No. 9.--The Mother's Chastisement

There was an emperor's son, and he went to hunt. And he departed from the hunters by himself. And by a certain stack there was a maiden. He passed near the stack, and heard her lamenting. He took that maiden, and brought her home.

'See, mother, what I've found.'

His mother took her to the kitchen to the cook to bring her up. She brought her up twelve years. The empress dressed her nicely, and put her in the palace to lay the table. The prince loved her, for she was so fair that in all the world there was none so fair as she. The prince loved her three years, and the empress knew it not.

Once he said, 'I will take a wife, mother.'

'From what imperial family?'

'I wish to marry her who lays the table.'

'Not her, mother's darling!'

'If I don't take her, I shall die.'

'Take her.'

And he took her; he married her. And an order came for him to go to battle. He left her big with child.

The empress called two servants. 'Take her into the forest and kill her, and bring me her heart and little finger.'

They put her in the carriage, and drove her into the forest; after them ran a whelp. And they brought her into the forest, and were going to kill her, and she said, 'Kill me not, for I have used you well.'

'How are we to take her the heart, then?'

'Kill the whelp, for its heart is just like a human one, and cut off my little finger.'

They killed the whelp, and cut off her little finger, and took out the whelp's heart.

And she cried, 'Gather wood for me, and make me a fire; and strip off bark for me, and build me a hut.'

They built her a hut, and made her a fire, and went away home, bringing the heart and the little finger.

She brought forth a son. God and St. Peter came and baptized him;  and God gave him a gun that he should become a hunter. Whatever he saw he would kill with the gun. And God gave him the name Silvester. And God made a house of the hut, and the fire no longer died. And God gave them a certain loaf; they were always eating, and it was never finished.

The boy grew big, and he took his gun in his hand, and went into the forest. And what he saw he killed, carried to his mother, and they ate. Walking in the forest, he came upon the dragons' palace, and sat before the door. At mid-day the dragons were coming home. He saw them from afar, eleven (sic) in number; and eleven he shot with his gun, and one he merely stunned. And he took them, and carried them into the palace, and shut them up in a room; and he went to his mother, and said, 'Come with me, mother.'

'Where am I to go to, mother's darling?'

'Come with me, where I take you to.'

He went with her to the palace. 'Take to thee, mother, twelve keys. Go into any room you choose, but into this room do not go.'

He went into the forest to hunt.

She said, 'Why did my son tell me not to go in here? But I will go to see what is there.'

She opened the door.

The dragon asked her, 'If thou art a virgin, be my sister; but if thou art a wife, be my wife.'

'I am a wife.'

'Then be my wife.'

'I will; but will you do the right thing by me?'

'I will.'

'Swear, then.'

I swear.'

The dragon swore. The dragon said to her, 'Swear also thou.'

She also swore. They kissed one another on the mouth. She brought him to her into the house; they drank and ate, and loved one another.

Her son came from the forest. She saw him. She said, 'My son is coming; go back into the room.'

He went back, and she shut him in.

In the morning her son went again into the forest to hunt. She admitted the dragon again to her. They drank and ate. He said to her, 'How shall we kill your son? Then we'll live finely. Make yourself ill, and say that you have seen a dream, that he must bring milk from the she-bear for you to drink. Then you'll have nothing to trouble you, for the she-bear will devour him.'

He came home from the forest. 'What's the matter with you, mother?'

'I shall die, but I saw a dream. Bring me milk from the she-bear.'

'I'll bring it you, mother.'

He went into the forest, and found the she-bear. He was going to shoot her.

She cried, 'Stop, man. What do you want?'

'You to give me milk.'

She said, 'I will give it you. Have you a pail?'

'I have.'

'Come and milk.'

He milked her, and brought it to his mother.

'Here, mother.'

She pretended to drink, but poured it forth.

In the morning he went again into the forest, and met the Moon. 'Who art thou?'

'I am the Moon.'

'Be a sister to me.'

'But who art thou?'

'I am Silvester.'

'Then thou art God's godson, for God takes care of thee. I also am God's.'

'Be a sister to me.'

'I will be a sister to thee.'

He went further; he met Friday. 'Who art thou?'

'I am Friday, but who art thou?'

'I am Silvester.'

'Thou art God's godson; I also am God's.'

'Be a sister to me.'

He went home. His mother saw him. 'My son is coming.'

'Send him to the wild sow to bring thee milk, for she will devour him.'

'Always sick, mother?'

'I am. I have seen a dream. Bring me milk from the wild sow.'

I know not whether or no I shall bring it, but I will try.'

He went; he found the sow; he was going to shoot her with his gun. She cried, 'Don't, don't shoot me. What do you want?'

'Give me milk.'

'Have you a pail? come and milk.'

He brought it to his mother. She pretended to drink, but poured it forth. He went again into the forest.

She admitted the dragon to her. 'In vain, for the sow has not devoured him.'

'Then send him to the Mountains of Blood, that butt at one another like rams, to bring thee water, the water of life and the water of healing. If he does not die there, he never will.'

'I have seen a dream, that you bring me water from the Mountains of Blood, which butt at one another like rams, for then there will be nothing the matter with me.'

He went to the Moon.

'Whither away, brother?'

'I am going to the mountains to fetch water for my mother.'

'Don't go, brother; you will die there.'

'Bah! I will go there.'

'Take thee my horse when thou goest, for my horse will carry thee thither. And take thee a watch, for they butt at one another from morning till noon, and at noon they rest for two hours. So when you come there at the twelfth hour, draw water in two pails from the two wells.'

He came thither at mid-day, and dismounted, and drew water in two pails, the water of life and the water of healing. And he came back to the Moon; and the Moon said, 'Lie down and sleep, and rest, for you are worn out.'

She hid that water, and poured in other.

He arose. 'Come, sister, I will depart home.'

