The Dog and the Snake,
which is common to all the Western and most of the Eastern texts. The king then remands his son to prison. But Next Day the counsellors again sentence him to be burnt, and when a great fire was prepared and a crowd had assembled to witness the execution, another of the Seven Wise Men opportunely comes to the spot, and obtains a reprieve for Luscinius by relating the story of
which reappears in later Western texts (see p. 330), but is here related with variations: After the king discovers that his treasury has been robbed, he takes counsel of a wise old man, who had formerly been himself a great robber, but, though now deprived of sight, often gave the king excellent advice. The old man suggests that a quantity of green grass should be taken into the treasury and placed on a fire; then, closing the gate, the king should walk round the building, and observe whether smoke escaped through any part of the walls. This the king does, and perceiving smoke issuing from between stones which were not cemented, the precise place where the robbers had gained entrance was at once ascertained.—The youth's device of stealing his father's body (omitted in other texts, but occurring in Herodotus and in the Indian story of Ghata and Karpara— see p. 332) is peculiar: The king, still acting by the old man's advice, causes the corpse to be guarded by twenty horsemen in white armour and twenty in black. The youth disguises himself, one side in white and the other in black, so that he is mistaken as he rides past the two lines of horsemen by each as belonging to their own party.
On the Third Morning the king and his princes assemble as before; a great fire is kindled and the king's son is about to be cast into it, when, lo, an aged man of reverend aspect, on a black horse, and bearing a green olive branch, advances to the king. On learning the cause of the concourse, he says: “I am a Roman by nation, and am called one of the Seven Wise Men. Out of the treasury of my heart I offer things new and old to the kings and princes of the world. Seeing chance has brought me hither, if thou wilt hear me, I will tell thee a story—old, indeed, but perhaps new to thee.” The king commands silence, and the wise man begins the story of
In the early days of Rome, a king, dying, left the throne to a young son. A protracted siege soon followed; the city was oppressed by famine; and the king, acting on the advice of counsellors of his own age, ordered all the old men and women to be slain, as they consumed food, but were useless for defence. All who concealed their parents were also to be put to death. Thus the sons became more cruel than the enemy to their fathers. One wise old man was concealed in an underground cave by his son, whose wife was aware of the fact, but promised with an oath to keep the secret. By-and-by peace was concluded. The young king had no advisers skilled in law and wisdom. His young counsellors drew him into every wickedness; vice ran riot in the realm, the impious triumphed, and the innocent suffered. The country now had cause to remember the saying of the wise man: “Woe to the state whose king is a boy, and whose princes feast together till morning.” But the youth who had concealed his father brought before him all causes referred to him. The old man pointed out the proper decisions, and thus the youth came into favour, was able somewhat to restore order and law, and was made chief counsellor. Hence arose hatred towards him, and plots were laid by his former associates. They suspected that his father was alive and taught him this wisdom. Openly they durst not say so. They persuaded the king to appoint a time for plays, games, and feasts, and to order every one to bring forward (1) his best friend, (2) his worst enemy, (3) as good a mimic and (4) as faithful a servant as he had. This was agreed to. Some brought as the friend a father, others a wife, and so on. But the youth, instructed by his father, who detected the evil design, brought forward a dog, an ass, his little son, and his wife. At the noise of the people and the sound of the music, the stolid ass became excited, and made the palace echo with his braying. Soon all were attracted to the spot. Ridiculed by the wits, the youth, when questioned by the king, said:
“My dog is my best friend. He does not fear to accompany me wherever I go, encountering with me the danger of streams and robbers, and the sharp fangs of wild beasts. For me, he despises even death itself, and often refreshes me and my guests with the excellent game he captures. Away from me, he is never happy, beside me, never sad. Truly, O king, I have nowhere found so faithful and sincere a friend, nor do I think you have any better.
“I have brought forward to you my ass, the most faithful and patient of servants. For he, every morning, going out to the forest, returns thence laden with firewood; when this is removed from his back, he carries corn to the mill, and brings it back ground; then he sets off with the buckets to the well, and returns with them full. Although he does all this day by day, without murmur or reluctance, he demands no costly dress, or expensive food, but is satisfied if a little hay or chaff follows his daily toil. I ask, O king, where shall I find such a servant? Clearly, nowhere.
“But whom, as a mimic, could I bring forward better than my little son? For he daily shows me new sports, and, while he attempts to imitate what he sees or hears, puts on comic expressions, mumbles the words he cannot utter plainly, and when he completely fails to say what he thinks, expresses it by signs and bodily gestures. In the same hour, we find him joyful and sad, weeping and laughing, and that not artificially, as with others, but he acts simply, incited by his nature and age, and looking for no reward from me.
“Finally, I have brought here my wife, the greatest enemy I have.” But the wife, seeing she had been reserved for this indignity, remembering the confidence, pity, and humanity exercised towards her husband and his father, was goaded into fury, and could scarcely allow her husband to finish the words. “O worst and most ungrateful of men,” said she, “who, unmindful of the kindness and pity which I have shown for many years now towards your father, withdrawn from death and kept in a cave—now to regard me before the king and all the people as an enemy!” But the young man replied:
“You see, O king, that what I said concerning my wife is true, who, for a single word, both betrays my concealed father and brings me under sentence of death. So a certain very wise old man, instructing his son, commanded him to be especially on his guard against her who lay in his bosom, that is, his wife, wishing it to be understood that she was a false friend. For against open enemies it is easy to be on the watch, but no one can avoid a wife, or fair-faced friend, who is always about, because they pretend to inordinate love by their words, and plan snares in their hearts.”
But the king, having admired the skill of the young man, and understanding the truth of his words, anticipated his accusers: “Go,” said he to him; “you and your father are safe; delay not to bring him to the games.” The old man was therefore led from the cave, and on account of his surprising wisdom, the king appointed him a judge and father of the city and country. In a short time he restored the ancient condition of things, expelled vice, implanted good, restored quiet, and, dying, left behind him many followers of virtue.
