Part 2

Probably many of these stories possess an historical origin, and could we recover their original form, they might be found to record real incidents in the life of an historical personage or of a nation. The original form, however, can now hardly be even guessed at. Successive generations of story-tellers have added to the original tale, and have changed archaic incidents for those better understood by the audience, and therefore appealing the readier to their sympathies. When transplanted from its home to a distant land the local colouring has been changed, unintelligible customs have been made to give place to vernacular ones, until so little remains of the old tale that even with the help of comparative analysis it is now impossible to recover the form in which it was given out at the first. Even with a written literature and with diffused information, Shakespeare found it necessary to the stories which he dramatized to interweave appliances made known by modern discoveries, and, accordingly, anachronisms abound in his plays. If this has been the case even where the national literature was a written one, we might be confident beforehand that we should find the story-teller of the Southern Slavs lengthening out and giving variety to his tale, not from the stores of archæology, but from such common, every-day customs as would appeal forcibly to his simple audience.

The reader who is familiar with the stories accumulated by recent collectors, will trace, without difficulty, in the present volume, those fragments of the primary tales out of which story-tellers in all parts of the world have for many generations constructed or expanded their own tales. It is, therefore, unnecessary for me to do this. I add, however, a few notices of some of the tales included in this volume, merely as illustrations of the way in which they have been built up out of older materials: like the palaces of the modern Roman nobility, out of the marbles which were originally intended to perpetuate the memory of the victories of the Republic and the magnificence of the ministers of the Empire.

In the tale which is entitled 'Justice or Injustice,'[19] the manner in which the king's daughter is enticed on ship-board, and carried off with her attendant maidens, will at once recall the incident related in the opening paragraph of the history of Herodotus. The resemblance between the narrative of the abduction of the daughter of Inachus by the Phoenician merchants, and that in the tale, is so close that it can hardly be accidental. Some will think that this lends some support to the notion that the account in Herodotus is mythological; others that the Serb tale is probably based on an historical fact. That the tale in this volume is not of Serbian origin, is evident from the introduction of the elephants, and the description of their capture after being intoxicated. The restoration of the hero by means of 'the water of life,' is an incident common to very many of these folk-tales, and may fairly be regarded as a 'story-radical.' In the tale of 'Bash-Chalek,' this water of life is changed and christianized into 'the water of Jordan,' whereas in its North Slavonic variant it is still the 'water of life' which is retained as the means by which the hero is recalled from death. In most particulars the Serbian tale closely follows the Russian type, and may be compared with the tale which Mr. Ralston has translated under the title of 'Marya Morevna.'[20] The 'True Steel' of the Serbian tale is the Koshchei the Deathless of the Russian story; and the younger brother of the North Slavonic story is evidently the Prince Ivan of the South Slavonic tale. Again, two of the wooers are the same in both stories, the chief variation being that in the Serbian folk-tale the raven is introduced instead of the dragon of the Russian story.

[19] Ralston's 'Russian Folk-Tales,' p. 85.

[20] Ralston's 'Russian Folk-Tales,' p. 85.

The Bosniac story of 'The Three Brothers' is a good example of the way in which the expansion of these stories is effected. We have here three separate stories thrown into one; the various incidents of which are to be sought for in a variety of tales and in different countries. In part the tale seems to be an echo of the Egyptian story, which, written on papyrus and believed to be of the date of the Exodus of the Israelites, is preserved in the Bibliothèque Impériale. Of this story, Mr. Goodwin has given an abstract in the Cambridge Essays of 1858. The astonishing leap made by the horse of the younger brother is but an exaggeration of the sufficiently exaggerated exploit of Buddha's horse, Kantako, which was thirty-six feet long, was able to go three hundred miles in one night, and, when impeded by the Déwas, overcame the obstacles interposed in the way of its progress by leaping across the river Anoma, a distance of two hundred and ten feet.[21] In part, however, the details of this part of the story accords with the account of the leap made by the horse Rama Rajah which took three successive leaps, not only over a wide river, but also over four thick and tall groves of copal, soparee, guava, and cocoa-nut trees, as told in the story of 'Rama and Luxman.'[22] Again, the iron teeth of the sister in the Bosniac story make part of the marvels in the Russian story of 'The Witch,'[23] and has its counterpart in the incident of the Syriote story of 'The Striga.'[24] The way in which the old woman destroys her victims by throwing around them a hair of her head is also common to these folk-tales, and to several which may be found in the collections of similar tales told in widely separated countries.