'Take my horse, and go riding. Take the saddle-bags.'

He went home to his mother. His mother saw him coming on horseback, and said to the dragon, 'My son is coming on horseback.'

Tell him that you have seen a dream, that you bind his fingers behind his back with a silken cord; and that if he can burst it he will become a hero, and you will grow strong.'

'Bind away, mother.'

She made a thick silken cord, and bound his fingers behind his back. He tugged, and grew red in the face; he tugged again, he grew blue; he tugged the third time, he grew black.

And she cried, 'Come, dragon, and cut his throat.'

The dragon came to him. 'Well, what shall I do to you now?'

'Cut me all in bits, and put me in the saddle-bags, and place me on my horse. Thither, whence he carried me living, let him carry me dead.'

He cut him in pieces, put him in the saddle-bags, and placed him on the horse. 'Go, whence thou didst carry him living, carry him dead.'

The horse went straight to the Moon. The Moon came out, and saw him, and took him in, and called Wednesday, and called Friday; and they laid him in a big trough, and washed him bravely, and placed him on a table, and put him all together, bit by bit; and they took the water of healing, and sprinkled him, and he became whole; and they took the water of life, and sprinkled him, and he came to life.

'Ah! I was sleeping soundly.' 1

'You would have slept for ever if I had not come.'

'I will go, sister, to my mother.'

'Go not, brother.'

'Bah! I will.'

'Well, go, and God be with thee. Take thee my sword.'

He went to his mother. His mother was singing and dancing with the dragon. He went in to the dragon. 'Good day to you both.'

'Thanks.'

'Come, what shall I do to you, dragon?'

'Cut me in little pieces, and put me in the saddle-bags, and place me on my horse. Whence he carried me living, let him carry me also dead.'

He cut him in little pieces, put him in the saddle-bags, placed him on his horse, and dug out the horse's eyes. 'Go whither thou wilt.'

Away went the horse, and kept knocking his head against the trees; and the pieces of flesh kept falling from the saddle-bags. The crows kept eating the flesh.

Silvester shot a hare, and skinned it, and spitted it, and roasted it at the fire. And he said to his mother, 'Mother, look straight at me.'

His mother looked at him. He struck her in the eyes, and her eyes leapt out of her head. And he took her by the hand, led her to a jar, said to her, 'Mother, when thou hast filled this jar with tears, then God pardon thee; and when thou hast eaten a bundle of hay, and filled the jar with tears, then God pardon thee, and restore thee thine eyes.'

And he bound her there, and departed, and left her three years. In three years she came back to his recollection. 'I will go to my mother, and see what she is doing.'

Now she has filled the jar, and eaten the bundle of hay.

'Now may God pardon thee; now I also pardon thee. Depart, and God be with thee.'

A third Gypsy version, from Hungary, the first half of Friedrich Müller's No. 5, may be summarised thus:--Two children, driven from home by mother, wander thirty-five years, and come to a forest so dense the birds cannot fly through it. They come to a castle so high they cannot see the top of it. Twelve robbers dwell here. Lad kills eleven as they come home, but only wounds the twelfth. He goes forth to hunt, spares lives of twelve wild animals, and brings them home. The sister meanwhile has restored the twelve robbers to life. She suggests that her brother shall have a warm bath (cf. De Gubernatis' Zool. Myth. i. 213), saying that thereby their father had been so healthy. In the bath she binds his hands and feet. She summons twelve robbers. They permit him to play his father's air on his pipe; it calls up the twelve animals. They rend the robbers, and loose the lad, who packs his sister into the great empty jar (here first mentioned), and leaves her to die of hunger.

This last is a poorly-told story; still, not without its features of interest. It will be noticed that in it, as in many non-Gypsy variants, the dragons are rationalised into robbers (sometimes blackamoors). Of the Roumanian and the Bukowina Gypsy versions the former seems to me the better on the whole. The opening of the Bukowina version cannot properly belong to the story, for it arouses an interest in the mother, who yet turns out a bad lot.  Its close, however, is decidedly superior. What a picture is that of the mother and the dragon singing and dancing, and what a one that of the blinded horse and the crows! In both versions there is the same omission--the inquiry into the seat of the hero's strength; and in the Bukowina one no use is made of the milk from the she-bear and the wild sow, nor are we told of the hero's first meeting with Wednesday. Plainly the Roumanian version is not derived from the Bukowina one, nor the Bukowina one from the Roumanian; but they point to an unknown, more perfect original. Even as they stand, however, both are better than any of the non-Gypsy variants known to me. These include five from Hahn's Greek collection (i. 176, 215; ii. 234, 279, 283); one in Roumanian Fairy Tales, by E. B. M. (Loud. 1884, pp. 81-89), resembling the Hungarian-Gypsy version; three German and one Lithuanian, cited by Hahn (ii. 236); one Russian, summarised by Ralston (p. 235); the well-known 'Blue Belt' in Dasent's Tales from the Norse (p. 178); and Laura Gonzenbach's No. 26, 'Vom tapfern Königssohn' (Sicil. Mär. i. 158-167), where the hero is cut in pieces by his supposed stepfather, the robber-chieftain, packed into a saddle-bag, and carried by his ass to a hermit, who revives him, after which the story drifts off into our .

