ENCHANTER AND ENCHANTRESS
(MORDVIN)
man who was a magician took a girl-magician as his wife. The man went to the bazaar, whereupon his wife, who had a lover, called him, and they drank and ate together. In the evening the husband returned late from the bazaar and, looking through the window, saw his wife and her lover drinking and eating. The lover caught a glimpse of the husband and said to the woman, ‘Who peered through the window just now?’
‘I know,’ said the woman; she took a small whip, and going out, struck her husband with the whip and said, ‘Be no more a man; become a yellow dog!’ The peasant became a yellow dog. It grew day, and the other dogs seeing the yellow dog, began to tear him. The yellow dog galloped along the road; bounded and leapt; he saw some shepherds feeding their flock, and he went to them. Pleased that the yellow dog had joined them, the shepherds fed him and gave him water. The dog looked after the flock so well that there was nothing left for the shepherds to do. As they saw that the dog acted efficiently they began to stay away from the field.
Once, when the dog was guarding the flock, the shepherds were in the tavern. A merchant entered this tavern and said, ‘A thief is pestering me; he comes every night.’ ‘You should have our dog!’ said the shepherds, and they related the dog’s services. The merchant made an offer for the dog, and though the shepherds did not wish to sell him, they were overcome by the thought of the money. The merchant bought the dog and led him home. Night came, and with it the magician-wife of the yellow dog arrived to commit a theft. The woman entered the merchant’s house and began to remove his money chest. The yellow dog threw himself upon his wife, took away the money chest and lay down upon it. In the morning the merchant rose and saw that the chest was gone; pushing the yellow dog, he said, ‘I bought a dog to no purpose, for thieves have got hold of my money.’ No sooner had the merchant pushed the dog, than he saw his coffer. The yellow dog slept three nights at the merchant’s, and each night deprived his wife of the merchant’s money. The wife ceased to visit the merchant for the purpose of theft.
The queen bore two sons, but both disappeared in the night; the wife of the yellow dog had stolen them. When the queen was again about to give birth to a child the king, who had heard of the yellow dog, went to the merchant and asked for him. The queen bore a son, but the wife of the yellow dog came by night and tried to steal him. However, no sooner had the wife of the yellow dog entered the royal dwelling and seized the third little prince, than the yellow dog rushed up and snatched the infant from her. In the morning the child was found safe and protected by the dog in the middle of a field. The king took his son and said to the yellow dog, ‘If you were a man I would give you half my kingdom.’
The yellow dog lived well now at the king’s house; nevertheless, he longed for his wife. He left the king and galloped to his own home, where he looked in at the window and found his wife again drinking with her lover. The lover saw the yellow dog and said, ‘Someone looked through the window.’ ‘I know him,’ answered the woman. She went out and struck the yellow dog with a whip, and he became a sparrow. For a long time he flew about as a sparrow.
Then the wife began to long for her husband. She went into the forest and, having made a cage, threw into it some millet seeds and hoped to effect a capture. The husband was roaming about in the form of a sparrow and was very hungry. He flew into the forest, found the cage, and, stepping in to peck at the grains, was caught. The wife came and took the cage, dragged her husband out of it, made him once more a man, and said, ‘Return home, take the king’s two first children from the cellar, and restore them to him.’ The peasant accompanied his wife home, and, having taken the king’s children from the cellar, carried them to the king. When the king saw his eldest sons his delight knew no bounds, and he loaded the peasant with gifts.
The peasant took the money and went home and said, ‘Well, woman, we have enough money now!’ ‘Come old man,’ his wife replied, ‘let us build a stone house and sell the square logs.’ But the peasant had not forgotten the tortures inflicted on him by his wife, and he said, ‘Woman, become a chestnut mare; I will use you to transport both stones and logs.’ The peasant-magician had scarcely spoken when his wife became a chestnut mare, and by harnessing her and setting her to transport stones he was enabled to erect a stone house. When it was completed he harnessed the chestnut, and transported the logs, a great number of them. The yard was now filled with the timber, and the old man said, ‘Wife, change again to a woman.’ Immediately the mare became a woman. The woman had taught the peasant and the peasant had taught the woman. Now she is always baking pancakes and feeding her husband, and he sells logs and they live very well.
