When the day of the wedding celebration arrived, the groom appeared, as did all the friends and relatives invited by the miller. When they sat down for dinner, each person was asked to tell a story. The bride sat quietly and didn’t utter a word. Finally the bridegroom said to his bride: “Don’t you have anything to say, my love? You have to tell us something.”
“Very well,” she replied, “I will tell you about a dream I had. I was walking alone through the woods and came across a house. Not a soul was living in it, but on the wall there was a cage, and in it was a bird that cried out:
‘Turn back, turn back, my pretty young bride,
In a house of murderers you’ve arrived.’
“Then it repeated those words. My dear, I must have been dreaming all this. Then I walked from room to room and each was completely empty. Everything was so spooky. Finally I went down to the cellar, and there I saw a woman as old as the hills, her head bobbing up and down. I asked her: ‘Does my betrothed live here?’ She replied: ‘Oh, you poor child, you have stumbled into a den of murderers. Your betrothed lives here, but he is planning to chop you up and kill you, and then he’ll cook you and eat you up.’ My dear, I must have been dreaming all this. The old woman hid me behind a big barrel, and no sooner was I hidden than the robbers returned home, dragging a maiden with them. They gave her three kinds of wine to drink, white, red, yellow, and her heart burst in two. My dear, I must have been dreaming all this. Then they tore off her fine clothes, chopped her beautiful body into pieces, and sprinkled it with salt. My dear, I must have been dreaming all this. One of the robbers caught sight of a gold ring on her finger and since it was hard to pull off, he took an ax and chopped it off. The finger flew through the air up behind the big barrel and landed in my lap. And here is the finger with the ring.”
With these words, she pulled it out and showed it to everyone there.
The robber, who had turned white as a ghost while she was telling the story, jumped up and tried to escape, but the guests seized him and turned him over to the authorities. He and his band were executed for their dreadful deeds.
* * *
† Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, “Der Räuberbräutigam,” In Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 7th ed. (Berlin: Dieterich, 1857; first published: Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1812). Translated for the first edition of this Norton Critical Edition by Maria Tatar. Copyright © 1999 by Maria Tatar.
JOSEPH JACOBS
Mr. Fox†
Lady Mary was young, and Lady Mary was fair. She had two brothers, and more lovers than she could count. But of them all, the bravest and most gallant was a Mr. Fox, whom she met when she was down at her father’s country house. No one knew who Mr. Fox was; but he was certainly brave, and surely rich, and of all her lovers Lady Mary cared for him alone. At last it was agreed upon between them that they should be married. Lady Mary asked Mr. Fox where they should live, and he described to her his castle, and where it was; but, strange to say, did not ask her or her brothers to come and see it.
So one day, near the wedding day, when her brothers were out, and Mr. Fox was away for a day or two on business, as he said, Lady Mary set out for Mr. Fox’s castle. And after many searchings, she came at last to it, and a fine strong house it was, with high walls and a deep moat. And when she came up to the gateway she saw written on it:
Be bold, be bold.1
But as the gate was open, she went through it, and found no one there. So she went up to the doorway, and over it she found written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
Still she went on, till she came into the hall, and went up the broad stairs till she came to a door in the gallery, over which was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,
Lest that your heart’s blood should run cold.
But Lady Mary was a brave one, she was, and she opened the door, and what do you think she saw? Why, bodies and skeletons of beautiful young ladies all stained with blood. So Lady Mary thought it was high time to get out of that horrid place, and she closed the door, went through the gallery, and was just going down the stairs, and out of the hall, when who should she see through the window but Mr. Fox dragging a beautiful young lady along from the gateway to the door. Lady Mary rushed downstairs, and hid herself behind a cask, just in time, as Mr. Fox came in with the poor young lady, who seemed to have fainted. Just as he got near Lady Mary, Mr. Fox saw a diamond ring glittering on the finger of the young lady he was dragging, and he tried to pull it off. But it was tightly fixed, and would not come off, so Mr. Fox cursed and swore, and drew his sword, raised it, and brought it down upon the hand of the poor lady. The sword cut off the hand, which jumped up into the air, and fell of all places in the world into Lady Mary’s lap. Mr. Fox looked about a bit, but did not think of looking behind the cask, so at last he went on dragging the young lady up the stairs into the Bloody Chamber.
