by Jane Yolen
And with this he plunged off the oar-blade, and so they parted. But everything the merman said proved to be true.
PERGRIN AND THE MERMAID
Wales
One fine afternoon in September, in the beginning of the last century, a fisherman, whose name was Pergrin, went to a recess in the rock near Pen Cemmes, where he found a sea maiden doing her hair, and he took the water lady prisoner to his boat.
We know not what language is used by sea maidens, but this one, this time at any rate, talked, it is said, very good Welsh; for when she was in despair in Pergrin’s custody, weeping copiously, and with her tresses all disheveled, she called out, “Pergrin, if thou wilt let me go, I will give thee three shouts in the time of thy greatest need.”
So, in wonder and fear, he let her go to walk the streets of the deep, and visit her sweethearts there.
Days and weeks passed without Pergrin seeing her after this; but one hot afternoon, when the sea was pretty calm, and the fishermen had no thought of danger, behold his old acquaintance showing her head and locks, and shouting out in a loud voice, “Pergrin! Pergrin! Pergrin! take up thy nets, take up thy nets, take up thy nets!”
Pergrin and his companion instantly obeyed the message and drew their nets in with great haste. In they went, past the bar, and by the time they had reached the Pwll Cam the most terrible storm had overspread the sea, while he and his companion were safe on land. Twice nine others had gone out with them, but they were all drowned without having the chance of obeying the warning of the water lady.
THE ASH LAD WHO HAD AN EATING MATCH WITH THE TROLL
Norway
There was once a farmer who had three sons. He was badly off, and old and feeble, and his sons wouldn’t turn their hands to a thing. To the farm belonged a large, good forest, and there the father wanted the boys to chop wood and see about paying off some of the debt.
At last he got them around to his way of thinking, and the eldest was to go out chopping first. When he had made his way into the forest, and had started chopping a shaggy fir tree, a big, burly troll came up to him.
“If you’re chopping in my forest, I’m going to kill you!” said the troll.
When the boy heard that, he flung aside the axe and headed for home again as best he could. He got home clean out of breath, and told them what had happened to him. But his father said he was chicken-hearted. The trolls had never scared him from chopping wood when he was young, he said.
On the next day the second son was to set out, and he fared just like the first. When he had struck the fir tree a few blows with his axe, the troll came up to him, too, and said, “If you’re chopping in my forest, I’m going to kill you!”
The boy hardly dared look at him. He flung aside the axe and took to his heels just like his brother, and just as fast. When he came home again, his father became angry and said that the trolls had never scared him when he was young.
On the third day the Ash Lad wanted to set out.
“You?” said the two eldest. “You’ll certainly manage it—you who’ve never been beyond the front door!”
He didn’t say much to that, the Ash Lad didn’t, but just asked for as big a lunch as possible to take with him. His mother had no curds, so she hung the cauldron over the fire to curdle a little cheese for him. This he put in his knapsack, and set out on his way.
When he had been chopping for a little while, the troll came to him and said, “If you’re chopping in my forest, I’m going to kill you!”
But the boy wasn’t slow. He ran over to the knapsack to get the cheese, and squeezed it till the whey spurted. “If you don’t hold your tongue,” he shrieked to the troll, “I’ll squeeze you the way I’m squeezing the water out of this white stone!”
“Nay, dear fellow! Spare me!” said the troll. “I’ll help you to chop!”
Well, on that condition the boy would spare him, and the troll was clever at chopping, so they managed to fell and cut up many cords of wood during the day.
As evening was drawing nigh, the troll said, “Now you can come home with me. My house is closer than yours.”
Well, the boy went along, and when they came to the troll’s home, he was to make up the fire in the hearth, while the boy was to fetch water for the porridge pot. But the two iron buckets were so big and heavy that he couldn’t so much as budge them.
So the boy said, “It’s not worth taking along these thimbles. I’m going after the whole well, I am!”
“Nay, my dear fellow,” said the troll, “I can’t lose my well. You make the fire and I’ll go after the water.”
When he came back with the water, they cooked up a huge pot of porridge.
“If it’s all the same to you,” said the boy, “let’s have an eating match!”
“Oh yes!” replied the troll, for at that he felt he could always hold his own.
Well, they sat down at the table, but the boy stole over and took the knapsack and tied it in front of him, and he scooped more into the knapsack than he ate himself. When the knapsack was full, he took up his knife and ripped a gash in it. The troll looked at him, but didn’t say anything.
When they had eaten a good while longer, the troll put down his spoon. “Nay! Now I can’t manage any more!” he said.
“You must eat!” said the boy. “I’m barely half full yet. Do as I did and cut a hole in your stomach, then you can eat as much as you wish!”
“But doesn’t that hurt dreadfully?” asked the troll.
“Oh, nothing to speak of,” replied the boy.
So the troll did as the boy said, and then, you might know, that was the end of him.
But the boy took all the silver and gold to be found in the mountain, and went home with it. With that he could at least pay some of the debt.
