain was flat, and the ground was rich; and there were the rice fields of all the people who lived in the village at the mountain’s foot. Mornings and evenings, the old man and his little grandson, who lived with him, used to look far down on the people at work in the village, and watch the blue sea which lay all round the land, so close that there was no room for fields below, only for houses. The little boy loved the rice fields, dearly, for he knew that all the good food for all the people came from them; and he often helped his grand father to watch over them.
One day, the grandfather was standing alone, before his house, looking far down at the people, and out at the sea, when, suddenly, he saw something very strange far off where the sea and sky meet. Something like a great cloud was rising there, as if the sea were lifting itself high into the sky. The old man put his hands to his eyes and looked again, hard as his old sight could. Then he turned and ran to the house. “Yone, Yone!” he cried, “bring a brand from the hearth!”
The little grandson could not imagine what his grandfather wanted with fire, but he always obeyed, so he ran quickly and brought the brand. The old man already had one, and was running for the rice fields. Yone ran after. But what was his horror to see his grandfather thrust his burning brand into the ripe dry rice, where it stood.
“Oh, Grandfather, Grandfather!” screamed the little boy, “what are you doing?”
“Quick, set fire! Thrust your brand in!” said the grandfather.
Yone thought his dear grandfather had lost his mind, and he began to sob; but a little Japanese boy always obeys, so though he sobbed, he thrust his torch in, and the sharp flame ran up the dry stalks, red and yellow. In an instant, the field was ablaze, and thick black smoke began to pour up, on the mountain side. It rose like a cloud, black and fierce, and in no time the people below saw that their precious rice fields were on fire. Ah, how they ran! Men, women, and children climbed the mountain, running as fast as they could to save the rice; not one soul stayed behind.
And when they came to the mountain top, and saw the beautiful rice-crop all in flames, beyond help, they cried bitterly, “Who has done this thing? How did it happen?”
“I set fire,” said the old man, very solemnly; and the little grandson sobbed, “Grandfather set fire.”
But when they came fiercely round the old man, with “Why? Why?” he only turned and pointed to the sea. “Look!” he said.
They all turned and looked. And there, where the blue sea had lain, so calm, a mighty wall of water, reaching from earth to sky, was rolling in. No one could scream, so terrible was the sight. The wall of water rolled in on the land, passed quite over the place where the village had been, and broke, with an awful sound, on the mountain side. One wave more, and still one more, came; and then all was water, as far as they could look, below; the village where they had been was under the sea.
But the people were all safe. And when they saw what the old man had done, they honoured him above all men for the quick wit which had saved them all from the tidal wave.

“The Burning of the Rice Fields”

There was an emperor who had three sons. One day the eldest son went out hunting, and, when he got outside the town, up sprang a hare out of a bush, and he after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into a water-mill, and the prince after it. But it was not a hare, but a dragon, and it waited for the prince and devoured him. When several days had elapsed and the prince did not return home, people began to wonder why it was that he was not to be found.
Then the middle son went hunting, and as he issued from the town, a hare sprang out of a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into the water-mill and the prince after it; but it was not a hare, but a dragon, which waited for and devoured him. When some days had elapsed and the princes did not return, either of them, the whole court was in sorrow.
Then the third son went hunting, to see whether he could not find his brothers. When he issued from the town, again up sprang a hare out of a bush, and the prince after it, and hither and thither, till the hare fled into the water-mill. But the prince did not choose to follow it, but went to find other game, saying to himself: “When I return I shall find you.”
After thus he went for a long time up and down the hill, but found nothing, and then returned to the water-mill; but when he got there, there was only an old woman in the mill. The prince invoked God in addressing her: “God help you, old woman!”
The old woman replied: “God help you, my son!”
Then the prince asked her: “Where, old woman, is my hare?”
She replied: “My son, that was not a hare, but a dragon. It kills and throttles many people.”
Hearing this, the prince was somewhat disturbed, and said to the old woman: “What shall we do now? Doubtless my two brothers also have perished here.”
The old woman answered: “They have indeed; but there’s no help for it. Go home, my son, lest you follow them.”
Then he said to her: “Dear old woman, do you know what? I know that you will be glad to liberate yourself from that pest.”
The old woman interrupted him: “How should I not? It captured me, too, in this way, but now I have no means of escape.”
Then he proceeded: “Listen well to what I am going to say to you. Ask it whither it goes and where its strength is; then kiss all that place where it tells you its strength is, as if from love, till you ascertain it, and afterward tell me when I come.”
Then the prince went off to the palace, and the old woman remained in the water-mill. When the dragon came in, the old woman began to question it: “Where in God’s name have you been? Whither do you go so far? You will never tell me whither you go.”
The dragon replied: “Well, my dear old woman, I do go far.”
Then the old woman began to coax it: “And why do you go so far? Tell me where your strength is. If I knew where your strength is, I don’t know what I should do for love; I would kiss all that place.”
Thereupon the dragon smiled and said to her: “Yonder is my strength, in that fireplace.”
Then the old woman began to fondle and kiss the fireplace, and the dragon on seeing it burst into a laugh and said to her: “Silly old woman, my strength isn’t there; my strength is in that tree-fungus in front of the house.”
Then the old woman began again to fondle and kiss the tree, and the dragon again laughed, and said to her: “Away, old woman! My strength isn’t there.”
Then the old woman inquired: “Where is it?”
The dragon began to give an account in detail: “My strength is a long way off, and you cannot go thither. Far in another empire under the emperor’s city is a lake, in that lake is a dragon, and in that dragon a boar, and in the boar a pigeon, and in that is my strength.”
The next morning when the dragon went away from the mill, the prince came to the old woman, and the old woman told him all that she had heard from the dragon. Then he left his home, and disguised himself; he put shepherd’s boots to his feet, took a shepherd’s staff in his hand, and went into the world. As he went on thus from village to village, and from town to town, at last he came into another empire and into the imperial city, in a lake under which the dragon was.
On going into the town he began to inquire who wanted a shepherd. The citizens told him that the emperor did. Then he went straight to the emperor. After he announced himself, the emperor admitted him into his presence, and asked him: “Do you wish to keep sheep?”
He replied: “I do, illustrious crown!”
Then the emperor engaged him, and began to inform and instruct him: “There is here a lake, and alongside of the lake very beautiful pasture, and when you call the sheep out, they go thither at once, and spread themselves round the lake; but whatever shepherd goes off there, that shepherd returns back no more. Therefore, my son, I tell you, don’t let the sheep have their own way and go where they will, but keep them where you will.”
The prince thanked the emperor, got himself ready, and called out the sheep, taking with him, more-over, two hounds that could catch a boar in the open country, and a falcon that could capture any bird, and carrying also a pair of bagpipes.
When he called out the sheep he let them go at once to the lake, and when the sheep arrived at the lake, they immediately spread round it, and the prince placed the falcon on a stump, and the hounds and bagpipes under the stump, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the lake, and began to shout: “Dragon, dragon! Come out to single combat with me to-day that we may measure ourselves together, unless you’re a woman.”[6]
The dragon called out in reply, “I will do so now, prince—now!”
Erelong behold the dragon! It is large, it is terrible, it is disgusting! When the dragon came out, it seized him by the waist, and they wrestled a summer day till afternoon. But when the heat of afternoon came on, the dragon said: “Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you to the sky.”
But the prince replied: “Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you still higher.”
Thereupon, the dragon suddenly let him go, and went off into the lake. On the approach of evening, he washed and got himself up nicely, placed the falcon on his arm, the hounds behind him, and the bagpipes under his arm, then drove the sheep and went into the town playing on the bagpipes. When he arrived at the town, the whole town assembled as to see a wondrous sight because he had come, whereas previously no shepherd had been able to come from the lake. The next day the prince got ready again, and went with his sheep straight to the lake. But the emperor sent two grooms after him to go stealthily and see what he did, and they placed themselves on a high hill whence they could have a good view.
When the shepherd arrived, he put the hounds and bagpipes under the stump and the falcon upon it, then tucked up his hose and sleeves waded into the lake and shouted: “Dragon, dragon! Come out to single combat with me, that we may measure ourselves once more together, unless you are a woman!”
The dragon replied: “I will do so, prince, now, now!”
Erelong, behold the dragon! It was large, it was terrible, it was disgusting! And it seized him by the waist and wrestled with him a summer’s day till afternoon.
But when the afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: “Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and may toss you to the sky.”
The prince replied: “Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you still higher.”
Thereupon the dragon suddenly left hold of him, and went off into the lake. When night approached the prince drove the sheep as before, and went home playing the bagpipes. When he arrived at the town, the whole town was astir and began to wonder because the shepherd came home every evening, which no one had been able to do before. Those two grooms had already arrived at the palace before the prince, and related to the emperor in order everything that they had heard and seen. Now when the emperor saw that the shepherd returned home, he immediately summoned his daughter into his presence and told her all, what it was and how it was.
“But,” said he, “to-morrow you must go with the shepherd to the lake and kiss him on the forehead.”
When she heard this she burst into tears and began to entreat her father. “You have no one but me, and I am your only daughter, and you don’t care about me if I perish.”
Then the emperor began to persuade and encourage her: “Don’t fear, my daughter; you see we have had so many changes of shepherds, and of all that went out to the lake not one has returned; but he had been contending with the dragon for two whole days and it has done him no hurt. I assure you, in God’s name, that he is able to overcome the dragon, only go to-morrow with him to see whether he will free us from this mischief which has destroyed so many people.”
When, on the morrow, the day dawned and the sun came forth, up rose the shepherd, up rose the maiden too, to begin to prepare for going to the lake. The shepherd was cheerful, more cheerful than ever, but the emperor’s daughter was sad and shed tears.
The shepherd comforted her: “Lady sister, I pray you, do not weep, but do what I tell you. When it is time, run up and kiss me, and fear not.”
As he went and drove the sheep, the shepherd was thoroughly cheery, and played a merry tune on his bagpipes; but the damsel did nothing but weep as she went beside him, and he several times left off playing and turned toward her: “Weep not, golden one; fear nought.”
When they arrived at the lake, the sheep immediately spread round it, and the prince placed the falcon on the stump, and the hounds and bagpipes under it, then tucked up his hose and sleeves, waded into the water, and shouted: “Dragon! Dragon! Come out to single combat with me; let us measure ourselves once more, unless you’re a woman!”
The dragon replied: “I will, prince; now, now!”
Erelong, there was the dragon! It was huge, it was terrible, it was disgusting! When it came out, they seized each other by the middle, and wrestled a summer’s day till afternoon.
But when the afternoon heat came on, the dragon said: “Let me go, prince, that I may moisten my parched head in the lake, and toss you to the skies.”
The prince replied: “Come, dragon, don’t talk nonsense; if I had the emperor’s daughter to kiss me on the forehead, I would toss you much higher.”
When he said this, the emperor’s daughter ran up and kissed him on the face, on the eye, and on the forehead. Then he swung the dragon, and tossed it high into the air, and when it fell to the ground it burst into pieces. But as it burst into pieces, out of it sprang a wild boar, and started to run away. But the prince shouted to his shepherd dogs: “Hold it! Don’t let it go!” and the dogs sprang up and after it, caught it, and soon tore it to pieces. But out of the boar flew a pigeon, and the prince loosed the falcon, and the falcon caught the pigeon and brought it into the prince’s hands. The prince said to it: “Tell me now, where are my brothers?”
The pigeon replied: “I will; only do me no harm. Immediately behind your father’s town is a water-mill, and in the water-mill are three wands that have sprouted up. Cut these three wands up from below, and strike with them upon their root; an iron door will immediately open into a large vault. In that vault are many people, old and young, rich and poor, small and great, wives and maidens, so that you could settle a populous empire; there, too, are your brothers.” When the pigeon had told him all this, the prince immediately wrung its neck.
The emperor had gone out in person, and posted himself on the hill from which the grooms had viewed the shepherd, and he, too, was a spectator of all that had taken place. After the shepherd had thus obtained the dragon’s head, twilight began to approach. He washed himself nicely, took the falcon on his shoulder, the hounds behind him, and the bagpipes under his arm, played as he went, drove the sheep, and proceeded to the emperor’s palace, with the damsel at his side still in terror.
When they came to the town, all the town assembled as to see a wonder. The emperor, who had seen all his heroism from the hill, called him into his presence, and gave him his daughter, went immediately to church, had them married, and held a wedding festival for a week. After this the prince told him who and whence he was, and the emperor and the whole town rejoiced still more.
Then, as the prince was urgent to go to his own home, the emperor gave him a large escort, and equipped him for the journey. When they were in the neighbourhood of the water-mill, the prince halted his attendants, went inside, cut up the three wands, and struck the root with them, and the iron door opened at once. In the vault was a vast multitude of people. The prince ordered them to come out one by one, and go whither each would, and stood himself at the door.
They came out thus one after another, and lo! there were his brothers also, whom he embraced and kissed. When the whole multitude had come out, they thanked him for releasing and delivering them, and went each to his own home. But he went to his father’s house with his brothers and bride, and there lived and reigned to the end of his days.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 6: This is intended as an insult. “Azhdaja,” a dragon, is feminine in Servian.]