I have annotated the Gypsy stories very fully; my notes cover several pages. Here, however, it must suffice to indicate some of the more striking parallels from non-Gypsy sources. In Hahn, i. 267, God gives a house to a woman abandoned in a forest (cf. also i. 73; ii. 26). For the heart and little finger, a very common incident, compare the English-Gypsy story of 'Bobby Rag' (No. 51), and Hahn, i. 258 and ii. 231. In Grimm, No. 111, a hunter gives the hero a gun which never misses. For the formula, 'If thou art a virgin,' etc., cf. Ralston, pp. 75-76. For the mountains that butt together, cf. Ralston, p. 236; Tylor's Primitive Culture, pp. 313-316; Hahn, ii. 46-47; and Grimm, No. 97. For the water of healing and the water of life, cf. Ralston, pp. 17, 91, 230, 255. For 'Ah! I was sleeping soundly,' cf. Ralston, pp. 91-92; Hahn, ii. 274; and our No. 29. In Campbell's Santal Folk-tales, p. 92, a father, restored to life, says, 'O my son, what a lengthened sleep

 I have had!' For the sow biting off half of the horse's tail, cf. Hahn, i. 312; Krauss, ii. 94; Ralston, p. 235; and Burns's 'Tam o’ Shanter.' For the leaves beginning to scream, cf. Hahn, i. 270 and ii. 171. In a variant from Afanasief, vi. 52, cited by De Gubernatis (Z.M., i. 215), the sister for punishment is placed near some hay and some water, and a vessel which she is to fill with her tears. It is just worth noting that Silvester is a common English-Gypsy name.

 

No. 10.--The Three Princesses and the Unclean Spirit

There was a king; and from youth to old age he had no son. In his old age three daughters were born to him. And the very morning of their birth the Unclean Spirit came and took them, the three maidens. And he fought to win a woman, the Serpent-Maiden; and half his moustache turned white, and half all the hair on his head, for the sake of the Serpent-Maiden. Time passed by, and he had no son; and his daughters the Unclean Spirit had carried away.

Then he took and thought. 'What am I to do, wife? I will go for three years (sic); and, when I return, let me find a son born of you. If in a year's time I find not one, I will kill you.'

He went and journeyed a year and a day. His wife took and thought. As she was a-thinking, a man went by with apples: whoso eats one of his apples shall conceive. Then she went, and took an apple, and ate the apple, and she conceived. The time came that she should bring forth. And she brought forth a son, and called his name Cosmas. So her king came that night, and sent a messenger to ask his wife.

She said, 'Your bidding is fulfilled.'

Then he went in, and, when he saw the lad, his heart was full.

And the time came when the lad grew big, and he looked the very picture of his father. The time came that his father died. By that time he felt himself a man, and he put forth his little finger, and lifted the palace up. Then he came back from hunting, and he lifted the foundation of the palace, and told his mother to place her breast beneath it. Then his mother placed her breast beneath the foundation, and he left it pressing upon her. Then she cried aloud.

The lad said to her, 'Mother, tell me, why was my father's moustache half white?'

Then she said to him, 'Why, darling, your father fought nine years to win the Serpent-Maiden, and never won her.'

Then he asked, 'And have I no brother?'

'No,' she said; 'but you have three sisters, and the Unclean Spirit carried them away.'

And he asked, 'Whither did he carry them?'

Then she said he had carried them to the Land of the Setting Sun.

Then he took his father's saddle and his bridle and likewise his father's colt, and set out in quest of his sisters, and arrived at his sister's house, and hurled his mace, and smashed the plum-trees.

Then his sister came out and said to him, 'Why have you smashed the plum-trees? For the Unclean Spirit will come and kill you.'

Then he said, 'I would not have you think ill of me; but kindly come and give me a draught of wine and a morsel of bread.'

Then she brought bread and wine. As she was handing him the bread and wine, she noticed her father's colt, and recognised it. Then she said, 'This must be my father's horse.'

Take notice then that I also am his.'

Then she fell on his neck, and he on hers.

Then she said to him, 'My brother, the Unclean Spirit will come from the Twelfth Region. And he will come and destroy you.'

Then the Unclean Spirit came, and hurled his mace; and it opened twelve doors, and hung itself on its peg. Then Cosmas took it, and hurled it twelve regions away from him. Then the Unclean Spirit took it, and came home with it in his hand, and asked, 'Wife, I smell mortal man?'

(Meanwhile she had turned her brother into an ear-ring, and put him in her ear.)

Then she said, 'You're for ever eating corpses, and are meaning to eat me, too, for I also am mortal.'

Then he said to her, 'Don't tell lies; my brother-in-law has come.'

'Well, then, and if your brother-in-law has come, will you eat him?'

Then he said, 'I will not.'

'Swear it on your sword that you will not eat him.'

Then she took him out of her ear, and set him at table. He ate at table with the Unclean Spirit.

Then the lad went outside, 1 and creeps into the fetlock of his colt, and hid himself there. Then the Unclean Spirit arose, and hunted everywhere, and failed to light on him. And he set his bugle to his mouth, and blew a blast, and summoned all the birds upon the horse, and they searched every hair of the horse. And just as he was coming to the fetlock, then the cocks crowed, and he fell.

Cosmas came forth, and went to him. 'Good day, brother-in-law.'

Then he asked him, 'Where were you?'

'Why, I was in the hay, before the horse.'

Then Cosmas took leave of them, and went to his other sisters, and did with them just as with this one.

Then his little sister asked him, 'Where are you going, my brother?'

'I am going to tend the white mare, and get one of her colts, and I am going to win the Serpent-Maiden.'

Then she said to him, 'Go, my brother, and if you get the colt, come to me.'

He went.

Now some peasants were hunting a wolf to slay it. The wolf said, 'Cosmas, don't abandon me. Send the peasants the wrong way, that they may not kill me; and take one of my hairs, and put it in your pocket. And whenever you think of me, there I am, wherever you may be.'

Going further, he came on a crow that had broken its wing, and it said, 'Don't pass me by, Cosmas; bind my wing up; and I will give you a feather to put in your pocket, and whenever you are in any difficulty, I'll be with you.'

Going still further, he came on a fish, which said, 'Cosmas, don't pass me by. Tie me to your horse's tail, and put me in the water, for I will do you much good.'

He did so, and put it in the water.

Then he came to the old woman who owned the white mare; and she sat before her door; and he said to her, 'Will you give me a colt of the white mare, old one?'

