Part 11

Some days afterwards the handsome minstrel appears again under the window, playing on an instrument still more precious, and producing sounds most ravishing. The King's daughter is enchanted beyond measure; but the goldsmiths of the kingdom are still less capable of constructing such a wonderful work of art.

Then the handsome minstrel offers to give her both instruments if she will marry him. She cannot resist, and says, "Yes!" After the celebration of the wedding the handsome minstrel conducts his bride to his house, deep in the forest. The house is so small and poor, that the King's daughter, when she sees it, is overwhelmed with pride and remorse, and faints away. When she recovers she finds herself lying on a magnificent bed, and the handsome minstrel is a King.

THE DAISY LADY.

Among the Fairy Tales of the Hindus we meet with a story entitled 'Brave Seventee Bai,' which seems to contain the original key-note of the German 'Trusty Ferdinand.'[68] Seventee Bai (_i.e._ "The Daisy Lady") is the daughter of a Rajah. Bent upon roving about in the world, she assumes the dress and manners of a youth. Her rambles lead her into the garden of a beautiful enchantress whose name is Hera Bai (_i.e._ "The Diamond's Daughter.") This beautiful enchantress is described as being a child of the Great Cobra, a serpent which plays an important part in many of the Hindu traditions. Here are to be found some striking coincidences between the superstitions respecting serpents popular among the country people in Germany and in Hindustan.

Well, Hera Bai, the beautiful enchantress, falls in love with Seventee Bai, who successfully maintains her disguise as a youth, but who cannot be prevailed upon to remain in the garden, averring that an important mission must be accomplished before the marriage takes place. The enchantress, finding persuasion unavailing, gives Seventee Bai a small golden flute. "Take this flute," she says; "whenever you wish to see me, or are in need of my aid, go into the jungle and play upon it, and before the sound ceases I will be there; but do not play it in the towns, nor yet amid a crowd." Seventee Bai puts the golden flute into the folds of her dress and proceeds on her wanderings. Sometime afterwards, when she is in need of assistance, she goes into the jungle, draws out of her dress the golden flute and plays. The beautiful enchantress appears, swinging in a silver tree, just as she appeared in the garden.

Again, on another occasion the beautiful lady immediately comes at the sound of the flute, inquiring, "Husband, what can I do for you?"[69]

In the Scandinavian Fairy Tales, collected by Asbjörnsen and Moe, we have a story entitled 'East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon,' in which a young country lass is taken into the cave of a shaggy White Bear, who afterwards turns out to be a lovely prince. When the White Bear has carried the lass to his home, which gleams with silver and gold, he gives her a silver bell and politely tells her that whenever she wants anything she has only to ring the bell, and her wishes shall be at once fulfilled.[70]

How effectively the magic flute and magic bells have been introduced into Mozart's opera 'Il Flauto Magico' is well known to lovers of good music,--or, which is the same, to admirers of Mozart.

THE INVISIBLE FLUTE-PLAYER.

A strange story is told by the peasants in Holstein of an invisible flute-player, who is said to have haunted, about fifty years ago, a farm-house situated near the river Elbe. Some of the children of the farmer who owned the house are still alive.

The mysterious affair commenced in a cabbage garden behind the house. There the people often heard flute-playing, but no one could make out whence it came. Gradually the invisible flutist intruded into the house. More and more frequently he came, until at last he took up his abode in the house altogether. Sometimes he played his flute in the sitting-room; sometimes in one of the bedrooms; at other times in the cellar, or in the garret. Occasionally also he paid a visit to a neighbouring house. The people on the farm became quite used to him; and when the children, or the servant lads and lasses, were disposed to enjoy a little dancing, they would just name a certain tune, or sing a bar or two of it, and ask him to play it; and directly they heard the desired tune. When the milkmaid was occupied in the dairy, she sometimes took an apple in her hand, for fun, and said: "Now, my boy, play me a nice air, and thou shalt have an apple!" In a moment the apple vanished out of her hand, and the music commenced.

