did. The girl, seeing that they talked in a foreign tongue, understood

that they were talking about her, and determined to watch and see. No sooner had she gone to bed than she began to snore, as if she had fallen fast asleep, but she did not sleep. Her hosts, thinking her fast asleep, got up, went on tip-toe into the garden, and, taking a carnation in full flower, put it under her pillow and fell asleep.

The girl, feeling that something had been put under her pillow, understood that something was wrong. So she got up and took out of her bag a charmed mirror by which to undo the sorcery of her hosts. No sooner had she taken out her mirror, than the dragon-mother woke up, and, running quickly to the bed, found the flower faded, to her own great joy and that of her son. What was the girl to do now? She could not deny that she was a girl. So she began to speak with a woman's voice. The young dragon then insisted on her marrying him, but she said, if he insisted on taking her she would neither speak to him nor kiss him. The young dragon, more in a joke, took her in his arms and squeezed her so tight that her face got swollen and her eyes almost started out of her head. She then changed herself into an insect and ran to the door to get out from under the threshold. But the old dragon took a knife and slashed her across the body when she had crept half-way out of the house, so that she nearly cut her in twain. Her luck was that just a little flesh remained by which the other part of the body was kept hanging on, and thus she has remained to this very day, for she became the ant.

The first part of this story agrees in the main with the first part of the swallow story, No. 87. It is another example of the transfer of a story from one object to another, like the story of the woodpecker and the pelican. (Cf. also the slashing of the bee in the stories, No. 1 ff.)

Popular belief is that the ant is the grandchild (niece nepoata) of God, and the handmaid of the Virgin, although I have not yet been able to find the legend upon which this belief rests. The ant must not be molested, for the Virgin sighs as often as an ant is killed.

The red ant comes from the tears shed by St. Mary over the grave of Christ.

The ant is used as a remedy against toothache by boiling it together with the earth of its nest and rinsing the mouth with the water (which thus contains the well-known arnica of the pharmacopoeia).

XCII.

WHY DOES THE CUCKOO CALL "CUCKOO"?

The Story of the two Brothers and King Alexander.

In the time of Alexander the Great, King of Macedon, there lived a very wealthy man who had two sons, each one more beautiful than the other, and both more beautiful than any other living being. When they grew up to be twelve years old, the fame of their beauty had reached the Court of King Alexander. He was told that no young men so beautiful as they were could be found over nine seas and nine countries. Alexander went himself to see them, and no sooner had he seen them than he appointed them captains in his army, for he was a high and mighty king, and he liked to have in his army valiant knights like himself.

At that time there lived the dog-headed people, who were human from the waist down and dogs from their waist upward. Their kingdom stretched far away to the north of Alexander's realms. Every year the king of the dog-men and his people made incursions into the countries, and, capturing many women, carried them away. The men they fattened, and, after killing them, used to eat them, but the beautiful women they brought to their king to become his wives. They treated the men just as we treat our animals, which we fatten to kill and eat.

When Alexander saw that these wild dog men would not give him peace, he decided to make war upon them, and to free the world of such wild creatures. But to fight with these dog-men was not an easy task, and he therefore selected the best men among his host, all seasoned warriors, and he put the best captains over them. Among these were also the two brothers, one of whom was called Cuckoo and the other Mugur. Wherever they went they did wonders. The heads of the dog-men fell before the strokes of their swords like the grass cut by the scythe. The battle lasted for three days and three nights. On the fourth, the two brothers captured the king of the dog-men and brought him to Alexander. There they killed him. Then they set fire to the land of the dog-men, and the fire burnt for over a month. It was so wide a country that no one has ever known the end of it, and so these dog-men were routed utterly and none were left; only their name has remained behind. When Alexander saw the valiant deeds of these two brothers, he appointed them leaders of his army. They had to be always near him, and wherever they went and drew their swords, the blood of the heathen ran like water.

Alexander had many wars with kings and emperors, and he conquered them all. No one dared to stand up against him, for God had given him strength, and he marched on to the ends of the earth; he was to become king over the whole world and then die.

He went to the south with his army, passing through many desolate countries, filled with wild animals and monsters, dragons and serpents: wherever he went he burned them with fire so as to cleanse the world. For months Alexander went on with his march, accompanied by the two brothers and his army, for he had set his heart upon going to the very ends of the earth. One day on their march they met a company of women riding on white horses, one more beautiful than other, and there was one who by her beauty outshone them all. She was dressed, moreover, so radiantly that she shone like the sun. Alexander drew near, and he asked them how it came about that they were riding such beautiful horses, and where were the men?

To this the women replied: "Ours is the country where the women rule, the women take the place of the men and the men that of the women." Alexander rested there for a while with his two companions and his army, and they were well entertained by the women, who were more beautiful than any known among men of this part of the world.

Among these there was one who was like the moon among the stars. Cuckoo fell in love with her, and they became inseparable. Cuckoo thought he could not live without her. Mugur, who was of a more retiring nature, restrained his love and kept aloof from the women.

When the two weeks had elapsed which Alexander had appointed for him to stay there, he broke up his camp and journeyed onward until the army reached the gates of Paradise. These were guarded by angels with flaming swords, who would allow access only to those who were pure and sinless. When the soldiers beheld the beauty of Paradise they wondered greatly at it, and some of them were desirous of entering it, and went to the angel to ask his permission. Amongst these were Mugur and his brother Cuckoo. Mugur went in front, Cuckoo followed with his beautiful wife at his side. When Mugur drew near, the gate of Paradise was flung open and he entered without hindrance. Cuckoo wanted to follow him, but the door was shut in his face, and for his audacity he and his fair companion were turned into birds, for no man is allowed to enter Paradise with a companion.

Since then Cuckoo is continually calling aloud his name in the hope that his brother may look for him and thus find him.

This story is remarkable for its origin. We have here the popular reflex of the famous Romance of Alexander, which had reached Rumania, as all the other countries of Europe, in a literary form. The book has been read for at least three hundred years, and it is extremely interesting to see how deeply it has influenced the popular imagination. What we have here is not one incident only from the "Romance," but practically an abridged recital of the famous "Journey to Paradise," and "Alexander's Letter to Aristotle." We have here his wars with the Kynokephaloi, or the people who were believed to be human beings with dog's heads. The Eastern Church, and no less the Rumanian, even venerates a saint with a dog's head, Christophorus. In the Rumanian monastery of Neamtz there appeared a "Life" of that saint, in which the woodcut picture of the saint represented him as having a dog's head. We have, further, Alexander's war with the Amazons, and even the fact that he reached the gates of Paradise. But what gives to this tale importance is that the "Romance of Alexander" has become the tale accounting for the origin of a bird. No doubt there must be some more detailed account of this immediate fact, explaining a little more clearly the sudden transformation of the cuckoo and his mate into particular birds. Here it is described as a punishment for Cuckoo's audacity in attempting to bring his female companion into Paradise.

The only point of resemblance between this and the Albanian tale of Hahn (No. 105), is that Cuckoo was originally a man by that name, and he was the brother of Gion.

XCIII.

WHY DOES THE ARMENIAN LOVE THE DIRTY HOOPOE?

The Story of the Armenian, the Cuckoo and the Hoopoe.

A funny story about the hoopoe and the cuckoo is told by the Rumanians at the expense of the Armenians. It is said that in olden times the forefather of the Armenians had to flee for his life. So, taking all his belongings with him, and mounting on a horse, he rode away as fast as he could. He feared lest his enemies would overtake him. Riding on, he came to a forest and, not being able to find the way, he got into a bog. In vain did he try to get his horse up again. The more he tried the further it sank; so, taking all his belongings, he dismounted, and wading through the mud, he sat down at the edge of the bog and thought all the time what was he to do to get his horse out. He could not carry all his belongings, and, if he tarried much longer where he was, his enemies were sure to overtake him. Where he sat, there was a cuckoo, resting on the tree, and singing all the time, but the more he sang the deeper the horse seemed to sink into the mire. He took some food out of his bags, and, showing it to the horse, he tried to tempt it, but the horse paid no attention to him. Whilst he was now in great despair, there came a hoopoe and sat on another tree and began to cry "Hoop, Hoop." No sooner did the horse hear the bird shouting "hoop, hoop," than up it jumped as if stung by wasps. Overjoyed, the Armenian got hold of it, and putting his food into his sack he mounted again and went on his way. And out of gratitude the Armenians call the hoopoe to this very day by the name of cuckoo, for he saved their ancestor by his cry "up, up." The cuckoo had made it lie down by singing "coo, coo," but the hoopoe made it jump up by singing "up, up."

There are some beliefs attached to the cry of the hoopoe forming part of that great section of prognostications by the cry of the birds. It is not, however, considered as an ominous bird. It merely foretells the fruitfulness or the barrenness of the coming year.

XCIV.

THE STORY OF THE PARTRIDGE, THE FOX AND THE HOUND.

Once upon a time there was a partridge, and that partridge was sorely troubled, for no one in this world is safe from trouble and worry. Her trouble was that for some time back she was not able to rear her young, because of AUNTIE FOX, who made a royal feast of the young brood. No sooner did the fox find out that the partridge had hatched her young, than she tied some brambles to her tail, and, dragging it along the ground, pretended to plough the land, close to the place where the partridge had her nest. Turning to the partridge, the fox would say:

"How dare you trespass on my land. Off you go, lest I eat you up." The partridge, frightened, would run away, and the fox would eat the young. This had gone on for three years. On the fourth year it so happened that, while the partridge was weeping, just as a man will do out of worry and grief, she met a hound.

"What is the matter with thee, friend; why dost thou weep so, what ails thee, why art thou so inconsolable?"

"Eh!" said the poor bird, "I am full of trouble."

Then the hound said sympathetically, "What has happened unto thee?"

"What has happened unto me? O! dear friend, so many years have I tried to rear my young, and no sooner do I see God's blessing when auntie fox, with the brambles and thorns trailing behind her tail, comes and claims the land, and says, 'Hast thou again hatched young on my land? Get thee off lest I eat thee.' And I am so frightened that I run away, and the fox then takes the family and leaves me childless." The bird stopped here and looked despairingly at the hound. She wondered what he could do for her. But no one knows whence help may come, and just when it is least expected it comes. And so it happened to the bird. The dog who had been sitting all the time, listening as it were with half-closed ears, suddenly shook himself and said, "Is that the trouble which ails thee?"

"Yes, that is my trouble."

"Well, if that be so, let me come with thee, and may be that I shall be of some help."

And so they both went to the nest of the partridge. There the dog crouched behind the bushes and waited for the fox to come. He had not to wait very long until the fox came with the brambles tied to her tail, and, pulling it along, made pretence of ploughing the land. "Now then you partridge, are you trespassing again--"

But the fox was not allowed to finish the sentence, for out of the bushes sprang the dog. The fox took to her legs, running as fast as they would carry her. Now, whether the hound ran or did not run I do not know, but I certainly can say that the fox ran for all she was worth and raised a cloud of dust behind her. And so she ran and ran until she reached her lair, and she buried herself deep in the ground, very thankful to have saved her skin from the jaws of death. The hound, wearied, tired, and vexed that the fox had escaped, settled down at the mouth of the lair waiting for the chance that the fox would come out again, that he might set his eyes upon her, but it was all in vain, for the fox, once safe, never dreamt of coming out again. But then the fox, having nothing else to do, started talking to herself.

"Clever fox, clever fox, I know that thou takest care of thy skin. Well, thou didst well to save thyself, and to get safely away from that hound. Now let me ask my eyes, 'What did you do when the hound was after me?'"

"Well, we, turning right and left, looked out to see which way we could save thee and hide thee."

"Dear eyes," said the fox, and full of satisfaction, she stroked them with her paws.

"Now I will ask my forelegs."

"And ye, my forelegs, what did you do when the hound was chasing me?"

"What did we do? We ran as fast as we could to carry thee safe to the lair and to save thee."

"Very good, then, my darlings," and she kissed them and stroked them lovingly.

Then she asked the hind legs.

"What did you do when the hound was chasing me?"

"What did we do? We raised the dust and threw it into his eyes to save thee."

"My darlings," again the fox said, and licked them and caressed them, "so must you always do."

The fox, having nothing else to do, said, "I must now ask thee, tail, 'What didst thou do, O my tail?'"

"I, what was I to do? I waddled to the right and left and yet he never caught me. If it were not for the legs, I am afraid I should not see the sun any more, and neither wouldst thou, O fox."

"As thou sayest, then, thou art the only one who did not help me, thou art mine enemy, for if it were not for the blessed legs, none of us would have seen the sun any more. All right, out thou goest, thou fool. Thou must no longer be with me or with my darling eyes." And, turning round, she crawled backwards and pushed it out of the lair. The hound, who was sitting outside, was just waiting for this, and no sooner did he see the bush of the tail coming out than he pounced on it and, getting hold of it, he pulled with all his might and dragged out tail and fox together. And that was the end of the fox. The fox may have been very clever, but the old proverb is true. "Each animal dies through his own tongue." And since that time the partridge hatches her young unmolested, and the land of the fox has remained unploughed.