[21] Hardy's 'Legends and Theories of the Buddhists,' p. 134.

[22] Frere's 'Old Deccan Days,' p. 76.

[23] Ralston's 'Russian Folk-Tales,' p. 163.

[24] Hahn's 'Modern Greek Household Tales,' No. lxv.

The incident of the tree growing out of the grave in the Serb story of 'The Golden-haired Twins,' makes also part of the story of 'Punchkin' in the collection of stories from the Deccan, where a pomelo tree which springs from the grave of a murdered person leads to the knowledge of the murder.[25] The same incident again occurs in 'Truth's Triumph' in the same collection,[26] where the hundred and one children of the king and Guzra Bai, after having been destroyed by the ranee, their stepmother, and buried by her orders, have their grave marked by a tree springing spontaneously from it; and when the mango tree has been cut down by the orders of the ranee and directed to be burnt, a sudden rising of the water prevents the order from being carried out, and the trunk is floated down to a place of security, stranded on a bank, and again changed into children.

[25] 'Old Deccan Days,' p. 4.

[26] _Ibid_, p. 54.

Another of what I have ventured to call 'primitive fragments,' because commonly made use of in the construction of the folk-tales of various races, makes its appearance in the story of 'The Biter Bit.' In that story the giant demands as his reward that he should receive what the old man had 'forgotten at home;' and obtains one of his sons, who had been left behind when his numerous brothers had set out on their bride-seeking expedition. This reappears in the Russian tale of 'The Water King and Vasilissa the Wise,'[27] and also in the story of 'The Youth' from the same lands.[28] The latter part of the story resembles the incidents in the Indian tale of 'Sringabhuja.' In 'Peppercorn' the episode of the maces which the hero requires, and with which he is unsatisfied until the third has been made to stand the test of being thrown into the air and descending on the forehead of 'Peppercorn' without breaking the mace, but merely bruising the forehead of the hero, occurs not only in the Serbian tale of 'The Bear's Son,' but also the Russian story of 'Ivan Popyalof,' of which Mr. Ralston has given us a translation; whilst the fraud practised on 'Peppercorn' by his two companions who leave him in the deep hole down which he has descended, and his subsequent adventures both below and on the earth, are almost identical with incidents in another Russian folk-tale, 'The Norka.'[29]

[27] Ralston's 'Russian Folk-Tales,' p. 120.

[28] _Ibid_, p. 139.

[29] _Ibid_, p. 73.

I have noted these various resemblances and borrowings, or rather variations from one and the same original, because they illustrate the way in which the tales found in all parts of the world have been built up of fragments which are the common property of mankind. I have not thought it necessary to trace out all the resemblances to other tales--all the borrowings from the common stock. Most of my readers will be able to do that for themselves. I have but adduced them by way of example of story-building. They, however, show us that the stock of original materials out of which these folk-tales have been constructed is, comparatively speaking, of but limited extent, and also that the large number of tales which compose the popular literature of the world are but evidences of the skill with which these scanty materials have been combined by the folk-teachers. The literature of a nation is after all but the result of the combination of some five-and-twenty sounds and letters.