“Hear then,” adds the wise man, “my story ends, and going away, O king, I ask from thee nought else but that you grant your son his life for this day, knowing that something is concealed which, if you knew, will free you from murder and your son from punishment.”
This story, found in different forms in mediæval works, and probably of Talmudic origin, is reproduced, with variations, in the Gesta Romanorum, Tale 124, to this effect: A certain noble knight, having offended his king, is to be pardoned on condition that he enter the royal hall of audience on foot and riding at the same time, and bring with him his most attached friend, the best jester, and his most deadly foe. One evening a pilgrim comes to the knight's castle to claim his hospitality, and after he has retired, the knight, saying to his wife that pilgrims often carried much gold about with them, proposes to rob and murder their guest, which has the lady's approval. But the knight, rising early next morning, dismisses the pilgrim, and, killing a calf, he cuts it into pieces, and puts them into a sack, which he then gives to his wife, desiring her to hide it, saying that only the head, legs, and arms of the pilgrim were in the sack—the rest he had himself concealed in the stable. On the day appointed, the knight proceeds to the king's palace, accompanied by his dog, his child, and his wife. He enters the royal hall, with one leg over his dog, as if he was riding. The king is amused with his ingenuity, and then asks him for his best friend. The knight, drawing his sword, wounds his dog, who runs away, howling with pain; but on the knight calling him back, he immediately returns, and fawns upon him. “This,” says he, “is my true and faithful friend.” Then the king asks for his worst enemy; upon which the knight strikes his wife a severe blow. Enraged at this affront, the lady exclaims: “Why dost thou smite me? Dost thou forget that thou didst slay a pilgrim in thy house?” The knight then gave her a second blow. “Wretch!” she cries, “dost thou think I cannot tell where I placed the sack containing parts of the murdered man, and that the rest of him lies in the stable?” Messengers are despatched to search the places indicated by the woman, and they return with the flesh and bones of the calf, upon which the king bestows great gifts and honours on the knight, and ever after held him in great esteem.
On the Fourth Morning the prince is again led out to be burnt, when an aged man, robed in a toga, and seated on a mule, presents himself before the king, and relates the story of
There was once a nobleman who had a strongly fortified castle and many other possessions. His wife died, leaving him an only daughter, whom he caused to be instructed in all the liberal arts, so far as wisdom could be acquired from the discipline and books of the philosophers, in order that she might thus know how to secure her inheritance. In this hope he was not deceived. She became skilled in all the liberal arts, and also acquired a perfect knowledge of magic. After this it came to pass that the nobleman was seized with an acute fever, took to his bed, and died, bequeathing all his goods to his daughter. Possessed of her father's wealth, she resolved she would marry no man unless his wisdom was equal to her own. She had many noble suitors, but, denying none, she offered to share her couch with any one who should give her a hundred marks of silver, and when the morrow came, if they were mutually agreeable, their nuptials should be duly celebrated. Many youths came to her on this condition, and paid the stipulated sum of money, but she enchanted them by her magical arts, placing an owl's feather beneath the pillow of him who was beside her, when he at once fell into a profound sleep, and so remained until at daybreak she took away the feather. In this way she spoiled many of their money, and acquired much treasure. It happened that a certain young man of good family, having been thus deluded, resolved to circumvent the damsel, so, proceeding to a rich slave [freedman?], whose foot he had formerly cut off in a passion, he asked him for a loan of one hundred marks, which the lame one readily gave, but on this condition, that if the money was not paid within a year, he might take the weight of one hundred marks from the flesh and bones of the young man. To this the youth lightly agreed, and signed the bond with his seal. With the hundred marks he went a second time to the damsel, and removing by accident the owl's feather from under his pillow, thus did away the spell, and, having accomplished his purpose, he was next day married to her in presence of their friends.
Forthwith prosperous times came to the young man, he forgot his creditor, and did not pay the money within the appointed time; whereupon the lame one rejoiced that he had found an opportunity of revenge. He appeared before the king, who was then on the throne, raised an action against the youth, exhibited the bond as evidence, and demanded justice to be executed. The king, though horrified at the bargain, had no alternative but to order the youth to come before him to answer the action of the accuser. Then the youth, at length mindful of the debt, and afraid of the king's authority, went to court, with a very great crowd of his friends, and plenty of gold and silver. The accuser exhibited the bond, which the youth acknowledged, and, by order of the king, the chiefs pronounced sentence, namely, that it should be lawful for the lame one to act as specified in the bond, or to demand as much money as he pleased for the redemption of the youth. The king therefore asked the lame one if he would spare the youth on receiving double money. He refused, and the king was attempting for many days to prevail upon him to agree, when, lo, the youth's wife, having put on man's attire, and with her countenance and voice altered by magical arts, dismounted from a horse before the king's palace, and approached and saluted the king. Being asked who she was, and whence she came, she replied that she was a soldier, born in the most distant part of the world, that she was skilled in law and equity, and was a keen critic of judgments. The king, being glad at this, ordered the supposed soldier to be seated beside him, and committed to her for final decision the lawsuit between the lame one and the youth. Both parties being summoned, she said: “For thee, O lame one, according to the judgment of the king and the princes, it is lawful to take away the weight of one hundred marks of flesh. But what will you gain, unless indeed death, if you slay the youth? It is better that you accept for him seven or ten times the money.” But he said he would not accept ten times, or even one thousand times, the sum. Then she ordered a very white linen cloth to be brought, and the youth to be stripped of his clothing, bound hand and foot, and stretched thereon. Which done, “Cut,” said she to the lame one, “with your iron, where ever you wish your weight of marks. But if you take away more or less than the exact weight by even the amount of a needle's point, or if one drop of blood stains the linen, know that forthwith thou shalt perish by a thousand deaths, and, cut into a thousand pieces, thou shalt become the food of the beasts and the birds, and all thy kin shall suffer the same penalty, and thy goods shall become state property.” He grew pale at this dreadful sentence, and said: “Since there is no one, God alone excepted, who can be so deft of hand, but would take away too much or too little, I am unwilling to attempt what is so uncertain. Therefore I set the youth free, remit the debt, and give him one thousand marks for reconciliation.” Thus, then, the youth was set free by the prudence of his wife, and returned in joy to his own house.