“The Dragon and the Prince”

There was a king who had a daughter who never could be induced to laugh; she was always sad. So the king proclaimed that she should be given to any one who could cause her to laugh. There was also a shepherd who had a son named George.
He said: “Daddy! I, too, will go to see whether I can make her laugh. I want nothing from you but the goat.”
His father said, “Well, go.”
The goat was of such a nature that, when her master wished, she detained everybody, and that person was obliged to stay by her.
So he took the goat and went, and met a man who had a foot on his shoulder. George said: “Why have you a foot on your shoulder?”
He replied: “If I take it off, I leap a hundred miles.”
“Whither are you going?”
“I am going in search of service, to see if any one will take me.”
“Well, come with us.”
They went on, and again met a man who had a bandage on his eyes. “Why have you a bandage on your eyes?”
He answered, “If I remove the bandage, I see a hundred miles.”
“Whither are you going?”
“I am going in search of service, if you will take me.”
“Yes, I’ll take you. Come also with me.”
They went on a bit farther, and met another fellow, who had a bottle under his arm, and, instead of a stopper, held his thumb in it. “Why do you hold your thumb there?”
“If I pull it out, I squirt a hundred miles, and besprinkle everything that I choose. If you like, take me also into your service; it may be to your advantage and ours too.”
George replied: “Well, come, too!”
Afterward they came to the town where the king lived, and bought a silken riband for the goat. They came to an inn, and orders had already been given there beforehand, that when such people came, they were to give them what they liked to eat and drink—the king would pay for all. So they tied the goat with that very riband and placed it in the innkeeper’s room to be taken care of, and he put it in the side room where his daughters slept. The innkeeper had three maiden daughters, who were not yet asleep.
So Manka said: “Oh! If I, too, could have such a riband! I will go and unfasten it from that goat.”
The second, Dodla, said: “Don’t; he’ll find it out in the morning.”
But she went notwithstanding. And when Manka did not return for a long time, the third, Kate, said: “Go, fetch her.”
So Dodla went, and gave Manka a pat on the back. “Come, leave it alone!”
And now she, too, was unable to withdraw herself from her. So Kate said: “Come, don’t unfasten it!”
Kate went and gave Dodla a pat on the petticoat; and now she, too, couldn’t get away, but was obliged to stay by her.
In the morning George made haste and went for the goat, and led the whole set away—Kate Dodla, and Manka. The innkeeper was still asleep.
They went through the village, and the judge looked out of a window and said, “Fie, Kate! What’s this? What’s this?”
He went and took her by the hand, wishing to pull her away, but remained also by her. After this, a cowherd drove some cows through a narrow street, and the bull came rushing round; he stuck fast, and George led him, too, in the procession.
Thus they afterward came in front of the castle, and the servants came out-of-doors; and when they saw such things they went and told the king. “Oh, sire, we have such a spectacle here; we have already had all manner of masquerades, but this has never been here yet.”
So they immediately led the king’s daughter to the square in front of the castle, and she looked and laughed till the castle shook.
Now they asked him what sort of person he was. He said that he was a shepherd’s son, and was named George. They said that it could not be done; for he was of mean lineage, and they could not give him the damsel; but he must accomplish something more for them.
He said, “What?”
They replied that there was a spring yonder, a hundred miles off; if he brought a goblet of water from it in a minute, then he should obtain the damsel.
So George said to the man who had the foot on his shoulder: “You said that if you took the foot down, you could jump a hundred miles.”
He replied: “I’ll easily do that.”
He took the foot down, jumped, and was there. But after this there was only a very little time to spare, and by then he ought to have been back. So George said to the other: “You said that if you removed the bandage from your eyes, you could see a hundred miles. Peep and see what is going on.”
“Ah, sir! Goodness gracious! He’s fallen asleep!”
“That will be a bad job,” said George; “the time will be up. You, third man, you said if you pulled your thumb out, you could squirt a hundred miles; be quick and squirt thither, that he may get up. And you, look whether he is moving, or what.”
“Oh, sir, he’s getting up now; he’s knocking the dust off; he’s drawing the water.”
He then gave a jump, and was there exactly in time.
After this they said that he must perform one task more; that yonder, in a rock, was a wild beast, a unicorn, of such a nature that he destroyed a great many of their people; if he cleared him out of the world he should obtain the damsel. So he took his people and went into the forest. They came to a firwood. There were three wild beasts, and three lairs had been formed by wallowing as they lay. Two did nothing: but the third destroyed the people. So they took some stones and some pine-cones in their pockets, and climbed up into a tree; and when the beasts lay down, they dropped a stone down upon that one which was the unicorn.
He said to the next: “Be quiet; don’t butt me.”
It said: “I’m not doing anything to you.”
Again they let a stone fall from above upon the unicorn. “Be quiet! You’ve already done it to me twice.”
“Indeed, I’m doing nothing to you.” So they attacked each other and fought together. The unicorn wanted to pierce the second beast through; but it jumped out of the way, and he rushed so violently after it, that he struck his horn into a tree, and couldn’t pull it out quickly. So they sprang speedily down from the fir, and the other two beasts ran away and escaped, but they cut off the head of the third, the unicorn, took it up, and carried it to the castle.
Now those in the castle saw that George had again accomplished that task. “What, prithee, shall we do? Perhaps we must after all give him the damsel!”
“No, sire,” said one of the attendants, “that cannot be; he is too lowborn to obtain a king’s daughter! On the contrary, we must clear him out of the world.”
So the king ordered them to note his words, what he should say. There was a hired female servant there, and she said to him: “George, it will be evil for you to-day; they’re going to clear you out of the world.”
He answered: “Oh, I’m not afraid. When I was only just twelve years old, I killed twelve of them at one blow!”
But this was the fact: when his mother was baking a flat-cake, a dozen flies settled upon her, and he killed them all at a single blow.
When they heard this, they said: “Nothing else will do but we must shoot him.”
So they drew up the soldiers, and said they would hold a review in his honour, for they would celebrate the wedding in the square before the castle. Then they conducted him thither, and the soldiers were already going to let fly at him.
But George said to the man who held his thumb in the bottle in the place of a stopper: “You said, if you pulled your thumb out, you could besprinkle everything. Pull it out—quick!”
“Oh, sir, I’ll easily perform that.”
So he pulled out his thumb and gave them all such a sprinkling that they were all blind, and not one could see.
So, when they perceived that nothing else was to be done, they told him to go, for they would give him the damsel. Then they gave him a handsome royal robe, and the wedding took place. I, too, was at the wedding; they had music there, sang, ate, and drank; there was meat, there were cheesecakes, and baskets full of everything, and buckets full of strong waters. To-day I went, yesterday I came; I found an egg among the tree-stumps; I knocked it against somebody’s head, and gave him a bald place, and he’s got it still.

“George With the Goat”

The Lord was angered at mankind, and for three years there was a great famine over all the world; nowhere in the world was even a grain of corn produced, and what people sowed failed to come up from a drought so great that for three years there was not a drop of rain or dew. For one year more people managed to live somehow or other, thrashing up what old corn there was; the rich made money, for corn rose very high. Autumn came. Where anybody had or purchased old seed, they sowed it; and entreated the Lord, hoped in the love of God, if God would give fertility, “if God would forgive our sins.”
But it was not so. They did not obtain the love of God. When they cast the seed into the holy earth, that was the last they saw of it; if it germinated somewhat, if it sent up shoots, it withered away close to the ground. Woe! And abundance of it!
God’s world went on, sorrowed and wept, for now it was manifest that death by hunger was approaching. They somehow got miserably through the winter. Spring came. Where anybody had still any grain, they sowed it. What would come to pass? No blessing was poured forth, for the thought began with wind. Moreover, there was but little snow in the winter, and everything dried up so that the black earth remained as it was. It now came to this—all the world began to perish! The people died; the cattle perished; as misery carried them, so did the people proceed.
There was at that time a powerful emperor in a certain empire: as the young ordinarily cleave to the young, so would he associate only with young men. Whether in council or in office or in the army, there were none but young men; no old men had access to anything anywhere. Well, as young men, unripe in understanding, were the councillors, so was their counsel also unripe. One year passed; a second passed; then, in the third year, they saw that misery was already on every side, that it was already coming to this, that all the world would perish.
The young emperor assembled his young council, and they began to advise after their fashion; they advised, they advised, and ah! the resolutions they came to were such that it is a sin even to give an account of their resolutions! Well, the emperor made proclamation after their advice, that all old people were to be drowned, in order that, said he, bread might not be wasted in vain, but there might be a supply of bread for the young; and that no one should venture, on pain of death, to maintain or harbour any old man. Well, heralds went about throughout the whole country, and promulgated the emperor’s command everywhere—yea, brigands seized old people where they chose, and drowned them without mercy.
There were then in a certain place three own brothers, who had an aged father. When they heard of this edict, they told their father; and their father said: “My sons, such is the will of God and the will of the emperor; take me, let me perish at once, only that you, my children, may live on. I am already with one foot in the grave,”
“No, our own daddy! We will die, but we will not give you up,” cried the good sons with one voice, and fell upon his neck; “we will keep you; we will take from our own mouths, and will nourish you.”
The three brothers took their aged father, conducted him into their cottage, dug under the raised portion of the floor, made up a bed with sheets and frieze-coats, for straw was scarce, and placed the old man there, brought him a loaf of bread as black as the holy earth, and covered him over with the floor. There the old man abode for two or three months, and his sons brought him clandestinely all they had.
The summer passed without harvest, without mowing. September passed too. Autumn passed without joy. Winter passed too. Now came spring; the sun became warm. It was now time to sow, but there was no seed. The world was large, but there was no seed-corn. When one kind was used up, the people sowed others, hoping that there would be a crop; but when they cast it into the holy earth, it rotted there. It seemed as if the end of the world were come.
Then the three sons went to their father, and asked him: “Daddy, what shall we do? It’s time to sow. God is now sending showers of rain; the earth is warmed and is crumbling like grits; but of seed there is not a blessed grain,”
“Take, my sons, and strip the old roof off the house, and thresh the bundles and sow the chaff.”
The lads stripped the house and barn (anyhow, there was nothing in it), and threshed away till the sweat ran from their brows, so that they crushed the bundles as small as poppy-seeds. When they sowed, God gave a blessing; so in a week’s time it became green like rue; in a month’s time, in two months’ time, there was corn, ever so much—ever so much, and all manner of seed was found there: there was rye, there was wheat and barley; yea, maybe, there was also a plant or two of buckwheat and millet.
Wherever you went throughout the world there was no corn to be seen; all the plain was overgrown with grasses, steppe-grasses, and thistles, but with them was corn like a forest. How people wondered and were astounded! The fame thereof went over the whole world, and the news reached the emperor himself, that in such and such a place there were three own brothers, and with them corn had sprung up for all the world, and so beautiful, never was the like beheld! The emperor ordered the three brothers to appear in the imperial presence.
The brothers heard of it, and smacked the tops of their heads with their hands. “Now it will be amen with us!” They went again to their father. “Daddy! They tell us to appear before the emperor. Advise us, daddy, what to do!”
“Go, my sons—what will be, will be; and tell the pure truth before the emperor.”
The brothers started off and went to the emperor. The emperor inquired menacingly: “Why, villains, did ye hoard up corn, when there was such a famine that so many people died of hunger? Tell the truth; if not I shall order you to be tortured and racked even unto death.”
The brothers related all as it had been, from the beginning to the end. “Now, most gracious emperor, give us over to any torture whatever, or let thy kindness have compassion on us!”
	The emperor’s brow became smooth, his eyes became serene. He then ordered the old father to be brought before him at once, and made him sit beside him close to his throne, and hearkened to his counsel till death, and his sons he rewarded handsomely. He ordered the corn to be collected ear by ear, and to be rubbed out in men’s hands; and sent it about for seed-corn in all empires, and from it was produced holy corn for all the world.