The old wife said, 'If you can find her three days running, one of her colts is yours. But if you can't find her, I will cut off your head, and stick it on yonder stake.'

'I'll find her,' he said.

And she gave him the white mare, and away he went with her to try and find her. So the mare ran in among the sheep, and took and hid herself in the earth. And the lad arose and searched for the mare, and failed to light on her. And the wolf came into his mind; and he thought of him.

And the wolf came and asked him, 'What's the matter, lad?'

He said, 'I can't find the white mare.'

The wolf said, 'Do you see this. one, the biggest of the sheep? that is she. Go, and give her a taste of the stick.'

So the lad took and called her, and she became a horse. And he went with her to the old woman.

And the old woman said, You have two more days.'

'All right, old lady,' said the lad.

So next day also he took and went off with the mare, to try and find her. (The old woman had thrashed the mare for not hiding herself properly, so that he could not have found her. And the white mare had said, 'Forgive me, old woman. This time I will hide in the clouds, and he never will find me.')

So the lad went off with her, to try and find her; and she went into the clouds. So the lad set to work, and searched from morning till noon. And the crow came into his mind; and, as he thought of it, the crow came and asked him, 'What's the matter, lad?'

'Why, I have lost the white mare, and cannot light on her.'

So the crow summoned all the crows, and they searched upon every side, till they lighted on her. So they took her in their beaks, and brought her to the lad. So the lad took her, and led her to the old woman.

'You have one day more,' said the old woman.

So the day came when the lad had to find the mare once more. (That night the old woman had thrashed the white mare and pretty nigh killed it. And the mare had said to the old woman, 'If he lights on me this time, old woman, you may know I have burst, for I will go right into the sea.)

So when the lad departed with her, she went into the sea. And the lad searched for her, and. it wanted but little of night. And the fish came into his mind. So the fish emerged before him and said, 'What's the matter, lad?'

'I don't know where the white mare has gone to.'

And the fish went and summoned all the fishes; and they gave up the white mare with her colt behind her. And the lad took her. He went with her to the old wife, and she said to him, 'Take, deary, whichever pleases you.'

The lad chose the youngest colt.

And the old wife said, 'Don't take that one, my lad; it isn't a good one. Take a handsomer.'

And the lad said, 'Let be.'

And the lad went further; and the colt turned a somersault, 1 and became golden, with twenty-and-four wings. And the Serpent had none like his. And he went to his sisters, and took the three of them, and took too the Serpent-Maiden, and went with them home. Neither the Unclean Spirit nor the dragon could catch him. And he went home. So he made a marriage; and they ate and drank. And I left them there, and came and told my tale to your lordships.

A valuable story, but confused and imperfect. Who the dragon was is left to conjecture; and the serpent-maiden--she must have been a real old (serpent) maid--is barely mentioned. In no collection can I find any exact parallel to this story; but it offers many analogies, e.g. to 'Childe Rowland' (J. Jacobs' English Fairy Tales, i. 117-124, 238-245); and to Von Sowa's Bohemian-Gypsy story of 'The Three Dragons' (infra, No. 44). The 'Apples of Pregnancy' form the theme of another Roumanian-Gypsy story (No. 16). The hurling the mace occurs in Miklosich's Bukowina-Gypsy story, 'Pretty-face' (No. 29), and in 'Sir Peppercorn' (Denton's Serbian Folklore, p. 124). For 'the cocks crowed, and he fell,' cf. Ralston, p. 316; and for blowing a blast and summoning all the birds, the Welsh-Gypsy story of 'The Green Man of Noman's Land' (No. 62). For the latter part of the story

reference should be made to Ralston, pp. 92, 98, 103-4; Krauss, i. 362; and especially the close of the Bulgarian story of 'The Golden Apples and the Nine Peahens' (Wratislaw's Sixty Slavonic Folk-tales, pp. 193-198), where we get the watching of a mare for three successive days, and the finding of her by the help of a grateful fish, fox, and crow. Cf. too, Wratislaw's Croatian story, 'The Daughter of the King of the Vilas' (No. 53, pp. 278-283).

No. 11.--The Two Thieves

There was a time when there was. There were two thieves. One was a country thief, and one a town thief. So the time came that the two met, and they asked one another whence they are and what they are.

Then the country thief said to the town one, 'Well, if you're such a clever thief as to be able to steal the eggs from under a crow, then I shall know that you are a thief.'

He said, 'See me, how I'll steal them.'

And he climbed lightly up the tree, and put his hand under the crow, and stole the eggs from her, and the crow never felt it. Whilst he is stealing the crow's eggs, the country thief stole his breeches, and the town thief never felt him. And when he came down and saw that he was naked, he said, 'Brother, I never felt you stealing my breeches; let's become brothers.'

So they became brothers.

Then what are they to do? They went into the city, and took one wife between them. And the town thief said, 'Brother, it is a sin for two brothers to have one wife. It were better for her to be yours.'

He said, 'Mine be she.'

'But, come now, where I shall take you, that we may get money.'

'Come on, brother, since you know.'

So they took and departed. Then they came to the king's, and considered how to get into his palace. And what did they devise?

Said the town thief, 'Come, brother, and let us break into the palace, and let ourselves down one after the other.' 'Come on.'

So they got on the palace, and broke through the roof;

and the country thief lowered himself, and took two hundred purses of money, and came out. And they went home.

Then the king arose in the morning, and looked at his money, and saw that two hundred purses of money were missing. Straightway he arose and went to the prison, where was an old thief. And when he came to him, he asked him, 'Old thief, I know not who has come into my palace, and stolen from me two hundred purses of money. And I know not where they went out by, for there is no hole anywhere in the palace.'

The old thief said, 'There must be one, O king, only you don't see it. But go and make a fire in the palace, and come out and watch the palace; and where you see smoke issuing, that was where the thieves entered. And do you put a cask of molasses just there at that hole, for the thief will come again who stole the money.'

