[Supplementary List of Works referred to]
THE LEGEND OF PERSEUS
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RESCUE OF ANDROMEDA IN MÄRCHEN.
We have traced the incidents of the Supernatural Birth and the Life-token throughout the world: the two remaining incidents of the Rescue of Andromeda and the Medusa-witch have a more restricted range. For though traditions of a fight with a monster and of human beings turned to stone, the germs of the incidents in question, are almost universal, yet the special forms evolved from these germs in the Perseus saga seem to be confined to the Eastern Continent, save where immigrant peoples have taken them in modern times to the New World and given them in some rare instances currency there among the aboriginal tribes.
Of these incidents, the first with which we are concerned is that of the Rescue of Andromeda. Its popularity in Europe is hardly exceeded by that of any incident in traditional fiction, while it is known to story-tellers over vast spaces of the Orient and of Africa. The simplest form of the incident is found in a Berber märchen preserved in a manuscript at the Bibliothèque Nationale at Paris, and translated some years ago by M. René Basset. In this tale a youth, whose earlier experiences vividly recall those of Joseph down to his temptation in Potiphar’s house, is more leniently treated than the Hebrew patriarch, being simply expelled from his master’s family. He wanders away and reaches a fountain inhabited by a serpent, which allows no water to be drawn, save in return for the sacrifice of a woman. That day it was the king’s daughter’s turn to be devoured. The youth, finding her at the spring, inquires why she weeps, and undertakes her deliverance. The snake appears to have had more than one head, though how many is not recorded. At all events the hero beat them one after another, as they were stretched forth to seize the prey, until the serpent died. The water was then free to everybody; and when the king inquired whose doing it was, the stranger youth was led before him and frankly owned his exploit. It is hardly necessary to say that he was rewarded with the hand of the young lady he had saved, and was named the king’s vicegerent. The wedding festivities, we are told, lasted seven days.[2.1]
Sometimes the hero is possessed of extraordinary strength, which enables him to overcome his foe. An example is found on the island of Syra, where a tale is told of an ogre who was in the habit of eating anybody who came in his way. Strong Jack fights and kills him, thus delivering a king’s daughter, whom he marries. But she is afterwards carried off by a monster, a half-man with only one eye, one hand, and one foot. Her husband, strong as he is, attacks the half-man in vain. He cannot be killed, for his external soul consists of two doves in the belly of a certain wild sow. To such a monster the hero falls an easy prey; but he is restored to life, and in due time has his revenge.[2.2] In another story, from Agia Anna, the ogre is a female called the Krikeça, who eats a maiden daily. Though already a married man, the hero undertakes the adventure; and the maiden on whose behalf he fights brings him food enough to quell his craving—a difficult task, for these strong heroes are enormous eaters—and so supplies him with a continuance of strength to conquer the Krikeça. The latter begs for life and becomes a converted character.[3.1] So, in an Armenian tale from the Land beyond the Forest, does a wild sow who has fallen into the same vicious habit of devouring maidens, and who turns out to be an enchanted youth whom the hero frees from his spell.[3.2]
These tales are closely allied with a type of which, with one exception, I have not found any variants outside the Celtic and Basque populations of the west of Europe. It may be called The Herdsman type. Lod, the farmer’s son, in an Argyllshire tale, is unusually strong. He takes service as herd with a king; and in the course of his day’s work at different times encounters and puts to death two giants and their mother, bringing home his cattle safe and sound as no herd had done before him. A big giant then comes for the king’s daughter, whom a squint-eyed, red-haired cook undertakes to save, his price being the maiden in marriage. The cook hides behind a stone and covers himself with sea-weed. Lod comes upon the scene and meets the heroine weeping. He comforts her, and lying down with his head on her knee he begs her to relieve him of the vermin. If he fell asleep under the lulling influences of this operation she was to waken him by cutting off the point of his little finger. On the giant’s appearance the princess wakens him. He springs up, draws his club, sweeps off the giant’s three heads and throws them contemptuously at the cook, who takes them and the king’s daughter home, as if he himself were the deliverer. A day is appointed for the wedding; but the heroine identifies Lod as the man, and proves it by the point of his finger, which she produces from her pocket. She marries him accordingly, and the cook is burnt to death.