“The Good Children”

One fine spring day two friends went out to a moor to gather fern, attended by a boy with a bottle of wine and a box of provisions. As they were straying about, they saw at the foot of a hill two foxes that had brought out their cub to play; and whilst they looked on, struck by the strangeness of the sight, three children came up from a neighbouring village with baskets in their hands, on the same errand as themselves. As soon as the children saw the foxes, they picked up a bamboo stick and took the creatures stealthily in the rear; and when the old foxes took to flight, they surrounded them and beat them with the stick, so that they ran away as fast as their legs could carry them; but two of the boys held down the cub, and, seizing it by the scruff of the neck, went off in high glee.
The two friends were looking on all the while, and one of them, raising his voice, shouted out, “Hallo! You boys! What are you doing with that fox?”
The eldest of the boys replied, “We’re going to take him home and sell him to a young man in our village. He’ll buy him, and then he’ll boil him in a pot and eat him.”
“Well,” replied the other, after considering the matter attentively, “I suppose it’s all the same to you whom you sell him to. You’d better let me have him.”
“Oh, but the young man from our village promised us a good sum if we could find a fox, and got us to come out to the hills and catch one; and so we can’t sell him to you at any price.”
“Well, I suppose it cannot be helped, then; but how much would the young man give you for the cub?”
“Oh, he’ll give us three hundred cash at least.”
“Then I’ll give you half a bu;[1] and so you’ll gain five hundred cash by the transaction.”
“Oh, we’ll sell him for that, sir. How shall we hand him over to you?”
“Just tie him up here,” said the other; and so he made fast the cub round the neck with the string of the napkin in which the luncheon-box was wrapped, and gave half a bu to the three boys, who ran away delighted.
The man’s friend, upon this, said to him: “Well, certainly you have got queer tastes. What on earth are you going to keep the fox for?”
“How very unkind of you to speak of my tastes like that. If we had not interfered just now, the fox’s cub would have lost its life. If we had not seen the affair, there would have been no help for it. How could I stand by and see life taken? It was but a little I spent—only half a bu—to save the cub, but had it cost a fortune I should not have grudged it. I thought you were intimate enough with me to know my heart; but to-day you have accused me of being eccentric, and I see how mistaken I have been in you. However, our friendship shall cease from this day forth.”
And when he had said this with a great deal of firmness, the other, retiring backward and bowing with his hands on his knees, replied:
“Indeed, indeed, I am filled with admiration at the goodness of your heart. When I hear you speak thus, I feel more than ever how great is the love I bear you. I thought that you might wish to use the cub as a sort of decoy to lead the old ones to you, that you might pray them to bring prosperity and virtue to your house. When I called you eccentric just now, I was but trying your heart, because I had some suspicions of you; and now I am truly ashamed of myself.”
And as he spoke, still bowing, the other replied: “Really! Was that indeed your thought? Then I pray you to forgive me for my violent language.”
When the two friends had thus become reconciled, they examined the cub, and saw that it had a slight wound in its foot, and could not walk; and while they were thinking what they should do, they spied out the herb called “Doctor’s Nakasé,” which was just sprouting; so they rolled up a little of it in their fingers and applied it to the part. Then they pulled out some boiled rice from their luncheon-box and offered it to the cub, but it showed no sign of wanting to eat; so they stroked it gently on the back and petted it; and as the pain of the wound seemed to have subsided, they were admiring the properties of the herb, when, opposite to them, they saw the old foxes sitting watching them by the side of some stacks of rice straw.
“Look there! The old foxes have come back, out of fear for their cub’s safety. Come, we will set it free!” And with these words they untied the string round the cub’s neck, and turned its head toward the spot where the old foxes sat; and as the wounded foot was no longer painful, with one bound it dashed to its parents’ side and licked them all over for joy, while they seemed to bow their thanks, looking toward the two friends. So, with peace in their hearts, the latter went off to another place, and, choosing a pretty spot, produced the wine bottle and ate their noonday meal; and after a pleasant day, they returned to their homes, and became firmer friends than ever.
Now the man who had rescued the fox’s cub was a tradesman in good circumstances: he had three or four agents and two maid-servants, besides men-servants; and altogether he lived in a liberal manner. He was married, and this union had brought him one son, who had reached his tenth year, but had been attacked by a strange disease which defied all the physicians’ skill and drugs. At last a famous physician prescribed the liver taken from a live fox, which, as he said, would certainly effect a cure. If that were not forthcoming, the most expensive medicine in the world would not restore the boy to health. When the parents heard this, they were at their wits’ end. However, they told the state of the case to a man who lived on the mountains. “Even though our child should die for it,” they said, “we will not ourselves deprive other creatures of their lives; but you, who live among the hills, are sure to hear when your neighbours go out fox-hunting. We don’t care what price we might have to pay for a fox’s liver; pray, buy one for us at any expense.” So they pressed him to exert himself on their behalf; and he, having promised faithfully to execute the commission, went his way.
In the night of the following day there came a messenger, who announced himself as coming from the person who had undertaken to procure the fox’s liver; so the master of the house went out to see him.
“I have come from Mr. So-and-so. Last night the fox’s liver that you required fell into his hands; so he sent me to bring it to you.” With these words the messenger produced a small jar, adding, “In a few days he will let you know the price.”
When he had delivered his message, the master of the house was greatly pleased and said, “Indeed, I am deeply grateful for this kindness, which will save my son’s life.”
Then the good wife came out, and received the jar with every mark of politeness.
“We must make a present to the messenger.”
“Indeed, sir, I’ve already been paid for my trouble.”
“Well, at any rate, you must stop the night here.”
“Thank you, sir: I’ve a relation in the next village whom I have not seen for a long while, and I will pass the night with him;” and so he took his leave, and went away.
The parents lost no time in sending to let the physician know that they had procured the fox’s liver. The next day the doctor came and compounded a medicine for the patient, which at once produced a good effect, and there was no little joy in the household. As luck would have it, three days after this the man whom they had commissioned to buy the fox’s liver came to the house: so the goodwife hurried out to meet him and welcome him.
“How quickly you fulfilled our wishes, and how kind of you to send at once! The doctor prepared the medicine, and now our boy can get up and walk about the room; and it’s all owing to your goodness.”
“Wait a bit!” cried the guest, who did not know what to make of the joy of the two parents. “The commission with which you entrusted me about the fox’s liver turned out to be a matter of impossibility, so I came to-day to make my excuses; and now I really can’t understand what you are so grateful to me for.”
“We are thanking you, sir,” replied the master of the house, bowing with his hands on the ground, “for the fox’s liver which we asked you to procure for us.”
“I really am perfectly unaware of having sent you a fox’s liver: there must be some mistake here. Pray inquire carefully into the matter.”
“Well, this is very strange. Four nights ago, a man of some five or six and thirty years of age came with a verbal message from you, to the effect that you had sent him with a fox’s liver, which you had just procured, and said that he would come and tell us the price another day. When we asked him to spend the night here, he answered that he would lodge with a relation in the next village, and went away.”
The visitor was more and more lost in amazement, and, leaning his head on one side in deep thought, confessed that he could make nothing of it. As for the husband and wife, they felt quite out of countenance at having thanked a man so warmly for favours of which he denied all knowledge; and so the visitor took his leave and went home.
That night there appeared at the pillow of the master of the house a woman of about one or two and thirty years of age, who said: “I am the fox that lives at such-and-such a mountain. Last spring, when I was taking out my cub to play, it was carried off by some boys, and only saved by your goodness. The desire to requite this kindness pierced me to the quick. At last, when calamity attacked your house, I thought I might be of use to you. Your son’s illness could not be cured without a liver taken from a live fox, so to repay your kindness I killed my cub and took out its liver; then its sire, disguising himself as a messenger, brought it to your house.”
And as she spoke, the fox shed tears; and the master of the house, wishing to thank her, moved in bed, upon which his wife awoke and asked him what was the matter; but he too, to her great astonishment, was biting the pillow and weeping bitterly.
“Why are you weeping thus?” asked she.
At last he sat up in bed and said: “Last spring, when I was out on a pleasure excursion, I was the means of saving the life of a fox’s cub, as I told you at the time. The other day I told Mr. So-and-so that, although my son were to die before my eyes, I would not be the means of killing a fox on purpose, but asked him, in case he heard of any hunter killing a fox, to buy it for me. How the foxes came to hear of this I don’t know; but the foxes to whom I had shown kindness killed their own cub and took out the liver; and the old dog-fox, disguising himself as a messenger from the person to whom we had confided the commission, came here with it. His mate has just been at my pillow-side and told me all about it. Hence it was that, in spite of myself, I was moved to tears.”
When she heard this, the goodwife likewise was blinded by her tears, and for a while they lay lost in thought; but at last, coming to themselves, they lighted the lamp on the shelf on which the family idol stood, and spent the night in reciting prayers and praises, and the next day they published the matter to the household and to their relations and friends. Now, although there are instances of men killing their own children to requite a favour, there is no other example of foxes having done such a thing; so the story became the talk of the whole country.
Now, the boy who had recovered through the efficacy of this medicine selected the prettiest spot on the premises to erect a shrine to Inari Sama,[2] the Fox God, and offered sacrifice to the two old foxes, for whom he purchased the highest rank at the court of the Mikado.
* * * * *
The passage in the tale which speaks of rank being purchased for the foxes at the court of the Mikado is, of course, a piece of nonsense. “The saints who are worshipped in Japan,” writes a native authority, “are men who, in the remote ages, when the country was developing itself, were sages, and by their great and virtuous deeds having earned the gratitude of future generations, received divine honours after their death. How can the Son of Heaven, who is the father and mother of his people, turn dealer in ranks and honours? If rank were a matter of barter, it would cease to be a reward to the virtuous.”
All matters connected with the shrines of the Shintô, or indigenous religion, are confided to the superintendence of the families of Yoshida and Fushimi, Kugés or nobles of the Mikado’s court at Kiyôto. The affairs of the Buddhist or imported religion are under the care of the family of Kanjuji. As it is necessary that those who as priests perform the honourable office of serving the gods should be persons of some standing, a certain small rank is procured for them through the intervention of the representatives of the above noble families, who, on the issuing of the required patent, receive as their perquisite a fee, which, although insignificant in itself, is yet of importance to the poor Kugés, whose penniless condition forms a great contrast to the wealth of their inferiors in rank, the Daimios. I believe that this is the only case in which rank can be bought or sold in Japan. In China, on the contrary, in spite of what has been written by Meadows and other admirers of the examination system, a man can be what he pleases by paying for it; and the coveted button, which is nominally the reward of learning and ability, is more often the prize of wealthy ignorance.
The saints who are alluded to above are the saints of the whole country, as distinct from those who for special deeds are locally worshipped.
Touching the remedy of the fox’s liver, prescribed in the tale, I may add that there would be nothing strange in this to a person acquainted with the Chinese pharmacopoeia, which the Japanese long exclusively followed, although they are now successfully studying the art of healing as practised in the West. When I was at Peking, I saw a Chinese physician prescribe a decoction of three scorpions for a child struck down with fever; and on another occasion a groom of mine, suffering from dysentery, was treated with acupuncture of the tongue. The art of medicine would appear to be at the present time in China much in the state in which it existed in Europe in the sixteenth century, when the excretions and secretions of all manner of animals, saurians, and venomous snakes and insects, and even live bugs, were administered to patients. “Some physicians,” says Matthiolus, “use the ashes of scorpions, burnt alive, for retention caused by either renal or vesical calculi. But I have myself thoroughly experienced the utility of an oil I make myself, whereof scorpions form a very large portion of the ingredients. If only the region of the heart and all the pulses of the body be anointed with it, it will free the patients from the effects of all kinds of poisons taken by the mouth, corrosive ones excepted.” Decoctions of Egyptian mummies were much commended, and often prescribed with due academical solemnity; and the bones of the human skull, pulverized and administered with oil, were used as a specific in cases of renal calculus. (See Petri Andreae Matthioli “Opera,” 1574.)
These remarks were made to me by a medical gentleman to whom I mentioned the Chinese doctor’s prescription of scorpion tea, and they seem to me so curious that I insert them for comparison’s sake.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 1: Bu. This coin is generally called by foreigners “ichibu,” which means “one bu.” To talk of “a hundred ichibus” is as though a Japanese were to say “a hundred one shillings.” Four bus make a riyo , or ounce; and any sum above three bus is spoken of as so many riyos and bus—as 101 riyos and three bus equal 407 bus. The bu is worth about 1s. 4d.]
[Footnote 2: Inari Sama is the title under which was deified a certain mythical personage, called Uga, to whom tradition attributes the honour of having first discovered and cultivated the rice-plant. He is represented carrying a few ears of rice, and is symbolized by a snake guarding a bale of rice grain. The foxes wait upon him, and do his bidding. Inasmuch as rice is the most important and necessary product of Japan, the honours which Inari Sama receives are extraordinary. Almost every house in the country contains somewhere about the grounds a pretty little shrine in his honour; and on a certain day of the second month of the year his feast is celebrated with much beating of drums and other noises, in which the children take a special delight. “On this day,” says the O-Satsuyô, a Japanese cyclopædia, “at Yeddo, where there are myriads upon myriads of shrines to Inari Sama, there are all sorts of ceremonies. Long banners with inscriptions are erected, lamps and lanterns are hung up, and the houses are decked with various dolls and figures; the sound of flutes and drums is heard, and people dance and make holiday according to their fancy. In short, it is the most bustling festival of the Yeddo year.”]