This Rumanian tale belongs to a large cycle of similar tales, of which the Rumanian seems to have preserved only the first part, unless the second part has afterwards been tacked on to it. In the extended tale the dog asks for the payment of the food, drink, and merriment which the bird had promised.

An almost identical story is found among the Slavonic Tales, Krauss, No. 9. In this no mention is made of the fox claiming to be the landowner. It is only out of pity for the partridge that the dog attacks the fox, which runs away, and then the story continues exactly like the Rumanian. The first part of No. 6 is another parallel to the Rumanian tale, but it is greatly reduced and is only the first part of a much longer tale of "The Starling, the Fox, and the Dog."

The starling promises the dog food, drink, and merriment, if he would avenge it against the fox, who, in spite of sworn friendship, had taken advantage of the absent starling to eat the young birds. The tale contains also the episode of the fox's undoing. But then the Slavonic story goes on to detail the manner in which the starling outwitted a boy who carried food to his people on the field, a man who carried a wine cask, and a hewer of wood, all to provide for the promised food, drink, and merriment of, the dog.

This last part, as a tale by itself, quite independent of the story of the dog and fox, is found in Haltrich, No. 81. Here the bird offers food, drink and merriment to the fox who is to spare her young.

In a more reduced form still, the first part having entirely disappeared, the story appears in Grimm, iii. p. 100, who refers to a similar episode in the French version of Reinecke and to an Esthonian tale. Cf. also the Russian Tale in Afanasief, No. 32.

XCV.

THE STORY OF THE PARTRIDGE AND HER YOUNG.

A partridge once built her nest in the furrows of a newly ploughed cornfield, and hatched her young when the stalks of the corn had grown tall and the corn began to ripen. There was food in plenty and safety enough for them to play and to frolic about without fear of any danger. But the good things in this world never stay long with us, and this the partridge was soon to find out. The time came when the corn was cut and hunters appeared followed by their dogs, whose barking they could hear drawing nearer and nearer. The partridge now began to be frightened for her young. She tried to cover them with her wings, but they could not help hearing the reports of the guns and the barking of the dogs. One day, not being able to stand the strain any longer, she remembered a place of safety which she had known, in the cleft of a mountain beyond the seas. Tucking her eldest under her wing, she started one morning on her flight, intent on carrying it to the mountain beyond the sea. When she reached the border of the sea there stood a huge tree. Tired from her long flight, she settled on one of the branches of the tree overhanging the water. And she said to her young, "Little darling, see how great is the love of a mother and what trouble I am taking. Nay, I am putting my life in danger in order to save you."

"Never mind, mother," replied the little one, "Wait till we grow up and then we will take care of you when you grow old and weak."

When the partridge heard these words she tilted her wing and let the young bird fall into the water of the sea, where it was drowned. Distressed, weary, and lost in thought, she returned to her nest and took the middle one of her three young, and, putting it on the wing, she started again on her flight to the mountain beyond the sea. On the way she again alighted on the tree with the branches overhanging the sea. And she spoke to this one in the same manner as she had spoken to the first. And he replied, "Do not worry, mother, when you get old we shall take care of you and show you our love."

The partridge, grieving at the words of this one, again dipped her wing and the young bird slid down into the bottom of the sea, where it was drowned. Almost broken hearted, not knowing any more what to do with herself, and heavy with sorrow and anxiety, her only hope being the youngest one, she returned to her nest, and, taking the youngest--the mother's pet--she tucked it under her wing and flew again to the mountain beyond the sea.

Tired from her continual flight hither and thither, she again alighted on the tree with the branches overhanging the sea, and with her heart trembling within her for fear and love, she said to the youngest, "See, my beloved little pet, how much trouble mother is taking to save her dear little ones, how willingly I am suffering pain and fatigue; see how exhausted I am and wearied, but nothing is too much for a mother if only she knows that her young will be safe."

"Do not worry, mother dear, for we when we grow up will also take care of our young children with the same love and devotion."

At these words, the mother pressed the little one nearer to her heart, and, full of joy, carried him across the sea to a place of safety, for of all her children this alone had spoken the truth. And is it not so in the world?

This is the story of the partridge and her young.

XCVI.

THE STORY OF THE LARK AND THE TAMING OF WOMEN.

A man was once ploughing his field. In the midst of it a lark had made her nest and was hatching her young. When the cock lark saw what the man was doing, and that he was coming nearer and nearer with the plough, he feared that the nest would be destroyed. So he turned to the man and said, "Prithee, spare my nest; go round it with your plough and do not touch it, for I might also do you some good."

The man, surprised at hearing the lark speak to him, said, "What good can you do to me?"

"Oh," replied the lark, "you never know what I can do. Just bide your time, there might be a chance."

"Well," said the man, "I do not mind going with my plough round that piece of ground, it will not make much difference, but you see I have a very bad-tempered wife, and should she come out and see what I have done, and that I have left a part of the field without ploughing it, I shall come in for a good hiding."

"What," said the lark, "you a man, and your wife, a woman, beating you, how can that be?"

"Oh," replied the man, "you do not know her; from morning till evening she does nothing but strike and beat me, I have not a minute's rest and peace."

"I can help you," replied the lark, "if only you will do what I tell you."

"If you will help me I shall be for ever grateful to you."

"Well then, this is what you have to do. You get yourself a stout stick, and should she come and start chiding you, you just lay out and go for her without mercy. You will see it will be all right."

Whilst they were thus speaking, the woman came out, with one jaw on earth and the other in heaven, spitting fire and fury; and when she saw that the man had left a part of the field not ploughed she started to go for him with her fists and to give him a good beating. But before she had time to get to him, remembering the advice which the lark had given him, he got hold of the stick, and there was a great change. The woman did not know what it was that happened to her; the blows fell upon her fast and thick over her head, face, shoulders, hands. At last she got frightened, and ran away vowing vengeance. After she had gone, the lark said to the man:

"Don't be a fool, I know she awaits you at home with a long stick, but you get yourself a short, stout stick, and just slip into the house before she has time to use her long rod, and then you go for her, hitting as fast as you can and as hard as you can, for, being in the house, the woman will not be able to use the long rod to any advantage."

The man did as the lark had taught him, and the woman came in for a drubbing she never expected. The tables were now turned, and instead of beating the husband the woman got it now, and twice over.

That was the first case of the men beating their women, instead of the men being beaten by the women, for the neighbours, seeing how things had changed with this man, soon followed his example, and there was yelling and shouting and cursing as never before, the women getting the worst.

When the women saw that the men got the upper hand, they all gathered together in the market-place and held a conference under the leadership of the head woman of the town. After a long consultation and discussion, they all decided to leave their husbands alone and to get across the Danube to the other side.

So they did; they gathered themselves together and, led by the head woman, left the town to go across the Danube. When the men saw what the women were doing, and that they were in earnest, they turned on the first man who had set the example and threatened to kill him, for he had brought all that trouble upon them. And the man got frightened and ran out into the field, and going to the lark told all that was going on and that he was in danger of his life.

The lark laughed and said, "Oh, you are worse than a set of old women. Do not be afraid, nothing will happen to you; you just wait and see, I am going to bring the women home again."

So saying, the lark rose up in the air, and flying over the heads of the women who were standing by the banks of the Danube waiting to cross, it sang out, "Tsirli, tsirli, on the other side of the Danube there are no men."

One of the women, hearing the bird's song, said to her neighbour, "Did you hear what that bird was singing?"

"Oh, yes, we can all hear it saying that across the Danube there are no men, and if that be true I think we had better return to our own husbands, never mind whether they beat us or not."

And they all returned home quite meekly to their houses, and ever since then the men beat their wives, but the women never beat their husbands. And you should know that if a woman does beat her husband, he is not a man, but a donkey.

XCVII.

THE STORY OF THE TURTLE DOVE AND ITS LOVE FOR ITS MATE.

Of the turtle-dove the Rumanian popular poetry relates that when she loses her mate she never associates with any bird, but sits solitary on the branches of trees, not on the green or the high bough, but on the low, and on the withered branches of the tree. She no longer goes to clear water, but she first stirs the mud and then drinks the troubled water, and when she sees the hunter she goes to meet him cheerfully, hoping that he will kill her. The tears of the turtle-dove are the most powerful antidote against every spell and sorcery.

An incident in one of the Rumanian Fairy Tales reminds us of the story of the Shirt of Nessus given to Hercules.

It is of a step-mother who tries to kill her daughter-in-law by inducing her to buy such a poisoned shirt. As soon as she has put one on she becomes very ill, and her illness grows with every day that passes.

Her father, who has been absent, comes home and sees what is the cause of her illness, so he washes her in tears of the turtle-dove. The spell is broken, the fire is driven out, and the young woman recovers her health.

XCVIII.

WHY DOES THE WREN HIDE HIMSELF?

The Story of the Wren, the Eagle, and the Owl.

The wren is called by the Rumanians the little king. The reason for it is that the birds once came together to elect a ruler. They were all there, big and small, and after much wrangling and discussion they agreed that he who flew highest of all should be king. It was the eagle who suggested it, for he knew that no bird could fly so high as he could, and he told them that the highest place they could reach would be the region of the wild winds. They arranged that he who would reach so high, should give them a sign and then they should descend. They all started for the race. There was much fluttering of wings and shrieking and boasting, for every bird believed that he would be the winner. But they had not measured their strength, for after a while the weakest stopped in their flight and began to descend slowly. The stronger ones flew a little higher but they too got tired and came down to the ground, until at last almost every bird that had entered the race had given it up. Only one bird was continuing the flight. It was the eagle, who was soaring higher and higher. At a certain moment, the eagle signalled to them that he had reached the wild wind, that is the wind which blows very high up in the sky and is bitterly cold, much colder than ice and frost. But the eagle was not to win the race. The little wren, a midget among the birds, had crept stealthily under one of the outer feathers of his wings; the eagle did not feel it, and so it was borne aloft to the very high heavens. Now when the eagle stopped in his flight, and began to descend, the little bird, not at all tired, came out from under the wing, and he, flying higher, far above the eagle, shouted:

"He! he! you thought you would be the king, that no one could fly as high as you do! You see I have flown much higher, no one can deny it, you can all see me, and though I am very small and light, I am your king." The birds, hearing the little wren and seeing that it had been flying far above the eagle, wondered greatly, but they could not help themselves, they had to stand by their agreement, and so the wren was proclaimed king.

But the birds soon learnt the trick by which the wren had outwitted them, and furious at the way in which they had been played, they wanted to tear him to pieces. The little wren, knowing what was in store for him from the enraged birds, ran away quickly, and hid himself inside the hollow of a tree, slipping in by so narrow an opening that no other bird could follow him. When the birds found out the hiding-place of the wren, and that they could not get at it, they decided to starve him out, and put some to watch over the opening to prevent the wren escaping. The wren thought it better to starve than to come out and be torn in pieces. "I will wait my chance," he said to himself, and the chance came when they appointed the owl to watch over the tree. The owl is a lazy bird, and sitting down quietly soon fell asleep. That was just what the wren was waiting for, and before the owl could have turned round, it was out and away in the bushes and under the roots of the trees. When the owl awoke it found that the prisoner had gone: catch him if you can! The birds, full of wrath, turned on the owl for letting the wren escape and the owl had to run for its life. It is for that reason that the owl never shows itself in day-time. It is frightened of the birds, for they bear it a grudge for not keeping careful watch over the wren, and as the wren knows what the birds have in store for him, he hides himself under the bushes and trees and has become a very furtive bird.

Cf. Grimm, No. 171.

XCIX.

WHY IS THERE NO KING OVER THE BIRDS?

The Story of the Hawk and the Election of the King.

Once upon a time the birds came together to decide which was to rule over them all, and in what order authority should be distributed among them, who was to be the superior and who was to be inferior among them. After a long discussion it was agreed that the eagle should be the highest of all. The second in command should be the falcon, the third in command the black vulture, under him the white vulture, under him the vulture with the striped tail, under him the lamb's vulture and under him the kite, under him the hen-harrier, under him the blue heron, and under him the sparrow-hawk. All the birds consented and accepted this arrangement without much demur or contradiction. Only the sparrow-hawk, who though the smallest and the weakest, yet knew himself to be quicker and cleverer than many of them, objected to the arrangement, and said to them:

"Do you expect that I should submit to you? or be frightened of you, as if you were the strongest and mightiest creatures in the world? You are greatly mistaken. There are other beings stronger and mightier and greater than you. Of these I am frightened, but not of you. I do not care for you."

"But what creatures are stronger and more powerful than we?" asked the other birds greatly surprised.

"What!" said he, "you do not know who is greater and stronger than you are? You all think yourselves to be the cleverest of created beings, and you expect me, the smallest of you, to tell you that? Very well, then, since you do not know even as much as this, hear it from me. Stronger than all of you are the archers and the sportsmen."

"Why," replied the birds, "how can that be?"

"Well," he said, "if they meet you they can make an end of you, and that, before you know where you are; you, who are so clever, that you wanted to put me at the tip of your tail!"

"What can we do to save ourselves?"

The sparrow-hawk replied, "You must never gather together and fly in large numbers, for thus we are sure to fall a prey to them. Our only safety lies in our dispersion."

