And when my back began to bleed,
I was dead, dead, dead indeed.
I remember, when this doggerel was repeated, we all sat round the kitchen fire, the maid sitting by the table with her hand near the lighted candle; towards the last few lines her voice would drop, until, on repeating the last line, it almost became a whisper. With ears strained, and eyes nearly out of our heads, we awaited the dramatic dénouement, which most of us well knew; but in those days the excitement never waned, always the same intensity of feeling was duly worked up, as she repeated in a hoarse whisper, ‘dead, dead, dead indeed,’ extinguishing the light, as she uttered the last syllable with a fearful shriek, whilst we all yelled in one mighty chorus. Houses in those days were built, not held together by the tacks in the carpets and the paper on the wall; such a yell as we gave would have shaken the ornaments from off every bracket nailed to the walls of a whole row of modern blown-together domiciles.
The Story of the Poor Old Cobbler and the Wicked Knight.
There was once a poor old cobbler had twelve children, all girls. He was quite broken down with the hard work of finding food and clothes for them. One night, when he was working very late, he suddenly heard a laugh, and on looking up, saw the queerest little man his eyes had ever beheld sitting by the stove door. ‘And who may you be?’ inquired the cobbler, resting from his work. But the queer little man did nothing but laugh and shake his head. After a while, however, he said, ‘I have a bit of news for you.’ ‘Good, I hope,’ said the cobbler, waxing a thread. ‘You won’t think so; there is another daughter going to be added to your little family,’ chuckled the old chap. On hearing this, the poor old cobbler fainted; the shock was too much for him. He had hoped it would be a boy, who would in time grow up and help him; but a girl! it was too much. However, when he came to himself, the baby was born, and sure enough the queer little old man had been right. It was a sweet babe, and when three years old the wee thing showed promise of growing up to be a most beautiful maiden. One day, whilst the little lass was playing about the shop door, a knight rode by; seeing the child, he was struck with her marvellous beauty. Never before had he seen such beauty and shapeliness of limb in one so young. As he rode along, he consulted his book of fate, for he was a wicked wizard knight, and discovered the child was fated to be the bride of his own son. This he determined should not be. Turning his horse about, he returned to the cobbler’s shop, and after some conversation offered him a sum of money, and promised to take the child along with him, adopt her, and leave her all his wealth. To this the poor old man agreed, and away rode the knight with the lovely child in his arms. Now, he dare not kill the child himself, because the book of fate told him if any one did so before she had been kissed by the man she would wed, the same should die that day. So he determined her death should be an accident. Riding to the banks of the Ouse, he jumped his horse off the bank, leaving hold of the little lass as he did so. As they sank beneath the flood, she was washed away, and the wicked wizard left her to her fate. Her clothes, however, buoyed her up, and as she floated along, she heard a voice call her by name, and a queer little old man, who was fishing, threw his line over her, and dragged her to shore. Taking her to a cottage near by, he gave her in charge of the good wife and her husband, begging them to take great care of her until he came that way again; placing a large sum of money on the table to pay for her keep, he departed on his way. So she lived with these kind people, until she was eighteen. At this time her many charms of form and face had become the talk amongst the courtiers at York. To such an extent was her wondrous beauty famed abroad, that she was even toasted in the castle. A certain wizard knight, hearing her so extolled, rode out one day to where she lived. Seeing her standing by the door, he passed on, and again consulted his book of fate, and discovered she was the very maiden he had looked upon as drowned years ago. Turning back, he offered the good woman a large sum of money if she would permit the maiden to carry a note to his brother who lived at Scarborough Castle. The dame said it was too far for the maiden to walk; however, just then a queer little old man drove by with an ass yoked to a cart, and offered to give the maiden a lift most of the way, so she was permitted to go. When the queer little old man and the maiden rested for the night, he stole into her bedroom, and removed the note, which she had pinned within her chemise for security; so gently was this accomplished, that she never awoke. He broke the seal and read, ‘Let the bearer see my son, command him to kiss her, and then cast her into a dungeon, and let her starve to death.’ ‘I knew,’ muttered the old man. Returning to the sleeping maiden, he gently pinned within her chemise another note, with just the same seal on, and written in exactly the same writing. But written in this note was a command that the brother should at once marry his nephew to the bearer. In the morning, when the girl arose, she found the ass, cart, and little old man had left very early; however, she was quite near to Scarborough, for never had an ass trotted like the queer little old man’s had done. On arriving at the castle, she was speedily married to the wizard knight’s son, and they were as happy as they could be. Two months afterwards, the father-in-law came to stay at the castle. No sooner did he behold the bride, than he saw that he had been baulked again, but he held his peace. Early next day he met his daughter-in-law in a wood: she had been seeing her husband off on a hawking expedition. The wicked knight asked her to walk with him along the shore, and when they came to a lonely place, he told her she must prepare to die. Plunging his sword into the sand, he scratched a mark on the beach, telling her that when its shadow reached that mark, he would draw it from the sand and run it through her heart. So eloquently did she plead, and her beauty was so great, that he relented so far as to offer her her freedom if she would swear to go away and never see his son again, until she wore upon her finger the ring which he held in his hand. She swore she would do as he wished if he would only spare her life. He then by magic art threw the ring into the very middle of the sea, where it sank.