“The Grateful Foxes”

“The Greedy Youngster”

Hans had served his Master seven years, and at the end of that time he said to him: “Master, since my time is up, I should like to go home to my mother; so give me my wages, if you please.”
His Master replied, “You have served me truly and honestly, Hans, and such as your service was, such shall be your reward;” and with these words he gave him a lump of gold as big as his head. Hans thereupon took his handkerchief out of his pocket, and, wrapping the gold up in it, threw it over his shoulder and set out on the road toward his native village. As he went along, carefully setting one foot to the ground before the other, a horseman came in sight, trotting gaily and briskly along upon a capital animal. “Ah,” said Hans, aloud, “what a fine thing that riding is! one is seated, as it were, upon a stool, kicks against no stones, spares one’s shoes, and gets along without any trouble!”
The Rider, overhearing Hans making these reflections, stopped and said, “Why, then, do you travel on foot, my fine fellow?”
“Because I am forced,” replied Hans, “for I have got a bit of a lump to carry home; it certainly is gold, but then I can’t carry my head straight, and it hurts my shoulder.”
“If you like we will exchange,” said the Rider. “I will give you my horse, and you can give me your lump of gold.”
“With all my heart,” cried Hans; “but I tell you fairly you undertake a very heavy burden.”
The man dismounted, took the gold, and helped Hans on to the horse, and, giving him the reins into his hands, said, “Now, when you want to go faster, you must chuckle with your tongue and cry, ‘Gee up! Gee up!’”
Hans was delighted indeed when he found himself on the top of a horse, and riding along so freely and gaily. After a while he thought he should like to go rather quicker, and so he cried, “Gee up! Gee up!” as the man had told him. The horse soon set off at a hard trot, and, before Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown over head and heels into a ditch which divided the fields from the road. The horse, having accomplished this feat, would have bolted off if he had not been stopped by a Peasant who was coming that way, driving a cow before him. Hans soon picked himself up on his legs, but he was terribly put out, and said to the countryman, “That is bad sport, that riding, especially when one mounts such a beast as that, which stumbles and throws one off so as to nearly break one’s neck. I will never ride on that animal again. Commend me to your cow: one may walk behind her without any discomfort, and besides one has, every day for certain, milk, butter, and cheese. Ah! what would I not give for such a cow!”
“Well,” said the Peasant, “such an advantage you may soon enjoy; I will exchange my cow for your horse.”
To this Hans consented with a thousand thanks, and the Peasant, swinging himself upon the horse, rode off in a hurry.
Hans now drove his cow off steadily before him, thinking of his lucky bargain in this wise: “I have a bit of bread, and I can, as often as I please, eat with it butter and cheese, and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and have a draught: and what more can I desire?”
As soon, then, as he came to an inn he halted, and ate with great satisfaction all the bread he had brought with him for his noonday and evening meals, and washed it down with a glass of beer, to buy which he spent his two last farthings. This over, he drove his cow farther, but still in the direction of his mother’s village. The heat meantime became more and more oppressive as noontime approached, and just then Hans came to a common which was an hour’s journey across. Here he got into such a state of heat that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth, and he thought to himself: “This won’t do; I will just milk my cow, and refresh myself.” Hans, therefore tied her to a stump of a tree, and, having no pail, placed his leathern cap below, and set to work, but not a drop of milk could he squeeze out. He had placed himself, too, very awkwardly, and at last the impatient cow gave him such a kick on the head that he tumbled over on the ground, and for a long time knew not where he was. Fortunately, not many hours after, a Butcher passed by, trundling a young pig along upon a wheelbarrow. “What trick is this!” exclaimed he, helping up poor Hans; and Hans told him that all that had passed. The Butcher then handed him his flask and said, “There, take a drink; it will revive you. Your cow might well give no milk: she is an old beast, and worth nothing at the best but for the plough or the butcher!”
“Eh! Eh!” said Hans, pulling his hair over his eyes, “who would have thought it? It is all very well when one can kill a beast like that at home, and make a profit of the flesh; but for my part I have no relish for cow’s flesh; it is too tough for me! Ah! A young pig like yours is the thing that tastes something like, let alone the sausages!”
“Well now, for love of you,” said the Butcher, “I will make an exchange, and let you have my pig for your cow.”
“Heaven reward you for your kindness!” cried Hans; and, giving up the cow, he untied the pig from the barrow and took into his hands the string with which it was tied.
Hans walked on again, considering how everything had happened just as he wished, and how all his vexations had turned out for the best after all! Presently a boy overtook him carrying a fine white goose under his arm, and after they had said “Good-day” to each other, Hans began to talk about his luck, and what profitable exchanges he had made. The Boy on his part told him that he was carrying the goose to a christening-feast. “Just lift it,” said he to Hans, holding it up by its wings, “just feel how heavy it is; why, it has been fattened up for the last eight weeks, and whoever bites it when it is cooked will have to wipe the grease from each side of his mouth!”
“Yes,” said Hans, weighing it with one hand, “it is weighty, but my pig is no trifle either.”
While he was speaking the Boy kept looking about on all sides, and shaking his head suspiciously, and at length he broke out, “I am afraid it is not all right about your pig. In the village through which I have just come, one has been stolen out of the sty of the mayor himself; and I am afraid, very much afraid, you have it now in your hand! They have sent out several people, and it would be a very bad job for you if they found you with the pig; the best thing you can do is to hide it in some dark corner!”
Honest Hans was thunderstruck, and exclaimed, “Ah, Heaven help me in this fresh trouble! you know the neighbourhood better than I do; do you take my pig and let me have your goose,” said he to the boy.
“I shall have to hazard something at that game,” replied the Boy, “but still I do not wish to be the cause of your meeting with misfortune;” and, so saying, he took the rope into his own hand, and drove the pig off quickly by a side-path, while Hans, lightened of his cares, walked on homeward with the goose under his arm. “If I judge rightly,” thought he to himself, “I have gained even by this exchange: first there is a good roast; then the quantity of fat which will drip out will make goose broth for a quarter of a year; and then there are fine white feathers, which, when once I have put into my pillow I warrant I shall sleep without rocking. What pleasure my mother will have!”
As he came to the last village on his road there stood a Knife-grinder, with his barrow by the hedge, whirling his wheel round and singing:
“Scissors and razors and such-like I grind;
	And gaily my rags are flying behind.”
	Hans stopped and looked at him, and at last he said, “You appear to have a good business, if I may judge by your merry song?”
“Yes,” answered the Grinder, “this business has a golden bottom! A true knife-grinder is a man who as often as he puts his hand into his pocket feels money in it! But what a fine goose you have got; where did you buy it?”
“I did not buy it at all,” said Hans, “but took it in exchange for my pig.”
“And the pig?”
“I exchanged for my cow.”
“And the cow?”
“I exchanged a horse for her.”
“And the horse?”
“For him I gave a lump of gold as big as my head.”
“And the gold?”
“That was my wages for a seven years’ servitude.”
“And I see you have known how to benefit yourself each time,” said the Grinder; “but, could you now manage that you heard the money rattling in your pocket as you walked, your fortune would be made.”
“Well! How shall I manage that?” asked Hans.
“You must become a grinder like me; to this trade nothing peculiar belongs but a grindstone; the other necessaries find themselves. Here is one which is a little worn, certainly, and so I will not ask anything more for it than your goose; are you agreeable?”
“How can you ask me?” said Hans; “why, I shall be the luckiest man in the world; having money as often as I dip my hand into my pocket, what have I to care about any longer?”
So saying, he handed over the goose, and received the grindstone in exchange.
“Now,” said the Grinder, picking up an ordinary big flint stone which lay near, “now, there you have a capital stone upon which only beat them long enough and you may straighten all your old nails! Take it, and use it carefully!”
Hans took the stone and walked on with a satisfied heart, his eyes glistening with joy. “I must have been born,” said he, “to a heap of luck; everything happens just as I wish, as if I were a Sunday-child.”
Soon, however, having been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel very tired, and was plagued too with hunger, since he had eaten all his provision at once in his joy about the cow bargain. At last he felt quite unable to go farther, and was forced, too, to halt every minute for the stones encumbered him very much. Just then the thought overcame him, what a good thing it were if he had no need to carry them any longer, and at the same moment he came up to a stream. Here he resolved to rest and refresh himself with drink, and so that the stones might not hurt him in kneeling he laid them carefully down by his side on the bank. This done, he stooped down to scoop up some water in his hand, and then it happened that he pushed one stone a little too far, so that both presently went plump into the water. Hans, as soon as he saw them sinking to the bottom, jumped up for joy, and then kneeled down and returned thanks, with tears in his eyes, that so mercifully, and without any act on his part, and in so nice a way, he had been delivered from the heavy stones, which alone hindered him from getting on.
“So lucky as I am,” exclaimed Hans, “is no other man under the sun!”
Then with a light heart, and free from every burden, he leaped gaily along till he reached his mother’s house.