Then the king went and made a fire, and saw the hole where the smoke issues in the roof of the palace. And he went and got a cask of molasses, and put it there at the hole. Then the thieves came again there at night to that hole. And the thief from the country let himself down again; and as he did so he fell into the cask of molasses. And he said to his brother, 'Brother, it is all over with me. But, not to do the king's pleasure, come and cut off my head, for I am as good as dead.'

So his comrade lowered himself down, and cut off his head, and went and buried it in a wood.

So, when the king arose, he arose early, and went there, where the thief had fallen, and sees the thief there in the cask of molasses, and with no head. Then what is he to do? He took and went to the old thief, and told him, 'Look you, old thief, I caught the thief, and he has no head.'

Then the old thief said, 'There! O king, this is a cunning thief. But what are you to do? Why, take the corpse, and hang it up outside at the city gate. And he who stole his head will come to steal him too. And do you set soldiers to watch him.'

So the king went and took the corpse, and hung it up, and set soldiers to watch it.

Then the thief took and bought a white mare and a cart, and took a jar of twenty measures of wine. And he put it

in the cart, and drove straight to the place where his comrade was hanging. He made himself very old, and pretended the cart had broken down, and the jar had fallen out. And he began to weep and tear his hair, and he made himself to cry aloud, that he was a poor man, and his master would kill him. The soldiers guarding the corpse said one to another, 'Let's help to put this old fellow's jar in the cart, mates, for it's a pity to hear him.'

So they went to help him, and said to him, 'Hullo! old chap, we'll put your jar in the cart; will you give us a, drop to drink?'

'That I will, deary.'

So they went and put the jar in the cart. And the old fellow took and said to them, 'Take a pull, deary, for I have nothing to give it you in.'

So the soldiers took and drank till they could drink no more. And the old fellow made himself to ask, 'And who is this?'

The soldiers said, 'That is a thief.'

Then the old man said, 'Hullo! deary, I shan't spend the night here, else that thief will steal my mare.'

Then the soldiers said, 'What a silly you are, old fellow! How will he come and steal your mare?'

'He will, though, deary. Isn't he a thief?'

'Shut up, old fellow. He won't steal your mare; and if he does, we'll pay you for her.'

'He will steal her, deary; he's a thief.'

'Why, old boy, he's dead. We'll give you our written word that if he steals your mare we will pay you three hundred groats for her.'

Then the old man said, 'All right, deary, if that's the case.'

So he stayed there. He placed himself near the fire, and a drowsy fit took him, and he pretended to sleep. The soldiers kept going to the jar of wine, and drank every drop of the wine, and got drunk. And where they fell there they slept, and took no thought. The old chap, the thief, who pretended to sleep, arose and stole the corpse from the gallows, and put it on his mare, and carried it into the forest and buried it. And he left his mare there and went back to the fire, and pretended to sleep.

And when the soldiers arose, and saw that neither the corpse was there nor the old man's mare, they marvelled, and said, 'There! my comrades, the old man said rightly the thief would steal his mare. Let's make it up to him.'

So by the time the old man arose they gave him four hundred groats, and begged him to say no more about it.

Then when the king arose, and saw there was no thief on the gallows, he went to the old thief in the prison, and said to him, 'There! they have stolen the thief from the gallows, old thief. What am I to do?'

'Did not I tell you, O king, that this is a cunning thief? But do you go and buy up all the joints of meat in the city. And charge a ducat the two pounds, so that no one will care to buy any, unless he has come into a lot of money. But that thief won't be able to hold out three days.'

Then the king went and bought up all the joints, and left one joint and that one he priced at a ducat the pound. So nobody came to buy that day. Next day the thief would stay no longer. He took a cart and put a horse in it, and drove to the meat-market. And he pretended he had damaged his cart, and lamented he had not an axe to repair it with. Then a butcher said to him, 'Here, take my axe, and mend your cart.' The axe was close to the meat. As he passed to take the axe, he picked up a big piece of meat, and stuck it under his coat. And he handed the axe back to the butcher, and departed home.

The same day comes the king, and asks the butchers, 'Have you sold any meat to any one?' They said, 'We have not sold to any one.'

So the king weighed the meat, and found it twenty pounds short. And he went to the old thief in prison, and said to him, 'He has stolen twenty pounds of meat, and no one saw him.'

'Didn't I tell you, O king, that this is a cunning thief?'

'Well, what am I to do, old thief?'

'What are you to do? Whys make a proclamation, and offer in it all the money you possess, and say he shall become king in your stead, merely to tell who he is.'

Then the king went and wrote the proclamation, just as the old thief had told him. And he posted it outside by the gate. And the thief comes and reads it, and thought

how he should act. And he took his heart in his teeth and went to the king, and said, 'O king, I am the thief.'

'You are?'

'I am.'

Then the king said, 'If you it be, that I may believe you are really the man, do you see this peasant coming? Well, you must steal the ox from under the yoke without his seeing you.'

Then the thief said, 'I'll steal it, O king; watch me.' And he went before the peasant, and began to cry aloud, 'Comedy of Comedies!'

Then the peasant said, 'See there, God! Many a time have I been in the city, and have often heard "Comedy of Comedies," and have never gone to see what it is like.'

And he left his cart, and went off to the other end of the city; and the thief kept crying out till he had got the peasant some distance from the oxen. Then the thief returns, and takes the ox, and cuts off its tail, and sticks it in the mouth of the other ox, and came away with the first ox to the king. Then the king laughed fit to kill himself. The peasant, when he came back, began to weep; and the king called him and asked, 'What are you weeping for, my man?'

'Why, O king, whilst I was away to see the play, one of the oxen has gone and eaten up the other.'