“Who, then,” adds the sage, “may not hope, O king, that this youth may be freed by skill? Wishing that you may be warned by this example, I ask that you will prolong the life of your son till to-morrow.” And the king grants his petition.
We have here, in all probability, the oldest European version of the story of the “pound of flesh,” which forms part of the plot of Shakspeare's Merchant of Venice. The tale of the bond is of Eastern origin, and may have come into France by way of Italy, or through the Moors of Spain. Ser Giovanni has adapted it in Il Pecerone, Day iv, Novel 1, a work written about 1378, but not printed till 1558. In this Italian version, in place of the magical influence of the owl's feather, the lady drugs her suitor's wine with soporific ingredients, and a Jew lends him ten thousand ducats on the same condition as the cripple in the above. When the stipulated period has elapsed, the Jew refuses to accept ten times the money, and at this crisis, according to Dunlop, “the new-married lady arrives, disguised as a lawyer, and announces, as was the custom in Italy, that she had come to decide difficult cases; for in that age delicate points were not determined by the ordinary judges of the provinces, but by doctors of law, who were called from Bologna and other places at a distance.” The pretended lawyer decides that the Jew is entitled to his pound of flesh, but should be put to death if he drew one drop of blood from his debtor.—The story of the bond occurs in a somewhat different form in the Anglican Gesta Rom-anorum , and also in the old ballad of Gernutus, or the Jew of Venice. It is the 13th of the Pleasing Stories in Gladwin's Persian Moonshee, and forms the leading incident of the Persian tale of the Qāzī of Emessa;—in the latter the debtor is a Muslim merchant, and the hard creditor is a Jew, enamoured of the merchant's virtuous wife.
On the Fifth Morning, the queen having renewed her complaint, accusing Dolopathos of being dilatory, unjust, and unworthy of the name and honour of king, for having allowed so shameless a youth to live so many days, the prince is again about to be burnt, when another of the Seven Wise Men appears, and relates the story of
There was a certain Roman king once advancing with his army against his enemies, who had seized a very large part of his kingdom; and it happened that his army passed through a certain village. There a poor widow, with an only son, had a little house, one only of the many in the world. She had a little hen; and as the army passed before the house, the king's son, a mere boy, let fly the hawk, which, after the manner of the nobles, was perched on his hand, at the widow's hen. The hawk was choking the wretched little creature with its crooked claws, when the widow's son ran to aid the little bird, and killed the hawk with a stroke from a stick. On this account the king's son was indignant, and raging in his fury, in revenge for the hawk, he thrust through and killed the widow's son. What then could the poor widow do, deprived of her only son, and her only property? In her excitement, she ran after the king, followed him with tears, and demanded with her voice and sobs that her son unjustly slain should be avenged. The king, being of a mild and pitying disposition, was greatly affected. Stopping, therefore, he pleasantly and quietly advised the widow to await his return from the enemy, saying: “Then, as you wish, I shall avenge your son.” But the widow said: “And what will happen if you fall in war? Who will avenge my son?” “I shall entrust that to him who shall succeed me in the kingdom.” “And what reward,” said she, “wilt thou receive, if another avenge him who was slain when you were alive and reigning?” “None,” said he. Then said the widow: “Do you, therefore, what you would command to others, so that you may acquire praise from men and reward from the gods.” The king, moved as well by the argument of the widow as by pity, put off the war, and returned to the city. When it was known that his son was the murderer of the widow's son, “Thy hen,” said he, “as I think, was fully compensated for by the death of the hawk. But for the dead son, I give thee choice of two things: For either, if you wish, I will slay my son, or, if you rather decree that he should live, I give you him in place of the dead son, that he may cherish you as his mother, adore you as queen, honour you as lady, and may serve you all the days of your life.” So she, deeming it more useful for her that the king's son should live than die, took him instead of the dead one, and was transferred from the hut to the palace, and exchanged her rags and apron for purple robes.
“See, O king,” adds the sage, “imitate the action of this most just and pious monarch; consider how you can hold to the rigour of justice, and yet by your prudence save your son. But if you do not wish to alter the sentence of your chiefs, this at least I may obtain from you, that you allow him the space of this day. For to-morrow, as to-day, you can easily find woo and fire with which to burn your son.”
A similar tale to this last is related of more than one Oriental potentate. Several of the khalīfs are represented by historians as being equally strict dispensers of justice, and the incident is probably a historical fact.
On the Sixth Morning, the prince is once more about to be thrown into the fire, when “a certain old man of venerable hoariness, dressed in a Roman toga, passing with gentle step through the centre of the crowd of men and women, and admired of many, came to the king.” After learning the occasion of such a large assemblage of people, he related to the king and his grandees the story of
A very famous and cruel robber, having amassed much wealth, settled down to a quiet and orderly life; but finding his three sons resolved to follow the same profession, he refused to grant them a farthing of his money. The youngest son, concealed in a bundle of fodder, is introduced into the royal stables, and makes off at night with the queen's celebrated steed and his valuable trappings, but is observed and followed. He and his brothers are caught. The father refuses to ransom them; but the queen offers to set them free if the old robber will relate some of the most terrible incidents of his former career.
He relates how he and his comrades were captured by a giant whose abode they had plundered; how the giant ate them one by one; how he himself blinded the giant while pretending to cure his sore eyes, and how he eluded the giant for several days by now clinging to the beams of the roof, now taking refuge among his flock of sheep, from which he selected one daily for his food. At length the giant threw him a ring, which he put on his finger, and which caused him to shout, “Here I am! here I am!” thus betraying his whereabouts. As the ring could not be removed, he cut off his finger, and the spell ceased.—Escaped at length, he comes upon the bodies of three robbers who had been lately hanged. He reaches the hut of a poor woman, whom ghūls had ordered to cook her son for their revels; he takes away one of the dead robbers and gives it to the old woman as a substitute for her son, and then occupies the place of the body he had removed, to conceal the trick. The ghūls came, however, and seizing him, were about to devour him, when, lo, a sound as of a loud rushing wind caused them to vanish, and thus he escaped a second great peril.