“Hans in Luck”

Once upon a time there was a king, who had a daughter, and she was so lovely that the reports of her beauty went far and wide; but she was so melancholy that she never laughed, and besides she was so grand and proud that she said “No” to all who came to woo her—she would not have any of them, were they ever so fine, whether they were princes or noblemen.
The king was tired of this whim of hers long ago, and thought she ought to get married like other people; there was nothing she need wait for—she was old enough and she would not be any richer either, for she was to have half the kingdom, which she inherited after her mother.
So he made known every Sunday after the service, from the steps outside the church, that he that could make his daughter laugh should have both her and half the kingdom. But if there were any one who tried and could not make her laugh, he would have three red stripes cut out of his back and salt rubbed into them—and, sad to relate, there were many sore backs in that kingdom. Lovers from south and from north, from east and from west, came to try their luck—they thought it was an easy thing to make a princess laugh. They were a queer lot altogether, but for all their cleverness and for all the tricks and pranks they played, the princess was just as serious and immovable as ever.
But close to the palace lived a man who had three sons, and they had also heard that the king had made known that he who could make the princess laugh should have her and half the kingdom.
The eldest of the brothers wanted to try first, and away he went; and when he came to the palace, he told the king he wouldn’t mind trying to make the princess laugh.
“Yes, yes! That’s all very well,” said the king; “but I am afraid it’s of very little use, my man. There have been many here to try their luck, but my daughter is just as sad, and I am afraid it is no good trying. I do not like to see any more suffer on that account.”
But the lad thought he would try anyhow. It couldn’t be such a difficult thing to make a princess laugh at him, for had not everybody, both grand and simple, laughed so many a time at him when he served as soldier and went through his drill under Sergeant Nils.
So he went out on the terrace outside the princess’s windows and began drilling just as if Sergeant Nils himself were there. But all in vain! The princess sat just as serious and immovable as before, and so they took him and cut three broad, red stripes out of his back and sent him home.
He had no sooner arrived home than his second brother wanted to set out and try his luck. He was a schoolmaster, and a funny figure he was altogether. He had one leg shorter than the other, and limped terribly when he walked. One moment he was no bigger than a boy, but the next moment when he raised himself up on his long leg he was as big and tall as a giant—and besides he was great at preaching.
When he came to the palace, and said that he wanted to make the princess laugh, the king thought that it was not so unlikely that he might; “but I pity you, if you don’t succeed,” said the king, “for we cut the stripes broader and broader for every one that tries.”
So the schoolmaster went out on the terrace, and took his place outside the princess’s window, where he began preaching and chanting imitating seven of the parsons, and reading and singing just like seven of the clerks whom they had had in the parish.
The king laughed at the schoolmaster till he was obliged to hold on to the door-post, and the princess was just on the point of smiling, but suddenly she was as sad and immovable as ever, and so it fared no better with Paul the schoolmaster than with Peter the soldier—for Peter and Paul were their names, you must know!
So they took Paul and cut three red stripes out of his back, put salt into them, and sent him home again.
Well, the youngest brother thought he would have a try next. His name was Hans. But the brothers laughed and made fun of him, and showed him their sore backs. Besides, the father would not give him leave to go, for he said it was no use his trying, who had so little sense; all he could do was to sit in a corner on the hearth, like a cat, rooting about in the ashes and cutting chips. But Hans would not give in—he begged and prayed so long, till they got tired of his whimpering, and so he got leave to go to the king’s palace and try his luck.
When he arrived at the palace he did not say he had come to try to make the princess laugh, but asked if he could get a situation there. No, they had no situation for him; but Hans was not so easily put off—they might want one to carry wood and water for the kitchenmaid in such a big place as that, he said. Yes, the king thought so too, and to get rid of the lad he gave him leave to remain there and carry wood and water for the kitchenmaid.
One day, when he was going to fetch water from the brook, he saw a big fish in the water just under an old root of a fir-tree, which the current had carried all the soil away from. He put his bucket quietly under the fish and caught it. As he was going home to the palace, he met an old woman leading a golden goose.
“Good day, grandmother!” said Hans. “That’s a fine bird you have got there; and such splendid feathers too! He shines a long way off. If one had such feathers, one needn’t be chopping firewood.”
The woman thought just as much of the fish which Hans had in the bucket, and said if Hans would give her the fish he should have the golden goose; and this goose was such that if any one touched it he would be sticking fast to it if he only said: “If you’ll come along, then hang on.”
Yes, Hans would willingly exchange on those terms. “A bird is as good as a fish any day,” he said to himself. “If it is as you say, I might use it instead of a fish-hook,” he said to the woman, and felt greatly pleased with the possession of the goose.
He had not gone far before he met another old woman. When she saw the splendid golden goose, she must go and stroke it. She made herself so friendly and spoke so nicely to Hans, and asked him to let her stroke that lovely golden goose of his.
“Oh, yes!” said Hans, “but you mustn’t pluck off any of its feathers!”
Just as she stroked the bird, Hans said: “If you’ll come along, then hang on!”
The woman pulled and tore, but she had to hang on, whether she would or no, and Hans walked on, as if he only had the goose with him.
When he had gone some distance, he met a man who had a spite against the woman for a trick she had played upon him. When he saw that she fought so hard to get free and seemed to hang on so fast, he thought he might safely venture to pay her off for the grudge he owed her, and so he gave her a kick.
“If you’ll come along, then hang on!” said Hans, and the man had to hang on and limp along on one leg, whether he would or no; and when he tried to tear himself loose, he made it still worse for himself, for he was very nearly falling on his back whenever he struggled to get free.
So on they went till they came in the neighborhood of the palace. There they met the king’s smith; he was on his way to the smithy, and had a large pair of tongs in his hand. This smith was a merry fellow, and was always full of mad pranks and tricks, and when he saw this procession coming jumping and limping along, he began laughing till he was bent in two, but suddenly he said:
“This must be a new flock of geese for the princess: but who can tell which is goose and which is gander? I suppose it must be the gander toddling on in front. Goosey, goosey!” he called, and pretended to be strewing corn out of his hands as when feeding geese.
But they did not stop. The woman and the man only looked in great rage at the smith for making game of them. So said the smith: “It would be great fun to see if I could stop the whole flock, many as they are!”—He was a strong man, and seized the old man with his tongs from behind in his trousers, and the man shouted and struggled hard, but Hans said:
“If you’ll come along, then hang on!”
And so the smith had to hang on too. He bent his back and stuck his heels in the ground when they went up a hill and tried to get away, but it was of no use; he stuck on to the other as if he had been screwed fast in the great vise in the smithy, and whether he liked it or not, he had to dance along with the others.
When they came near the palace, the farm-dog ran against them and barked at them, as if they were a gang of tramps, and when the princess came to look out of her window to see what was the matter, and saw this procession, she burst out laughing. But Hans was not satisfied with that. “Just wait a bit, and she will laugh still louder very soon,” he said, and made a tour round the palace with his followers.
When they came past the kitchen, the door was open and the cook was just boiling porridge, but when she saw Hans and his train after him, she rushed out of the door with the porridge-stick in one hand and a big ladle full of boiling porridge in the other, and she laughed till her sides shook; but when she saw the smith there as well, she thought she would have burst with laughter. When she had had a regular good laugh, she looked at the golden goose again and thought it was so lovely that she must stroke it.
“Hans, Hans!” she cried, and ran after him with the ladle in her hand; “just let me stroke that lovely bird of yours.”
“Rather let her stroke me!” said the smith.
“Very well,” said Hans.
But when the cook heard this, she got very angry. “What is it you say!” she cried, and gave the smith a smack with the ladle.
“If you’ll come along, then hang on!” said Hans, and so she stuck fast to the others too, and for all her scolding and all her tearing and pulling, she had to limp along with them.
And when they came past the princess’s window again, she was still there waiting for them, but when she saw that they had got hold of the cook too, with the ladle and porridge-stick, she laughed till the king had to hold her up. So Hans got the princess and half the kingdom, and they had a wedding which was heard of far and wide.