When the king heard that, he laughed fit to kill himself, and he told his servant to give him two good oxen. And he gave him also his own ox, and asked him, 'Do you recognise your ox, my man?'

'I do, O king.'

'Well, away you go home.'

And he went to the thief. 'Well, my fine fellow, I will give you my daughter, and you shall become king in my stead, if you will steal the priest for me out of the church.'

Then the thief went into the town, and got three hundred crabs and three hundred candles, and went to the church, and stood up on the pavement. And as the priest chanted, the thief let out the crabs one by one, each with a candle fastened to its claw; he let it out.

And the priest said, 'So righteous am I in the sight of God that He sends His saints for me.'

The thief let out all the crabs, each with a candle fastened to its claw, and he said, 'Come, O priest, for God calls thee by His messengers to Himself, for thou art righteous.'

The priest said, 'And how am I to go?'

'Get into this sack.'

And he let down the sack; and the priest got in; and he lifted him up, and dragged him down the steps. And the priest's head went tronk, tronk. And he took him on his back, and carried him to the king, and tumbled him down. And the king burst out laughing. And straightway he gave his daughter to the thief, and made him king in his stead.

Good as this version is, the last episode is much better told in the Slovak-Gypsy variant from Dr. Rudolf von Sowa's Mundart der Slovakischen Zigeuner (Gött. 1887), No. 8, p. 174:--

No. 12.--The Gypsy and the Priest

There was a very poor Gypsy, and he had many little children. And his wife went to the town, begged herself a few potatoes and a little flour. And she had no fat.

All right,' she thought; 'wait a bit. The priest has killed a pig; I'll go and beg myself a bit of fat.'

When she got there, the priest came out, took his whip, thrashed her soundly. She came home, said to her husband,' O my God, I did just get a thrashing!'

And the Gypsy is at work. Straightway the hammer fell from his hand. 'Now, wait a bit till I show him a trick, and teach him a lesson.'

The Gypsy went to the church, and took a look at the door, how to make the key to the tower. He came home, sat down at his anvil, set to work at once on the key. When he had made it, he went back to try to open the door. It opened it as though it had been made for it.

'Wait a bit, now,' he thinks to himself; 'what shall I need next?'

He went straight off to the shop, and bought himself some fine paper, just like the fine clothes the priests wear for high mass. When he had bought it, he went to the tailor, told him to make him clothes like an angel's; he looked in them

just like a priest. He came home, told his son (he was twenty years old), 'Hark’ee, mate, come along with me, and bring the pot. Catch about a hundred crabs. Ha! they shall see what I'll do this night; the priest won't escape with his life.'

All right!

Midnight came. The Gypsy went to the church, lit all the lights that were in the church. The cook goes to look out. 'My God! what's the matter? the whole church is lighted up.'

She goes to the priest, wakes him up. 'Get up! Let's go and see what it is. The whole church is blazing inside. What ever is it?'

The priest was in a great fright. He pulled on his vestment, and went to the church to see. The Gypsy chants like a priest performing service in the great church where the greatest folks go to service. 'Oh!' the Gypsy was chanting, 'O God, he who is a sinful man, for him am I come; him who takes so much money with him will I fetch to Paradise, and there it shall be well with him.'

When the gentleman heard that, he went home, and got all the money he had in the house.

All right!

The priest came back to the church. The Gypsy chants to him to make haste, for sooner or later the end of all things approaches. Straightway the Gypsy opened the sack, and the priest got into it. The Gypsy took all the priest's money, and hid it in his pocket.

'Good! now you are mine.'

When he closed the sack, the priest was in a great fright. 'My God! what will become of me? I know not what sort of a being that is, whether God Himself or an angel.'

The Gypsy straightway drags the priest down the steps. The priest cries that it hurts him, that he should go gently with him, for he is all broken already; that half an hour of that will kill him, for his bones are all broken already.

Well, he dragged him along the nave of the church, and pitched him down before the door; and he put a lot of thorns there to run into the priest's flesh. He dragged him backwards and forwards through the thorns, and the thorns stuck into him. When the Gypsy saw that the priest was

more dead than alive, he opened the sack, and left him there.

The Gypsy went home, and threw off his disguise, and put it on the fire, that no one might say he had done the deed. The Gypsy had more than eight hundred silver pieces. So he and his wife and his children were glad that they had such a lot of money; and if the Gypsy has not died with his wife and his children, perhaps he is living still.

In the morning when the sexton comes to ring the bell, he sees a sack in front of the church. The priest was quite dead. When he opened it and saw the priest, he was in a great fright. 'What on earth took our priest in there?' He runs into the town, made a great outcry, that so and so has happened. The poor folks came and the gentry to see what was up: all the candles in the church were burning. So they buried the parson decently. If he is not rotten he is whole. May the devils still be eating him. I was there, and heard everything that happened.

The briefest epitome will serve of our third Gypsy version, from Hungary, Dr. Friedrich Müller's No. 1, which is very coarse and very disconnected:--'Somewhere was, somewhere was not, lucky, Golden God! somewhere was, somewhere was not, a poor Gypsy.' An old woman tells him, 'Go into yonder castle, and there is the lady; and take from her the ring, and put it on thine own hand, and turn it thrice, then so much meal and bread will be to thee that thou wilt not know what to do with it.' . . . He wins twenty-four wagon-loads of money for seducing the nobleman's wife, which he achieves by luring away the nobleman with a corpse. The Gypsy then kills his children and his wife; cheats an old woman of her money; cures and marries the king's daughter; leaves her, because she will not go and sell the nails he manufactures; and finally marries a Gypsy girl, who pleases him much better.