As soon as the birds heard that, they dispersed quickly, and since that time hawks are never found together in large numbers, except when they see carrion. In such wise did the little sparrow-hawk free himself from the domination of the other birds of his clan.

C.

THE STORY OF KING LOG AND KING STORK.

The Story of the Frogs.

This is the well-known story of King Log and King Stork.

Once upon a time the frogs assembled and decided to ask God to appoint a king who would guide them and rule over them, for they were like a people scattered all over the waters and seas with no one to look after them. God gratified their request, and taking a log of wood cast it into the water and said to the frogs, "This is to be your king." When the log fell into the water it made such a splash and such a noise, that the poor frogs did not know where to hide themselves in their fright. After a while the noise subsided, and the log lay still in the place where it had fallen. Gaining a little courage, the frogs came out of their hiding places and crept slowly on to the log of wood, which they found lying quite still and motionless. They waited for a time to see it move, but in vain. So they went again to God and said to him:

"What is the good of a king who can neither guide us, nor rule over us, and cannot even move about to look after us?"

And God said, "You shall have one who will move about, and he will guide you and rule you after the manner of kings." And he called the stork and appointed him king over the frogs. He moves about amongst them very fast indeed, and guides them and rules them in the proper manner of kings, for he gobbles them up as soon as he sets eyes on them in the proper manner of kings, who always go about and eat up their subjects as fast as they can.

Here, of course, a moral from modern life has been added to the old tale, but this does not detract from its popularity.

CI.

THE STORY OF THE STORK AND LITTLE TOMTIT.

Once upon a time there was a stork who could not rear any young. His wife's eggs had become addled, or something else had happened to them, and the long and short of it was that there were no young birds. Very distressed, he was walking about in the forest when he noticed a little tomtit on the ground. Seeing he was so small, he thought it was a young bird, a chick that had fallen out from a stork's nest somewhere. So he picked him up gently and carried him to his own nest, and there he kept him and fed him most tenderly. He would fly about for miles to get worms to feed the little bird. The days passed, and the stork could not help wondering why that little bird of his did not grow: it remained so small. One day there came a down-pour of cold rain mixed with hailstones. In order to protect his little young, he put the tomtit under his wing, and going into the forest placed himself under the branches of a thick-leaved tree to shelter himself from the rain and hail. In the trunk of that tree there was a little hollow. As soon as tomtit espied it he glided into it, and from there he kept up a conversation with the stork. Among other things, the stork said, "What terrible weather that is, I cannot remember anything like it all my life."

"What," piped little tomtit, "you call this bad weather. You should have seen what bad weather means, when the red snow fell."

"Hush, you little thing," said the stork, "how do you come to speak of red snow, you have never seen such a thing?"

"Oh," replied tomtit, "I remember it quite well, although it was so many years ago."

"You remember it, you little cunning beast, who made yourself out to be quite a little chicken!" and the sharp beak of the stork pierced the hollow of the tree and spiked the insolent little tomtit, who had made a fool of the stork.

CII.

THE STORY OF THE FLEA AND THE GNAT.

The flea once upon a time meeting a gnat, said to her:

"I say, sister, why is your back so bent, and why is your head so low? What heavy care is worrying you?"

"Oh, my sister," replied the gnat, "it is the heavy work which I have to do that bends my back and pulls my head so low. I have to drive the oxen to the plough, and make them do their work. I must sit between the horns and prick them to urge them on. Their hide is so thick that I have to bend my body and put my head very low to drive the sting through it. But, then, tell me, why is your back so much bent, sister flea? You have no heavy work like me."

"You do not know what you are talking about. I have to keep mankind to their duties. These men have such heavy clothing that it takes all my strength to lift it up so that I can move about, to get at him."

CIII.

THE STORY OF THE GNAT, THE LION, AND THE MAN.

The fable of the gnat and the lion is told in order to explain the proverb, "The gnat, small as it is, proved stronger than the lion." Once upon a time a lion sat himself down to rest under a tree. Suddenly a gnat appeared and settled upon his nose. The lion, feeling the tickle, struck out with his paw, but missed her. The gnat then settled in his ear, and again the lion tried to strike her, but failed. So he said to the gnat:

"Who are you? and why do you come here and worry me? Who are you that although so small can worry so much and give so much trouble, and yet are one whom it is impossible to catch?"

"I am the gnat, and I drink the blood of anyone I choose, and no one can hurt me."

"You may drink blood from whomever else you choose, but my blood you shall not drink, for I am the stronger."

"If you believe that I cannot drink your blood, very well then, let us wait and see who is the stronger," said the gnat.

"I am quite satisfied," said the lion, and they made the bet. Without saying a single word, the gnat jumped on to the nose of the lion, and digging its point into the flesh of the lion sucked the blood until it was full, but the lion could not do anything to her. When she had finished, she asked the lion:

"What do you say now? have I not beaten you? Now it is your turn to show me your strength."

"I am so strong that if a man should happen to pass here I could eat him up."

He had scarcely finished speaking when a boy happened to pass. The lion, as soon as he saw him, wanted to catch him and eat him. "Stop," said the gnat, "this is not yet a man, wait until he grows to be a man." The lion felt ashamed and let the boy pass.

Soon afterwards a very old man happened to pass. Again the lion, saying, "Now, a man is passing," wanted to get hold of him. And again the gnat stopped him, saying, "This is no longer a man, he has been so some long time ago. It is a pity to break your teeth on him." And the lion left him also alone.

Now there came riding along a hussar.

"This is a man," said the gnat, "go for him and show your strength."

The lion went for him, but when the hussar saw him he drew his sword and smote him two or three times over his head. The lion, seeing that this was not a joke, turned tail and ran away; there was his road to safety. The gnat, following him, settled on his ear and asked him how he felt. The lion, half-stunned, replied:

"That foolish man drew a rib from his side and hacked lustily away and had I not run away only bits of me would have been left."

Hence the proverb, "However small, the gnat proved more powerful than the lion."

This is a parallel to the story of the "Gnat and the Lion." Among the South Slavonic Tales, (Krauss, No. 12) we find another parallel to it, though differing in some details. A lion was continually boasting of its strength. One day a tiger, tired of his boasting, said to him:

"You wait until you meet a man and see what strength is."

One day, as they were walking, a young boy passed along, and the lion asked whether that was a man.

"No," replied the tiger, "that is a man that is to be."

Shortly afterwards an old woman passed, and the lion asked whether that was a man. "No," replied the tiger, "that is one who has made men."

At last a hussar passed. The tiger said, "This is a man."

The hussar drew near, shot at the lion, and, quite dazed, it ran away.

The hussar overtook him, and drawing his sword wounded him in many places. The lion escaped and said afterwards, "When he blew at me it was bad enough, but how much worse was it, when he pricked me."

Another version from the inhabitants of Transylvania is found in Haltrich D. Volksmärchen a. d. Sachsenlande i. Siebbrgn, Wien 1877 (No. 86). Here it is the wolf who boasts, and the fox tells him that there is something much more powerful than he is and that is man. The wolf asks the fox to show him man. An old man passes, the fox says, "This was a man."

A boy passes and the fox says, "This is not yet a man."

A hunter comes, and from behind the bush the fox whispers, "That is man." The hunter shoots at the wolf, then draws his knife and slashes him. The wolf runs away and owns himself beaten by the man, who makes thunder and lightning, throws stones in his face, and then draws a shining rib and cuts away at him.

Cf. also Grimm, 72.

CIV.

THE STORY OF THE GNAT AND THE BUFFALO.

A man was driving his buffalo to market. On the way they passed a marsh. The buffalo, in accordance with its habit, went into it and started wallowing. The man tried to get him out of it and threatened him with his stick, but the buffalo took no notice.

There came a gnat buzzing by the man and saying to him:

"What wilt thou say if I drive him out of the swamp?"

"You," replied the man contemptuously, "what can a little midget like you do, when the buffalo does not care even for me?"

"Just so," said the gnat, "I will show you that I can do what you cannot."

"Try, then, if you can." So the gnat went and placed itself under the fold of the buffalo's belly, and stung him just between the creases of the skin where the flesh was softest.

Up jumped the buffalo, and in a wink he had got out of the mire, and was brought to the market by the man who owned shamefacedly that of the two the gnat was the stronger.

"Hi! hi!" hissed the gnat, "didst thou see that I could do with my little tongue, what thou with thy mighty cudgel couldst not do?"

CV.

THE STORY OF THE TOWN MOUSE AND THE FIELD MOUSE.

A mouse living in the town one day met a mouse which lived in the field.

"Whence do you come?" asked the latter when she saw the town-mouse.

"I come from yonder town," replied the first mouse.

"How is life going there with you?"

"Very well, indeed. I am living in the lap of luxury. Whatever I want of sweets or any other good things is to be found in abundance in my master's house. But how are you living?"

"I have nothing to complain of. You just come and see my stores. I have grain and nuts, and all the fruits of the tree and field in my storehouse."

The town-mouse did not quite believe the story of her new friend, and, driven by curiosity, went with her to the latter's house. How great was her surprise when she found that the field-mouse had spoken the truth; her garner was full of nuts and grain and other stores, and her mouth watered when she saw all the riches which were stored up there.

Then she turned to the field-mouse and said, "Oh, yes, you have here a nice snug place and something to live upon, but you should come to my house and see what I have there. Your stock is as nothing compared with the riches which are mine."

The field mouse, who was rather simple by nature and trusted her new friend, went with her into the town to see what better things the other could have. She had never been into the town and did not know what her friend could mean when she boasted of her greater riches. So they went together, and the town-mouse took her friend to her master's house. He was a grocer, and there were boxes and sacks full of every good thing the heart of a mouse could desire. When she saw all these riches, the field mouse said she could never have believed it, had she not seen it with her own eyes.

Whilst they were talking together, who should come in but the cat. As soon as the town-mouse saw the cat, she slipped quietly behind a box and hid herself. Her friend, who had never yet seen a cat, turned to her and asked her who that gentleman was who had come in so quietly?

"Do you not know who he is? Why, he is our priest (popa), and he has come to see me. You must go and pay your respects to him and kiss his hand. See what a beautiful, glossy coat he has on, and how his eyes sparkle, and how demurely he keeps his hands in the sleeves of his coat." Not suspecting anything, the field-mouse did as she was told and went up to the cat. He gave her at once his blessing, and the mouse had no need of another after that: the cat gave her extreme unction there and then. That was just what the town-mouse had intended. When she saw how well stored the home of the field-mouse was, she made up her mind to trap her and to kill her, so that she might take possession of all that the field-mouse had gathered up. She had learned the ways of the townspeople and had acted up to them.

This story reminds one of the story of La Fontaine, yet the conclusion here is quite different. The popular tale undoubtedly underwent a definite change in the hands of La Fontaine, who used the fable for driving home a totally different moral lesson, just in the style of all the fables so used since Aesop downwards. The popular tale as told here is perhaps more crude, but still much more true to nature--a picture of life.

Hahn (No. 90) tells an Albanian tale where the fox goes on a pilgrimage and becomes a monk, just as the cat in the Rumanian story is a priest.

CVI.

THE STORY OF THE HARE AND THE FROGS.

One day, the hare, thinking of his miserable life, decided to put an end to it. "What is my life worth to me?" he said to himself, sighing heavily. "The dogs tear me, the wolves cat me, the eagles claw me, the man hunts me. I have no peace, no rest, everybody is against me and wishes to take my life. I had better go and drown myself, and then there will be an end to my miseries." So speaking, he got up and went to the neighbouring lake to drown himself in the water.

As he drew near he saw a number of frogs sitting by the water. When they saw the hare coming up, they got frightened and jumped into the water, some of them getting drowned in it. When the hare saw that he had frightened the frogs to such an extent that he caused a number of them to jump into the water and to get drowned, he stopped short and said, "If there are creatures whom I can frighten, then surely even I am not the weakest of all, as I had hitherto thought." Comforted by this thought, he returned to his form.

CVII.

WHY DOES THE BUFFALO WALK SLOWLY AND TREAD GENTLY?

The Race of the Buffalo and the Hare.

In olden times, so we are told by those who know best, there was constant strife between the hares and the buffaloes. Each of them contended for the honour of being the most swift-footed.

Both did run very fast and neither would give in to the other. So it went on year after year, and there seemed to be no end to the strife. Tired of this constant fight, one day the hare said to the buffalo, "Let us try a race together and settle this quarrel once for all." The buffalo was well contented with the proposal, and they agreed to race one another. When the day came the hare, putting his ears back, started the race. He ran so fast that you might have said he was flying upon the ground.

But the buffalo was a match for him. He went thundering away, his hoofs splashing the mud and raising seas of mire. The earth shook at his furious tread. He soon overtook the breathless hare which was running panting as fast as its little legs could carry it.

Then a thought struck the hare, and he cried to the buffalo, "Ho, friend! Take heed how thou art thundering along. The earth is shaking, and if thou art not careful, the earth will give way under thee. See how it is rocking under thy feet."

When the buffalo heard the hare's story, he stopped still for a while bewildered, and then, being frightened, lest the earth should give way under him and he sink beneath, he checked his pace and began to walk slowly and tread gently.