In Serbia there is a curious distinction in the use of prose and rhythm in these folk-stories. Prose is the vehicle for tales related by women; rhythm the prerogative of men. Prose stories are usually told in the domestic circle, and in gatherings of women at Selo or Prelo. During the summer evenings when field labour and household occupations have come to a close, it was, and indeed still is, customary in Serbian villages for young girls, accompanied by some older female friends, to gather in groups under the branches of some wide-spreading tree, and then, whilst the younger people occupy themselves in spinning, some of the older women interest the rest of the company by relating these traditionary stories. Men are excluded from these gatherings, and the story-telling which fills up the chief part of these evenings is looked on as exclusively a feminine occupation. These stories are always in prose.

There are, indeed, men story-tellers. Their tales or stories, however, invariably assume the character of poems, and they are generally--indeed almost always--accompanied by the monotonous sounds of the "gusle." Generally speaking, these poems relate to historical or mythical incidents in the life of the nation; though sometimes they are of the same kind as the folk-tales which are given in this volume, and which are related in the feminine circle. When this is the case the distinction already noted is, however, strictly observed. The folk-tale related by a woman is in prose; the same tale told by a man is cast into the form of a poem. Even the purely Christian legends, of which the reader is presented in this volume with a specimen popular in Bosnia and the Herzégovina, 'The Legend of St. George,' is related with the aid of rhythm. Legends of the latter kind may have been, as some suppose, originally related by priests in their churches, and possibly in prose. Now, however, that they have passed into the possession of the professional story-tellers they have put on the masculine garb of verse. This Homeric feature of Serb customs is indeed now dying out with other national peculiarities. It is, however, far from being dead, nor are such verses employed only in celebrating the glories of the reign of Stephen Dushan, the heroism of George Brankovich, or the mournful defeat of Kossovo. Long tedious debates in the National Parliament, or Skoupshtina, of 1870, on the liberty of opening and keeping shops in villages as distinguished from towns, were summed up and reported throughout the country in a way which would astonish the readers of the debates in our English Parliament. The whole discussion, with the arguments of the various speakers, took the form of a long song or poem, which was recited in the open air before the villagers assembled to hear the course and result of the debate. Perhaps in a similar manner the military and naval incidents, the contentions of mighty chiefs, the debates before the tent of Agamemnon, or in the council-house of Troy, were thrown into verse by the Father of poetry, the Prince of story-tellers, or, if the reader holds to the Wolfian theory, by the professional rhapsodists, and thus made known throughout Greece in the form of the Iliad. At any rate we have, in the practice still living in Serbia, an instance of the way in which a Serbian Homer would naturally have communicated to his countrymen all the details of meetings at the council-board and skirmishes in the plain which diversified the history of a siege, in the varying fortunes of which their interest was enlisted.

W. DENTON.

THE BEAR'S SON.

Once upon a time a bear married a woman, and they had one son. When the boy was yet a little fellow he begged very hard to be allowed to leave the bear's cave, and to go out into the world to see what was in it. His father, however, the Bear, would not consent to this, saying, 'You are too young yet, and not strong enough. In the world there are multitudes of wicked beasts, called men, who will kill you.' So the boy was quieted for a while, and remained in the cave.

But, after some time, the boy prayed so earnestly that the Bear, his father, would let him go into the world, that the Bear brought him into the wood, and showed him a beech-tree, saying, 'If you can pull up that beech by the roots, I will let you go; but if you cannot, then this is a proof that you are still too weak, and must remain with me.' The boy tried to pull up the tree, but, after long trying, had to give it up, and go home again to the cave.

Again some time passed, and he then begged again to be allowed to go into the world, and his father told him, as before, if he could pull up the beech-tree he might go out into the world. This time the boy pulled up the tree, so the Bear consented to let him go, first, however, making him cut away the branches from the beech, so that he might use the trunk for a club. The boy now started on his journey, carrying the trunk of the beech over his shoulder.