A remarkably close parallel to this story is found in Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol. i, pp. 145-148, in the Tale of Connal, but the sequence of the incidents is curiously changed: Connal saw, in the upper part of a cave, a fine fair woman, “who was thrusting the flesh stake at a big lump of a baby, and every thrust she would give the spit, the babe would laugh, and she would begin to weep. Connal spoke, and he said: ‘Woman, what ails thee at the child without reason?’ ‘Oh,’ said she, ‘since thou art an able man thyself, kill the baby and set it on this stake, till I roast it for the giant.’ He caught hold of the baby, and he put a plaid that he had on about the babe, and he hid it at the side of the cave. There were a great many dead bodies at the side of the cave, and he set one of them on the stake, and the woman was roasting it. Then was heard under ground trembling and thunder coming, and he would rather that he was out. Here he sprang in the place of the corpse that was at the fire, in the very midst of the bodies. The giant came, and he asked: ‘Was the roast ready?’ He began to eat, and he said: ‘Fiu fau hoagrich! It's no wonder that thy own flesh is tough; it is tough on thy brat.’ When the giant had eaten that one, he went to count the bodies; and the way he had of counting them was, to catch hold of them by the two smalls of the leg, and to toss them past the top of his head; and he counted them backwards and forwards thus three or four times; and as he found Connal somewhat heavier, and that he was soft and fat, he took that slice out of him from the back of his head to his groin. He roasted this at the fire, and he ate it, and then he fell asleep. Connal winked to the woman to put the flesh stake in the fire. She did this, and when the spit grew white after it was red, he thrust the spit through the giant's heart, and the giant was dead.” We have here a distorted version of the exploit of the Master-Thief of our tale—the blinding of the giant, which, again, is evidently taken from the similar adventure of Ulysses with Polyphemus. The man-eating giant, or ghūl, may be compared with world-wide legends of dragons and rākshasas that devoured citizens—preferably beautiful maidens, at the rate of one each week or month;—the oldest extant form being found in a beautiful episode of the Mahābharata, which has been rendered into graceful English verse by Dean Milman, under the title of the Brāhman's Lament.—To return to the Tale of Connal: “Then Connal went and he set the woman on her path homewards, and then he went home himself. His stepmother sent him and her son to steal the white-faced horse from the king of Italy… A company came out, and they were caught. The binding of the three smalls was laid on them straitly and painfully. ‘Thou big red man,’ said the king, ‘wast thou ever in so hard a case as that?’” Connal then relates his adventures, being promised pardon if he could tell of his having been in a worse plight during his past career.
On the Seventh Morning, the execution of the prince is prevented by the appearance of another old man, who, after the usual questions and replies, relates, as an example of the malice of women, the story of
A young man, in eager pursuit of a stag white as snow, chased it into a deep and distant forest, where it escaped. In attempting to retrace his way, he came upon a fountain in which a beautiful nymph was bathing. In her hand she held a golden chain, wherein lay her power. Snatching away the chain, the youth seized the nymph, and she was constrained to become his wife. During the night she awoke her husband, being ashamed at learning the fact from the stars that she had conceived six sons and a daughter. He comforts her, and brings her home to his castle. His mother dislikes the wife, and plots her ruin; but being unable to accomplish it at once, she contrives a horrible scheme. The wedded nymph gives birth to six sons and a daughter, with golden chains, like collars, round their necks. The grandmother sends the infants away to be killed by a trusty servant, whose conscience smites him, and he leaves them unharmed at the foot of a tree, where they are found by a philosopher, taken to his cave, and fed for seven years. The grandmother presents to her son seven little whelps as the offspring of his wife. In horror, he orders his wife to be degraded, and exposed to all indignities at the hands of the people. For seven long years she is thus treated, until she becomes as ugly and wretched as she had formerly been fair and happy.
When out one day hunting in the woods, the father observes seven children with golden chains on their necks. He pursues them, and they suddenly disappear. He reports the strange sight, and his mother in alarm questions the servant, who confesses that he had not killed the babes as he had promised. For three days this servant is sent by her to scour the woods for the children, but in vain. On the fourth day he finds the six boys, transformed into swans, at play in a river, and their sister on the bank holding their golden chains. While she is watching the frolics of the swans, the servant steals up to her and snatches away the chains, but she escapes with her own chain. On his return, the joyful grandmother takes the chains to a goldsmith, and requests him to make a little cup out of the gold. In vain the workman tries fire and hammer; the chains yield to neither, save that a link of one of them appears a little battered. The goldsmith weighs them, takes the same quantity of other gold, makes it into a cup and gives it to the old woman, who conceals it and keeps it unused.
By the loss of their chains it becomes impossible for the swans to resume their proper form. They lament their condition, and, with their sister, now also transformed into a swan, they fly away to seek some lake or river suitable for a permanent abode; and select the lake beside which their father's castle stands. The nobleman is delighted with their beauty and the sweetness of their music, and gives strict command for their protection. Food is also daily thrown to them. But their sister, resuming her human form, goes every day to beg at the castle, like an orphan. She divides the alms with the wretched nymph, her mother, who is kept degraded and loathsome at the castle; she weeps over her and pities her, still ignorant of their relationship. Other portions of the alms she divides with the swans, her brothers, who ever meet her with joyous demonstrations. At night she returns to the castle, and sleeps with her wretched mother. It soon begins to be whispered that the orphan is like the nobleman's wife, and, questioned by him, she confesses that she knows not her parents, but tells the story of the swans, her brothers. The grandmother becomes again alarmed, and at her order the servant follows the girl to the side of the lake, where he attempts to kill her with a sword. At this juncture the nobleman, who is returning from the field, comes up, and strikes the sword out of the servant's hand. In his fear, the servant relates the whole story of the exposure of the children, the theft of the chains, and so on. The grandmother is compelled to produce the cup; the goldsmith is sent for, and the chains are restored. The swans now resume the human form, excepting the one whose chain had the battered ring;—he continued still in the form of a swan, and is the same, so celebrated in story, who, with his golden chain, draws the armed soldier in the little boat. Thus the father recovered his children, and the children were restored to their father. The degraded mother was restored to dignity, and, with care, in time recovered her former beauty, while the wicked old crone was condemned to suffer the lot she had devised for her unfortunate but innocent daughter-in-law.