That was just what the hare had wanted, and pulling a long nose at the buffalo, he ran swiftly by, leaving the buffalo a long way behind. Thus he won the race, and there was no longer any strife between the hares and the buffaloes. But ever since the buffalo walks slowly and treads lightly upon the ground.

CVIII.

THE STORY OF THE POINTER AND THE SETTER.

It is told that the pointer and the setter kept a public-house together. All the animals would come and eat and drink and pay their account, except the wolf and the hare who would come and eat and drink very heavily, and regularly forget to pay. At last, the pointer and setter could stand it no longer, and they went and lodged their complaint before God. And God said, "As they have treated you so badly, you are free to go for them whenever you see them. You must try and catch them and make them pay."

And that is the reason why these dogs will go for the wolf as soon as they scent his track, and also that is the reason why, when they catch a hare, he will squeak, "Miat, miat"--which sounds like mart (Tuesday in Rumanian)--as if he were saying "Wait till next Tuesday when I am going to pay." And they are still waiting for that Tuesday to come.

CIX.

THE STORY OF THE RAT AND HIS JOURNEY TO GOD.

In a mill a rat once lived and prospered. It took after the miller, and from day to day its paunch grew bigger. It became as round as cucumber and as fat as a candle.

One day, looking at his round, sleek figure, the rat said to itself, "Behold I am so beautiful and strong. Why should I not go and pay a visit to God? He is sure to receive me."

No sooner said than done. Leaving the mill, he started on his journey to God. After travelling a few days and not coming nearer to God, he stopped and said, "Methinks that either God lives much farther away than I believed, or I have lost my way. I will go to the sun and ask where God is." Coming to the sun, the rat asked, "Where is God?" "Off with thee," shouted the sun, "I have no time for idle talkers."

The rat went to the clouds and asked them, "Where is God?" The clouds stared at him and said, "We cannot stop to bandy words with the like of you." Away the rat went and came to the wind. "Where is God?" asked the rat. "There," replied the wind, whistling, and getting hold of the rat hurled him down into an ant-heap, and there he found his level.

This story is a curious parallel to another series of rat or mouse tales. In these a rat wishes to marry the daughter of the mightiest thing, and asked for the daughter of the sun. But he is not great enough. The sun is covered by the clouds. The clouds are carried by the wind, the wind is stopped by the mountain, the mountain is sapped by the rat, thus he comes back to his own and finds his proper level. So in the Rumanian Tale (Sevastos, Basme, Moldov. p. 236). (Cf. Benfey, Pantschatantra, i. 375 ff.)

In an ancient Biblical legend Abraham discusses with Nimrod, Who might be God? The sun cannot be worshipped as God, for the sun sets and is followed by darkness, the moon is eclipsed by the sun, the fire is quenched by water, the clouds of rain are carried by the wind, the wind is stopped by the mountains, and so on. (Cf. Gaster, Chronicles of Jerahmeel, London 1899, chap. xxxiv. p. 72 ff.)

The biblical setting of the legend is about two thousand years old. In the Rumanian tale the comparison has disappeared, but the principal elements have been preserved whilst invested with a different rôle.

CX.

THE STORY OF THE SEVEN-WITTED FOX AND THE ONE-WITTED OWL.

One day the owl met a fox, and the latter bragged about his intelligence and cleverness, and said that he was very cunning and slim. The owl asked him, "Brother mine, how many minds (wits) have you?" "Seven," he said, boastingly. "No wonder you are so clever, I have only one," said the owl.

A short time afterwards the owl again met the fox, but this time he was running for his life. The hunters were after him, and the hounds were trying to catch him.

Running as fast as his legs could carry him, he at last managed to slip into a hole. The owl followed him, and seeing him there, exhausted, asked him, "How many minds (wits) have you?" And he replied, "Six, I have lost one by the chase."

Meanwhile the hunters and dogs came nearer and nearer, so they could hear the baying of the dogs. The fox did not know what to do. The owl asked him, "How many minds (wits) have you now, old fellow?"

"Oh, I have lost all my minds (wits). I have none left."

"Where is your cunning of which you bragged?"

"It is not kind of you, now, to go for a poor fellow when the dogs are at his heels and there is no escape for him."

"Well," said the owl, "I have but one mind (wit), and I will see whether I cannot save you with my one wit. It is my turn. I am going to lie down here at the entrance as though dead. When the hunters come, they will see me and get hold of me and talk about me. Meanwhile they will forget you, and in the midst of the trouble you just dash out and run for your life."

It happened just as the owl had said.

No sooner did the hunters come up and find the owl than they said, "What is this ugly bird doing here? and a dead owl to boot"; and whilst they were busy with the owl trying to get hold of it to throw it away, off went the fox through them and escaped.

Soon afterwards the owl met him again and she said, "How have your seven minds (wits) helped you when in time of danger? It is like that with people who have too much, they often have nothing when they want it most, but you see I had only one mind (wit), but a strong one and not a dissolute one like yours, and that saved both you and me."

CXI.

THE STORY OF THE FOX AND HIS BAGFUL OF WITS AND THE ONE-WITTED HEDGEHOG.

I do not know how he managed it, but a fox one day got into a poultry-yard and there he ate his fill. Some time afterwards, going along to the poultry-yard, the hedgehog met him. "Where are you going, brother?"

"I am going to eat my fill."

"Surely you cannot get it just as you like."

"Oh," he said, "you just come with me and I will show you. I know my way, and there is plenty for me and for you, and some to leave behind for another time."

The hedgehog, who was a wise old fellow, said to the fox:

"Now, be careful; are you sure that the owners of the poultry yard will let you in again so easily?"

"Don't you trouble," said the fox. "I know my business, you just come with me." And the hedgehog went with him.

But the people of the poultry-yard were not such fools as the fox had taken them for, and just where the fox had got in last time they had dug a deep pit, and into that the fox and the hedgehog tumbled. When they found themselves at the bottom of the pit, the hedgehog turned to the fox and said, "Well, you clever fellow, is that the proper way to get into the poultry-yard? Did I not warn you?"

"What is the good of talking?" replied the fox, "We are here now, and we must see how to get out of it."

"But you are so clever, and I am only a poor old fool."

"Never mind, you were always a wise one. Can you help me?"

"No," he said, "I cannot help you. This sudden fall has upset me, and I feel queer and sick."

"What," cried the fox, "you are not going to be sick here; that is more than I can stand; out you go!"

So he got hold of the hedgehog by the snout, and the hedgehog coiled himself up with his little paws into a little ball round the fox's mouth, the fox lifted up his head with a jerk and threw the little fellow out of the pit.

As soon as he saw himself safely out of the pit, the little hedgehog, bending over the mouth of the pit, said, chuckling to the fox:

"Where is your wisdom, you fool? You boast that you have a bagful of wits, whilst it is I who get myself out of the pit though I have only a little wit."

"Oh," said the fox, whining, "do have pity on me! you are such a clever old fellow, help me out of it too."

"Well," said the hedgehog, "I will help you. Now, you pretend to be dead, and when the people come and find you stiff and stark, and a nasty smell about you, they will say, 'The fox has died and his carcase is rotting; it is going to make all the poultry yard offensive.' They will take you and throw you out. And then see whither your way lies."

The fox did as the hedgehog had advised him, and when the people came and found him in that state, they hauled him out and threw him out of the yard on to the road.

Quicker than you could clap your hands, the fox was on his legs, and he ran as if the ground was burning under him.

Since then the fox and the hedgehog are good friends.

South Slavonic Tales, Krauss, No. 13.

A fox meeting a hedgehog asked him, "How many wits have you?" And he replied, "Only three. But how many have you?" "I," boasted the fox, "have seventy-seven."

As they were talking and walking along, not noticing whither they were going, they fell into a deep hole which the peasants had dug. The fox asked the hedgehog to save him. The hedgehog said, "I have only three wits, perhaps you will save me first, then I will see about you afterwards"; and he asked the fox to pitch him out of the hole. The fox did so, and then asked the hedgehog whether he could help him. The hedgehog said, "I cannot help you with three if you cannot help yourself with seventy-seven." And so the fox was caught in the morning by the peasants and killed.

In the Rumanian version, the hedgehog saves the fox by one wit and puts him to shame, which rounds off the story much better; in the Slavonic tale there is scarcely any point.

But this probably goes back to a more ancient legend referred to in a Greek epigram, v. Benfey, Pantschatantra, i. 316.

Compare the parallel story in Grimm (No. 75) of a fox with the hundred wits, and also Hahn (91).

CXII.

THE STORY OF THE PEASANT, THE SNAKE, AND KING SOLOMON.

Once upon a time, when King Solomon the wise ruled over the people, some shepherds gathered under a tree and lit a fire, not for any special reason, but just to pass their time, as they often do. When they left, they did not take care to put the fire out; it was left burning under the ashes. Spreading slowly, it caught the great tree, which soon afterwards became a mass of living flames. A snake had crept on to that tree before and found itself now in danger of perishing in the flames. Creeping upwards to the very top of the tree, the snake cried as loud as it could, for she felt her skin scorched by the fire. At that moment a man passed by, and hearing the shrieking of the snake, who begged him to save her from the flames, he took pity on her, and cutting a long stick, he reached with it up to the top of the tree for the snake to glide down on it. But he did not know the mind of the cunning beast, which had aforetime deceived his forefather Adam, for, instead of gliding down to the ground, no sooner did the snake reach the neck of the good man than she coiled herself round and round his neck. In vain did he remind her that he had saved her life, she would not hear of anything, for she said, "My skin is dearer to me than to you, and I remain where I am, you cannot shake me off." Finding that he could not get rid of the snake, the man went from judge to judge, from king to king, to decide between them, but no one could help him.

At last, hearing of the wisdom of King Solomon, he came to him and laid his case before him. But King Solomon said, "I am not going to judge between you unless you both first promise to abide by my word." Both did so. Turning to the snake, King Solomon then said, "You must uncoil yourself and get down on the earth, for I cannot judge fairly between one who is standing on the ground and one who is riding."

Cunning though the snake may be, she did not understand the wisdom of King Solomon, and therefore uncoiling herself she glided down and rested on the ground. Turning to the man, King Solomon said, "Do you not know that you must never trust a snake?" The man at once understood what the king meant, and taking up a stone he bruised the snake's head. And thus justice was done.

Needless to point out, that we have here a variant of the widespread tale of the man and the snake. At one time the judge is King Solomon, who looms largely in the minds of the people as the very type of human wisdom, at another time the judge is a child playing at justice, who induces the snake to loosen her hold on the man and is then killed by the man, who finds himself suddenly freed.

In other parallels animals are appointed as judges and this leads to the undoing of the snake. (v. Benfey, Pantschatantra, i. p. 113 ff.); Hahn (87), and the literature given by him; Afanasief (No. 15).

CXIII.

THE STORY OF THE DOG AND THE SNAKE AND THE CURE OF HEADACHE.

Once upon a time, I do not know how it came about, the dog had a frightful headache, such a headache as he had never had before. It nearly drove him mad, and he ran furiously hither and thither, not knowing what to do to get rid of it. As he was running wildly over a field, he met a snake that was lying there coiled up in the sun.

"What is the matter that you are running about like a madman, brother?" asked the snake.

"Sister, I cannot stop to speak to you. I am clean mad with a splitting headache, and I do not know how to be rid of it."

"I know a remedy," said the snake, "it is excellent for the headache of a dog, but it is of no good to me who am also suffering greatly from a headache."

"Never mind you, what am I to do?"

"You go yonder and eat some of the grass, and you will be cured of the headache."

The dog did as the snake had advised him. He went and ate the grass, and soon felt relieved of his pain.

Now, do you think the dog was grateful? No such luck for the snake. On the contrary, a dog is a dog, and a dog he remains. And why should he be better than many people are? He did as they do, and returned evil for good. Going to the snake, he said, "Now that my headache is gone, I feel much easier; I remember an excellent remedy for the headache of snakes."

"And what might it be?" asked the snake eagerly.

"It is quite simple. When you feel your head aching, go and stretch full length across the high-road and lie still for a while, and the pain is sure to leave you."

"Thank you," said the simpleton of a snake, and she did as the dog had advised her. She stretched herself full length across the high-road and lay still, waiting for the headache to go.

The snake had been lying there for some time, when it so happened that a man came along with a stout cudgel in his hands. To see the snake and to bruise her head was the work of an instant. And the snake had no longer any headache. The cure proved complete. And ever since that time, when a snake has a headache it goes and stretches across the high-road. If its head is crushed, then no other remedy is wanted, but if the snake escapes unhurt, it loses its headache.

CXIV.

THE STORY OF THE HORSE, THE LION, AND THE WOLF.

There once lived a Sultan who had a charger. It had served him most faithfully for a good number of years, carrying him in many battles and on numerous other occasions.

At last the horse grew old and was no longer fit to serve him as before. The Sultan, remembering its faithful services, decided to free it from every manner of work, and in token of recognition of its faithfulness he set it free to roam about and to feed wherever it liked.