“Hans, Who Made the Princess Laugh”

Once upon a time Luck met Intelligence on a garden-seat. “Make room for me!” said Luck.
Intelligence was then as yet inexperienced, and didn’t know who ought to make room for whom. He said: “Why should I make room for you? you’re no better than I.”
“He’s the better man,” answered Luck, “who performs most. See you there yon peasant’s son who’s ploughing in the field? Enter into him, and if he gets on better through you than through me, I’ll always submissively make way for you, whensoever and wheresoever we meet.” Intelligence agreed, and entered at once into the ploughboy’s head.
As soon as the ploughboy felt that he had intelligence in his head, he began to think: “Why must I follow the plough to the day of my death? I can go somewhere else and make my fortune more easily.” He left off ploughing, put up the plough, and drove home. “Daddy,” says he, “I don’t like this peasant’s life; I’d rather learn to be a gardener.”
His father said: “What ails you, Vanek? Have you lost your wits?” However, he bethought himself and said: “Well, if you will, learn, and God be with you! Your brother will be heir to the cottage after me.”
Vanek lost the cottage, but he didn’t care for that, but went and put himself apprentice to the king’s gardener. For every little that the gardener showed him, Vanek comprehended ever so much more. Ere long he didn’t even obey the gardener’s orders as to how he ought to do anything, but did everything his own way. At first the gardener was angry, but, seeing everything thus getting on better, he was content. “I see that you’ve more intelligence than I,” said he, and henceforth let Vanek garden as he thought fit. In no long space of time Vanek made the garden so beautiful that the king took great delight in it, and frequently walked in it with the queen and with his only daughter.
The princess was a very beautiful damsel, but ever since she was twelve years old she had ceased speaking, and no one ever heard a single word from her. The king was much grieved, and caused a proclamation to be made that whoever should bring it to pass that she should speak again, should be her husband. Many young kings, princes, and other great lords announced themselves one after the other, but all went away as they had come; no one succeeded in causing her to speak. “Why shouldn’t I try my luck?” thought Vanek; “who knows whether I mayn’t succeed in bringing her to answer when I ask her a question?”
He at once caused himself to be announced at the palace, and the king and his councillors conducted him into the room where the princess was. The king’s daughter had a pretty little dog, and was very fond of him, because he was so clever, understanding everything that she wanted.
When Vanek went into the room with the king and his councillors, he made as if he didn’t even see the princess, but turned to the dog and said: “I have heard, doggie, that you are very clever, and I come to you for advice. We are three companions in travel, a sculptor, a tailor, and myself. Once upon a time we were going through a forest and were obliged to pass the night in it. To be safe from wolves, we made a fire, and agreed to keep watch one after the other. The sculptor kept watch first, and for amusement to kill time took a log and carved a damsel out of it. When it was finished, he woke the tailor to keep watch in his turn. The tailor, seeing the wooden damsel, asked what it meant. ‘As you see,’ said the sculptor, ‘I was weary, and didn’t know what to do with myself, so I carved a damsel out of a log; if you find time hang heavy on your hands, you can dress her.’ The tailor at once took out his scissors, needle and thread, cut out the clothes, stitched away, and, when they were ready, dressed the damsel in them. He then called me to come and keep watch. I, too, asked him what the meaning of all this was. ‘As you see,’ said the tailor, ‘the sculptor found time hang heavy on his hands and carved a damsel out of a log, and I for the same reason clothed her; and if you find time hanging on your hands, you can teach her to speak.’ And by morning dawn I had actually taught her to speak. But in the morning when my companions woke up, each wanted to possess the damsel. The sculptor said, ‘I made her;’ the tailor, ‘I clothed her.’ I, too, maintained my right. Tell me, therefore, doggie, to which of us the damsel belongs.”
The dog said nothing, but instead of the dog the princess replied: “To whom can she belong but to yourself? What’s the good of the sculptor’s damsel without life? What’s the good of the tailor’s dressing without speech? You gave her the best gift, life and speech, and therefore she by right belongs to you.”
“You have passed your own sentence,” said Vanek; “I have given you speech again and a new life, and you therefore by right belong to me.”
Then said one of the king’s councillors: “His Royal Grace will give you a plenteous reward for succeeding in unloosing his daughter’s tongue; but you cannot have her to wife, as you are of mean lineage.”
The king said: “You are of mean lineage; I will give you a plenteous reward instead of our daughter.”
But Vanek wouldn’t hear of any other reward, and said: “The king promised without any exception, that whoever caused his daughter to speak again should be her husband. A king’s word is law; and if the king wants others to observe his laws, he must first keep them himself. Therefore the king must give me his daughter.”
“Seize and bind him!” shouted the councillor. “Whoever says the king must do anything, offers an insult to his Majesty, and is worthy of death. May it please your Majesty to order this malefactor to be executed with the sword?”
The king said: “Let him be executed.”
Vanek was immediately bound and led to execution. When they came to the place of execution Luck was there waiting for him, and said secretly to Intelligence: “See how this man has got on through you, till he has to lose his head! Make way, and let me take your place!”
As soon as Luck entered Vanek, the executioners sword broke against the scaffold, just as if some one had snapped it; and before they brought him another, up rode a trumpeter on horseback from the city, galloping as swift as a bird, trumpeted merrily, and waved a white flag, and after him came the royal carriage for Vanek. This is what had happened: The princess had told her father at home that Vanek had but spoken the truth, and the king’s word ought not to be broken. If Vanek were of mean lineage the king could easily make him a prince.
The king said: “You’re right; let him be a prince!”
The royal carriage was immediately sent for Vanek, and the councillor who had irritated the king against him was executed in his stead. Afterward, when Vanek and the princess were going together in a carriage from the wedding, Intelligence happened to be somewhere on the road, and seeing that he couldn’t help meeting Luck, bent his head and slipped on one side, just as if cold water had been thrown upon him. And from that time forth it is said that Intelligence has always given a wide berth to Luck whenever he has had to meet him.

“Intelligence and Luck”

The Greek God Pan, the god of the open air, was a great musician. He played on a pipe of reeds. And the sound of his reed-pipe was so sweet that he grew proud, and believed himself greater than the chief musician of the gods, Apollo, the sun-god. So he challenged great Apollo to make better music than he.
Apollo consented to the test, for he wished to punish Pan’s vanity, and they chose the mountain Tmolus for judge, since no one is so old and wise as the hills.
When Pan and Apollo came before Tmolus, to play, their followers came with them, to hear, and one of those who came with Pan was a mortal named Midas.
First Pan played; he blew on his reed-pipe, and out came a tune so wild and yet so coaxing that the birds hopped from the trees to get near; the squirrels came running from their holes; and the very trees swayed as if they wanted to dance. The fauns laughed aloud for joy as the melody tickled their furry little ears. And Midas thought it the sweetest music in the world.
Then Apollo rose. His hair shook drops of light from its curls; his robes were like the edge of the sunset cloud; in his hands he held a golden lyre. And when he touched the strings of the lyre, such music stole upon the air as never god nor mortal heard before. The wild creatures of the wood crouched still as stone; the trees kept every leaf from rustling; earth and air were silent as a dream. To hear such music cease was like bidding farewell to father and mother.
When the charm was broken, the hearers fell at Apollo’s feet and proclaimed the victory his. All but Midas. He alone would not admit that the music was better than Pan’s.
“If thine ears are so dull, mortal,” said Apollo, “they shall take the shape that suits them.” And he touched the ears of Midas. And straightway the dull ears grew long, pointed, and furry, and they turned this way and that. They were the ears of an donkey!
For a long time Midas managed to hide the tell-tale ears from everyone; but at last a servant discovered the secret. He knew he must not tell, yet he could not bear not to; so one day he went into the meadow, scooped a little hollow in the turf, and whispered the secret into the earth. Then he covered it up again, and went away. But, alas, a bed of reeds sprang up from the spot, and whispered the secret to the grass. The grass told it to the tree-tops, the tree-tops to the little birds, and they cried it all abroad.
And to this day, when the wind sets the reeds nodding together, they whisper, laughing, “Midas has the ears of an donkey! Oh, hush, hush!”

“The Judgement of Midas”

Once on a time there was a lad who was walking along a road cracking nuts, so he found one that was worm-eaten, and just at that very moment he met the Deil.
“Is it true, now,” said the lad, “what they say, that the Deil can make himself as small as he chooses, and thrust himself on through a pinhole?”
“Yes, it is,” said the Deil.
“Oh! It is, is it? Then let me see you do it, and just creep into this nut,” said the lad.
So the Deil did it.
Now, when he had crept well into it through the worm’s hole, the lad stopped it up with a pin.
“Now, I’ve got you safe,” he said, and put the nut into his pocket.
So when he had walked on a bit, he came to a smithy, and he turned in and asked the smith if he’d be good enough to crack that nut for him.
“Ay, that’ll be an easy job,” said the smith, and took his smallest hammer, laid the nut on the anvil, and gave it a blow, but it wouldn’t break.
So he took another hammer a little bigger, but that wasn’t heavy enough either.
Then he took one bigger still, but it was still the same story; and so the smith got wroth, and grasped his great sledge-hammer.
“Now, I’ll crack you to bits,” he said, and let drive at the nut with all his might and main. And so the nut flew to pieces with a bang that blew off half the roof of the smithy, and the whole house creaked and groaned as though it were ready to fall.
“Why! If I don’t think the Deil must have been in that nut,” said the smith.
“So he was; you’re quite right,” said the lad, as he went away laughing.

“The Lad and the Deil”

Once on a time there was an old widow who had one son and, as she was poorly and weak, her son had to go up into the safe to fetch meal for cooking; but when he got outside the safe, and was just going down the steps, there came the North Wind, puffing and blowing, caught up the meal, and so away with it through the air. Then the lad went back into the safe for more; but when he came out again on the steps, if the North Wind didn’t come again and carry off the meal with a puff; and more than that, he did so the third time. At this the lad got very angry; and as he thought it hard that the North Wind should behave so, he thought he’d just look him up, and ask him to give up his meal.
So off he went, but the way was long, and he walked and walked; but at last he came to the North Wind’s house.
“Good day!” said the lad, and “thank you for coming to see us yesterday.”
“GOOD DAY!” answered the North Wind, for his voice was loud and gruff, “AND THANKS FOR COMING TO SEE ME. WHAT DO YOU WANT?”
“Oh!” answered the lad, “I only wished to ask you to be so good as to let me have back that meal you took from me on the safe steps, for we haven’t much to live on; and if you’re to go on snapping up the morsel we have there’ll be nothing for it but to starve.”
“I haven’t got your meal,” said the North Wind; “but if you are in such need, I’ll give you a cloth which will get you everything you want, if you only say, ‘Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kinds of good dishes!’”
With this the lad was well content. But, as the way was so long he couldn’t get home in one day, he turned into an inn on the way; and when they were going to sit down to supper, he laid the cloth on a table which stood in the corner and said:
“Cloth spread yourself, and serve up all kinds of good dishes.”
He had scarce said so before the cloth did as it was bid; and all who stood by thought it a fine thing, but most of all the landlady. So, when all were fast asleep, at dead of night, she took the lad’s cloth, and put another in its stead, just like the one he had got from the North Wind, but which couldn’t so much as serve up a bit of dry bread.
So, when the lad woke, he took his cloth and went off with it, and that day he got home to his mother.
“Now,” said he, “I’ve been to the North Wind’s house, and a good fellow he is, for he gave me this cloth, and when I only say to it, ‘Cloth, spread yourself, and serve up all kinds of good dishes,’ I get any sort of food I please.”
“All very true, I dare say,” said his mother; “but seeing is believing, and I shan’t believe it till I see it.”
So the lad made haste, drew out a table, laid the cloth on it, and said:
“Cloth, spread yourself, and serve all up kinds of good dishes.”
But never a bit of dry bread did the cloth serve up.
“Well,” said the lad, “there’s no help for it but to go to the North Wind again;” and away he went.
So he came to where the North Wind lived late in the afternoon.
“Good evening!” said the lad.
“Good evening,” said the North Wind.
“I want my rights for that meal of ours which you took,” said the lad; “for as for that cloth I got, it isn’t worth a penny.”
“I’ve got no meal,” said the North Wind; “but yonder you have a ram which coins nothing but golden ducats as soon as you say to it:
“‘Ram, ram! Make money!’”
So the lad thought this a fine thing but as it was too far to get home that day, he turned in for the night to the same inn where he had slept before.
Before he called for anything, he tried the truth of what the North Wind had said of the ram, and found it all right; but when the landlord saw that, he thought it was a famous ram, and, when the lad had fallen asleep, he took another which couldn’t coin gold ducats, and changed the two.
Next morning off went the lad; and when he got home to his mother he said:
“After all, the North Wind is a jolly fellow; for now he has given me a ram which can coin golden ducats if I only say, ‘Ram, ram! Make money!’”
“All very true, I dare say,” said his mother; “but I shan’t believe any such stuff until I see the ducats made.”
“Ram, ram! Make money!” said the lad; but if the ram made anything it wasn’t money.
So the lad went back again to the North Wind and blew him up, and said the ram was worth nothing, and he must have his rights for the meal.
“Well,” said the North Wind; “I’ve nothing else to give you but that old stick in the corner yonder; but it’s a stick of that kind that if you say:
“‘Stick, stick! Lay on!’ It lays on till you say:
“‘Stick, stick! Now stop!’”
So, as the way was long, the lad turned in this night too to the landlord; but as he could pretty well guess how things stood as to the cloth and the ram, he lay down at once on the bench and began to snore, as if he were asleep.
Now the landlord, who easily saw that the stick must be worth something, hunted up one which was like it, and when he heard the lad snore, was going to change the two, but just as the landlord was about to take it the lad bawled out:
“Stick, stick! Lay on!”
So the stick began to beat the landlord, till he jumped over chairs, and tables, and benches, and yelled and roared:
“Oh my! Oh my! Bid the stick be still, else it will beat me to death, and you shall have back both your cloth and your ram.”
When the lad thought the landlord had got enough, he said:
“Stick, stick! Now stop!”
Then he took the cloth and put it into his pocket, and went home with his stick in his hand, leading the ram by a cord round its horns; and so he got his rights for the meal he had lost.