As soon as she heard him pass through the gallery, Lady Mary crept out of the door, down through the gateway, and ran home as fast as she could.
Now it happened that the very next day the marriage contract of Lady Mary and Mr. Fox was to be signed, and there was a splendid breakfast before that. And when Mr. Fox was seated at table opposite Lady Mary, he looked at her. “How pale you are this morning, my dear.” “Yes,” said she, “I had a bad night’s rest last night. I had horrible dreams.” “Dreams go by contraries,” said Mr. Fox; “but tell us your dream, and your sweet voice will make the time pass till the happy hour comes.”
“I dreamed,” said Lady Mary, “that I went yestermorn to your castle, and I found it in the woods, with high walls, and a deep moat, and over the gateway was written:
Be bold, be bold.”
“But it is not so, nor it was not so,”2 said Mr. Fox.
“And when I came to the doorway, over it was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.”
“It is not so, nor it was not so,” said Mr. Fox.
“And then I went upstairs, and came to a gallery, at the end of which was a door, on which was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,
Lest that your heart’s blood should run cold.”
“It is not so, nor it was not so,” said Mr. Fox.
“And then—and then I opened the door, and the room was filled with bodies and skeletons of poor dead women, all stained with their blood.”
“It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,” said Mr. Fox.
“I then dreamed that I rushed down the gallery, and just as I was going down the stairs I saw you, Mr. Fox, coming up to the hall door, dragging after you a poor young lady, rich and beautiful.”
“It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,” said Mr. Fox.
“I rushed downstairs, just in time to hide myself behind a cask, when you, Mr. Fox, came in dragging the young lady by the arm. And, as you passed me, Mr. Fox, I thought I saw you try and get off her diamond ring, and when you could not, Mr. Fox, it seemed to me in my dream, that you out with your sword and hacked off the poor lady’s hand to get the ring.”
“It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,” said Mr. Fox, and was going to say something else as he rose from his seat, when Lady Mary cried out:
“But it is so, and it was so. Here’s hand and ring I have to show,” and pulled out the lady’s hand from her dress, and pointed it straight at Mr. Fox.
At once her brothers and her friends drew their swords and cut Mr. Fox into a thousand pieces.
* * *
† Joseph Jacobs, “Mr. Fox,” in English Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1890).
1. The admonition “Be bold” appears also in Edmund Spenser’s Faerie Queen (1590): “How over that same Door was likewise writ, / Be bold, Be bold, and every where Be bold” (Book III, Canto XI, stanza 54).
2. Cf. Shakespeare, Much Ado about Nothing (I.i.146): “Like the old tale, my Lord, ‘It is not so, nor
t’was not so, but, indeed, God forbid it should be so!’ ”
Mr. Bluebeard†
There was a man named Mr. Bluebeard. He got his wife in his house, an’ he general catch people an’ lock up into a room, an’ he never let him wife see that room.
One day he went out to a dinner an’ forgot his key on the door. An’ his wife open the door an’ find many dead people in the room. Those that were not dead said: “Thanky, Missis; Thanky Missis.”
An’ as soon as the live ones get away, an’ she was to lock the door, the key drop in blood. She take it up an’ wash it an’ put it in the lock. It drop back into the blood.
An’ Mr. Bluebeard was an old-witch an’ know what was going on at home. An’ as he sat at dinner, he called out to get his horse ready at once. An’ they said to him: “Do, Mr. Bluebeard, have something to eat before you go.”
“No! Get my horse ready.”
So they bring it to him. Now he doesn’t ride a four-footed beast, he ride a t’ree-foot horse.1
An’ he get on his horse an’ start off itty-itty-hap,2 itty-itty-hap, until he get home.