In the course of time, however, the invisible flutist became very intrusive, and at last he proved quite a nuisance. One night he would amuse himself by breaking all the windows in the house; another night he had his gambols in the kitchen, turning everything topsy-turvy; and at mid-day, when the family had sat down to dinner, it sometimes happened that the large dish of stew before them, from which all were eating, was emptied in an instant by invisible hands. They would then jump up and run about the room, beating the air with their spoons. When they thought they had at last driven the fellow into a corner of the room, suddenly they heard him spitefully playing his flute in another corner.

In short, the annoyance became quite unbearable. There was no peace in the house. The farmer everywhere expressed the wish that he could find somebody who had the power to expel the invisible flute-player; he did not mind the expense. At last there came a clever man from the neighbouring town, who offered to settle the matter; he only wanted to know beforehand whether he should show and banish the flutist in his real figure, or in the figure of a poodle.

The farmer said: "I would rather not see him at all! Here are ten Thalers; all I want is to get rid of him, and to have peace in my own house."

By means of queer rhymes, and smoke, the clever man from town actually succeeded in driving out the troublesome guest, and no mysterious flute-playing has been heard since on the farm.[71]

THE BANISHED MUSICIAN.

At the bottom of the lake called "Das Langholter Meer," in the vicinity of the river Weser, south of Bremen, lives, according to popular tradition, a skilful musician who was banished there by a Pastor; but, the reason why he was banished to this place,--and indeed, why he was banished at all,--is not exactly known.

One day, in the winter, when the lake was all frozen over, two young lads happened to be keeping sheep in the neighbourhood; and when they saw the smooth ice, the tallest said to the other: "Come, let us not stand shivering here; let us go on the lake, and the musician shall play to us."

Having said this, he went to the ice; his companion followed him, and they amused themselves for a while with sliding. It then occurred to them again that there was a musician at the bottom of the lake, and they called out in high glee: "If thou art still there below, old fellow, just strike up a tune, and we will dance to it."

But, how terrified they were when suddenly there arose from the bottom of the lake music such as they never had heard in all their life. It was the most ravishing music in the world!--Of course, they thought no longer of dancing, but left the lake as quickly as they could slide.[72]

THE WALRIDERSKE.

According to a tradition current in Northern Germany, especially near Holland, the Walriderske is a kind of a witch. Assuming the figure of some rough-haired animal, she visits the sleeper in the night, and presses herself upon his chest so as to prevent his moving any part of his body, scarcely permitting him to breathe. She creeps up to the sleeper from below, gradually crawling over his whole body. First he feels a pressure on his feet; then on his stomach; and at last on his chest. Meanwhile the tortured victim is unable to move even a finger. All he can do is to sigh and groan in almost intolerable anguish.

The apparition sometimes resembles a poodle, sometimes a cat, and at other times a strange-looking unknown beast particularly repulsive. Its colour is most commonly black; there are, however, also brown, and even white ones. Not unfrequently the sleeper feels the pressure without seeing the figure. In short, this unwelcome visitor is as bad as the worst nightmare, if not worse.

But, occasionally the Walriderske appears in the shape of a beautiful girl, and sings more charmingly than can be described. Indeed, from the oldest traditions still extant may be gathered that the Walriderskes ought to be regarded as superhuman beings; for, although they occasionally appear in human shape, and are in many ways like human beings, they live subject to other laws, and are endued with powers other than ours. It admits of no doubt that in the traditions respecting them much is to be found which has been derived from the pagan mythology of our ancestors relating to the Walküren, who rode or sailed in the clouds. The Walriderskes are frequently described as floating through the air and singing most sweetly. In Ostfriesland, England is the home assigned to these charming singers. They come from far over the sea to seek their sacrifice. Their boat is a sieve, such as the peasants in Ostfriesland use for straining milk, and which is called _Tähmse_. Their oars are human shoulder-blades.