“The Lad Who Went to the North Wind”

“Long, Broad, and Sharpsight”

“The Peasant Story of Napoleon”

Well, once upon a time there were a woman, and she baked five pies. And when they come out of the oven, they was that overbaked the crust were too hard to eat. So she says to her darter:
“Darter,” says she, “put you them there pies on the shelf an’ leave ‘em there a little, an’ they’ll come agin—” She meant, you know, the crust ‘ud get soft.
But the gal, she says to herself, “Well, if they’ll come agin, I’ll ate ‘em now.” And she set to work and ate ‘em all, first and last.
Well, come supper time, the woman she said, “Goo you and git one o’ them there pies; I daresay they’ve come agin, now.”
The gal, she went an’ she looked, and there warn’t nothin’ but the dishes. So back she come and says she, “Noo, they ain’t come agin.”
“Not none on ‘em?” says the mother.
“Not none on ‘em,” says she.
“Well, come agin, or not come agin,” says the woman, “I’ll ha’ one for supper.”
“But you can’t, if they ain’t come,” says the gal.
“But I can,” says she. “Goo you and bring the best of ‘em.”
“Best or worst,” says the gal, “I’ve ate ‘em all, and you can’t ha’ one till that’s come agin.”
Well, the woman she were wholly bate, and she took her spinnin’ to the door to spin, and as she span she sang:
“My darter ha’ ate five, five pies to-day—
		My darter ha’ ate five, five pies to-day.”
The king, he were a comin’ down the street and he hard her sing, but what she sang he couldn’t hare, so he stopped and said:
“What were that you was a singin of, woman?”
The woman, she were ashamed to let him hare what her darter had been a-doin’, so she sang, ‘stids o’ that:
“My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day—
		My darter ha’ spun five, five skeins to-day.”
“S’ars o’ mine!” said the king, “I never heerd tell of any one as could do that.”
Then he said: “Look you here, I want a wife, and I’ll marry your darter. But look you here,” says he, “’leven months out o’ the year she shall have all the vittles she likes to eat, and all the gownds she likes to git, and all the cumpny she likes to hev; but the last month o’ the year she’ll ha’ to spin five skeins iv’ry day, an’ if she doon’t, I shall kill her.”
“All right,” says the woman; for she thowt what a grand marriage that was. And as for them five skeins, when te come tew, there’d be plenty o’ ways of gettin’ out of it, and likeliest, he’d ha’ forgot about it.
Well, so they were married. An’ for ‘leven months the gal had all the vittles she liked to ate, and all the gownds she liked to git, and all the cumpny she liked to have.
But when the time was gettin’ oover, she began to think about them there skeins an’ to wonder if he had ‘em in mind. But not one word did he say about ‘em, an’ she whoolly thowt he’d forgot ‘em.
Howsivir, the last day o’ the last month, he takes her to a room she’d niver set eyes on afore. There worn’t nothin’ in it but a spinnin’ wheel and a stool. An’ says he, “Now, me dear, hare you’ll be shut in to-morrow with some vittles and some flax, and if you hain’t spun five skeins by the night, yar hid’ll goo off.”
An’ awa’ he went about his business.
Well, she were that frightened. She’d allus been such a gatless gal, that she didn’t se much as know how to spin, an’ what were she to dew to-morrer, with no one to come nigh her to help her? She sat down on a stool in the kitchen, and lork! How she did cry!
Howsivir, all on a sudden she hard a sort of a knockin’ low down on the door. She upped and oped it, an’ what should she see but a small little black thing with a long tail. That looked up at her right kewrious, an’ that said:
“What are yew a-cryin’ for?”
“Wha’s that to yew?” says she.
“Niver yew mind,” that said, “but tell me what you’re a cryin’ for.”
“That oon’t dew me noo good if I dew,” says she.
“Yew doon’t know that,” that said, an’ twirled that’s tail round.
“Well,” says she, “that oon’t dew no harm, if that doon’t dew no good,” and she upped and told about the pies an’ the skeins an’ everything.
“This is what I’ll dew,” says the little black thing: “I’ll come to yar winder iv’ry mornin’ an’ take the flax an’ bring it spun at night”
“What’s your pay?” says she.
That looked out o’ the corners o’ that’s eyes an’ that said: “I’ll give you three guesses every night to guess my name, an’ if you hain’t guessed it afore the month’s up, yew shall be mine.”
Well, she thowt she’d be sure to guess that’s name afore the month was up. “All right,” says she, “I agree.”
“All right,” that says, an’ lork! how that twirled that’s tail.
Well, the next day, har husband, he took her inter the room, an’ there was the flax an’ the day’s vittles.
“Now, there’s the flax,” says he, “an’ if that ain’t spun up this night, off goo yar hid.” An’ then he went out an’ locked the door.
He’d hardly goon, when there was a knockin’ agin the winder.
She upped and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little oo’d thing a settin’ on the ledge.
“Where’s the flax?” says he.
“Here te be,” says she. And she gonned it to him.
Well, come the evenin’, a knockin’ come agin to the winder. She upped an’ she oped it, and there were the little oo’d thing, with five skeins of flax on his arm.
“Here te be,” says he, an’ he gonned it to her.
“Now, what’s my name?” says he.
“What, is that Bill?” says she.
“Noo, that ain’t,” says he. An’ he twirled his tail.
“Is that Ned?” says she.
“Noo, that ain’t,” says he. An’ he twirled his tail.
“Well, is that Mark?” says she.
“Noo, that ain’t,” says he. An’ he twirled his tail harder, an’ awa’ he flew.
Well, when har husban’ he come in, there was the five skeins riddy for him.
“I see I shorn’t hev for to kill you to-night, me dare,” says he. “You’ll hev yar vittles and yar flax in the mornin’,” says he, an’ away he goes.
Well, ivery day the flax an’ the vittles, they was browt, an’ ivery day that there little black impet used for to come mornin’s and evenin’s. An’ all the day the darter, she set a tryin’ fur to think of names to say to it when te come at night. But she niver hot on the right one. An’ as that got to-warts the ind o’ the month, the impet that began for to look soo maliceful, an’ that twirled that’s tail faster an’ faster each time she gave a guess.
At last te came to the last day but one. The impet that come at night along o’ the five skeins, an’ that said:
“What, hain’t yew got my name yet?”
“Is that Nicodemus?” says she.
“Noo, t’ain’t,” that says.
“Is that Sammle?” says she.
“Noo, t’ain’t,” that says.
“A-well, is that Methusalem?” says she.
“Noo, t’ain’t that norther,” he says.
Then that looks at her with that’s eyes like a cool o’ fire, an that says, “Woman, there’s only to-morrer night, an’ then yar’ll be mine!” An’ away te flew.
Well, she felt that horrud. Howsomediver, she hard the king a-comin’ along the passage. In he came, an’ when he see the five skeins, he says, says he:
“Well, me dare,” says he, “I don’t see but what yew’ll ha’ your skeins ready to-morrer night as well, an’ as I reckon I shorn’t ha’ to kill you, I’ll ha’ supper in here to-night.” So they brought supper an’ another stool for him, and down the tew they sot.
Well, he hadn’t eat but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins to laugh.
“What is it?” says she.
“A-why,” says he, “I was out a-huntin’ to-day, an’ I got away to a place in the wood I’d never seen afore. An’ there was an old chalk pit. An’ I heerd a sort of a hummin’, kind o’. So I got off my hobby, an’ I went right quiet to the pit, an’ I looked down. Well, what should there be but the funniest little black thing yew iver set eyes on. An’ what was that a dewin’ on, but that had a little spinnin’ wheel, an’ that were a-spinnin’ wonnerful fast, an’ a-twirlin’ that’s tail. An’ as that span, that sang:
“Nimmy, nimmy not,
		My name’s Tom Tit Tot.”
Well, when the darter heerd this, she fared as if she could ha’ jumped outer her skin for joy, but she di’n’t say a word.
Next day, that there little thing looked soo maliceful when he come for the flax. An’ when night came, she heerd that a-knockin’ agin the winder panes. She oped the winder, an’ that come right in on the ledge. That were grinnin’ from are to are, an’ Oo! tha’s tail were twirlin’ round so fast.
“What’s my name?” that says, as that gonned her the skeins.
“Is that Solomon?” she says, pretendin’ to be a-feard.
“Noo, tain’t,” that says, an’ that come fudder inter the room.
“Well, is that Zebedee?” says she agin.
“Noo, tain’t,” says the impet. An’ then that laughed an’ twirled that’s tail till yew cou’n’t hardly see it.
“Take time, woman,” that says; “next guess, an’ you’re mine.” An’ that stretched out that’s black hands at her.
Well, she backed a step or two, an’ she looked at it, and then she laughed out, an’ says she, a pointin’ of her finger at it:
“Nimmy, nimmy not,
		Yar name’s Tom Tit Tot.”
Well, when that hard her, that shruck awful an’ awa’ that flew into the dark, an’ she niver saw it noo more.
FOOTNOTES:
[Footnote 8: An old Suffolk tale, given in the dialect of East Anglia.]