[4.1] The same story in effect is given by Campbell as a variant of The Sea Maiden, cited in an earlier chapter.[4.2] In Ireland the tale appears as that of The Thirteenth Son of the King of Erin. The king having thirteen sons is advised to give one to fate. The eldest is the one on whom the lot falls. His father dismisses him with the gift of a steed of supernatural fleetness; and he hires himself as cowherd to another king. He slays three giants and takes possession of their castles and wealth, among which are a black, a brown, and a red horse. The king’s daughter is to be devoured by “an urfeist, a great serpent of the sea, a monster which must get a king’s daughter to devour every seven years.” Hundreds and hundreds of kings’ sons and champions were anxious to save her, but were so frightened at the terrible urfeist that they would not go near her when she was conducted to the beach in readiness for her death. The hero rides down on the black horse, clad in the black gear he has found in the first giant’s castle. Dismounting, he lays his head in the maiden’s lap and falls asleep, waiting for the monster. While he slept she took three hairs from his head and hid them in her bosom. With his sword of light he took off the serpent’s head, but it rushed back to its place and grew on again. The serpent, however, declined to fight any more that day. In a twinkle it returned to the sea, saying: “I’ll be here again to-morrow, and swallow the whole world before me as I come.” Undaunted by this threat, the hero appeared on the morrow in the blue dress of the second giant and mounted on his brown horse. He laid his head on the lady’s lap and slept as before; and she, taking out the three hairs, compared them with his head, and said to herself: “You are the man who was here yesterday.” He cut the monster in two, but the halves rushed together and were one as before. “All the champions on earth won’t save her from me to-morrow,” cried the urfeist as he plunged into the sea again. The third day the hero donned the third giant’s dress. It had as many colours as there are in the sky, and his boots were of blue glass. The giant’s housekeeper gave him a brown apple, with instructions to throw it into the serpent’s open mouth. The princess identified him as before; and when the urfeist came up out of the sea, “enormous, terrible to look at, with a mouth big enough to swallow the world, and three sharp swords coming out of it, Sean Ruadh threw the apple into his mouth, and the beast fell helpless on the strand, flattened out and melted away to a dirty jelly on the shore.” The red steed bore the victor away from the maiden, though she tried to cling to him and stay him: she only succeeded in retaining one of his blue-glass boots. Then a proclamation was made for all men to come and try on the boot. Sean Ruadh tried to evade the proof. In vain: by his old blind sage’s advice, the king sent men, twenty at a time, to fetch him; but he bound them twenty in a bundle, and the bundles together. At last the king himself went and, kneeling, prayed him to come; and the boot sprang through the air to him and fitted itself on his foot. The princess was downstairs in a twinkle, and in the arms of Sean Ruadh. He put all the other claimants to death without more ado, and wedded her.[6.1] This tale, with unimportant variations, has been found more than once during recent years in the west of Ireland. It has been recovered also in Brittany, where one of the variants takes the following form. A noble maiden disguised as a youth becomes page to the queen of France, who falls in love with her, and, being repulsed, sickens and dies. The page’s real sex is disclosed to the king in consequence of a false accusation affecting one of the maids of honour. The king marries her, and she bears him a son. A strange animal appears, called a murlu, is caught and caged, but released by the king’s son, who is, in consequence, compelled to flee from his father’s wrath. The murlu befriends the youth, and takes him to the palace of the King of Naples, where he is engaged as herd. With the murlu’s aid he satisfactorily performs his duties, and overcomes a giant, whose wealth he obtains. The murlu transforms itself into a magical steed, and helps him to conquer in a two days’ fight the seven-headed serpent to which the king’s daughter was to be sacrificed. The herd cuts out the seven tongues and goes away, leaving the heads on the ground. They are carried off by a charcoal-burner, who professes to be the princess’ deliverer. The king is about to give the maiden in marriage, in spite of her protests, to the pretender, when the herd presents himself and, by means of the seven tongues, proves himself the true victor. The charcoal-burner undergoes the usual penalty of his falsehood; and on the occasion of the hero’s wedding the murlu appears, declares itself the King of France’s first wife, condemned for her sin in attempting the page’s virtue to this transformation. The conditions of her punishment are now fulfilled and her expiation complete.[7.1]