This beautiful fairy tale, under the title of Helyas, the Knight of the Swan, and considerably amplified and modified, was one of the favourite romances during mediæval times. The golden chain which the damsel wore round her neck having been obtained by the young nobleman, and thus compelling her to submit to his will, may be compared to the feather dress of the fairies in the Persian tale of King Bahram Ghūr and the Perī Hasn Bānū, and in the better-known Arabian tale of Hasan of Basra. In like manner, in Ralston's Russian Folk Tales, a youth discovers on the sea shore twelve birds which turn into maidens, and he steals the shift of the eldest, who must, in consequence, become his wife.—In the Farö islands it is still believed that the seal casts off its skin every ninth night, and becomes a maiden; should her skin be stolen she must continue in human form. And in the Shetland islands the superstition is current (according to Hibbert) that when mermaids wish to visit the upper world, “they put on the ham, or skin, of some fish, but woe to those who lose their ham, for then are all hopes of return annihilated, and they must stay where they are.”—The six children of our tale who were deprived of their chains immediately became swans, but could not return to human form until their chains were restored; yet the damsel caught bathing in the fountain, when the nobleman took possession of her chain, underwent no transformation—a piece of inconsistency common enough in fairy tales.
This tale of the Swan-Children and of the inveterate malice of their grandmother may be a Western survival of a myth which was the common heritage of the whole Aryan race. In Miss Frere's Old Deccan Days—a very entertaining collection of modern versions of ancient Indian fictions—the story of “Truth's Triumph” presents a curious parallel to the leading incident of our tale: The twelve wives of a rāja, envious of his new wife, who had borne him one hundred boys and a girl, at one time, resolve to destroy them. A nurse is bribed to throw them on a dung-heap to be devoured by rats, and put stones in their cradles. They persuade the rāja that his favourite wife has given birth to stones. The rats foster the children, but some years afterwards they are discovered and thrown into a well, and so on. Ultimately they are restored to the rāja, who puts all the envious rānīs to death.—In the Norse tale of “Twelve Wild Ducks” (who are so many princes thus transformed), the old and spiteful queen, jealous of her son's young wife Snow White and Rosy Red, takes away her baby, and accuses her to her son of having killed and eaten it. She does the same each time the princes has a baby. At length the children are discovered in a well.—And the Arabian tale of the Three Sisters who envied their Youngest Sister must be well known, in which the three baby boys and the baby girl are successively delivered to a servant to be destroyed, but are providentially preserved.
On the Eighth Morning, the king, having been again bitterly reproached by his wife for listening to the idle tales of old men, and allowing his son to live, declares that he will throw him into the flames with his own hands, if others are still unwilling to do so; but, just as he is about to commit this terrible crime, the philosopher Virgil rides up, is greeted by his pupil Luscinius, and relates the story of
which differs from the old English metrical versions in the catastrophe: instead of leaving her husband to be taken up by the watchmen, the woman admits him, after he has solemnly promised to allow her to go out whenever she wished. (See p. 332.)
Having ended his story, the sage orders the prince to be unfettered and richly robed, and Luscinius then informs his father of the cause of his silence, of the lascivious conduct of the queen and her maidens, and why they had plotted his destruction. The king commands his wife and her damsels to be thrown into the fire prepared for the prince. Dolopathos and Virgil die the same year; the ashes of the king are inurned at Palermo, and those of the philosopher at Mantua. Luscinius ascends the throne, governs his subjects well and wisely, and finally is converted to the Christian faith.
The Tank of Trial—p. 250.—I understand, from Professor Comparetti's note on Nakhshabī's story of the Father-in-Law (Researches, etc, p. 41), that the 15th tale of the Suka Saptatī is similar to the version I have cited from Cardonne's Mélanges in the incident of the “water trial,” to which a close parallel is found in the legendary “life” of Virgilius, as follows (from Thoms' English Prose Romances, ii, pp. 34-36):
Than made Virgilius at Rome a metall serpente with his cunnynge, that who so euer put his hande in the throte of the serpente, was to sware his cause ryght and trewe; and if hys cause were false he shulde nat plucke his hande out a geyne; and if it were trewe they shulde plucke it out a geyne without any harme doynge. So it fortuned that there was a knyght of Lum-bardye that mystrusted his wife with one of his men that was moost set by the conseyte of his wyfe: but she excused hyr selfe ryght noblye and wysely. And she consented to goo with hym to Rome to that serpent, and there to take hyr othe that she was not gylty of that, that he put apon hyr. And therto consented the knyght: and as they were bothe in the carte, and also hyr man with hyr, she sayd to the man; that when he cam to Rome that he shulde clothe him with a foles-cote, and dysgyse hym in such maner that they shulde nat knowe hym, and so dyd he; and when the day was come that he shulde come to the serpent, he was there present. And Virgilius knowinge the falsenes of the woman by his cunnynge of egromancy, and than sayd Virgilius to the woman: “With drawe your othe and swere nat;” but she wolde nat do after hym, but put hyr hande into the serpentes mouthe: and when hyr hande was in, she sware before hyr husbande that she had no more to do with hym than with that fole that stode hyr by: and by cause that she sayd trowthe she pulled out hyr hande a geyne out of the throte of the serpent nat hurt: and than departed the knyght home, and trusted her well euer after. And Virgilius hauing therat great spyte and anger that the woman hade so escaped destroyed the serpent: for thus scaped the lady a waye fro that great daunger. And spake Virgilius, and sayde: that the women be ryght wyse to enmagen ungraceousenes, but in goodnes they be but innocentes.