One day as the Bear's son was journeying, he came to a field where he found hundreds of ploughmen working for their master. He asked them to give him something to eat, and they told him to wait a bit till their dinner was brought them, when he should have some--for, they said, 'Where so many are dining one mouth more or less matters but little.' Whilst they were speaking there came carts, horses, mules, and asses, all carrying the dinner. But when the meats were spread out the Bear's son declared he could eat all that up himself. The workmen wondered greatly at his words, not believing it possible that one man could consume as great a quantity of victuals as would satisfy several hundred men. This, however, the Bear's son persisted in affirming he could do, and offered to bet with them that he would do this. He proposed that the stakes should be all the iron of their ploughshares and other agricultural implements. To this they assented. No sooner had they made the wager than he fell upon the provisions, and in a short time consumed the whole. Not a fragment was left. Hereupon the labourers, in accordance with their wager, gave him all the iron which they possessed.

When the Bear's son had collected all the iron, he tore up a young birch-tree, twisted it into a band and tied up the iron into a bundle, which he hung at the end of his staff, and throwing it across his shoulder, trudged off from the astonished and affrighted labourers.

Going on a short distance, he arrived at a forge in which a smith was employed making a ploughshare. This man he requested to make him a mace with the iron which he was carrying. This the smith undertook to do; but putting aside half the iron, he made of the rest a small, coarsely-finished mace.

Bear's son saw at a glance that he had been cheated by the smith. Moreover, he was disgusted at the roughness of the workmanship. He however took it, and declared his intention of testing it. Then fastening it to the end of his club and throwing it into the air high above the clouds he stood still and allowed it to fall on his shoulder. It had no sooner struck him than the mace shivered into fragments, some of which fell on and destroyed the forge. Taking up his staff, Bear's son reproached the smith for his dishonesty, and killed him on the spot.

Having collected the whole of the iron, the Bear's son went to another smithy, and desired the smith whom he found there to make him a mace, saying to him, 'Please play no tricks on me. I bring you these fragments of iron for you to use in making a mace. Beware that you do not attempt to cheat me as I was cheated before!' As the smith had heard what had happened to the other one, he collected his workpeople, threw all the iron on his fire, and welded the whole together and made a large mace of perfect workmanship.

When it was fastened on the head of his club the Bear's son, to prove it, threw it up high, and caught it on his back. This time the mace did not break, but rebounded. Then the Bear's son got up and said, 'This work is well done!' and, putting it on his shoulder, walked away. A little farther on he came to a field wherein a man was ploughing with two oxen, and he went up to him and asked for something to eat. The man said, 'I expect every moment my daughter to come with my dinner, then we shall see what God has given us!' The Bear's son told him how he had eaten up all the dinner prepared for many hundreds of ploughmen, and asked, 'From a dinner prepared for one person how much can come to me or to you?' Meanwhile the girl brought the dinner. The moment she put it down, Bear's son stretched out his hand to begin to eat, but the man stopped him. 'No!' said he, 'you must first say grace, as I do!' The Bear's son, hungry as he was, obeyed, and, having said grace, they both began to eat. The Bear's son, looking at the girl who brought the dinner (she was a tall, strong, beautiful girl), became very fond of her, and said to the father, 'Will you give me your daughter for a wife?' The man answered, 'I would give her to you very gladly but I have promised her already to the Moustached.' The Bear's son exclaimed, 'What do I care for Moustachio? I have my mace for him!' But the man answered, 'Hush! hush! Moustachio is also somebody! You will see him here soon.' Shortly after a noise was heard afar off, and lo! behind a hill a moustache showed itself, and in it were three hundred and sixty-five birds' nests. Shortly after appeared the other moustache, and then came Moustachio himself. Having reached them, he lay down on the ground immediately, to rest. He put his head on the girl's knee and told her to scratch his head a little. The girl obeyed him, and the Bear's son, getting up, struck him with his club over the head. Whereupon Moustachio, pointing to the place with his finger, said, 'Something bit me here!' The Bear's son struck with his mace on another spot, and Moustachio again pointed to the place, saying to the girl, 'Something has bitten me here!' When he was struck a third time, he said to the girl angrily, 'Look you! something bites me here!' Then the girl said, 'Nothing has bitten you; a man struck you!'