HOW MOSQUITOES CAME TO BE
American Indian (Tlingit)
Long ago there was a giant who loved to kill humans, eat their flesh, and drink their blood. He was especially fond of human hearts. “Unless we can get rid of this giant,” people said, “none of us will be left,” and they called a council to discuss ways and means.
One man said, “I think I know how to kill the monster,” and he went to the place where the giant had last been seen. There he lay down and pretended to be dead.
Soon the giant came along. Seeing the man lying there, he said, “These humans are making it easy for me. Now I don’t even have to catch and kill them; they might die right on my trail, probably from fear of me!”
The giant touched the body. “Ah, good,” he said, “this one is still warm and fresh. What a tasty meal he’ll make; I can’t wait to roast his heart.”
The giant flung the man over his shoulder, and the man let his head hang down as if he were dead. Carrying the man home, the giant dropped him in the middle of the floor right near the fireplace. Then he saw that there was no firewood and went to get some.
As soon as the monster had left, the man got up and grabbed the giant’s huge skinning knife. Just then the giant’s son came in, bending low to enter. He was still small as giants go, and the man held the big knife to his throat. “Quick, tell me, where’s your father’s heart? Tell me or I’ll slit your throat!”
The giant’s son was scared. He said, “My father’s heart is in his left heel.”
Just then the giant’s left foot appeared in the entrance, and the man swiftly plunged the knife into the heel. The monster screamed and fell down dead.
Yet the giant still spoke: “Though I’m dead, though you killed me, I’m going to keep on eating you and all the other humans in the world forever!”
“That’s what you think!” said the man. “I’m about to make sure that you never eat anyone again.” He cut the giant’s body into pieces and burned each one in the fire. Then he took the ashes and threw them into the air for the winds to scatter.
Instantly each of the particles turned into a mosquito. The cloud of ashes became a cloud of mosquitoes, and from the midst the man heard the giant’s vo
ice laughing, saying, “Yes, I’ll eat you people until the end of time.”
And as the monster spoke, the man felt a sting, and a mosquito started sucking his blood, and then many mosquitoes stung him, and he began to scratch himself.
THE DEPARTURE OF THE GIANTS
Africa (Mensa et al.)
Before the first Mensa, Habab, Beni-Amer, and Cunama people arrived, a tribe of giants was living in the land. It is said by some that God created the giants first, and that later he made people in the size they are today. The giants were truly giants. They used water skins made of whole elephant hides. Their spears were as tall as euphorbia trees, and the stones they threw from their slings were not pebbles but large boulders. They roasted whole cows over their fires for a single meal, and drank milk from great wooden tubs. When other tribes came into the country looking for water for their cattle and goats, the giants killed them or drove them away. Many courageous Mensa, Beni-Amer, and Habab warriors died trying to hold watering places against the giants.
Today the giants are gone, but you may still see the great stones they used for foundations of their houses, and here or there people find the remains of the enormous tombs in which the giants were buried. This story is about how the giants finally disappeared. It is told by the old people of the tribes.
God concluded that things were not peaceful because of the giants. The world was out of balance. So he sent for the chief of the giants and said to him, “It is time for your tribe to leave the world.”
The chief of the giants said, “Master, how have we offended you that we should have to leave?”
God replied, “Your tribe has been too hard with the small people. You have forgotten that water holes were given to all the tribes for their cattle. You drive the people away, though they have done you no harm.”
The chief of the giants said, “Master, all tribes guard their wells. All tribes fight to protect their land. What have we done that is different?”
God said, “Because you are so large and the others so small, everything is out of balance. Your tribe consumes everything. While you eat a whole cow for your dinner, the other tribes stand on a hilltop watching you swallow down enough to keep them alive for a month.”
The giant chief said, “Master, it was you who created us as we are. Is the fault ours?”
God said, “No, the fault is not yours, yet I have to send your tribe out of this world. Therefore I will be as kind as I can. I will give you a choice. I will let you choose how to depart. You may disappear with my curse or my blessings.”
The chief of the giants said, “Who would want to receive God’s curse? If we must go, send us on our way with your blessings.”
God answered, “Good. Let it be that way. I will lay blessings on you. Because sons are a blessing to all families, henceforth all your children to come will be sons. Because cows are a blessing on account of the calves they bear and the milk they give, henceforth all calves that are born will be females.”
The chief of the giants returned to his tribe. He told the people of the blessings God had given them, and they were happy. Things came to pass as God had promised. Women gave birth only to sons, and cows gave birth only to female calves. The sons grew up. It was time for them to marry, but there were no young women to be their wives. The female calves matured, but there were no bulls for them to mate with. So in time no more children were born to the giants, and no more calves were born to the cattle. People grew old and died. Cattle grew old and died. The tribe of giants withered.
At last the chief called a council of the old people who were still alive. He said to them, “As all men can see, we are dying out from our blessings. Let us not linger here any more, waiting for the end. Let every person build a tomb for himself and cover it with a roof of stones. Let each one enter his tomb and close up the entrance. In this way we will finally depart from the world.”
So every person built himself a tomb and covered it with a roof of stones, after which he entered, closed up the opening, and remained there until he died. Thus the giants perished and disappeared from the face of the land.