Now Mrs. Bluebeard two brother was a hunter-man in the wood. One of them was old-witch, an’ he said: “Brother, brother, something home wrong with me sister.”
“Get ’way you little foolish fellah,” said the biggest one.
But the other say again: “Brother, brother, something wrong at home. Just get me a white cup and a white saucer, and fill it with water, and put it in the sun, an’ you will soon see what to do with the water.”
Directly the water turn blood.
An’ the eldest said: “Brother, it is truth, make we go.”
An’ Mrs. Bluebeard was afraid, because he knew Mr. Bluebeard was coming fe kill him.3 An’ he was calling continually to the cook, Miss Anne: “Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! You see anyone coming? Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! You see anyone coming?”
An’ Sister Anne answer: “Oh no, I see no one is coming but the dust that makes the grass so green.”
An’ as she sing done they hear Mr. Bluebeard coming, itty-itty-hap, itty-itty-hap.
Him jump straight off a him t’ree-foot beast an’ go in a the house, and catch Mrs. Bluebeard by one of him plait-hair an’ hold him by it, an’ said: “This is the last day of you.”
An’ Mrs. Bluebeard said: “Do, Mr. Bluebeard, allow me to say my last prayer.”
But Mr. Bluebeard still hold him by the hair while he sing: “Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! You see anyone coming? Sister Anne, Sister Anne, Ah! You see anyone coming?”
Sister Anne answer this time: “Oh—yes! I see someone is coming, and the dust that makes the grass so green.”
Then Mr. Bluebeard took his sword was to cut off him neck, an’ his two brother appear, an’ the eldest one going to shot after Mr. Bluebeard, an’ he was afraid an’ begin to run away. But the young one wasn’t going to let him go so, an’ him shot PUM and kill him ’tiff dead.
Jack Mantora me no choose none.4
* * *
† Jamaican Song and Story: Annancy Stories, Digging Sings, Ring Tunes, and Dancing Tunes, ed. Walter Jekyll (London: David Nutt, 1907), pp. 35–37.
1. The three-legged horse is thought to be a kind of phantom beast that rides only at night in the moonlight and can gallop faster than any other horse. It can kill people by breathing on them.
2. Onomatopoeic phrase meant to capture the gait of the three-legged horse.
3. In the dialect used for the story, “he knew” is equivalent to “she knew” and “to kill him” means “to kill her.”
4. In some Jamaican tales Jack Mantora (possibly the gatekeeper to heaven) appears as a listener, and the narrator closes with this phrase, which has been read to mean either “Don’t blame me for the tale I’ve just told” or “I didn’t have you in mind when I chose this tale.”
The Forbidden Room†
Once upon a time there was a man had one daughter. Every man come to marry her, she said, “No.” So a man came, all over was gold. And she married him. He had a horse name Sixty-Miles, for every time he jump it was sixty miles. So they went. The more he goes, his gold was dropping. Mary Bell wanted to know why his gold was dropping. He said, “That is all right.” They reached home soon. He gave her a big bunch of keys and take her around to all the room in the house. “You can open all the room except one room; for if you open it, I will kill you.” She start to wonder why her husband didn’t want her to open it. So one day she open it. It was great surprise. She saw heads of woman hanging up. She also saw a cast of blood. Her key dropped in the blood, and she couldn’t get it off. So she began to mourn. The Devil daughter told her not to cry. She took three needles and gave it to her. “He is coming; but when you first drop one, there will be a large forest, and so on.” She went and get Sixty-Miles, and she went. Now the Devil came from the wood. He had a rooster. He told his master, “Massa, massa, your pretty girl gone home this morning ’fore day. Massa, massa, your pretty girl gone home this morning ’fore day.” The Devil look about the house for his wife, he didn’t see her. So he went to get Sixty-Miles, and he couldn’t find it. So he get Fifty-Miles. Start after her. He spy her far down the road. He said, “Mary Bell, O Mary Bell! what harm I done you?”