In one of the Basque variants the mysterious animal is called a Tartaro. The youth is called Petit Yorge, which causes Mr. Webster to suspect that the tale is borrowed from the French; though the identification of Saint George with the slayer of the dragon, not unknown in märchen, and more fully developed, as we shall hereafter see, in the sagas, may suggest a different explanation. He takes service as gardener. With a horse, a handsome dress, and a sword, furnished by the friendly Tartaro, he fights the dragon on behalf of the king, his master’s, youngest daughter. The fight lasts three days. A charcoal-burner is the impostor. As the lady declines to marry him a proclamation is issued for all the young men to ride under a bell, and whoever can carry off on the point of his sword a diamond ring suspended from the bell shall wed her. The hero succeeds and rides away; but as he does so the king hurls his lance at him and wounds him in the leg. He is thus identified, and then produces the serpent’s tongues and forty-two pieces of silk he has cut from the damsel’s dresses.[7.2] The other Basque variants are less elaborate, and perhaps represent more nearly the original tale. The hero is the youngest of three sons. In one of the variants, the two elder, sallying forth successively, refuse a morsel of cake to an old woman and are eaten by a bear. The youngest, more charitable, is rewarded by the hag with a magical stick, the touch whereof kills seven bears that attack him, one after the other; and he obtains their palace and riches. He takes service as shepherd, and with his stick slays the seven-headed serpent, cutting out its tongues and also a little piece of silk from each of the seven robes worn by the princess. The usual charcoal-burner takes the heads and claims the reward, but is confuted by means of the tongues and the silk.[8.1] In the other variant, the youth on setting forth buys a pack of cards and a formidable mace armed with teeth. He hires himself as cowherd; and when the kine, having broken into the forbidden pastures, as in most of the variants, draw down the wrath of the Tartaro who owns the pastures, the youth challenges the monster to a game of cards. The Tartaro was not unaccustomed to play with his adversaries; and his trick was to drop a card, ask his opponent to pick it up, and kill him while he was politely complying. But now he has met his match. The youth tells him to pick up the card himself. As he stoops for the purpose a blow from the mace puts an end to him. Three Tartaros are thus overcome; and their mansion passes into the possession of the hero. The combat with the triple serpent lasts two days. The victor returns to the Tartaro’s palace, merely taking the seven tongues and the seven pieces of silk, and thus enabling the charcoal-burner to make his false claim. The king in his joy gives a dinner to his friends, to which of course the hero is not invited. The Tartaros owned three olanos, ogre-dogs. One of these is sent by the hero to fetch him a dish from the banquet. This of course leads to his discovery, and to the establishment of his right to the king’s daughter.[9.1]
The single variant of this type found elsewhere than in Celtic and Basque lands comes from the Odenwald. In it the widowed King of Orange falls in love with the portrait of the daughter of the King of Septentrion, but is daunted by the dangers of the way. His only son, Ferdinand, seeing the portrait, then attempts the adventure. A mannikin directs him to dig at the first crossway, where he will find a can of strength-giving wine and a magical sword and whistle. He slays in fight eight giants, and makes his way to the realm of Septentrion, taking possession, ere he reaches the capital, of a magnificent palace, gaily furnished, having many fine horses in the stable, but void of human inhabitants. Then he enters the king’s service as fowl-herd. Clad in three different suits of armour from his palace, he fights the dragon on three successive days, and cuts off his three heads, disappearing after each combat, so that nobody knows who the princess’ saviour is. In the same armour he takes part in a three days’ tournament for the maiden’s hand. It is necessary to run full tilt with his spear at a ring suspended from a beam, to carry it off, and to hang it up again in returning. He succeeds where all others have failed, and again makes off; but on the third day he is wounded in the leg by one of the king’s men as he escapes. By this token he is recognised; he marries the princess and becomes King of Septentrion. The horses in his palace turn out to be enchanted men, whose spell is dissolved by his success.[9.2] This tale seems to bear traces of literary influence; and in any case it is obviously of a less barbarous character than the others. Probably it is not indigenous to Germany, but has been carried thither from the west, and has suffered some change in the transmission. The indications point to a Celtic or Iberian population as the originators of the Herdsman type.