Our next version, 'Jack the Robber,' is from South Wales, told to Mr. Sampson by Cornelius Price. It is as good as the last one is bad, but like it somewhat Rabelaisian. The following is a summary of the first half, the latter (our No. 68) being a variant of Dasent's 'Big Peter and Little Peter':--A poor widow has a son, Jack, who 'took to smoking when he was twelve, and got to robbing the master's plough-socks to take ’em to the blacksmith's to sell ’em to rise bacca.' So the farmer makes the mother send Jack away from home; and Jack comes to a big gentleman's hall. This gentleman is the head of eleven robbers, and Jack, after cunningly relieving

one of them of £11, joins the band, and in six months 'got a cleverer robber than what the master hisself was.' So, with the money he has made, he sets off for his mother's, meets the farmer, tells him he has been prentice to a robber, and, to test his skill, is set to steal two sheep in succession. He does so by the familiar expedients of, first, a boot here and a boot there, and, next, baaing like a lost sheep. Then Jack is set to take the middlemost sheet from underneath the farmer and his missus, and achieves it by 'loosing a dead body down the chimley,' which the farmer shoots dead, as he fancies, and goes off to bury.

The fifth and last version, 'The Great Thief,' is from North Wales, told by Matthew Wood, and is thus summarised by Mr. Sampson:--'Hard by a parson lived a thief. The parson told the thief, "To-morrow my man goes to the butcher with a sheep. Steal it, and you shall have such and such money." Thief gets a pair of new boots, and places one on one stile, the other on another further on. Man sees first boot and leaves it, finds other, ties up sheep, and goes back for the first. Thief steals sheep. The parson says again, "I want you to steal my wife's ring from her finger and the sheet from under her. If you can't, I shall behead you." Thief makes dummy man, and props it against wall. Parson shoots it, comes out, and buries it in well. Meanwhile thief visits wife, pretending to be parson, and takes her ring and sheet for safety. Parson returns and discovers the trick.'

Though not, at least but very conjecturally, a Gypsy version, the following version is still worth citing. It is from Henry Mayhew's London Labour and the London Poor, vol. iii. (1861), pp. 388-390:--'An intelligent-looking boy, aged 16, a native of Wisbech in Cambridgeshire; at 13 apprenticed to a tailor; in three months' time ran away; went home again for seven months, then ran away again, and since a vagrant. Had read Windsor Castle, Tower of London, etc. He gives account of amusements in casual wards:

'"We told stories sometimes, romantic tales some; others black-guard kind of tales, about bad women; and others about thieving and roguery; not so much about what they'd done themselves, as about some big thief that was very clever and could trick anybody. Not stories such as Dick Turpin or Jack Sheppard, or things that's in history, but inventions. I used to say when I was telling a story--for I've told one story that I invented till I learnt it. [I give this story to show what are the objects of admiration with these vagrants :--

'"You see, mates, it was once upon a time, and a very good time it was, a young man, and he runned away, and got along with a gang of thieves, and he went to a gentleman's house, and got in because one of his mates sweethearted the servant, and got her away, and she left the door open. And the door being left open, the young man got in, and robbed the house of a lot of money, £1000, and he took it to their gang at the cave. Next day there was a reward out to find the robber. Nobody found him. So the gentleman put two men and a horse in a field, and the men were hidden in the field, and the gentleman put out a notice that anybody that could catch the horse should have him for his cleverness, and a reward as well; for he thought the man that got the £1000 was sure to try to catch that there horse, because he was so bold and clever, and then the two men hid would nab him. This here Jack (that's the young man) was watching, and he saw the two men, and he went and caught two live hares. Then he hid himself behind a hedge, and let one hare go, and one man said to the other, 'There goes a hare,' and they both ran after it, not thinking Jack's there. And while they were running he let go t’other one, and they said, 'There's another hare,' and they ran different ways, and so Jack went and got the horse, and took it to the man that offered the reward, and got the reward; it was £100; and the gentleman said, 'D--- it, Jack's done me this time.' The gentleman then wanted to serve out the parson, and he said to Jack, 'I'll give you another £100 if you'll do something to the parson as bad as you've done to me.' Jack said, 'Well, I will'; and Jack went to the church and lighted up the lamps and rang the bells, and the parson he got up to see what was up. Jack was standing in one of the pews like an angel; when the parson got to the church, Jack said, 'Go and put your plate in a bag; I'm an angel come to take you up to heaven.' And the parson did so, and it was as much as he could drag to church from his house in a bag; for he was very rich. And when he got to church Jack put the parson in one bag, and the money stayed in the other; and he tied them both together, and put them across his horse, and took them up hill and through water to the gentleman's, and then he took the parson out of the bag, and the parson was wringing wet. Jack fetched the gentleman, and the gentleman gave the parson a horsewhipping, and the parson cut away, and Jack got all the parson's money and the second £100, and gave it all to the poor. And the parson brought an action against the gentleman for horsewhipping him, and they were both ruined. That's the end of it. That's the sort of story that's liked best, sir."

 

Dasent, 'The Master Thief' (Tales from the Norse, p. 255). He takes service with robbers. Steals three oxen, the first one by a shoe here and a shoe there, the third by imitating lost ox. He steals the squire's roast, first catching three hares alive. He steals Father Laurence in a sack, but not out of church, posing as an angel, and bidding him lay out all his gold and silver. N.B. No crabs, no lighting of candles.

Grimm, No. 192, 'The Master Thief' (ii. 324). He steals horse from under rider. Steals sheet from under count's wife, first luring count away by means of corpse. Disguised like monk, he steals parson and clerk out of church in sack, bumping them against steps, and dragging them through puddles--'mountains' and 'clouds.' No mention of plate or money. Neither of these two versions can be the original of Mayhew's English vagrant one.

Straparola (Venice, 1550), No. 2, 'The Knave.' First, he steals from the provost the bed on which he is lying; next, horse on which stable-boy is sitting; and thirdly, an ecclesiastical personage in sack.