“It is curious,” says Mr. Thoms, “that at this day there is a chapel at Rome called Santa Maria, built in the first ages of the church, which is likewise denominated ‘Bocca della verita,’ on account of a large round mask, with an enormous mouth, fixed up in the vestibule. Tradition says that in former times the Romans, in order to give a more solemn confirmation to oaths, were wont to put their hands into this mouth, and if a person took a false oath his hand would be bitten off.”
*** THE Roman numerals refer to the Introduction.—The Syriac, Greek, Hebrew, and Old Castilian versions are so frequently cited in the notes to the Persian and Arabic texts, that only remarks upon them in the Introduction and Appendix are referred to here.
Abbot, Story of the, 283
Abbott, General James, 226
Ablactation in the East, 129
Abraha, The host of, 17
Absalom, Death of, 285; Re-
volt of, 284
Adi's Wife, Story of, 313
Afrāsiyāb, 118
Ahmed, Story of, 137, 291
Alakeswara Kathā, xxxv
Alwand, Mountain, 29
Alchemist, 90
Alphonsus de Clericali Disci-
plina, 220, 229, 244, 333
Amazon, Story of the, 192, 322
Amis and Amiloun, Romance
of, 350
Anecdotes chrétiennes, 293
'Antar, Romance of, 47, 324
Antelope, Hunting the, 79
Antimony, 83
Anvār-i Suhaylī, 223, 233, 242
Arab women, Bravery of, 326
Arabian Nights—see Thousand
and One Nights
Ardashīr, 50
Arouya and her Suitors, Story
of, 313
Aslam and Sindibād, xlviii
Asoka, his Son, and his Wife,
Story of, xxix
Ass (Hunting the Wild Ass), 52
Avadānas, xlix, 219, 280
Azraqī's Sindibād Poem, xl, xliv
Bagh o Bahār, 350
Bahār-i Dānish, 260, 266
Bakhtyār Nāma, xxxii, 350
Balqīs, Queen of Sheba, 35
Balzac's Contes Drolatiques,
310
Bandello's Novels, 332
Bang Eater, Story of the, 262
Bathman, Story of the, 61, 162
Beauty (Female), 53
Bellerophon Letters, 298
Benfey, Professor, xxix, 251
Birds: Story of the Slave, etc.,
310
Blackguard, Story of the, 233
Blind Old Man, Story of the,
96
Boar and Herdsman, Story of
the, 242, 330
Boccaccio—see Decameron.
Bossus, Les Trois (Fabliau), 290
Bottle Imp, Legend of the, 18
Buchanan, Exploits of George,
267
Burgess and Magpie, 338
Calila and Dimna, 31, 57, 241
Camel, Wolf, and Fox, Story
of the, 15, 217
Campbell's Tales of the West
Highlands, 263, 332, 371
Capua, John of, 35, 49
Cardonne—see Mélanges
Castilian text (Libro de los
Engannos), xxxix, 283
Caxton's Dictes, 31
Cento Novelle Antiche, 292, 330
Chastity, Tests of, 318
Cheetah, 79
Cheval de Fust, Romance of,
277
Child of Five Years, Story of
the, 94, 266
Chinese Stories (Giles'), 19
Chosroes, 50
Cinthio, 221, 293
Cléomadès, Romance of, 277
Collyrium, 83
Comparetti, Professor, xxxviii,
xlvi, xlvii, xlix, 87, 110, 133,
233, 254, 283, 284, 377
Constant du Hamel (Fabliau),
317
Coote, H. C., xxxviii-ix, 283
Counsellors, The Seven Evil,
338
Cowell, Professor, 217
Creditor, Story of Hard, 364
Curiosity, Story of, 170, 308
Dāmannaka, Story of, 297
Damsel's Fate, 110, 112, 278
Daqā'iqī (Author of a Sindibād
text), xlvi
Darī Text of the Sindibād, xlii
Dāsa Kumara Charita, 303
Daughter, Story of the Spoiled,
352
Davis' work on Chinese, 340
Decameron, 227, 230, 257, 320,
337
Delhama, Romance of, 326
Demon, Tales of a, 249, 264,
271, 306
Dervishes, The Four, 9, 118
Destiny, Story of, 280
Deutsch, Emanuel, xxiv, xxvi
Devasmitá and her Suitors,
Story of, 244, 318
Diable Boiteux (Le Sage), 19
Diana, Romance of, 301
Dictes of Caxton, 31
Dīnar, 163
Dirham, 155
Disciplina Clericalis—see Al-
phonsus
Discorso degli Animali, 35
Disguised Young Man, Story of
the, 286, 347, 348
Dīvs, 107
Dog and Go-Between, Story of
the, 61, 162, 244
Dog and Snake, Story of the,
237, 329, 359
Dolopathos, xlviii, 240, 353;
Abstract of, 357
Double Infidelity, Story of the,
35, 148, 228
Dreams, Story of the Two, 343
Dunlop's History of Fiction,
230, 292, 302, 340, 346
Durrāj, 44
Egyptian Romance, Ancient,
xxiii
Elephant and the King, Story
of the, 17
Elephant, Story of the Bread,
235
Elephant, Masters of the, 17
Elephant, Proverb regarding
the, 19
Ellis' English Metrical Ro-
mances, 35, 327
Enchanted Fountains, 300
Enchanted Horse, 277
English Editions of the Seven
Wise Masters, 354-356
Erasto, 240, 354
Face, Blackened, 111