“The Story of Tom Tit Tot”

Once on a time, but it was a long, long time ago, there were two brothers, one rich and one poor. Now, one Christmas eve, the poor one hadn’t so much as a crumb in the house, either of meat or bread, so he went to his brother to ask him for something to keep Christmas with, in God’s name. It was not the first time his brother had been forced to help him, and you may fancy he wasn’t very glad to see his face, but he said:
“If you will do what I ask you to do, I’ll give you a whole flitch of bacon.”
So the poor brother said he would do anything and was full of thanks.
“Well, here is the flitch,” said the rich brother, “and now go straight to Hell.”
“What I have given my word to do, I must stick to,” said the other; so he took the flitch and set off. He walked the whole day, and at dusk he came to a place where he saw a very bright light.
“Maybe this is the place,” said the man to himself. So he turned aside, and the first thing he saw was an old, old man, with a long white beard, who stood in an outhouse, hewing wood for the Christmas fire.
“Good even,” said the man with the flitch.
“The same to you; whither are you going so late?” said the man.
“Oh! I’m going to Hell, if I only knew the right way,” answered the poor man.
“Well, you’re not far wrong, for this is Hell,” said the old man; “when you get inside they will be all for buying your flitch, for meat is scarce in Hell; but, mind you don’t sell it unless you get the hand-quern which stands behind the door for it. When you come out, I’ll teach you how to handle the quern, for it’s good to grind almost anything.”
So the man with the flitch thanked the other for his good advice, and gave a great knock at the Devil’s door.
When he got in, everything was just as the old man had said. All the devils, great and small, came swarming up to him like ants round an anthill, and each tried to outbid the other for the flitch.
“Well!” said the man, “by rights, my old dame and I ought to have this flitch for our Christmas dinner; but since you have all set your hearts on it, I suppose I must give it up to you; but if I sell it at all, I’ll have for it the quern behind the door yonder.”
At first the Devil wouldn’t hear of such a bargain, and chaffed and haggled with the man; but he stuck to what he said, and at last the Devil had to part with his quern. When the man got out into the yard, he asked the old woodcutter how he was to handle the quern; and after he had learned how to use it, he thanked the old man and went off home as fast as he could, but still the clock had struck twelve on Christmas eve before he reached his own door.
“Wherever in the world have you been?” said his old dame; “here have I sat hour after hour waiting and watching, without so much as two sticks to lay together under the Christmas brose.”
“Oh!” said the man, “I couldn’t get back before, for I had to go a long way first for one thing, and then for another; but now you shall see what you shall see.”
So he put the quern on the table, and bade it first of all grind lights, then a table-cloth, then meat, then ale, and so on till they had got everything that was nice for Christmas fare. He had only to speak the word, and the quern ground out what he wanted. The old dame stood by blessing her stars, and kept on asking where he had got this wonderful quern, but he wouldn’t tell her.
“It’s all one where I got it from; you see the quern is a good one, and the mill-stream never freezes, that’s enough.”
So he ground meat and drink and dainties enough to last out till Twelfth Day, and on the third day he asked all his friends and kin to his house, and gave a great feast. Now, when his rich brother saw all that was on the table, and all that was behind in the larder, he grew quite spiteful and wild, for he couldn’t bear that his brother should have anything.
“Twas only on Christmas eve,” he said to the rest, “he was in such straits that he came and asked for a morsel of food in God’s name, and now he gives a feast as if he were count or king;” and he turned to his brother and said:
“But whence, in Hell’s name, have you got all this wealth?”
“From behind the door,” answered the owner of the quern, for he didn’t care to let the cat out of the bag. But later on in the evening, when he had got a drop too much, he could keep his secret no longer, and brought out the quern and said:
“There, you see what has gotten me all this wealth;” and so he made the quern grind all kind of things. When his brother saw it, he set his heart on having the quern, and, after a deal of coaxing, he got it; but he had to pay three hundred dollars for it, and his brother bargained to keep it till hay-harvest, for he thought, if I keep it till then, I can make it grind meat and drink that will last for years. So you may fancy the quern didn’t grow rusty for want of work, and when hay-harvest came, the rich brother got it, but the other took care not to teach him how to handle it.
It was evening when the rich brother got the quern home, and the next morning he told his wife to go out into the hay-field and toss, while the mowers cut the grass, and he would stay at home and get the dinner ready. So, when dinner-time drew near, he put the quern on the kitchen table and said:
“Grind herrings and broth, and grind them good and fast.”
So the quern began to grind herrings and broth; first of all, all the dishes full, then all the tubs full, and so on till the kitchen floor was quite covered. Then the man twisted and twirled at the quern to get it to stop, but for all his twisting and fingering the quern went on grinding, and in a little while the broth rose so high that the man was like to drown. So he threw open the kitchen door and ran into the parlour, but it wasn’t long before the quern had ground the parlour full too, and it was only at the risk of his life that the man could get hold of the latch of the house door through the stream of broth. When he got the door open, he ran out and set off down the road, with the stream of herrings and broth at his heels, roaring like a waterfall over the whole farm.
Now, his old dame, who was in the field tossing hay, thought it a long time to dinner, and at last she said:
“Well! Though the master doesn’t call us home, we may as well go. Maybe he finds it hard work to boil the broth, and will be glad of my help.”
The men were willing enough, so they sauntered homeward; but just as they had got a little way up the hill, what should they meet but herrings, and broth, and bread, all running and dashing, and splashing together in a stream, and the master himself running before them for his life, and as he passed them he bawled out: “Would to heaven each of you had a hundred throats! But take care you’re not drowned in the broth.”
Away he went, as though the Evil One were at his heels, to his brother’s house, and begged him for God’s sake to take back the quern that instant; for, said he:
“If it grinds only one hour more, the whole parish will be swallowed up by herrings and broth.”
But his brother wouldn’t hear of taking it back till the other paid him down three hundred dollars more.
So the poor brother got both the money and the quern, and it wasn’t long before he set up a farmhouse far finer than the one in which his brother lived, and with the quern he ground so much gold that he covered it with plates of gold; and as the farm lay by the sea-side, the golden house gleamed and glistened far away over the sea. All who sailed by, put ashore to see the rich man in the golden house, and to see the wonderful quern, the fame of which spread far and wide, till there was nobody who hadn’t heard tell of it.
So one day there came a skipper who wanted to see the quern; and the first thing he asked was if it could grind salt.
“Grind salt!” said the owner; “I should just think it could. It can grind anything.”
When the skipper heard that, he said he must have the quern, cost what it would; for if he only had it, he thought he should be rid of his long voyages across stormy seas for a lading of salt. Well, at first the man wouldn’t hear of parting with the quern; but the skipper begged and prayed so hard that at last he let him have it, but he had to pay many, many thousand dollars for it. Now, when the skipper had got the quern on his back, he soon made off with it, for he was afraid lest the man should change his mind; so he had no time to ask how to handle the quern, but got on board his ship as fast as he could, and set sail. When he had sailed a good way off, he brought the quern on deck and said:
“Grind salt, and grind both good and fast.”
Well, the quern began to grind salt so that it poured out like water; and when the skipper had got the ship full, he wished to stop the quern, but whichever way he turned it, and however much he tried, it was no good; the quern kept grinding on, and the heap of salt grew higher and higher, and at last down sunk the ship.
There lies the quern at the bottom of the sea, and grinds away at this very day, and that’s why the sea is salt.

“Why the Sea Is Salt”

There was a man who was very poor, but so well supplied with children that he was utterly unable to maintain them, and one morning more than once prepared to kill them, in order not to see their misery in dying of hunger, but his wife prevented him.
One night a child came to him in his sleep, and said to him: “Man! I see that you are making up your mind to destroy and to kill your poor little children, and I know that you are distressed there at; but in the morning you will find under your pillow a mirror, a red kerchief, and an embroidered pocket-handkerchief; take all three secretly and tell nobody; then go to such a hill; by it you will find a stream; go along it till you come to its fountain-head; there you will find a damsel as bright as the sun, with her hair hanging down over her back. Be on your guard, that the ferocious she-dragon do not coil round you; do not converse with her if she speaks; for if you converse with her, she will poison you, and turn you into a fish or something else, and will then devour you but if she bids you examine her head, examine it, and as you turn over her hair, look, and you will find one hair as red as blood; pull it out and run back again; then, if she suspects and begins to run after you, throw her first the embroidered pocket-handkerchief, then the kerchief, and, lastly, the mirror; then she will find occupation for herself. And sell that hair to some rich man; but don’t let them cheat you, for that hair is worth countless wealth; and you will thus enrich yourself and maintain your children.”
When the poor man awoke, he found everything under his pillow, just as the child had told him in his sleep; and then he went to the hill. When there, he found the stream, went on and on alongside of it, till he came to the fountain-head. Having looked about him to see where the damsel was, he espied her above a piece of water, like sunbeams threaded on a needle, and she was embroidering at a frame on stuff, the threads of which were young men’s hair.
As soon as he saw her, he made a reverence to her, and she stood on her feet and questioned him: “Whence are you, young man?” But he held his tongue. She questioned him again: “Who are you? Why have you come?” and much else of all sorts; but he was as mute as a stone, making signs with his hands, as if he were deaf and wanted help.
Then she told him to sit down on her skirt. He did not wait for any more orders, but sat down, and she bent down her head to him, that he might examine it. Turning over the hair of her head, as if to examine it, he was not long in finding that red hair, and separated it from the other hair, pulled it out, jumped off her skirt and ran away back as he best could. She noticed it, and ran at his heels full speed after him.
He looked round, and seeing that she was about to overtake him, threw, as he was told, the embroidered pocket-handkerchief on the way, and when she saw the pocket-handkerchief she stooped and began to overhaul it in every direction, admiring the embroidery, till he had got a good way off. Then the damsel placed the pocket-handkerchief in her bosom, and ran after him again.
When he saw that she was about to overtake him, he threw the red kerchief, and she again occupied herself, admiring and gazing, till the poor man had again got a good way off. Then the damsel became exasperated, and threw both the pocket-handkerchief and the kerchief on the way, and ran after him in pursuit.
Again, when he saw that she was about to overtake him, he threw the mirror. When the damsel came to the mirror, the like of which she had never seen before, she lifted it up, and when she saw herself in it, not knowing that it was herself, but thinking that it was somebody else, she, as it were, fell in love with herself in the mirror, and the man got so far off that she was no longer able to overtake him. When she saw that she could not catch him, she turned back, and the man reached his home safe and sound.
After arriving at his home, he showed his wife the hair, and told her all that had happened to him, but she began to jeer and laugh at him. But he paid no attention to her, and went to a town to sell the hair. A crowd of all sorts of people and merchants collected round him; one offered a sequin, another two, and so on, higher and higher, till they came to a hundred gold sequins. Just then the emperor heard of the hair, summoned the man into his presence, and said to him that he would give him a thousand sequins for it, and he sold it to him.
What was the hair? The emperor split it in two from top to bottom, and found registered in it in writing many remarkable things, which happened in the olden time since the beginning of the world. Thus the man became rich and lived on with his wife and children. And that child, that came to him in his sleep, was an angel sent by the Lord God, whose will it was to aid the poor man, and to reveal secrets which had not been revealed till then.