De Gubernatis (Zool. Myth., i. 204) alludes to the famous robber Klimka, in Afanasief, v. 6, who, by means of a drum (in Indian tales a trumpet) terrifies his accomplices, the robbers, and then steals from a gentleman his horse, his jewel-casket, even his wife.

'Les Deux Voleurs' (Dozon's Contes Albanais, p. 169) has two thieves with the same mistress, as in Barbu Constantinescu. One of them, posing as the angel Gabriel, steals the cadi in a chest at the instigation of a pasha whom the cadi has ridiculed.

Much more striking are the analogies offered by 'Voleur par Nature' (Legrand's Contes Grecs, p. 205) from Cyprus. Here we get the stealing of two sheep, first by a boot here and a boot there, and next by baaing like a lost sheep. Then we have the stealing of one of a yoke of oxen, the robbery of the king's treasure-house, the consulting a robber in prison, a caldron of pitch, the headless robber, the exposure of his corpse, and, lastly, the marriage of the surviving thief and the princess.

For heroic form of 'The Master Thief' see Hahn's No. 3, 'Von dem Schönen and vom Drakos.' Hero has to steal winged horse of the dragon, coverlet of dragon's bed, and the dragon himself. He steals him in a box, and marries the king's daughter. In Laura Gonzenbach's most curious Sicilian story, No. 83, 'Die Geschichte von Caraseddu' (ii. 142-145), the hero steals the horse of the 'dragu' (? dragon, rather than cannibal), next his bed-cover, and lastly the 'dragu' himself; with which compare the Bukowina-Gypsy story, 'Tropsyn,' No. 27. In Hahn, ii. p. 182, we have mention of sack, in variant 4 of ring of the dragon. Cf. infra, Finally, three little points connecting the Gypsies and the 'Master Thief' may be noted. Mrs. Carlyle's 'mother's mother was a grand-niece of Matthew Baillie,' a famous Scottish Gypsy, who, as she said, could steal a horse from under the owner, if he liked, but left always the saddle and bridle.' John Macdonald, travelling tinker, 'knew the story of the "Shifty Lad," though not well enough to repeat it' (Campbell's Tales of the West Highlands, i. 142, 356). An English Gypsy once said

to me, 'The folks hereabouts are a lot of rátfalo heathens; they all think they're going to heaven in a sack.'

Dr. Barbu Constantinescu's 'Two Thieves' is so curious a combination of the 'Rhampsinitus' story in Herodotus and of Grimm's 'Master Thief,' that I am more than inclined to regard it as the lost original which, according to Campbell of Islay, 'it were vain to look for in any modern work or in any modern age.' The 'Rhampsinitus' story and the 'Master Thief' have both been made special subjects of study--the former by Reinhold Köhler in Orient and Occident, 1864, pp. 303-316, by Clouston in his Popular Tales and Fictions (1887, ii. 115-165), and by Sir George Cox in Fraser's Magazine (July 1880, pp. 96-111); the latter by M. Cosquin in Contes Populaires de Lorraine (1887; ii. 271-281, 364-5). With their help and that of the above jottings, we can analyse the Gypsy story of the 'Two Thieves' detail by detail, and see in how many and how widely-separated non-Gypsy versions some of those details have to be sought:--

 A town thief meets a country thief, and is challenged by him to steal the eggs of a magpie without her noticing it.--Grimm, No. 129, and Kashmir and Kabyle versions.  Whilst doing so, he is himself robbed unawares of his breeches by the country thief. The stealing of the labourer's paijámas in Kashmir version is analogous. (3) They enter into partnership, and have one wife.--Albanian version. They go to the king's palace, and, making a hole in the roof, descend and steal money. The king, discovering his loss, takes counsel with an old robber in prison.--So in Dolopathos, modern Greek, and Cypriote versions.  By his advice the king finds out hole by lighting a fire in the treasure-house, and noticing where the smoke escapes.--Dolopathos, Pecorone, old French, Breton, old Dutch, Danish, Kabyle.  Under the hole he sets a cask of molasses.--Snare in 'Rhampsinitus,' Tyrolese, Kabyle; pitch in old English, modern Greek, Cypriote, old French, Gaelic, old Dutch, Danish. The country thief is caught, and his comrade cuts off his head.--'Rhampsinitus,' Pecorone, old English, old French, Breton, Gaelic, Tyrolese, Danish, Kabyle, Tibetan, Cinghalese.  The headless trunk is exposed, and the comrade steals it by intoxicating the guards.--'Rhampsinitus,' Sicilian, Breton, Gaelic, old Dutch, Russian. He further cheats them of 400 groats as payment for his horse, which he pretends the dead thief has stolen.--Wanting elsewhere.  The king then puts a prohibitive price on all the meat in the city, thinking the thief will betray himself by alone being able to pay it; but the thief steals a joint.--Italian (Pecorone, 1378, ix. 1; and Prof Crane's Italian Popular Tales, p. 166).  The king finally makes a proclamation, offering his daughter to the thief, who plucks up courage and reveals himself.--'Rhampsinitus,' Pecorone, Sicilian, modern Greek, Tyrolese, Kabyle. To exhibit his skill, he steals one of a yoke of oxen.--Russian (De Gubernatis, Zoological Mythology, i. 186, from Afanasief).  As a further test he steals the priest out of the church in a sack, out of which he has just let 300 crabs, each with a lighted taper fastened to its claw. According to Cosquin, the complete crab episode occurs only in Grimm (he of

course knows nothing of our Gypsy version). But herein he for once is wrong, since we find it also in Krauss's Croatian version of the 'Master Thief' (No. 55), which bears the title of 'The Lad who was up to Gypsy Tricks'; its hero, indeed, is generally styled 'the Gypsy.' He is a Gypsy in Dr. Friedrich Müller's Gypsy variant, and in Dr. von Sowa's. In the latter version, as in several non-Gypsy ones, the hero, it will be noticed, catches crabs, but makes no use whatever of them afterwards.