Facétieuses Journées, 240
Fairies, Story of the Queen of
the, 309
Fairy Tales, Dr. Fryer's Eng-
lish, 297
Father-in-Law, Story of the,
65, 248
Farīdūn, 69
Fausta, Story of, xxvii
Ferashes, 195
Fihrist, The, xxxvi
Fishes, etc., Women's tricks
with, 258, 262, 263
Forbidden Doors, Story of the,
170, 308
Forty Vazīrs, Tales of the,
xxix, xxxii, 34, 142, 260,
293, 298, 330
Fountains, Enchanted, 300
Fox and the Monkey, Story of
the, 13
Fox and the People, Story of
the, 278
Frere's (Miss) Old Deccan
Days, 376
Friend, Story of the Best, 360
Fuller and his Son, Story of
the, 37, 144, 233
Garūda, 277
Gesta Romanorum, 221, 239,
289, 296, 300, 363, 368
Ghūl, Story of the Prince and
the, 50, 150, 235
Ghūls, Nature of, 55, 236
Gibb, E. J. W., 261, 270, 298
Giovanni's Novels, 332, 367
Gladwin's Persian Moonshee,
368
Glass Case, Story of the Lady
in the, 255
Goat: Two Tribes etc., 299
Gödeke, Karl, xxxiv, xlix, l, 286
Golden Age of Poets, 42
Goldsmith, Story of the, 166,
303
Gomberville, 303
Görres on the Seven Sages, xvii
Greek Text (Syntipas), xxxvii,
xlvii, 278-282
Greyhound and Snake, Stories
of the, 237, 329, 359
Gueulette's Contes Tartares, 346
Hāfīz, 6, 19, 40
Hawking, 79
Hatim Taï, Romance of, 256
Heart, the sultan of the body,
20
Hebrew Text (Mishlé Sanda-
bar), xxxix, 284-8
Hecatommithi, 221, 293
Heptameron, 251
Hippocrates' Nephew, Story
of, 330
Hitopadésa, 57, 61, 196, 228,
241, 309, 335
Honey, Story of the, 154, 298
Hunchbacks, Stories of the,
287, 290
Hundred Merry Tales, 342
Husband, Story of the Liber-
tine, xlvi, 58, 241
Husband Shut Out, Story of
the, 332, 376
Hūrīs, 25
Indian Antiquary, 253, 294, 313
Indian Fairy Tales (Miss
Stokes'), 263, 313
Infant in Cradle, Story of the,
93
Infidelity, Story of the Double,
35, 148, 228
Iram, Garden of, 28
Isfandiyār, 107
Jack of Dover's Inquiry, 267
Jacob's Sorrow, 201
Ja'farābād, 40
Jaida and Khālid, Story of, 324
Jalālu-'d-Dīn Rūmī, 270, 271
Jamshīd, The Goblet of, 6
Jeshuæ Nazareni, Historia, 221
Johannes de Alta Silva, 353
Johnson, Dr., on the Poets'
Golden Age, 42
Kalila and Dimna, 31, 57, 241
Ka'ba (at Mecca), 58
Kāma Sutra, 141, 287
Kāmarupa, Romance of, 152,
346
Kārūn, 75
Kathá Sarit Ságara, 242, 244,
255, 271, 295, 303, 308, 314,
318, 332
Kathákosa, Story from the, 297
Kauthar, 40
Kay-Kāūs, 118
Kay-Khusrau, 118
Kay-Qubād, 100
Khatā, 97
Kh, ārazm, 97
Khizar, 41
Khutan, 97
King and his Seneschal, Story
of the, 334
King's Son and the Merchant's
Wife, Story of the, 335
Kisra, or Khusra, 50
Knave of Clubs (Rowlands'),
230
Knight and Greyhound, Stories
of the, 237, 329, 359
Knight of Hungary, Story of, 343
Kohl, 83
Lady and her Suitors, Story of
the, 181, 311
Lady and the Three Knights,
288, 353
Lady in the Glass Case, 255
Lady of Antwerp, 322
Lady Prioress and her Wooers,
Lydgate's Story of the, 320
Latin Dolopathos, 354, 357
Laylī and Majnūn, 108
Le Grand, 337, 346
Liberators, Story of the Four,
106, 271
Libertine Husband, Story of
the, xlvi, 58, 241
Libro de los Engannos (Old
Castilian Text) xxxix, 283
Lion's Track, Story of the, 80,
144, 256
Litters in the East, 151
Liver, the seat of Love, 47
Lloyd's State Worthies, 267
Llywelyn and his Dog, Story
of, 239
Loaves, Story of the, 232
Lover in the Chest, Story of
the, 178, 310
Mabinogion, 217, 263
Magpie, Story of the, 191
Magpie and Burgess, Story of
the, 338
Mahābharata, 372
Majnūn and Laylī, 108
Masnad, 172
Massuccio's Novels, 346
Mastaba, 200
Mastermaid and her Suitors, 322
Masters, Analysis of the Seven
Wise, 327
Master-Thief, Story of the, 370
Ma'sūdī, xxxvi
Maydan, 194
Mélanges de Littérature Orien-
tale, (Cardonne's), 250, 257,
261
Merchant's Wife and her Suitors,
Story of the, 181, 311
Merlin's Pillar, Story of, 337
Messiah, Breath of the, 40
Miles Gloriosus of Plautus, 346
Minister and the Fool, Story of
the, 294
Minister's Son, Story of the,
249, 306
Mirrors, Metallic, 17
Mishlé Sandabar (Heb. Text),
xxxix, 284-8
Monk and Miller's Wife, Story
of the, 320
Monkey and the Boar, Story of
the, 59, 242
Monkeys, Story of the King of
the, 27, 222
Morier's Journey to Persia, 323
Morley's Letter to Lane, xli
Mother, Story of the Careless,
91
Musalla, 40
Musk, 98
Nails, Biting the, 23
Nakhshabī—see Tūtī Nāma.