When Moustachio heard that he jumped up, but Bear's son had thrown away his mace and ran away. Moustachio pursued him, and though the Bear's son was lighter than he, and had gotten the start of him a considerable distance, he would not give up pursuing him.

At length the Bear's son, in the course of his flight, came to a wide river, and found, near it, some men threshing corn. 'Help me, my brothers, help--for God's sake!' he cried; 'help! Moustachio is pursuing me! What shall I do? How can I get across the river?' One of the men stretched out his shovel, saying, 'Here! sit down on it, and I will throw you over the river!' The Bear's son sat on the shovel, and the man threw him over the water to the other shore. Soon after Moustachio came up, and asked, 'Has any one passed here?' The threshers replied that a man had passed. Moustachio demanded, 'How did he cross the river?' They answered, 'He sprang over.' Then Moustachio went back a little to take a start, and with a hop he sprang to the other side, and continued to pursue the Bear's son. Meanwhile this last, running hastily up a hill, got very tired. At the top of the hill he found a man sowing, and the sack with seeds was hanging on his neck. After every handful of seed sown in the ground, the man put a handful in his mouth and eat them. The Bear's son shouted to him, 'Help, brother, help!--for God's sake! Moustachio is following me, and will soon catch me! Hide me somewhere!' Then the man said, 'Indeed, it is no joke to have Moustachio pursuing you. But I have nowhere to hide you, unless in this sack among the seeds.' So he put him in the sack. When Moustachio came up to the sower he asked him if he had seen the Bear's son anywhere? The man replied, 'Yes, he passed by long ago, and God knows where he has got before this!'

Then Moustachio went back again. By-and-by the sower forgot that Bear's son was in his sack, and he took him out with a handful of seeds, and put him in his mouth. Then Bear's son was afraid of being swallowed, so he looked round the mouth quickly, and, seeing a hollow tooth, hid himself in it.

When the sower returned home in the evening, he called to his sisters-in-law, 'Children, give me my toothpick! There is something in my broken tooth.' The sisters-in-law brought him two iron picks, and, standing one on each side, they poked about with the two picks in his tooth till the Bear's son jumped out. Then the man remembered him, and said, 'What bad luck you have! I had nearly swallowed you.'

After they had taken supper they talked about many different things, till at last the Bear's son asked what had happened to break that one tooth, whilst the others were all strong and healthy. Then the man told him in these words: 'Once upon a time ten of us started with thirty horses to the sea-shore to buy some salt. We found a girl in a field watching sheep, and she asked us where we were going. We said we were going to the sea-shore to buy salt. She said, "Why go so far? I have in the bag in my hand here some salt which remained over after feeding the sheep. I think it will be enough for you." So we settled about the price, and then she took the salt from her bag, whilst we took the sacks from the thirty horses, and we weighed the salt and filled the sacks with it till all the thirty sacks were full. We then paid the girl, and returned home. It was a very fine autumn day but as we were crossing a high mountain, the sky became very cloudy and it began to snow, and there was a cold north wind, so that we could not see our path and wandered about here and there. At last, by good luck, one of us shouted, "Here, brothers! Here is a dry place!" So we went in one after the other till we were all, with the thirty horses, under shelter. Then we took the sacks from the horses, made a good fire, and passed the night there as if it were a house. Next morning, just think what we saw! We were all in one man's head, which lay in the midst of some vineyards; and whilst we were yet wondering and loading our horses, the keeper of the vineyards came and picked the head up. He put it in a sling and slinging it about several times, threw it over his head, and cast it far away over the vines to frighten the starlings away from his grapes. So we rolled down a hill, and it was then that I broke my tooth.'

THE WONDERFUL KIOSK.