Broken-hearted, she left her cruel father-in-law, and wandered far away, feeling that she would never see her husband again. For more than a year she travelled from place to place. At last the poor young wife was engaged as cook by a great baron’s lady. Some time afterwards her father-in-law and her husband came to stay at the castle. The very day they arrived, the queer little old man and his cart drew up at the servants’ door, offering fish for sale. The cook purchased a large turbot, and on opening it, she found inside it the very ring which her wicked father-in-law had thrown into the middle of the sea. She cooked the dinner so well, that the guests begged to see the cook; to this end she dressed herself in her best gown, put the ring on her finger, and appeared before them. The wicked knight recognized her at once, and rushed forward to slay her with his uplifted sword. But the delighted husband folded her in his arms, so that his father must have slain both had he dared to strike. Freeing herself from her husband’s loving embrace, she held up her hand. The knight saw the ring. He then knew she was guarded beyond the reach of any machinations of his; so he gave them his blessing, and they all lived happily ever afterwards.
Although in another form the same story is told by Grimm, and is known to-day in every country in Europe, originally it was two separate stories, which have grown into each other. The first part is closely related to a Swedish and Norwegian story, whilst the second is from a different root, which is common to many others. One having a strong resemblance is that of ‘Mageloné,’ and of mythological signification. Regarding the story itself, I dare not venture an opinion. But the guardian spirit, in the form of the little old man, comes out much more strongly in the North Riding version than in that of any other. Again, the act of throwing the ring into the sea, which was followed by total darkness being cast over two lives, may be typical of the sun[78] sinking into the middle of the universe. And the fish bringing it to light may be symbolical of its rising again; anyway, the act brought light, life, and hope for the future. I leave it with you—I have only suggested, not laid my ideas before you as the opinion of one able to give an opinion on a question of this kind.
The story of the ‘Golden Ball’ and others are common with us; but they must be passed by, as space only remains for one other.
The Cruel Step-mother and her Little Daughter.
Once upon a time, years and years ago, when animals possessed the power of speech, a cruel woman lived with a son of her own, and a little step-daughter of her husband’s whom she hated—but then she was a wicked step-mother. This poor little girl never knew what it was to have a kind word spoken to her, though she tried in all things to win her step-mother’s love, but it was a hopeless task. One day she was sent to the neighbouring village for some candles, her step-mother giving her a silver piece, telling her to be sure and bring the change back. On returning home, she had a stile to climb, and it was such an awkward stile. There was no other way but to push the candles under the lowest bar, and then climb over; this she attempted to do, but when on the topmost rail, a black dog snatched up the candles and ran off. In great trouble she returned to the grocer’s, and with some of the remaining money bought another pound of candles; but this time, when she came to the stile, a white dog ran away with them. Again she went to the grocer’s, and found she had just sufficient money left to purchase a third pound. This time she was wiser, and balanced the candles on the topmost rail; but just as she did so, a great black bird swooped down and flew away with them. On her return home she told her cruel step-mother all that had happened. Instead of scolding and beating her, she told the child to come and rest her head on her knee whilst she combed her hair; and the cruel woman’s heart was filled with envy and hatred when she saw the wealth of golden hair which fell about the child, hiding her from view. ‘Your head tires my knee,’ said she; ‘fetch in the stick-block, and rest your head upon it whilst I comb out the cotters[79].’ There really wasn’t a cotter in her hair, it was only a wicked excuse. Whilst the child was gone for the wooden block, she took a sharp axe from its nail and hid it under her apron. ‘Put your head on the block, my dear,’ said she—oh, so kindly—and the little child, never dreaming what her cruel step-mother contemplated, laid her head upon the block. Then the cruel woman brought out the bright sharp axe, and with one blow severed the head from the body. This wicked step-mother then tore the child’s heart from her little breast, put it in a pan, and set it upon the fire to boil, whilst she buried the body. On the father’s return home, she said that his daughter was chopping sticks. She then offered the father some of the broth she had made from his own dear child’s heart. He tasted it, but said he did not like the flavour, and would not drink any more; her own son refused even to taste it. Next evening, when the father asked for his little daughter, the woman lied again. She made the excuse that she had sent her with the carrier to stay with her grandmother, a great way off, declaring that she would not return for a whole year.