THE TELLTALE LILAC BUSH
(USA: HILLBILLY)
n old man and woman once lived by themselves along the Tygart Valley River. There had been trouble between them for many years. Few people visited them, and it was not immediately noticed that the wife had unaccountably disappeared. People suspected that the old man had killed her, but her body could not be found, and the question was dropped.
The old man lived a gay life after his wife’s disappearance, until one night when a group of young men were sitting on his porch, talking of all the parties which the old man was giving. While they were talking, a large lilac bush growing nearby began beating on the window pane and beckoning towards them as though it were trying to tell them something. No one would have thought anything of this if the wind had been blowing. But there was no wind – not even a small breeze.
Paying no attention to the old man’s protests, the young men dug up the lilac bush. They were stunned when the roots were found to be growing from the palm of a woman’s hand.
The old man screamed and ran down the hill towards the river, never to be seen again.
TATTERHOOD
(NORWEGIAN)
nce on a time there was a king and a queen who had no children, and that gave the queen much grief; she scarce had one happy hour. She was always bewailing and bemoaning herself, and saying how dull and lonesome it was in the palace.
‘If we had children there’d be life enough,’ she said.
Wherever she went in all her realm she found God’s blessing in children, even in the vilest hut; and wherever she came she heard the Goodies scolding the bairns, and saying how they had done that and that wrong. All this the queen heard, and thought it would be so nice to do as other women did. At last the king and queen took into their palace a stranger lassie to rear up, that they might have her always with them, to love her if she did well, and scold her if she did wrong, like their own child.
So one day the little lassie whom they had taken as their own, ran down into the palace-yard, and was playing with a gold apple. Just then an old beggar wife came by, who had a little girl with her, and it wasn’t long before the little lassie and the beggar’s bairn were great friends, and began to play together, and to toss the gold apple about between them. When the queen saw this, as she sat at a window in the palace, she tapped on the pane for her foster-daughter to come up. She went at once, but the beggar girl went up too; and as they went into the queen’s bower, each held the other by the hand. Then the queen began to scold the little lady, and to say, ‘You ought to be above running about and playing with a tattered beggar’s brat.’ And so she wanted to drive the lassie downstairs.
‘If the queen only knew my mother’s power, she’d not drive me out, said the little lassie; and when the queen asked what she meant more plainly, she told her how her mother could get her children if she chose. The queen wouldn’t believe it, but the lassie held her own, and said every word of it was true, and bade the queen only to try and make her mother do it. So the queen sent the lassie down to fetch up her mother.
‘Do you know what your daughter says?’ asked the queen of the old woman, as soon as ever she came into the room.
No; the beggar wife knew nothing about it.
‘Well, she says you can get me children if you will,’ answered the que
en.
‘Queens shouldn’t listen to beggar lassies’ silly stories,’ said the old wife, and strode out of the room.
Then the queen got angry, and wanted again to drive out the little lassie; but she declared it was true every word that she had said.
‘Let the queen only give my mother a drop to drink,’ said the lassie. ‘When she gets merry she’ll soon find out a way to help you.
The queen was ready to try this; so the beggar wife was fetched up again once more, and treated both with wine and mead as much as she chose; and so it was not long before her tongue began to wag. Then the queen came out again with the same question she had asked before.
‘One way to help you perhaps I know,’ said the beggar wife. ‘Your Majesty must make them bring in two pails of water some evening before you go to bed. In each of them you must wash yourself, and afterwards throw away the water under the bed. When you look under the bed next morning, two flowers will have sprung up, one fair and one ugly. The fair one you must eat, the ugly one you must let stand; but mind you don’t forget the last.’
That was what the beggar wife said.