You done me no harm, but you done me good. Bang-a-lang!
Hero, don’t let your foot touch, bang-a-lang!
Hero, don’t let your foot touch!
The Devil catch at her. She drop a needle, and it became a large forest. He said, “Mary Bell, O Mary Bell! how shall I get through?”—“Well,” said she, “go back home, get your axe and cut it out.” And he did. He saw her again, and catch at her. She drop another needle, and a large brick wall stood in the way. He said, “Mary Bell, how shall I get through?”—“Go get your shovel and axe, and dig and pick your way.” He done just the same way. And he get through all right. He spy her again. He said, “Mary Bell, what harm I done you?”
You done me no harm, but you done me good. Bang-a-lang!
Hero, don’t let your foot touch.
He catch at her. She step into her father’s house. The Devil get so mad, he carry half of the man’s house.
I step on a t’in’, the t’in’ bend.
My story is end.
* * *
† Folk-Lore of the Sea Islands, South Carolina, ed. Elsie Clews Parsons (New York: American Folklore Society, 1923), pp. 47–49. The tale was told to Parsons by Julius Jenkins, a pupil in Edding’s Point School on the island of St. Helena off the coast of South Carolina.
Mast-Truan†
Once upon a time a chief of Acoma had a lovely daughter. One day a handsome stranger stole her and took her away to his home, which was in the heart of the Snow Mountain (Mt. San Mateo). He was none other than Mast-Truan, one of the Storm-Gods. Bringing his captive home, the powerful stranger gave her the finest clothing and treated her very nicely. But most of the time he had to be away from home, attending to the storms, and she became very lonesome, for there was no one to keep her company, but Mast-Truan’s wrinkled old mother.
One day when she could stand the loneliness no longer, she decided to take a walk through the enormous house and look at the rooms which she had not seen. Opening a door she came into a very large room toward the east; and there were a lot of women crying and shivering with cold, for they had nothing to wear. Going through this room she came to another, which was full of gaunt, starving women, and here and there one lay dead upon the floor; and in the next room were scores of bleached and ghastly skeletons. And this was what Mast-Truan did with his wives when he was tired of them. The girl saw her fate, and, returning to her room, sat down and wept—but there was no escape, for Mast-Truan’s old hag of a mother forever guarded the outer door.
When Mast-Truan came home again, his wife said, “It is now long that I have not seen my father. Let me go home for a little while.”
“Well,” said he, “here is some corn which must be she
lled. When you have shelled it and ground it, I will let you out”; and he showed her four great rooms piled from floor to ceiling with ears of corn. It was more than one could shell in a year; and when her husband went out, she sat down again to cry and bemoan her fate.
Just then a queer little old woman appeared before her, with a kindly smile. It was a cumúshquio.1
“What is the matter, my daughter?” asked the old fairy, gently, “and why do you weep?”
The captive told her all, and the fairy said, “Do not fear, daughter, for I will help you, and we will have all the corn shelled and ground in four days.”
So they fell to work. For two days the girl kept shelling; and though she could not see the old fairy at all, she could always hear at her side the click of the ears together. Then for two days she kept grinding on her metate,2 apparently alone, but hearing the constant grind of another metate close beside her. At the end of the fourth day the last kernel had been scrubbed into blue meal, and she was very happy. Then the old fairy-woman appeared again, bringing a large basket and a rope. She opened the doors to all the rooms where the poor women were prisoners, and bade them all get into the basket one by one. Mast-Truan had taken away the ladder from the house when he left, that no one might be able to get out; but with her basket and rope the good old fairy-woman let them all down to the ground, and told them to hurry home—which they did as fast as ever their poor, starved legs could carry them. Then the fairy-woman and the girl escaped, and made their way to Acoma. So there was a Moon again—and that it was the Moon, we may be very sure; since this same girl became the mother of the Hero Twins, who were assuredly Children of the Moon.
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