The Grateful Dead: The History of a Folk Story

by Gordon Hall Gerould

In the Gasconian folk-tale Jean du Boucau, the son of a mariner, goes to fight the corsairs. On the shore of the sea he rescues a man named Uartia, who is pretending death to escape from his creditors. Later this man becomes a prosperous freebooter, and is sailing with a load of captives when met again by Jean. The latter is so shocked by his evil deeds that he encloses him in the coffin prepared for him on the previous occasion, and throws him into the sea. Jean then marries the most beautiful of the captives, who is the daughter of the King of Bilbao.

The variant is excessively rationalized, it will be observed, and most traces of The Grateful Dead have disappeared. Though various substitutions for the burial are found in each of the groups, this is the only case that I know where the man plays ’possum to escape his creditors. The story is likewise unique in making the hero take vengeance on the man whom he has helped earlier, and accordingly in making him rescue the maiden from the hands of the person who is in the character of the thankful dead. The variant has been modified by a free fancy; yet its position in the group remains perfectly clear in spite of the loss of such traits as the agreement, the act of treachery, the rescue of the hero, and the division of the gains.

Straparola I., one of the Italian novelist’s two renderings of our theme, is far more normal than the above, and is probably based directly on a folk-story. Bertuccio pays one hundred ducats to free a corpse from a robber and bury it, greatly to his mother’s disgust. He goes out again with two hundred ducats, and pays them for the ransom of the daughter of the King of Navarre. His mother is still more angry. The princess is taken home to Navarre by officers of the court who have been searching for her, but first she tells Bertuccio to come to her, and to hold his hand to his head as a sign when he hears that she is to be married. On his way to Navarre he meets a knight who gives him a horse and clothing on condition of his returning them, together with half of his gains. He marries the princess, and is returning home, when he meets the knight again and offers to give up his wife whole rather than kill her by division. Whereupon the knight explains that he is the spirit of the dead, and resigns his claim.

All the traits previously mentioned are here evident save the act of treachery by which the hero comes near losing his bride. The sign appears as a means of communication between the lovers, as in Transylvanian and elsewhere. The question of division is simply a matter of fulfilling a bargain, but it shows how easily by a slight shift of emphasis the test of loyalty could be made the important element.

None of the Italian folk variants, which I know, conforms to the above closely enough to be regarded as a near relative. Istrian, however, belongs in the same category. A youth called Fair Brow sets out to trade with six thousand scudi, which he pays to bury a debtor on the shore, for whom passers-by are giving alms. On his return home, he tells his father that he has been robbed, and again is sent out with six thousand scudi. He pays these for a maiden, who has been stolen from the Sultan, and he is consequently disowned by his father. After his marriage to the girl, the young couple live by the sale of the wife’s paintings. Some sailors of the Sultan see these, and carry the lady off home. Fair Brow goes fishing with an old man whom he meets by the sea. They are driven by a storm to Turkey, and are sold to the Sultan as slaves, but they escape with the wife and considerable treasure. The old man then asks for a division of the property, even of the woman. When the hero offers him three-quarters of the wealth in order to keep the woman, the old man declares that he is the ghost, and disappears.

All of the essential traits, except the preliminary agreement and the rescue of the hero, are here clearly marked. The latter is, indeed, probably accounted for by the storm which the hero and the ghost encounter together. The fact that the young couple live by the sale of the wife’s handiwork, and that this in some way or other leads to her restoration to her parents or earlier connections, is an important feature of The Ransomed Woman, being found clearly in the Wendish tale as well as in many variants of the compound type.

Gaelic is an interesting example of the theme. Iain, the son of a Barra widow, becomes the master of a ship and goes to Turkey, where he pays the debts of a dead Christian and buries the corpse. He ransoms a Christian maiden, the daughter of the King of Spain, with her servant, on the same journey, and takes her back to England, together with much gold. At her advice he goes to Spain and attends church, where the king recognizes by his clothing, his ring, his book, and his whistle that he has news of the lost princess. Iain then returns to England for the maiden, whom he is to marry. While going with her to Spain he is left on a desert island by a general, who has secreted himself on the ship; but after a time he is rescued by a man in a boat, to whom he promises half of his wife and of his children, if he shall have any. In Spain the princess, who has gone mad, recognizes him when he plays his whistle. So they are married, and the general burned. When three sons have been born, the rescuer appears and asks for his share; but as soon as Iain accedes he declares himself to be the ghost, and disappears.

Apart from the dressing of the story, which is unusually good, the variant follows the normal course. The several signs by which the hero is recognized by the king and the princess mark the imaginative wealth of the Celt, though the appearance of a ring, and the fact that the hero is left on a desert island by an infatuated general, show a close correspondence with Hungarian II. The introduction of the children as part of the property to be divided is interesting, since it shows the connecting link by which the simple compound now under consideration passed into combination with the theme of The Two Friends.[15] Gaelic, however, clearly belongs where it is here placed. The healing of the princess at the hero’s coming reminds one of the similar trait in Spanish.

Breton III.[16] is peculiar in several ways. A young man, who had been unjustly cast off by his parents, put himself under the protection of St. Corentin and the Virgin. To an old woman he gave all his stock of money that she might bury her husband and have masses said for his soul. The saint and the Virgin then led the hero to a nobleman, whose daughter he married. On a hunt he was cast into the sea by an envious uncle of his wife, at a time when she was pregnant; but he was brought to an island by some mysterious power and nourished there for five years by St. Corentin. Finally an old man appeared and took him home after he had promised half of his possessions to the rescuer. When a year had passed, the old man came back and demanded half of the child; but just as the mysterious stranger was about to divide the child St. Corentin and the Virgin appeared and explained their identity, together with that of the old man, who was the saint himself. They told the hero, furthermore, that God was well pleased with him, and would take his son and himself to Paradise. Father and son fell dead immediately, while the wife went into a convent.

This tale, like Nicholas, has been dressed up as a legend, chiefly in the praise of St. Corentin, with the result that the elements are confused. The burial, however, persists, though the ransoming of the woman has been feebly replaced by the aid of the saint and the Virgin. The hero is cast into the sea by an avaricious uncle of the bride, again a weakened trait. The rescue and the agreement to divide are normal in essentials, though adorned with superfluous miracles, as is again the conclusion of the tale. It illustrates how easily such a narrative may be adapted, whether consciously or not, to a religious purpose. The division of the child, which comes in question, is of precisely the same character as in Gaelic; it does not imply the presence of a new motive, though it indicates the possibility of a new combination.