A peasant of Barssel once, while on a moonlight night he was mowing his corn, towards midnight, became tired and threw himself down under a sheaf to sleep. He had not lain long when he heard at a distance a melodious song, which gradually came nearer and nearer until it was above the field where he lay. He looked up and saw sailing in the air a Walriderske who had come over from England. She descended, hid her _Tähmse_ and oars under a sheaf, and went away in the direction towards Barssel. The peasant lost no time in appropriating to himself the things which the Walriderske had hidden. Towards morning she returned; and when she missed her _Tähmse_ and oars, she began to sing so dolefully that the peasant felt sorry for her, and gave her back the things.

In the following night, when curiosity led him to go again to the place where this had happened, he found there, to his surprise, a large piece of the finest linen, evidently a present of the Walriderske. He took it home, and had it made into shirts. He wore the shirts without experiencing any harm; although his neighbours had warned him that he exposed himself to great danger by keeping the linen.[73]

THE JEW IN THE THICKET.

Many popular tales could be noticed of instrumental performers who possess the power of making everyone dance. Not only men, but animals, and sometimes even inanimate objects are compelled to wheel around. Take for instance the following German tale, known as 'The Jew in the Thicket.'

Once upon a time there lived in a small village a poor peasant lad whose name was Heinrich, but whom his neighbours used to call Honest Heinrich, because he was as honest as he was poor. Whether he was so poor because he was so honest, or whatever else was the cause of his poverty, would now be useless to speculate upon. Enough that he found it expedient to improve his circumstances; and for this purpose he set out on a journey into the world, with only a few copper coins in his pocket.

After a while, his way led him to a lonely place near some hills. He thought he was quite alone, when unexpectedly a little grey man, very old-looking, accosted him and solicited alms. "Give me whatever thou hast in coppers," said the grey man, "and thou shalt have no cause to repent thy generosity; thou seest, I am old and infirm; but thou art young and robust, and wilt easily make thy way in the world."

When Honest Heinrich heard the grey man speak thus, it went to his heart, and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the copper coins,--which, in fact, constituted all the property he possessed in the world,--and gave them to the old beggar. Then cheerfully whistling he resumed his journey.

"Hallo! just wait a bit, my lad!" cried the grey man: "I know thou art an honest fellow, and deservest a helping hand to push thee on in the world; so thou mayst have three wishes, and they shall be granted to thee."

Then Honest Heinrich saw at once that he had to do with an Onnerersk, as the little folks are called who dwell under ground in golden halls deep in the mountains; so, having bethought himself for a moment, he touched his cap and said:

"Well sir, let me have a fiddle which when I play upon it makes everyone dance. And let me have a blow-pipe with which I am sure to hit everything I want to shoot. And my third wish shall be, if you please, that whenever I ask a favour of anybody, it will not be refused me."

All these wishes were readily conceded to Honest Heinrich, and it may easily be imagined what great advantages he now possessed in his endeavours to make his fortune in the world. The third wish especially proved invaluable to him. Neither was the fiddle to be despised; nay, it actually saved him from the gallows! and how this happened to come to pass, shall now be related.

After Honest Heinrich had proceeded on his way a mile or two, he came beside a thicket of thorns, in the middle of which sat a lovely little bird that sang even more beautifully than it was beautiful to look at. And near the thicket stood a Jew counting a bag of money, which was not exactly his own, for he had taken it from somewhere, so to say, without asking permission. Now, the Jew was in an awkward fix, for he could not move from the spot where he stood, because the lovely little bird had enchanted him with his melodious music. He had, however, a particular reason for moving on as quickly as possible, since it was not at all unlikely that somebody might follow him, overtake him, and say, "you are wanted; just come back with me to town!" Therefore, when he saw Honest Heinrich carrying a blow-pipe, he called out to him:

"A good piece of money I would gladly part with if thou couldst procure for me that charming bird."

Then Honest Heinrich took his blow-pipe, aimed, and hit the little bird: he only said "There!" and the charming little songster fell down into the thicket. Directly the Jew worked himself among the thorn bushes to take the bird out; meanwhile he made all kinds of excuses for not giving the piece of money which he had promised.