Yes; the queen did what the beggar wife advised her to do. She had the water brought up in two pails, washed herself in them, and emptied them under the bed; and lo! when she looked under the bed next morning, there stood two flowers. One was ugly and foul, and had black leaves; but the other was so bright and fair, and lovely, she had never seen its like; so she ate it up at once. But the pretty flower tasted so sweet, that she couldn’t help herself. She ate the other up too, for, she thought, ‘It can’t hurt or help one much either way, I’ll be bound.’
Well, sure enough, after a while the queen was brought to bed. First of all, she had a girl who had a wooden spoon in her hand, and rode upon a goat; loathly and ugly she was, and the very moment she came into the world she bawled out ‘Mamma.’
‘If I’m your mamma,’ said the queen, ‘God give me grace to mend my ways.’
‘Oh, don’t be sorry,’ said the girl, who rode on the goat, for one will soon come after me who is better looking.’
So, after a while, the queen had another girl, who was so fair and sweet, no one had ever set eyes on such a lovely child, and with her you may fancy the queen was very well pleased. The elder twin they called ‘Tatterhood’, because she was always so ugly and ragged, and because she had a hood which hung about her ears in tatters. The queen could scarce bear to look at her, and the nurses tried to shut her up in a room by herself, but it was all no good; where the younger twin was, there she must also be, and no one could ever keep them apart.
Well, one Christmas eve when they were half grown up, there rose such a frightful noise and clatter in the gallery outside the queen’s bower. So Tatterhood asked what it was that dashed and crashed so out in the passage.
‘Oh!’ said the queen, ‘it isn’t worth asking about.’
But Tatterhood wouldn’t give over till she found out all about it; and so the queen told her it was a pack of Trolls and witches who had come there to keep Christmas. So Tatterhood said she’d just go out and drive them away, and in spite of all they could say, and however much they begged and prayed her to let the Trolls alone, she must and would go out to drive the witches off; but she begged the queen to mind and keep all the doors close shut, so that not one of them came so much as the least bit ajar. Having said this, off she went with her wooden spoon, and began to hunt and sweep away the hags; and all this while there was such a pother out in the gallery, the like of it was never heard. The whole palace creaked and groaned as if every joint and beam were going to be torn out of its place.
Now, how it was, I’m sure I can’t tell; but somehow or other one door did get the least bit ajar. Then her twin sister just peeped out to see how things were going with Tatterhood, and put her head a tiny bit through the opening. But, POP! up came an old witch, and whipped off her head, and stuck a calf ’s head on her shoulders instead; and so the princess ran back into the room on all fours, and began to ‘moo’ like a calf. When Tatterhood came back and saw her sister, she scolded them all round, and was very angry because they hadn’t kept better watch, and asked them what they thought of their heedlessness now, when her sister was turned into a calf.
‘But still I’ll see if I can’t set her free,’ she said.
Then she asked the king for a ship in full trim, and well fitted with stores; but captain and sailors she wouldn’t have. No, she would sail away with her sister all alone; and as there was no holding her back, at last they let her have her own way.
Then Tatterhood sailed off, and steered her ship right under the land where the witches dwelt, and when she came to the landing place, she told her sister to stay quite still on board the ship; but she herself rode on her goat up to the witches’ castle. When she got there, one of the windows in the gallery was open, and there she saw her sister’s head hung up on the window frame; so she leapt her goat through the window into the gallery, snapped up the head, and set off with it. After her came the witches to try to get the head again, and they flocked about her as thick as a swarm of bees or a nest of ants; but the goat snorted and puffed, and butted with his horns, and Tatterhood beat and banged them about with her wooden spoon; and so the pack of witches had to give it up. So Tatterhood got back to her ship, took the calf ’s head off her sister, and put her own on again, and then she became a girl as she had been before. After that she sailed a long, long way, to a strange king’s realm.