In order that it should not be molested, he ordered that a special coating should be made for it of red cloth adorned with many coloured stripes and patches. He also had it shod with steel shoes, which last for a very long time.

So, covered with the king's cloth, the horse went about from field to field eating whatever and whenever it pleased. Being now at ease, the horse got fat again and strong, and when it walked on the road, it struck with its feet against the stones and pebbles, and made the sparks fly from them.

In a forest near by there lived a lion. One day, coming out to the edge of the wood, he saw the horse in the distance, and as he had never yet seen such a peculiar animal, he got frightened and started running back into the thickest part of the forest.

There he met a wolf, who, seeing the lion run, asked him why he was running.

"If your life is dear to you," he replied, "do not stop here talking, for that terrible beast which I have seen yonder in the field is sure to overtake us, and then good-bye to us."

"What beast?" asked the wolf. "I know no beast that could frighten a lion."

"Well, then, thank God that you have never come across it."

"How does it look?"

"It is a huge beast with a head so big as I have never seen a head before, and a mouth so large that it could devour us in one bite. As to its skin, I have never yet seen any like it, all red with stripes and patches of every colour. It stands on huge feet, and whenever it walks it scatters fire right and left."

"That may all be as you describe it," said the wolf, "but still it might also be otherwise. I should like to see it myself, and I might perhaps know what it is."

"Very well then, let us go higher up the hill, where we can look down on the field."

"I would rather see it from here, if possible, near at hand."

"As you please. I will squat down on my hind-legs and lift you up with my fore-legs, so that you can see some distance from here."

The lion did as he said, and taking the wolf in his fore-paws he lifted him up. But whilst doing so he pressed the wolf so hard that he nearly lost his breath, and his eyes began starting out of his head. When the lion saw it, he said, "You cur, you talk bravely and laugh at me who have been close to that terrible beast, and you, who are so far away and scarcely able to get a glimpse of it, you are already losing your breath, and your eyes are starting out of your head."

With these words he threw the wolf down, and away he ran as fast as his legs would carry him.

This story reminds us of the framework of the famous Indian Panchatantra, which had so successful a run through the literature of East and West, becoming one of the most popular books of the Middle Ages, better known as the story of Kalila and Dimna, or even falsely, Syntipas.

In Krauss (No. 2) the animal which frightens the lion, or rather imposes on his credulity, is an ass. The ass makes the lion believe that he, the ass, was the real king of beasts. The wolf, to whom the lion says that he was not the real king but that another animal claimed the right to rule, listens incredulously. The lion ties their two tails together and takes the wolf to the summit of a hill, from which they can see the ass. The lion, misunderstanding the exclamation of the wolf and thinking that he said "there are six," runs away as fast as he can, dragging the wolf behind him and killing him in his mad flight. It is obviously the same tale but slightly varied in the details. In the Rumanian the lion never gets so near the other animal as to be undeceived by his own sight. He merely sees from a distance an animal the like of which he had never seen before, and he works himself up into a great fright. This seems to be the more primitive form. In the South Slavonic, the lion is simply deceived by an animal with which he ought to be familiar enough.

A curious and corrupted version is found in Grimm (No. 132), where only the tying of the tails has been retained. In this version the horse is tied to the lion, and he drags the lion to his master's house.

Similar is the story of the dib-dib (the name used by the woman for the dropping rain), whom the leopard, who listens at the door, takes to be a great monster. A man jumps on the back of the frightened leopard, thinking it was an ass. The leopard carries him to the dib-dib, and he runs away. He meets a fox, who laughs at his fear, and they tie their tails together. The man, who had sought safety in the branches of the trees, says that the fox had brought the leopard to be killed. The leopard, who had distrusted the fox, runs away with him, and as their tails are knotted together, both get killed. (Hanauer, p. 278.) (Cf. also Afanasief, No. 19.)

CXV.

THE MARRIAGE OF TOM AND THE VIXEN.

Once upon a time there lived a very poor man who had a wife and family, and there was also a tomcat prowling about the house. One day a neighbour took pity on them and gave the man a handful of flour of maize. Overjoyed he went home, and mixing it with water made a nice dish. Pouring it out on to the plates, he and his wife and the children sat round eating as much as they could.

Tom, smelling the dish, began to mew, and the father, taking pity on Tom, said to the children:

"Poor Tom is starving too, give him some of the mameliga" (maize pudding). But they said, "He must have it in a better style. We will gird him with a sword round his loins, and he will draw it and cut for himself as big a slice as he likes." And so they did. But when Tom saw himself girded with a sword, which clanked as he moved about, he said, "I am much too good for this family," and off he went into the world.

On his way he met a vixen, and she asked him:

"Where are you going, Sir Knight?"

He said, "I am going to get married."

"Will you marry me?"

Tom replied, "Yes, you are just as good as any other bride."

So they went together to the vixen's lair, and a happy life began for our friend. For the vixen went catching birds, rabbits, and other animals, and bringing them home to feed her husband.

One day the vixen met the wolf. "Hallo, sister," he cried, "have you got a meal ready?"

"I have and I have not. I am married now, and I have a soldier for a husband."

"I should like to see him," said the wolf; "show him to me."

"Come, I will show him to you," said the vixen, and going to her lair called Tom, who came out and met the wolf. Tom came out with his sword clanking behind him, and when he saw that huge beast with his huge head, his hair stood on end and he began to spit and to snarl for very fear. The wolf, thinking that Tom was getting angry and ready to draw his sword and cut him up, turned tail and ran away.

Running very fast he met the bear, who asked him:

"What is the matter with you that you run so fast? Who is running after you?" The wolf told him all that had happened, and how the vixen had got a mighty soldier for a husband, who killed anybody who came near him.

The bear began to get curious and ran to the vixen's lair, and the same thing happened to him, for Tom came out with his hair standing on end, and growled, and snarled, and spat, shaking all the time with fear. The bear ran away as fast as he could and came to the wolf, and they discussed between themselves how best to get rid of that terrible Tom, as their lives were no longer safe. So they called the hare and the lion into counsel. These decided to invite the vixen and her Tom to a banquet at which they would all fall upon him and end his career. So they spread a table-cloth under a huge tree, but none had the courage to go and call the guests. The bear said, "Send the wolf," but he replied he was too weak and they would catch him. The bear said he was rather stout and heavy and they would catch him. So the trouble fell upon the hare. He, poor fellow, could not help himself, so he went with the message to invite them. But he did not venture too near. From a distance he called out to them that they were invited to a banquet, and off he went after he had delivered the message.

When the vixen heard the message she told Tom, and together they went to the banquet. On the way Tom saw a crow on the top of a tree, and, as is the way with cats, before one could turn round Tom had climbed to the top of the tree and had caught the crow. He then killed it, and threw it down on the ground.

The hosts, who were sitting at the table, saw what had happened, and said to one another, "Just see what that knight is doing. Even the people on the very top of the tree are not safe from him. He catches them and kills them. How then can we fight him on the earth?"

So the lion crawled under the table, the bear climbed up the tree, and the wolf and the hare hid themselves in a bush.

When the vixen and Tom came to the place, no one was there, and they wondered where their hosts could be. Whilst they were looking round, Tom saw the tip of the lion's tail, and, thinking it to be a rat, he attacked it. When the lion felt someone tugging at his tail he did not wait any longer, but ran away as fast as his legs could carry him.

When Tom saw that huge lion he got frightened and ran up the tree. Now the bear saw Tom running up the tree, and he got frightened and tumbled head over heels down the tree on to the table with Tom after him, who, being frightened, ran into the bush. There the wolf and the hare were crouching, hidden away. No sooner did they see Tom than off they dashed in a fright. Tom ran back to the vixen, who was sitting at the table thinking with great satisfaction how they had all run away out of fear of Tom.

She embraced him, and they sat down alone to the banquet and enjoyed themselves, no one disturbing them.

In Krauss, No. 3, there is a story parallel yet not identical with it. In the South Slavonic, a cat, together with a dog, a duck and a gander, defeats the wolf, fox, bear and wild pig arrayed against them in battle. Tom contributes most to the victory by sudden attacks on the ear of the hidden pig, and frightening the bear in the tree by climbing up in fear, etc. In other respects the stories disagree.

The setting is entirely different. The wolf challenged to combat the dog, who had betrayed him on two occasions, and each one brought his contingent to the appointed place of battle. The dog brought his friends of the courtyard, and the wolf his of the forest, and the battle ended in the discomfiture of the latter as mentioned above.

Another version is found in Haltrich (No. 82), in which a cat feeds on the carcase of a horse. It is seen successively by the fox, the wolf, the bear and the wild pig, who get frightened by the sight of a small, wild beast, which had killed an animal many times their size and was eating it.

The cat runs after them by mere chance, and manages to bite the pig's ear and frighten the others to such an extent that they are still running, all except the wolf, who has fallen on a pointed stick and got impaled.

Among the Cossack Tales (W. Bain, London 1894, p. 130 ff.) there is a story similar, not quite identical.

CXVI.

THE STORY OF MAN AND HIS YEARS.

When God had created the world, he called all his creatures together to grant them their span of life, and to tell them how long they would live and what manner of life they would lead.

The first to appear before God was man. And God said to him, "Thou, man, shalt be king of the world, walking erect upon thy feet and looking up to heaven. I give thee a noble countenance; the power of thought and judgment shall be thine, and the capacity of disclosing thy innermost thoughts by means of speech. All that lives and moves and goes about the earth shall be under thy rule, the winged birds and the creeping things shall obey thee, thine shall be all the fruits of the tree and land, and thy life shall be thirty years."

Then man turned away dissatisfied and grumbling. "What is the good of living in pleasure and in might, if all the years of my life are to be thirty only?" So did man speak and grumble, especially when he heard of the years granted to other animals.

The turn came to the ass. He stepped forward to hear what God had decreed for him. The Creator said, "Thou shalt work hard; thou shalt carry heavy burdens and be constantly beaten. Thou shalt always be scolded and have very little rest, thy food shall be a poor one of thistles and thorns, and thy life shall be fifty years." When the ass heard what God had decreed for him he fell upon his knees and cried, "All merciful Creator, am I indeed to lead such a miserable life, and am I to have such poor food as thistles and thorns. Am I to work so hard and carry such heavy burdens and then live on for fifty years in such misery? Have pity on me and take off twenty years." Then man, greedy of long life, stepped forward and begged for himself these twenty years which the ass had rejected. And the Lord granted them to him.

Then came the dog. To him the Creator said, "Thou shalt guard the house and the property of thy master; thou shalt cling to them as if thou wast afraid of losing them; thou shalt bark even at the shadow of the moon, and for all thy trouble thou shalt gnaw bones and eat raw meat, and thy life shall be forty years."

"All merciful Creator," cried the dog, "if my life is to be of worry and trouble, and if I am to live on bones and raw stuff, take off, I pray thee, twenty years."

Again man, greedy of life, stepped forward and begged the Creator to give him the twenty years rejected by the dog. And the Creator again granted his request.

Now, it was the turn of the monkey. The Creator said, "Thou shalt only have the likeness of man, but not be man; thou shalt be stupid and childish. Thy back shall be bent; thou shalt be an object of mockery to the children and a laughing-stock of fools, and thy life shall be sixty years."

When the monkey heard what was decreed for him, he fell upon his knees and said, "All merciful God, in thy wisdom thou hast decided that I should be a man and not a man, that my back shall be bent, that I shall be a laughing-stock for young and fools and I shall be stupid. Take, in mercy, thirty years off my life." And God, the all merciful, granted his request.

And again, man, whose greed can never be satisfied, stepped forward and asked also for these thirty years which the monkey had rejected. And again God gave them to him.

Then God dismissed all the animals and all his creatures, and each one went to his appointed station and to the life that has been granted to him.

And as man has asked, so has it come to pass.

Man lives as a king and ruler over all creatures for the thirty years which the Lord had given to him, in joy and in happiness, without care and without trouble.

Then come the years from thirty to fifty, which are the years of the ass; they are full of hard work, heavy burdens, and little food, for man is anxious to gather and to lay up something for the years to come. It could not be otherwise, for were not these the years which he had taken over from the ass? Then come the years from fifty to seventy, when man sits at home and guards with great trembling and fear the little that he possesses, fearful of every shadow, eating little, always keeping others away lest they rob him of that which he has gathered, and barking at every one whom he suspects of wanting to take away what belongs to him. And no wonder that he behaves like that, for these are the dog's years, which man had asked for himself. And if a man lives beyond seventy, then his back gets bent, his face changes, his mind gets clouded, he becomes childish, a laughing-stock for children, an amusement for the fool, and these are the years which man had taken over from the monkey.

Thus far the story which I found in some old Rumanian MSS., and which may, therefore, not be quite of a popular origin. I have retold it here because we have in it the animal in the man. It may be a caricature, but it does not show up man to advantage in comparison with the animal world. And yet, he is endeavouring to conquer the animal, to shake off the fateful inheritance of greed, and to return to that rule and kingdom which are his own by the grace of God to his thirtieth year, and which he endeavours to carry even beyond that limited span of time.

CXVII.

THE JUDGMENT OF THE SOUL OF MAN, ACCUSED AND DEFENDED BY BEAST AND BIRDS.