"O ho!" said Honest Heinrich, "that matter we shall easily settle!" Presently he took up his fiddle to try its effect upon the Jew. One stroke of the bow, and the Jew began to wabble;--another stroke, and he lifted up his right leg;--a third stroke, and the dancing began in earnest.

"O dear me!" cried the Jew, "leave off that confounded fiddling! The thorns hurt me dreadfully! Upon my honour, I shall be a dead man before I am safely out of the thicket!" But, Honest Heinrich was becoming warm with trying his newly-acquired instrument; so he only replied: "Never mind the thorns; all right!" and struck up a quicker tune. "O torture!" cried the perspiring dancer, "I am a ruined man! Here,--here is my whole bag of money,--all genuine coins,--take it,--only cease that fiddling!"

Honest Heinrich made what musicians call a brilliant cadence, which caused the Jew to throw a few somersaults, and then gave the finishing stroke, or in other words, the concluding chord. The Jew crept out of the thicket, handed over the bag to the fiddler, and made off as rapidly as he could into the wide world.

Honest Heinrich, on the other hand, took the direction towards the town with the intention of restoring the bag of money to its rightful owner. He was soon met by a man dressed in an unpretending kind of uniform, who, seeing the bag, in a friendly and almost playful way, gave Honest Heinrich a little tap on his shoulder, and said: "You are wanted; you must come with me to town." Then Honest Heinrich was taken to prison; and when the judge asked him about the bag of money, and he replied, "A Jew gave it me," the judge smiled and said, "A Jew? you will never make me believe that!" In short, Honest Heinrich was found guilty of robbery, and the judge sentenced him to be hanged.

There prevailed a strange taste in the town where this occurred. Whenever an execution took place, the people had a kind of festival. Days, nay, even weeks, before the interesting event, the wretched culprit was considered almost as a martyr. Whatever he said was carefully recorded, and made publicly known. Men of rank felt honoured when he shook hands with them; and when the awful hour for his execution had arrived, and he stood under the gallows, he would address the throng of people assembled as spectators. The women, of course, relished the exciting scene even more than the men, and cried with all their heart. Now, as Honest Heinrich was innocent, he did not like to have any fuss made about him; so, when he stood under the gallows, he only asked that he might be permitted to play a "Last Farewell" upon his dear fiddle. The judge said he would not deny the last request of a dying sinner. "Pray, your worship!" cried the Jew, who had mingled with the spectators, and who rejoiced in his heart at the turn which the money affair had taken, "Pray, your worship, do not allow him his fiddle; his music will do us mischief!" But the judge took no notice of the Jew, and said, "Play, my lad, but make it short; we have not much time to lose."

Then Honest Heinrich took his fiddle and played. One stroke with the bow, and all the people began to wabble. Another stroke, and every one lifted up his right leg. A third stroke, and the dancing began in earnest. The judge, the clergyman, the doctor, the hangman, the Jew, women with their babies in their arms, ladies with their smelling-bottles in their hands; in short, every one present, old and young, danced with the utmost exertion. Even the very dogs which had followed their masters, raised themselves upon their hind-legs and danced, profusely perspiring like all the people.

"Hold! stop! hold!" cried the exhausted judge, "Thy life is spared; only put aside that dreadful fiddle!"

As soon as Honest Heinrich heard the judge's promise of acquittal he ceased playing and came down the steps from the gallows. At the foot of the steps he found the Jew lying prostrate on his back. "Confess directly," said Honest Heinrich, "how you came by the bag of money, or I shall give you a little private performance, with a brilliant cadence at the end, you know!" In a moment the alarmed Jew stood upon his legs again, and exclaimed, "Upon my honour, I stole it!"

Then they hanged the Jew upon the gallows. As for Honest Heinrich, he continued his wanderings in the world, and soon made his fortune. When he had become rich, he went home again to his village, and courted his neighbour's daughter, who had formerly jilted him when he was poor, but who loved him now dearly, not because he was rich (she said) but on account of his former poverty. Soon they married, and were happy ever after.