Now the king of that land was a widower, and had an only son. So when he saw the strange sail, he sent messengers down to the strand to find out whence it came, and who owned it; but when the king’s men came down there, they saw never a living soul on board but Tatterhood, and there she was, riding round and round the deck on her goat at full speed, till her elf locks streamed again in the wind. The folk from the palace were all amazed at this sight, and asked were there not more on board. Yes, there were; she had a sister with her, said Tatterhood. Her, too, they wanted to see, but Tatterhood said ‘No.’
‘No one shall see her, unless the king comes himself,’ she said, and so she began to gallop about on her goat till the deck thundered again.
So when the servants got back to the palace, and told what they had seen and heard down at the ship, the king was for setting out at once, that he might see the lassie that rode on the goat. When he got down, Tatterhood led out her sister, and she was so fair and gentle, the king fell over head and ears in love with her as he stood. He brought them both back with him to the palace, and wanted to have the sister for his queen; but Tatterhood said ‘No’: the king couldn’t have her in any way, unless the king’s son chose to have Tatterhood. That you may fancy the prince was very loath to do, such an ugly hussy as Tatterhood was; but at last the king and all the others in the palace talked him over, and he yielded, giving his word to take her for his queen; but it went sore against the grain, and he was a doleful man.
Now they set about the wedding, both with brewing and baking, and when all was ready they were to go to church; but the prince thought it the weariest churching he had ever had in all his life. First, the king drove off with his bride, and she was so lovely and so grand, all the people stopped to look after her all along the road, and they stared at her till she was out of sight. After them came the prince on horseback by the side of Tatterhood, who trotted along on her goat with her wooden spoon in her fist, and to look at him, it was more like going to a burial than a wedding, and that his own; so sorrowful he seemed, and with never a word to say.
‘Why don’t you talk?’ asked Tatterhood, when they had ridden a bit.
‘Why, what should I talk about?’ answered the prince.
‘Well, you might at least ask me why I ride upon this ugly goat,’ said Tatterhood.
‘Why do you ride on that ugly goat?’ asked the prince.
‘Is it an ugly goat? why, it’s the grandest horse a bride ever rode on,’ answered Tatterhood; and in a trice the goat became a h
orse, and that the finest the prince had ever set eyes on.
Then they rode on again a bit, but the prince was just as woeful as before, and couldn’t get a word out. So Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and when the prince answered, he didn’t know what to talk about, she said, ‘You can at least ask me why I ride with this ugly spoon in my fist.’
‘Why do you ride with that ugly spoon?’ asked the prince.
‘Is it an ugly spoon? why, it’s the loveliest silver wand a bride ever bore,’ said Tatterhood; and in a trice it became a silver wand, so dazzling bright, the sunbeams glistened from it.
So they rode on another bit, but the prince was just as sorrowful, and said never a word. In a little while Tatterhood asked him again why he didn’t talk, and bade him ask why she wore that ugly grey hood on her head.
‘Why do you wear that ugly grey hood on your head?’ asked the prince.
‘Is it an ugly hood? why, it’s the brightest golden crown a bride ever wore,’ answered Tatterhood, and it became a crown on the spot.
Now they rode on a long while again, and the prince was so woeful that he sat without sound or speech, just as before. So his bride asked him again why he didn’t talk and bade him ask now why her face was so ugly and ashen-grey?
‘Ah!’ asked the prince, ‘why is your face so ugly and ashen-grey?’
‘I ugly?’ said the bride. ‘You think my sister pretty, but I am ten times prettier’; and lo! when the prince looked at her, she was so lovely he thought there never was so lovely a woman in all the world. After that, I shouldn’t wonder if the prince found his tongue, and no longer rode along hanging down his head.
So they drank the bridal cup both deep and long, and, after that, both prince and king set out with their brides to the princess’s father’s palace, and there they had another bridal feast, and drank anew, both deep and long. There was no end to the fun; and, if you make haste and run to the king’s palace, I dare say you’ll find there’s still a drop of the bridal ale left for you.
Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales Page 29