When a man dies two angels appear, the good one and the evil one. The good one walking on his right, and the evil on his left, each one holds a book in his hand in which man's deeds are written. When the soul appears before the divine judge, there comes first the cat accusing the man, and the cat says, "He gave me no peace all my life through; he put me to catch mice and I often remained hungry. Then man drives me out of the house, and during daytime he never lets me in."

"What are you talking of? you should be ashamed of yourself," is the rejoinder of the dog, "you live in a warm house, you have food in plenty, you have nothing to complain of. What am I to say, who am kept out in the cold and rain, and have to watch day and night, and if ever I get a bone thrown at me I think myself happy." The judge replies: "That is your work; to that you have been appointed: off with you." The evil angel writes it all down and puts the weight of guilt on the one scale, and the good angel writes it in his book and he puts a counter-weight in the other scale.

Then come the birds. First the wild duck. He says, "O unfailing judge, see how this man has ill-treated us, he comes to our resting-place and shoots us down mercilessly." "It serves you right," is the reply of the judge, "if you live as a wild bird, you must be treated like a wild bird. You ought to be domesticated and no hurt will befall you."

Then the sparrow comes, and he says, "O mighty Lord, this man here snared us and killed us." And the judge replies, "You have stolen his corn and destroyed his crop." And other birds, like the finch and the thrush and the heron, come, and all bring accusations against the man, and the evil angel enters them in his book.

Then come the good witnesses. First the swallow, and she says, "O Lord, this man has been kind to us. We built our nest in his house and under his roof, and he never as much as molested us, and even when my young spoil the food, which he is preparing under their nest, he never hurts them." Then the stork comes, he says, "I build my nest on the very roof of his house, and on his storehouses, and he never interferes with us, and we hatch our young and feel no hurt. All merciful father, have mercy on him, as he was full of pity for us."

Then the cuckoo comes, and he said, "I who have been thy servant pray thee to forgive his sins, for even to me he does no hurt, and though I often announce death to him, he none the less listens with pleasure to my call. Have mercy on him and forgive his sins." And so the other birds come and ask the forgiveness of sin. And the good angel writes it all down in his book and puts it as counter-weights in his balance, and often the pleading of the birds opens the gates of heaven to the human soul.

CXVIII.

THE PILGRIMAGE OF THE SOUL AFTER DEATH.

O rosebush, O rosebush, Thou art evil tempered! Why hast thou tarried And not budded Since yester-morning Until this morning? It was bitter enough to watch, How they became separated, The soul from the body. Going away from the beautiful world, From the world with the sun shining, From the blowing wind, From the flowing waters. O rosebush, why hast thou hastened not to bud? I have budded quickly, For my time also has come, To go away like thee, To travel to the setting of the sun, Where the sun is hiding, Where the flowers dwell With all their sisters, And where the flower of the sun Sits at the gate of Paradise To judge the flowers, Where they have left their scent. In the evening the rain did fall. In the night the sky cleared up. In the dawn the dew has fallen, And the scent has gone astray. The soul divided from the body, Full of grief and sorrow, Journeys far away. It reaches the sea. The sea is raging furiously. It comes howling and foaming, Frightening the whole world. The wave rose up high, To swallow the world. It brings in its sweep blackberry trees, elder-trees, Pines torn from the roots. On the border of the sea, Where the pine tree of the fairies stands, The way across the waters, The soul stood praying to the pine. O pine, Be a brother unto me. Stretch, oh stretch Thy boughs, That I may lay hold of them, And thus pass across That wide sea Which divides me from the world. I may not stretch my boughs For thee to lay hold of them, And to pass across by them, For on my crest a red hawk has hatched its young, With a cursed heart And a proud eye. Ere thou art aware, The young will see thee. They will whistle, And frighten thee, And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath, And be engulfed there. Let it be so! The sea was raging furiously. It came howling and storming, Frightening the whole world. The wave rose, To swallow the world, And brought in its sweep, Blackberry trees, Elder trees, Pines torn from their roots. On the shore of the seas, Where the pine tree of the fairies stands, The passage across the water, The soul stood praying to the pine: O pine tree, Be a brother unto me. Stretch, I pray thee, Thy trunk, That I may pass across the seas Which separate one world from the other. I may not stretch my trunk For thee to pass, For in it the barking otter has laid her young, Which lie in wait for men. Before thou art ware, The young ones will find thee. They will bark at thee, And frighten thee, And thou art sure to drop into the sea beneath, And be engulfed by it. Let it be so! The sea was raging furiously. It came howling and foaming, Frightening the whole world. The waves rose high up to swallow the world. It brought in its sweep, Blackberry trees, Elder trees, Pine trees torn from the roots. On the shore of the sea, Where the pine tree of the fairies stands, The passage across the waters, The soul stood praying. O pine tree, Be a brother unto me. Stretch thy roots, That I may lay hold of them, And pass across the seas To the other part, From which the sea separates me. I may not stretch my roots For thee to lay hold of them, To pass across, For in it the yellow dragon has hatched its young, And they are starving. Ere thou art aware, They will discover thee, And they will hiss. Thou wilt be frightened, And art sure to drop into the sea, Which will engulf thee. Let it be so. And now, pine tree, Pine tree, Long enough have I prayed of thee, But I have a brother, A fine shepherd. He has a small axe, And he has two cousins, Two strong boys. They will come and cut thee down, And throw thee down. The carpenters will come, And cut thee to measure, And they will make out of thee A bridge over the sea, To give peace to all, For the souls to have a passage, The tried souls, That journey on the way to Paradise. The pine tree considered, It stretched out its boughs, And the soul passed across the nameless sea, To go where its desire carried it, To the other world. Pass on, O soul; Pass on unharmed, Until thou hast gained in mercy The seven heavy toll-houses. Then go on straight, O dear soul, Until thou reachest a place Where the road divides. Stop there and consider Which road to take, Until thou seest A tall acacia tree, Bent and with broad leaves. Take good care Not to turn to the left, For it is the narrow way-- Narrow and a blind alley, Watered with tears. And there are also fields badly ploughed, And covered with briars and thistle. There dwells the old fay, Who takes thy passport out of thy hand. But turn to the right. Thy own desire leads thee, For there thou shalt find Delightful fields, With choice flowers, Fields well tilled, sown with flowers. Thou wilt pick flowers, And the longing for this world will vanish. Take further good care, For thou shalt find In two beds, Only one flower in each, Flower close upon the ground Not touched by the wind; Flower in the shade Never seen by the sun. Pick them, For these are the flowers of Paradise. Journey on, Until thou reachest that apple tree Which belongs to St. Peter. It is a high and mighty tree, And somewhat bent On its side. The top reaches the heavens. The sides go down to the seas. The top is full of bloom, And the boughs are full of fruit; And down at the roots trickles a gentle fountain. There sits St. Mary. May her mercy be with us! Whoever passes by She takes pity on them, And gives them all to drink, And guides them into the right path. The soul drinks of the water, And forgets this world. Go on thy journey Until thou reachest the noble willow tree Covered with bloom. But it is not a noble willow covered with bloom. It is St. Mary In a beautiful garment, A garment of silk. She sits at a table, Adorned with flowers. There she sits and writes-- She the holy Mary-- The dead and the living. And she writes down the fate of each of them. Pray to her To take the page of the living. Perchance she will have compassion on thee, And will write thee among the living. But she will not have pity on thee, And will not write thee among the living, For her sheet is full up, And she has lost her pen. Pray her, however, very much That she take thee with her into the Paradise, If thou hast not prayed, When the call has reached thee In thine own village. Go then further Upon beaten tracks, until thou comest To the very gate of Paradise, Where there stands the flower of the sun. There stop. There take shelter, And wait patiently The hour of quickening, For it is sure to come, And thou wilt return, When the stags will draw the plough, And the hinds will scatter the seeds. O earth, From this day on Be thou my father. Do not hurry To eat me up, For I am giving thee now, Without ever taking them back, My shoulders in thy arms, And my face under thy green sward.

The conception which is here revealed is totally unlike popular apocryphal Christian tales like the Visions of St. Peter, Paul, and the Lady Mary, all well known in Rumanian literature. Nor are there traces of the other set of ideas, originating probably in Egypt, according to which the soul has to pass through many toll-houses where angels and devils are waiting for it, and through which it can only pass with extreme difficulty, if and when the good deeds outweigh the evil deeds. The poem of the "Pilgrimage of the Soul" has almost an heathen aspect. Noteworthy are the huge trees, at the shore of the boundless sea, which must bend across it so as to form a bridge for the soul to pass, and the three animals living in it which threaten the soul with destruction. It reminds one strongly of the Northern Ygdrasil, and almost the same beasts which inhabit it. This is not the place to discuss at any length this tree upon which the world rests, which no doubt goes back to, or is somehow connected with, the tree of life in Paradise and the legends which have clustered round that tree. This conception of the "Pilgrimage of the Soul," with its allegorical and mystical meaning, is certainly not a product of the Orthodox Church. It reminds one forcibly of the fantastical and poetical conceptions of the heterodox sects.

CXIX.

THE REWARD OF THE GOOD MAN.

A Christmas Carol of the Lord's Justice.

Lord, O Lord, In this house, In this yard, This place, Two tall apple trees have grown, Two trees tall and wonderful, Their tops intertwined. High above, In their very tops, Two candles are burning, And from these two candles Three drops are falling, And from these three drops Three rivers have grown-- One of wine, One of balsam, And one of pure water. Who bathes in the river of wine? God himself, the good God, Bathes himself, Washes, Cleanses himself in pure limpid water, Changes his clothes, And anoints himself with balsam. Further down the river John-- St. John-- And old Christmas [6] bathe and wash, And in limpid water cleanse themselves, Change their raiment, Anoint themselves with balsam. And further down, along the river, Other saints bathe and wash, And rinse themselves in pure limpid water, And put on white clothes. Still much further down, This good man bathes, Washes, Rinses himself, In clean water, And puts on clean garments. The good God said: "To whom, O man, doest thou liken thyself? To me? To the saints? To St. John? Or to old Christmas?" "No, O Lord. I do not liken myself Neither to Thee, Nor to the Saints, Nor to St. John, Nor to old Christmas, But to the good deeds which I have performed. I married as a young man, I have built a house On the highroad, I have kept a decked table On the high road. Whosoever passed Sat down at my table. All ate and drank at my table, And all thanked me. I have further built Bridges in dangerous paths. Whosoever passed Thanked me. I have further digged wells In dry lands. Whosoever drank of the water Blessed me." The good God then replied: "May thou therefore be blessed. Thou hast done good deeds In that world. Blessing shalt thou find in this. Enter Paradise without trial. Sit at table not invited, And drink the cup unasked." We wish health to this house, To these beautiful courts, To all of us a happy life For many years.

APPENDIX I.

RUMANIAN INCANTATIONS AGAINST THE ILLNESSES OF ANIMALS.

I am adding here a number of incantations or charms, which are used by the Rumanians to ward off evil from animals and to save from hurt and disease such victims of witchcraft. In the mind of the people, the old conception is still strong that every sickness is caused by some malignant spirit, and that the most potent remedy is the magical word of incantation or conjuration. And what holds good for the cure of the Evil Eye holds good similarly in the case of a snake bite or any other apparently incurable disease.

The Rumanians resort to magical performances of a peculiarly symbolical and sympathetic nature. Those practices are accompanied by "incantations" or rather "disenchantments," i.e. chants used for the purpose of destroying the spell. This is not the place to discuss at any length the history and origin of these charms and the mechanism of their composition. I have dealt with them largely in my history of Rumanian Folk-Lore (Lit. pop. Româna, 1883, p. 406 ff.). I have shown there the similarity between some of these "incantations" or "conjurations" with some Byzantine and mediæval Latin charms, and not a few ancient oriental incantations of Babylon and Palestine. In connection with the foregoing Tales and Legends, it is of no small importance now to find that similar conjurations are used for the protection of animals. The same procedure is followed as in the case of human beings, and practically the same words and images are used to free the cattle from sickness. In one or two instances (Nos. 2, 3) the cow is being bewitched and loses her milk, or the calf does not suck. The "virtue" (Rum. mana), the "abundance" or "blessing," is being taken by some witch, or is waning on account of the Evil Eye. Even in these cases the formula is almost identical with that used in a stereotyped form in human "incantations." Each of these given here could be made the starting-point of discursive explanations. But this must be reserved for a special study of the Rumanian charms and incantations. For our purpose here the translation accompanied only by a few explanatory foot-notes, is quite sufficient. It proves that to the Rumanian peasant, there is no essential difference between man and beast. They are both treated alike, and even the Lady Mary knows no difference between them. She helps the beast in the same manner as she descends the "silver ladder" to help the man. And the evil spirits, who attack man and beast with the same virulence, are driven out by precisely the same method: charms and incantations.

I.

AGAINST THE ILLNESS OF POULTRY.