The roofs of the tombs fell long ago, and all that remain are piles of stones. Because they remember what happened to the giants, people of the tribes sometimes say when life seems too generous to them:
“Take care, let us not die from blessings like the giants did.”
Fooling the Devil or Satan or Old Nick or the Hairy Man is an old game in folklore. Since, for the most part, these stories came through the peasant class, mouth to ear over and over again, they took on a kind of master-slave tone as well. The Devil was, after all, the ultimate master to be bamboozled or tricked.
In some stories the Devil is similar to the ogre in the stupid-ogre cycle, infinitely gullible, and motifs have traveled from the ogre to the Devil and back again. The Finnish tale “The Devil’s Hide” and the Cuban “How El Bizarrón Fooled the Devil” show prime examples of this kind of befuddled demon. In other stories the Devil is simply taken in by a sharper. The Irish, especially, love this kind of tale, as seen in “The Lawyer and the Devil.” And occasionally the demon is completely browbeaten by a woman, as in “The Bad Wife” and “Katcha and the Devil.” There is a strong ballad tradition that concerns the scolding wife who beats the Devil up. Child ballad number 278, “The Farmer’s Curst Wife,” is very popular in the countrysides of both Britain and America. One version, found in Vermont, ends with the tag: “Now you can see that the women are worse than the men;/They can go to hell and back again!”
THE PEASANT AND THE DEVIL
Germany
There was once upon a time a far-sighted, crafty peasant whose tricks were much talked about. The best story, however, is how he once got hold of the Devil, and made a fool of him.
The peasant had one day been working in his field, and as twilight had set in, was making ready for the journey home, when he saw a heap of burning coals in the middle of his field, and when, full of astonishment, he went up to it, a little black Devil was sitting on the live coals.
“Are you sitting upon a treasure?” said the peasant.
“Yes, in truth,” replied the Devil, “on a treasure which contains more gold and silver than you have ever seen in your life!”
“The treasure lies in my field and belongs to me,” said the peasant.
“It is yours,” answered the Devil, “if you will for two years give me one half of everything your field produces. Money I have enough, but I have a desire for the fruits of the earth.”
The peasant agreed to the bargain. “In order, however, that no dispute may arise about the division,” said he, “everything that is above ground shall belong to you, and what is under the earth to me.”
The Devil was quite satisfied with that, but the cunning peasant had sown turnips.
Now when the time for harvest came, the Devil appeared and wanted to take away his crop; but he found nothing but the yellow withered leaves, while the peasant, full of delight, was digging up his turnips.
“You have had the best of it for once,” said the Devil, “but the next time that won’t do. What grows above ground shall be yours, and what is under it, mine.”
“I am willing,” replied the peasant; but when the time came to sow, he did not again sow turnips, but wheat. The grain became ripe, and the peasant went into the field and cut the full stalks down to the ground.
When the Devil came, he found nothing but the stubble, and went away in a fury down into a cleft in the rocks.
“That is the way to cheat the Devil,” said the peasant, and went and fetched away the treasure.
WICKED JOHN AND THE DEVIL
United States
One time there was an old blacksmith named John. He was so mean they called him Wicked John. Mean? Aa-aa Lord! He didn’t wait till Saturday night for his dram. He’d just as soon start in drinkin’ of a Sunday … Monday … Tuesday. It didn’t differ. He stayed lit-up all week anyhow. Talked mean. Acted mean. Independent minded. He wasn’t
afraid of nothin’ nor nobody.
One thing about him though: he always did treat a stranger right. And one mornin’ Wicked John was workin’ there in his shop when an old beggar came to the door: crippled-up with rheumatism, all bent over and walkin’ on two sticks. Looked right tired and hungry-like. Stood there till fin’lly Old John hollered at him, says “Well come in! Confound! Come on in and sit down! Rest yourself.”
The old beggar he heaved over the sill, stumbled to where there was a nail-keg turned up, sat down. John kept right on workin’, talkin’ big; but seemed like the old man was so give-out he couldn’t talk much. So directly old John throwed his hammer down and headed for the house. “You wait now. Just sit right there.”
Came back with a plate full of vittles: boiled sweet tater, big chunk of ham-meat, beans, greens, slice of cake—and he’d even gone to the springhouse and fetched a pitcher of sweet milk. “Here, old man! Try these rations. I hope you can find something here you can eat.”
“Thank ye. Thank ye.”
“Oh hit ain’t much. If I can eat it three times a day every day, you can stomach it once I reckon.”
Wicked John he went on back to work a-hammerin’ and a-poundin’. Watched the old beggar out the corner of his eye: saw him lay the plate and glass to one side directly and start to get up. He let his two walkin’ sticks fall to the ground. Commenced straightenin’ up, straightenin’ up, all the kinks comin’ out of him. There was a flash of light all at once. And the next thing old John knew—there, r’ared up in the door, was a fine stout-like old man: had a white beard and white hair, long white robe right down to his feet, and a big gold key swingin’ in his hand.