THE POPE'S WIFE.

There are several modifications current of the story of the Jew in the Thicket just told. A similar story which in olden time was popular in England, is given under the heading 'A Mery Geste of the Frere and the Boye,' in Ritson's Pieces of Ancient Popular Poetry, London, 1791. Again, a somewhat similar story is current in Greece. A lad has a flute given to him by some superhuman being. He goes to the market-place of the town, where piles of crockery are exhibited for sale. As soon as he begins to play, all the pots, jugs and basins fly about in the air and clash against each other until they are broken to pieces. The personage whom he compels to dance in the thorns is a priest.[74]

Perhaps the most tragic incident of this kind is the sad fate of the Pope's wife, related by the Wallachians. It need scarcely be said that it does not concern the Pope of Rome, who, as everyone knows, has no wife. But in Wallachia the common village priest of the Greek Church is called Pope, and may marry. He generally avails himself of the permission.

As regards Bakâla, whose music, as we shall presently see, killed the Pope's wife, various tricks of his are on record, which clearly show that he was a great fool, somewhat resembling the German Till Eulenspiegel, who had perhaps more happy ideas than many persons who have passed for wise.

Well, Bakâla, one fine day, took it into his head to ascend a high mountain, merely for pleasure, and for the sake of boasting. Arrived at the top of the mountain he was fortunate enough to make the acquaintance of a well-disposed spirit, who offered him a present from the clouds. The articles from which Bakâla was invited to select a keepsake looked mean and shabby, like those which people generally consign to the lumber-room. Bakâla, however, examined them carefully, and chose an old and dusty bagpipe; for he imagined, as some people are apt to do, that he was madly fond of music. Moreover, the sound of the bagpipe--this Bakâla soon discovered--had the power of making everyone dance.

When Bakâla had come down from the mountain he engaged himself as shepherd to a village Pope in the valley. Every day he led the sheep into the fields, and blowing his bagpipe he made them caper and jump into the air like grasshoppers. And when, one morning, his master had sneaked out before him into the fields, and had hid himself in some bushes of sloes and dog-roses to watch his servant's strange proceedings, Bakâla made the Pope dance as well as his flock.

The Pope was a soft-hearted sort of man. Quietness he loved above all things in the world; for its sake no sacrifice appeared to him too great. As to his wife, she was of a different disposition. To say the truth, she was just the reverse of her husband. She had more courage in her little finger than he had in all his limbs. His _Yes_ was her _No_, and when he called a thing white she was sure to declare that she had long since found it to be very black indeed. Neither would she believe in the power of Bakâla's bagpipe. When the poor Pope, after his return from the sloes and dog-roses, showed her his tattered clothes and scratched limbs, all the sympathy he got from her was, "Tush! tush! nonsense! If I were as soft-hearted as some people are said to be, I might perhaps pity you."

"Well, my dear," replied the cowed husband, "you shall hear him to-night. I want to convince you"----

"Convince me?" cried the Pope's wife: "Fudge! I to be frightened by a bagpipe? Let him come on!"

Then the Pope thought that it was time to withdraw for the sake of quietness. But in the evening he took Bakâla aside, and desired him just to serenade their mistress for a little while under the window.

Before Bakâla commenced playing the Pope sat down on the ground and bound two heavy stones to his feet by way of precaution, while his wife busied herself in the upper story of the house. No sooner had Bakâla begun his performance than she danced so furiously that she made the whole house shake. Bakâla played faster and faster; her stamping grew louder and louder. She danced until she had actually stamped a hole in the floor, through which she descended into the lower story. The Pope peeped into the room; and when he saw what had happened he felt sorry, and he beckoned Bakâla to leave off playing. But, alas! he beckoned too late! The poor lady had danced herself to death.

Now, one might have thought the Pope would have dismissed Bakâla, telling him that his services were not any further required. But this is just precisely what he did not do. On the contrary, he kept Bakâla in his service, and treated him even better than before.[75]

THE TWO HUNCHBACKS.