"Good one" (Dobritza) went with the broom to sweep the poultry yards, the hens, and the geese runs, with the geese, The turkey yard, with the turkeys, The gardens and the orchards, The hills with the vineyards, The mountains with the forests. Then, Good One! do not go to sweep the gardens and the orchards, the hills and vineyards, The mountains with the forests, The run with the poultry, but come and sweep away the sickness of the hens, The ducks, and the geese of Mr. N. N. Sweep away the sickness with thy broom, And I with my mouth will say the charm (disenchantment). With my hand I will seize it, And beyond the Black Sea I will throw it, That it may perish, truly perish, there, As the foam of the sea, As the dew before the sun, And the birds of Mr. N. N. shall become pure, sweet, clean and shining, As made by God.

This charm is said whilst stirring the "virgin water" with a broom.

II.

CHARM FOR A COW AGAINST THE EVIL EYE.

The Monday cow has gone on her way, on her pathway, On to untrodden grass, With the virtue (Mana) not taken away, And with the dew not yet shaken off, To the field with butter, To the well with cream. She was met by nine evil-eyed ones, Nine witches, And nine takers-away of blessing (abundance mana). The cow lowed and roared; She turned back. The Holy Mother heard her. She came to her with dew under her feet and with "abundance" on her back. She took hold of her by the right horn, And led her to green reeds, And sprinkled her with (the branches) of the willow tree and basil. The cream thickened, The eyes sparkled, The hair became smooth, And the milk started running. It spurted like a vein, It issued forth like a well, and ran like a river.

III.

CHARM FOR A SUCKLING CALF.

I rose up early in the morning. I took the sickle (scythe) In my hand. I went up to the hill of love. I went down into the valley of affection. I cut nine handfuls of flowers, I cut (gathered) love from nine jolly widows, From nine beautiful girls, From nine kings and nine rulers. With the same zest as kings hasten to their kingdom, Rulers to their rule, Ministers to their ministration, Knights to their knighthood, And merchants to their business, So shall the "Thursday [7] one" Hasten to the calf, And the calf to her. As the tongue is fast in the mouth, So shall "Thursday one" stick to her calf, And the calf on to her. I burnt it (the spell) with fire, I singed it with the flame, I enveloped it with love, With affection I kindled it. As the honey is sweet, So shall the calf long for "Thursday one."

IV.

CHARM FOR A COW AGAINST SNAKE-BITE.

N. N. rose up, Got up very early, And met the accursed on the way, And he poisoned him as one bitten by the poisoned fly. The Lady Mother heard it from heaven. She took the staff in her hand, And came down upon a silver ladder. Do not cry, and do not low, O "Thursday one." Come with me to that old woman, that she may say the charm (disenchantment) for thee, With water from the well, With three stalks of elder-tree, With twigs of hazelnut tree, With a knife that has been found and with silver coins.

These charms were told in the year 1913 by a woman who was believed to be in her 109th year.

V.

CHARM AGAINST EVIL EYE.

Fly away, evil eye, from the White one. Do not wonder at her. Do not stare at her admiringly Of the milk that is milked, Of the calf that is sucking Her sweet body, That it is sweet to me as honey and yellow as wax; but wonder at, And stare admiringly At that green bush, That it is as green as the ivy, And white as the lily. Fly away, yawn, Fly away, shout, Of the great evil eye.

VI.

CHARM AGAINST EVIL EYE.

The mistress has gone on her way with Joyana (Thursday one) To feed her on the green field. Well she did feed her, Well did she satisfy her, Well did she slake her thirst. She turned her back. In the middle of the way She met an old woman Dressed in a shirt of nettles, With sandals of a black sow on her feet. She broke Joyana's horns, Her eyes she caused to shed tears, Her hair she ruffled (bristled), The tail she cut off, The breasts she squeezed (flattened), The udders she emptied. The cow lowed and the cow moaned. No one saw her; No one heard her; But the Holy Mother saw her. Only she heard. She said to her: "Thursday one, do not low, do not moan." "How am I not to low? How am I not to moan? As I went with my mistress to feed in pastures green, She fed me well. She slaked my thirst well. Back she did turn me. When in the middle of the way, An old woman met me, Dressed in a shirt of nettles, With sandals of a black sow on her feet. She lopped my horns, She caused my eyes to run over, My hair she made to bristle, My tail she has cut off, She has flattened my breasts, She has emptied my udders." "(Joyana) 'Thursday one,' do not low, do not moan. Go to N. N. He will disenchant thee with the nettle in flour, From the little horns To the little tail, From the little tail to the little horns. The horns will become sharp again. The hair will be smooth, The breasts will be strong, The udder will be full again. Go to thy mistress, And she will milk thee from the pail into the can, From the can into the pail."

This disenchantment is made with nettles in flour.

VII.

CHARM AGAINST WORMS IN BEASTS.

Take three stalks of madwort. Go to the beast that has worms, touching the wound with the madwort, say:

May there be as many maggots in the wound as there are (popi) priests in Paradise. As many and not even as many.

Say it three times, and the worms will fall off.

The implication is obvious.

VIII.

AGAINST WORMS.

On a day of Lent, before sunrise, take the beast, which has worms outside the village to a place where reeds are growing. Get nine bushes of reeds, each with three reeds (stalks) in one root. Stop still at each bush, cut the middle reed, shake it three times over the wound, and say:

"Ye three reeds are three brothers, And ye all three are to join together, And drive away the worms from Joyana; For, if not, I come to-morrow at the same time, To cut you off from the root, To take away your peace, And dust and ashes shall you become."

Then spit aside. Repeat this with each of the reed-bushes. At mid-day, when the sun stands in "the balance" (noontide), repeat the whole incantation, and yet a third time shortly before sunset. The cut reeds must be tied together by their roots, and you will see the worms dropping off when you finish the charm.

This cure can also be effected when the beast is not present. In this case, go alone, and remember the animal whilst making the operation. It will be found quite effective.

IX.

CHARM AGAINST SNAKE-BITE.

Above it is thundering, Lightning, Speckling, clinging to the skin, Skin to bone, Bone to flesh. The flesh has been bitten, Bitten by a snake. God, send the cure. Holy Mother, overshadow him.

This charm is made with "virgin water," using a hazelnut twig, especially if a snake has been killed with it. The bite is washed with the water, and a mouthful is taken three times.

X.

CHARM IF BITTEN BY A WEASEL.

Weasel, beautiful girl, There are nine boils. Nine boils have gone down; Eight boils have grown, Eight boils have gone down; Seven boils have grown, Seven boils have gone down; And so on until one boil has grown, And one has gone down. And the cow N. N. shall now remain clean and sweet (strong), as she was made by God.

This charm is said three times over a pail with "virgin water"; a cross is made over with the skin of a weasel, or with the twig of hazel-nut, or with a found knife.

The cow is washed with the water, and the rest is poured into running water.

The charm must be repeated three times daily, and for three consecutive days, if the bite is a bad one and the swelling does not go down.

APPENDIX II.

THREE STORIES FROM ARKIR, THE RUMANIAN VERSION OF THE STORY OF AHIKAR.

I.

And Anadan said: "Forgive me, my father, and let me be the meanest of swineherds, only let me live." But Arkirie said: "No, my son, thou hast acted towards me in the same manner as the wolf acted when he went to the teacher to be taught; for whilst the teacher said A B C D, the wolf said: 'For the lambs' and 'for the sheep' and 'for the goats' and 'for the kids'; in the same manner hast thou acted towards me, my son."

II.

And he began to beat him. And Anadan said: "Have mercy on me, and I will be a shepherd." And Arkirie said: "Thou hast acted towards me as the wolf who followed the sheep and met the shepherd, who said to him: 'Thank thee.' And he asked him: 'Whither art thou going so fast?' And the wolf said: 'I follow the track of the sheep, for an old woman told me that the dust of the sheep was wholesome for the eyes.' In the same manner hast thou acted against me."

III.

And he began again to beat him, but Anadan said: "Have pity on me, and I will groom thy horses." But Arkirie said: "No, my son, thou hast acted towards me like a man who, leading an ass on the road, tied it with a loose rope. The ass broke the rope and ran away. On his way he met the wolf, and the wolf said unto him: 'Happy journey unto thee, ass!' And the ass replied: 'Unhappy it will be, for the man tied me up with a rotten rope, so that I broke it and ran away, and he did not tie me with a good rope.'" And Arkirie continued to beat him until he died (M. Gaster, Jrnl. Royal Asiatic Society, 1900, p. 309).

A larger number of animal fables are found in the other versions of Ahikar, thus in the Armenian (Story of Ahikar, edited by Rendel Harris Conybeare, etc., second edition, Cambridge, 1913, p. 51), and in the Slavonic (ibid. pp. 21 and 22).

APPENDIX III.

ANIMAL STORIES FROM THE HEBREW ALPHABET OF BEN SIRA.

This seems to be the oldest collection of animal tales which agree most closely with some of the Rumanian. They are of a purely oriental origin, and are therefore invaluable in helping to determine that of the latter. They are taken from the Venice edition, 1544, reprinted page by page by Steinschneider, Berlin 1858 (f. 24a ff.).

I.

WHY WERE FLIES CREATED WHICH LIVE ONLY ONE DAY?

Q. Why were the flies created which live only one day?

Reply. For the sake of the fly which in the future will torture Titus the wicked, and also for the sake of the fledglings of the raven. When they are hatched they are white and the parents fly away and leave them. Then they cry to God, as it is written, "The young of the raven which cry unto Him and He brings to them these flies and they are fed thereby." After three days they become dark; then the parents return to them. Thus the Lord, blessed be He, prepares the cure before the illness (f. 24a).

II.

WHY DID GOD CREATE WASPS AND SPIDERS WHICH ARE OF NO USE?

Q. Why did God create wasps and spiders which are of no use?

R. Once upon a time David was sitting in his garden and he saw a wasp eating a spider, and there came a fool with a stick in his hand, and he drove them away. Then David said, "O Lord of the Universe, what benefit is there in these creatures? The wasp eats up the honey and is destructive; the spider weaves the whole year and there is nothing with which to clothe oneself; the fool only hurts people, and he does not know thy unity and thy greatness, the world has no benefit from him." The Lord replied and said, "David, thou dost scoff at these creatures now, but a time is sure to come when they will be of use to thee, and then thou wilt recognise the reason of their creation."

It happened thereafter, when he hid in the cave, being pursued by Saul, a spider came and made his web across the mouth of the cavern. Saul coming up, saw the web and said, "Certainly no man has entered this cave, as otherwise that web would have been torn to pieces." So he went away without searching the cave. When David came out, and beheld the spider, he kissed it and blessed it and said, "Lord of the Universe, who can accomplish works like any of thy works? For all thy deeds are beautiful."

When he came to Achish, David simulated the fool before him and his men. The daughter of Achish also was foolish and mad. When they brought David before him, he said to his men, "Are ye mocking at me, considering that my daughter is a fool, or am I in want of lunatics?" So they left him and he fled. When he found himself in safety he thanked God for all that he had made, for it was all beautiful.

When David (had entered the cave) he found Saul sleeping his noon-day sleep. Abner slept across the opening with his legs bent. David tried, slipped through the legs, and went in and took the jug of water. When he returned Abner suddenly stretched out and kept David as in a hedge, as if two heavy pillars had come down upon him. Then David prayed for God's mercy and said, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" In that hour a miracle was performed for him, for a wasp came and stung Abner in his leg. He lifted it up and David was able to escape. Then David praised and thanked God.

It is not fit for man to mock or scoff at God's works (f. 24 a-b).

III.

WHY HAS THE OX NO HAIR ON HIS NOSE?

Q. Why has the ox no hair on his nose?

R. When the Israelites were going round Jericho with Joshua in order to destroy it, they brought him successively a horse, an ass, and a mule to ride upon, but they all died, for Joshua was a very heavy man. Then they brought an ox and he carried him on his back. When he saw this Joshua kissed the ox on his nose, and for this reason the ox has no hair on that spot (f. 25a).

IV.

WHY DOES THE CAT EAT MICE MORE THAN ANY OTHER CREEPING THING?

Q. Why does the cat eat mice more than any other creeping thing?

R. In the beginning the cat and the mouse were friends. At one time the mouse went and accused the cat falsely before God, and said, "Lord of the Universe, the cat and I are companions and we have now nothing to eat." God replied, "Thou hast brought a false accusation against thy friend in order to be able to eat him. Now the reverse is to happen, the cat will eat thee and thou shalt serve her as food." The mouse replied, "Lord of the Universe, what have I done?" And God said, "O thou unclean creature! Hast thou not heard what happened to the sun and moon which originally were of equal size, but because the moon brought a false accusation against (slandered) the sun, I have reduced its size and made it smaller than the sun? So also hast thou slandered thy companion in order to eat him, and he therefore will eat thee." "If that be so," the mouse replied, "then the cat will surely utterly destroy me." And God replied, "I will leave thee a remnant as I have done to the moon."

Then the mouse went, and springing on the head of the cat began to bite it. The cat then threw the mouse on the ground and killed it.

From that time on, the fear of the cat fell upon the mice, and for this reason does the cat eat the mouse (f. 25b).

(The Hebrew word used for cat is khatool which originally means weasel!)

V.

WHY DOES THE ASS MIX HIS WATER WITH THAT OF OTHER ASSES, AND SMELL THE DUNG?