Navarre, Queen of, 251
Nitambavatī, Story of, 303
Nobleman and Soldier's Wife,
Story of the, 319
Nöldeke, Professor, xlvi, xlviii
Norse Tales (Dasent's), 296,
310, 376
Noy, Attorney-General, 267
Oesterley, Professor, 357,
Oldest Animals, Legend of, 217
Orlando Furioso, 301
Orlando Innamorato, 301, 323,
324, 345
Pancha Tantra, xxi, 57, 96, 97,
190, 222, 240, 251
Panjāb, Legends of the, 226,
227
Panther employed in hunting,
79
Paris, Paulin, xxvii
Parrot and Merchant, Story of
the, 31, 141, 222
Parrots, Wonderfully gifted,
227
Partridges, Story of the Two,
39, 233
Perī and Devotee, Story of, 71,
253
Perīs, The nature of, 25
Persia, Malcolm's Sketches of,
79, 252
Persian Prose Text, xli
Persian Tales, Frame of, 347
Perspiration, the odour of musk,
74
Petronius Arbiter, 340
Pigeons, Story of the Two, 233
Poisoned Guests, Story of the,
88, 213, 263
Portraits, Falling in love with,
303
Prince and the Ghūl, Story of
the, 50, 150, 235
Prince, Story of the Trans-
formed, 80, 156, 299
Prince: his Education, 10-23,
129, 327, 357; his Tempta-
tion, 25, 133, 329, 358
Prioress and her Wooers, Lyd-
gate's Story of the, 320
Purse, Story of the Stolen, 94,
266
Qāzī, 93
Qibla, 58
Qur'ān, 17, 25
Rákshasas, 107
Ralston's Russian Folk Tales,
236, 375; Tibetan Tales, 350
Ráma, Story of Prince, xxxi
Rámáyana, 219
Rasalū, Legend of, 226
Ravens, Story of the, 348
Redhouse, J. W., 6, 72, 271
Rice Dealer, Story of the, 46,
155
Robber and the Lion, Story of
the, 69, 251
Robe, Story of the Concealed,
73, 198, 253
Rolland's Sevin Seages, xxxix,
348, 356
Rome, Story of the Siege of,
343
Rosaries (Muslim), 202
Rowlands' Knave of Clubs, 230
Rubies, Eastern notion regard-
ing, 106
Rudakī, Quotation from, 85
Ruknābād, 40
Sā', a measure, 102
Sacchetti, 103
Sachs, Hans, 333
Sa'dī, 31, 90, 113, 271
Sajjāda, 191
Salām, 200
Samarqandī, Author of Persian
Prose Text, xlii-xliv
Sansovino, 240, 350
Sārangdhara, Story of, xxx
Schiller, 293
Second Series of Tales, xlvii
Serendil, 18
Serpents guarding treasure, 53
Seven Sciences, 327
Seven Vazīrs (Arabic Text),
xliii, xliv
Seven Wise Masters, Analysis
of the, 327
Seven Wise Mistresses, 356
Sex, Story of the Changed, 80,
156, 299
Shirāz, 40
Siddhī Kūr, Relations of, 276
Signs, Conversation by, 66, 248
Sindbād, Etymology of, lii
Sindibād Nāma, Frame of,
xviii; source of, xl, xliv;
lacunæ etc. in MS. of, l
Sinhāsana Dwātrinsatī, 302
Snake and Cat, Story of the,
56, 236
Snake and Dog, Story of the,
237, 329, 359
Snake and Ichneumon, Story
of the, 240
Solomon's Carpet, 275
Somadeva, lvi, 54, 242 (see also
Kathá Sarit Ságara)
Somaprabhā and her Three
Suitors, Story of, 272
Stepmother, Story of the Bad,
352
Suka Saptatī, xlv, xlviii, 225,
235, 241, 244, 248, 252, 284,
377
Subaqueous halls, 309
Swan Children, Story of the, 372
Syntipas—see Greek Text
Syriac Text (Sindban), xxxviii,
104, 283
Tales and Quick Answers, 231,
266, 342
Talmud, 103, 105, 154, 340
Tamil Tales, 319
Tank of Trial, 250, 377
Tarlton's News out of Purga-
tory, 230
Tartar Tales (Relations of Siddhī
Kūr), 276
Thieves breaking thro' walls,
350
Thoms' Old English Prose
Romances, 337, 377
Thousand and One Nights, xli,
xliii, xliv, 222, 223, 248, 253,
255, 256, 262, 263, 276, 277,
308, 311, 376
Throne, Tales of a, 302
Tibetan Tales (Ralston's), 350
Touchstone, Tale of the, 313
Travel, Advantages of, 268
Travellers and the Loaf, Story
of the, 220
Treasury, Story of the King's,
330, 359
Tree and Branch, Story of, 329
Tūtī Nāma, xlv-xlviii, 49, 112,
120, 224, 235, 241, 248, 260,
275, 287, 302, 319
Tyl Eulenspiegel, 103
Upakosā and her Lovers, Story
of, 314
Vazīrs, Tales of the Forty,
xxix, xxxii, 34, 142, 260,
293, 298, 330
Vazīrs, The Seven (Arabian
Text), xliii, xliv
Vega, Lope de, 350
Veil, Story of the Burnt, 73,
198, 253
Vetāla (see Demon, Tales of a)
Virgilius' Metal Serpent, 377
Vāsavadattā, Romance of, 346
Voltaire's Zadig, 340, 341
Von Hammer, 345
Vrihat Kathá, 242
Wālī, 181
Washerman and his Son, Story
of the, 37, 144, 233
Water of Life, 41
Weber, Albrecht, 303
Weber's Northern Romances,
327
Western Texts of the Seven
Sages, 351
Widow Comforted, Story of the,
338
Widow, Story of the Pretended,
63, 247
Widow's Son, Story of the, 368
Wild Ass, Hunting the, 52
Wilson, Dr. H. H., xxxi, xxxv,
liii, 217, 246, 303, 314, 319
Wine parties in the East, 184
Wise Old Man and his Foolish
Wife, Story of the, 335
Wishes, Story of the Three, 71,
190, 253
Woman and her Father-in-Law,
Story of the, 65, 248
Woman and the Abbot, Story of
the, 283
Woman and the Rice-Dealer,
Story of the, 46, 155
Woman whose love is scorned,
xxvii-xxxi
Woman's Wiles, Story of, 83,
258
Women's Craft, liii-vi
Wright, Thomas, 327, 338,
345, 353
Wright's Chaste Wife, Story of
the, 317
Ya'qūbī, xxxvi