Q. Why does the ass mix his water with that of other asses and smell the dung?

R. When God had created all the beings, the ass said to the horse and mule, "Every creature has some time of rest, but we are destined to work on continuously without any rest. Let us pray to God to give us also some time of respite, and if our prayer be not heard let us decide no longer to procreate so that we may die out." So they prayed, but their prayer was not heard. But God said, "When your water becomes rivers to drive mills thereby, and when your dung has the smell of perfume, then you will obtain your respite." And this is the answer to the question (f. 25b).

VI.

WHY DOES THE DOG FIGHT THE CAT?

Q. Why is there enmity between the cat and the dog?

R. When the cat (weasel) was created it became the companion of the dog. Both hunted together and ate together of the prey. It so happened at one time that two or three days had passed and they had not got anything to eat. Then the dog said to the cat, "Why are we sitting here a hungered? Go to Adam and sit in his house and be fed there, and we will go after the creeping things and reptiles and will feed upon them, and we shall both be kept alive." The cat then replied to the dog, "Let it be so, but we must take an oath that we will not go both together to one master." He replied, "Thou hast spoken well." There and then they both took an oath, and the cat went to the house of Adam, where she found mice, which she caught and ate: the rest ran away from her. When Adam saw what had happened, he said, "A great salvation ("cure") has God sent me."

Then he took the cat into his house and fed it and gave it to drink.

The dog went to the wolf and said unto him, "Let me come and spend the night with thee." He replied, "Very well." Both went to a cave to sleep there. In the night the dog heard the footsteps of the various animals, so he woke the wolf and told him, "I heard the steps of thieves." The wolf replied, "Go out to them and drive them away."

The beasts turned upon him to kill him. The dog fled away and went to the ape, but the ape drove him away. Then he went to the sheep. The sheep received him and allowed him to sleep there. He heard the noise of feet and he said to the sheep, "I hear the footsteps of robbers." The sheep replied, "Go out." The dog went out, and began to bark. The wolves said, "Surely sheep are there." So they went thither and ate the sheep.

The dog fled away and went from place to place trying to find some shelter, but could not find any. At last he came to Adam, who took him in and allowed him to sleep there. In the middle of the night the dog said to Adam, "I hear the noise of footsteps." Adam rose at once, took his spear, and going out with the dog drove the wild beasts away and returned home with the dog. Then Adam said to the dog, "Come into my house, dwell with me, eat of my food and drink of my water." And the dog went with him. When the cat heard the voice of the dog she came out to him and said, "Why dost thou come thither to my place?" And he replied, "Adam has brought me hither." Adam said to the cat, "Why dost thou quarrel with him? I have brought him in, for I found him clever and full of courage. Thou needst not grieve, thou shalt be kept also as before." The cat replied, "My Lord, he is a thief, is it right to dwell in one place with a thief?" And the cat went on to say to the dog, "Why hast thou broken (transgressed) thy oath?" He replied, "I will not enter thy dwelling place, I will not eat of anything that belongs to thee, I will not cause thee the least harm." But the cat did not listen and began to quarrel.

When the dog saw this, he went away from the house of Adam, and going to that of Seth, dwelt there. And the dog tried all the time to make peace with the cat, but it was all in vain. In that state they have remained to this very day, in constant enmity, for the children follow the example of their forebears: as the proverb has it: sheep follow sheep (f. 25b, 26a).

VII.

WHY IS IT THAT THE DOG RECOGNISES HIS MASTER AND THE CAT DOES NOT?

Q. Why is it that the dog recognises his master and the cat does not?

R. Whoever eats of anything at which mice have nibbled forgets what he has been taught. It is only natural that he who eats the mouse itself should forget his master (f. 26b).

VIII.

WHY IS THERE A SEAM IN THE MOUTH OF THE MOUSE?

Q. Why is there a seam in the mouth of the mouse?

R. At the time of the Flood, all kinds of creeping things and reptiles had come into the Ark, male and female. Once upon a time the mouse and its mate were sitting by the cat, when the cat suddenly said, "I remember that in former times my forefathers used to eat yours, and what they did then I might as well do now." With these words the cat sprang at the mouse wishing to eat it. The mouse fled and sought for a hole to hide itself, but could not find any. A miracle happened, and a hole appeared which the mouse entered and hid itself. The cat came to the hole and tried to follow the mouse, but could not, as the hole was very narrow. So she put her paw into it with the intention of dragging it out. The mouse opened its mouth. So the cat cut its lower chin open with its nail about half the length of a span. When the cat had gone away the mouse crept out of the hole and running to Noah said to him, "O thou righteous man, do me an act of charity and sew up the chin, which my enemy the cat has torn open." Noah replied, "Go to the pig and bring me one of the bristles of its tail." He went and brought it to Noah, who sewed up the chin. To this very day the seam can be seen (f. 26b).

IX.

WHY DOES THE RAVEN HOP IN ITS WALK?

Q. Why does the raven hop in its walk?

R. Once upon a time the raven saw how beautiful was the stepping (walk) of the dove, more beautiful than that of all the other birds. He liked the walk of the doves very much, and he said to himself, "I will also put my feet in the same step." And he nearly broke his bones in the attempt to imitate the dove. The other birds laughed and mocked at him. The raven felt ashamed and he said, "Let me return to my former walk." So he tried to walk as before, but he could not, for he had forgotten it. Thus he remained with a halting step, like one who is jumping, neither walking as before, nor being able to walk as the dove (f. 26b).

X.

WHY DOES THE RAVEN MATE DIFFERENTLY FROM ANY OTHER BIRD?

Q. Why does the raven mate differently from any other bird?

R. There are various explanations. One is that he has been punished for his lewdness in the Ark, and for the same reason also the dog has been punished.

Others say, because he is wicked, a thief, and froward. There is one answer which combines and explains it more satisfactorily. When Noah wanted to send the raven to see whether the waters were falling, the raven fled and hid himself under the eagle's wing. Noah searched after him and found him there under the wing of the eagle. He said to him, "Go, thou wicked one, and see whether the waters are falling." The raven replied, "Hast thou not found any other bird but me." Noah replied, "I can only send one of the two birds whose first letter is either Ain or Yod." The raven replied, "Why not the eagle and dove"? (Nun, Yod). Noah said, "Because there will be a town in existence called Ai whose inhabitants will kill Yair, who will forbid the raven and permit the dove (to eat)." Then the raven replied impudently to Noah, "The reason why thou hast chosen to send me out is that thou wishest to kill me in order to marry my mate, as I belong to those birds of which thou hast introduced into the Ark only one pair."

When Noah heard these words, he cursed the raven that he should mate differently from any other bird, and all the birds in the Ark replied Amen. Then the raven replied, "Why hast thou cursed me? I have a legal complaint against thee." Noah replied, "Because thou art lewd and foolish and dost suspect innocent people. If I do not approach my own wife, who is like unto me, whilst we are in the Ark, how can I approach thy wife, who is so different from a human being, and moreover is forbidden unto me as a married female?"

The raven said, "Why dost thou call me lewd (fornicator)?" Noah replied, "Thine own words prove thine immorality, I have not made thee an evil name." And thus it has remained according to Noah's curse (f. 26b-27a).

XI.

WHY ARE THERE NO COUNTERPART TO THE FOX AND THE WEASEL AMONG THE CREATURES OF THE SEA? AND THE STORY OF THE FOX'S HEART AND THE FISHES.

Q. Why are there no counterpart to the fox and weasel in the sea? The story of the fox's heart and the fishes.

R. Because they were cunning. When God had created the angel of death, he saw the creatures, and he said to God, "Lord of the Universe, grant me permission to kill them." God replied, "Thou shalt have power over all the creatures of the earth except the descendants of the bird Milham, who are not to taste the taste of death." He said, "O Lord, separate them from the rest if they are so pious, so that they do not learn the evil ways of the others and come to sin." God at once granted him his request. He built for them a great town and he placed them therein, and he sealed up the gate of that town, and he said, "It has been decreed (by God) that neither my sword, nor that of anyone else should have power over you unto the end of all generations." The angel of death returned then to God, who said to him, "Throw the pair of each created being into the sea and over the rest thou shalt have power." The angel did as he was told, and he threw into the sea a pair of each created being. When the fox saw what he was doing, he began crying and weeping. The angel asked him, "Why art thou weeping?" The fox replied, "I cry for my friend whom thou hast thrown into the sea." The angel asked him, "Where is thy friend?" The fox then went and stood close to the edge of the water and the angel saw his shadow in the water, and he believed that he had indeed thrown a pair of his friends into the sea, and he said to the fox, "Get thee hence." The fox ran quickly away and was thus saved.

On his way he met the weasel, and he told her all that had happened and what he had done. The weasel did likewise and escaped also from being thrown into the sea.

After the lapse of one year since these things had happened, did Leviathan gather together before him all the creatures of the sea, and it was found that neither fox nor weasel was among them. So he sent for them, but he was told what the fox had done to escape from being thrown into the sea. Moreover, they told Leviathan that the fox was very cunning. When Leviathan heard of his great intelligence, he became jealous of him. He sent large fishes to go and fetch him, by deceiving him and luring him away, and then to bring the fox to him. They went and found him walking leisurely along the seashore. When the fox saw the fishes approach and play about close to him, he entered into conversation with them. When they saw him, they asked him, "Who art thou?" He answered, "I am the fox." They said to him, "Dost thou not know that great honour is awaiting thee and it is for this purpose that we have come hither. He said, "What is it?" They replied, "Leviathan is sick unto death, and has left the command that no one else is to rule after him as king but the fox, for he is the most cunning of all the beasts. Thereafter, you now come with us, for we have been sent to offer thee this honour." He said to them, "How can I go into the sea and not be drowned?" They replied, "Ride on the back of one of us and we will carry thee safely over the waters of the sea, so that not even a drop of water shall touch the tip of thy nose until thou reachest the kingly palace. Then we will lower thee down into it and there thou wilt rule over all of us, and thou wilt rejoice all the days of thy life, and thou wilt no longer have to search for food, and be exposed to be hunted by mighty beasts and to be eaten by them."

When the fox heard these words, he believed them, and mounting on the back of a mighty fish started with them on a journey on the sea. When the waves began to play round him he began to be anxious. His wit had forsaken him. Then he recovered himself and said, "Woe unto me, what have I done? The fishes have tricked me worse than I have ever tricked all the other beasts. Now that I have fallen into their hands how can I escape?"

He then said to them, "I have come with you and I am now at your mercy. You may tell me what is it that you really want of me." They replied, "We will tell thee the truth. Leviathan had heard of thy reputation, that thou art very cunning, so he said to himself, I will cut his belly open and will eat his heart, and thus shall I become also very wise."

The fox said to them, "Why did you not tell me the truth, for I would then have brought my heart with me. I would have given it to the king Leviathan and he would have shown me honour. You are now going to your own destruction." They said to him, "Hast thou not thy heart with thee?" He replied, "No, for such is our habit that we leave our heart behind and we walk about without it; whenever we want it we fetch it, and if there is no necessity for it we leave it where it is." So they said to him, "What shall we do now?"

He replied, "My place and my dwelling is close to the seashore, if you are willing to do it, bring me back to the place whence you have taken me. I will go and fetch my heart and return with you to Leviathan, who is sure to honour me greatly. If you, however, will bring me to him without my heart, he will be very angry with you and eat you up. For I will tell him that you had not told me anything before you took me away, and that when I heard from you the reason of your errand, I told you to carry me back and that you refused to do so." The fishes then said at once, "Thou speakest well," and they returned to the place at the seashore whence they had taken him. He went down from the back of the fishes, and jumping and frolicking about he rolled over and over in the sand. The fishes said to him, "Haste thee, do not tarry, for we must depart quickly." He replied, "Ye fools, get yourselves away. If I had not had my heart I could not have gone with you into the sea. Is there any creature in existence moving about and not having a heart within?" They replied, "Thou hast mocked at us." He replied, "If I got the best of the angel of death, how much more likely am I to get it of you?" They returned full of shame to the Leviathan and told him all that had happened. He replied, "He is truly cunning, and ye have proved to be fools. About such as you it is said, 'The stupidity of the fools is the cause of their death,'" and so he ate them up.

Thus it has remained that although there are creatures in the sea corresponding to those on land, there are none like unto the fox and the weasel.

THE END.

NOTES

[1] The Rumanian word used here is "ariciu," literally hedgehog, but no doubt the mole who burrows under the ground is meant. It is for this reason that I have substituted mole for hedgehog. In the Bulgarian legend it is the hedgehog, where probably the two animals are also confused with one another.

[2] The Rumanian oven.

[3] Sila Samodiva, one of the fairies of the Rumanian popular tales.

[4] Probably a reminiscence of Ler, the old Slavonic God of Love.

[5] The water of death means a water which, poured over a body which has been cut in pieces, causes all these pieces to join together, and the wounds to heal. The water of life restores to life the bodies thus joined.

[6] Christmas is here taken as a person.

[7] The cows are often called by the names of the days on which they were born. Of these Monday and Thursday seem to be the lucky ones.