by Maria Tatar
Then he took a rod of Druidic spells, and calling the daughter up before him, he struck her with the rod, and put a pig’s head on her in place of her own.
Then he sent the daughter away to her own place in the castle, and turning to the Druid said, “There is no man that will marry her now.”
When the Druid saw the face that was on the princess with the pig’s head that the father gave her, he grew very sorry that he had given such information to the king; and some time after he went to see the princess.
“Must I be like this forever?” she asked the Druid.
“You must,” he said, “until you marry one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail in Erin. If you marry one of Fin’s sons, you’ll be freed from the blot that is on you now, and you will have back your own head and countenance.”
When she heard this she grew impatient and could not rest until she left Tir na n-Og and reached Erin. When she made inquiries, she learned that Fin and the Fenians of Erin were at that time living on Knock an Ar, and she made her way to the place without delay and lived there for a while. And when she saw Oisin, he pleased her. When she found out that he was a son of Fin MacCumhail, she kept trying to find ways to spend time with him. And it was usual for the Fenians in those days to hunt in the hills and mountains and in the woods of Erin. When one of them went he always took five or six men with him to bring home the game.
One day Oisin set out with his men and dogs for the woods. He went so deep into the woods and killed so much game that when it was hauled into one place, the men were so tired, weak, and hungry that they couldn’t carry it. They went back home and left him to shift for himself with the three dogs, Bran, Sciolán, and Buglén.
Now the daughter of the king of Tir na n-Og, who was herself the Queen of Youth, followed closely in the hunt all that day, and when the men left Oisin she came up to him. As he stood there, looking at the great pile of game, he said, “I am very sorry to leave behind anything that I’ve had the trouble of killing.” She looked at him and said, “Tie up a bundle for me, and I’ll carry it to lighten the load off you.”
Oisin gave her a bundle of the game to carry, and took the remainder himself. The evening was very warm and the game heavy, and after they had gone some distance, Oisin said, “Let us rest a while.”
Both threw down their burdens and leaned against a great stone that was by the roadside. The woman was flushed and out of breath. She loosened her dress to cool herself. Then Oisin looked at her and saw her beautiful form and her white bosom.
“Oh, then,” said he, “it’s a pity you have the pig’s head on you, for I have never seen such an appearance on a woman in all my life before.”
“Well,” she said, “my father is the king of Tir na n-Og, and I was the finest woman in his kingdom and the most beautiful of all until he put me under a Druidic spell and gave me the pig’s head that’s on me now in place of my own. And the Druid of Tir na n-Og came to me afterward and told me that if one of the sons of Fin MacCumhail would marry me, the pig’s head would vanish, and I should get back my face in the same form as it was before my father struck me with the Druid’s wand. When I heard this I never stopped till I came to Erin, where I found your father and picked you out among the sons of Fin MacCumhail, and followed you to see would you marry me and set me free.”
“If that is the state you are in, and if marriage with me will free you from the spell, I’ll not leave the pig’s head on you long.”
So they got married without delay, not waiting to take home the game or to lift it from the ground. That moment the pig’s head was gone, and the king’s daughter had the same face and beauty that she had before her father struck her with the Druidic wand.
“Now,” said the Queen of Youth to Oisin, “I cannot stay here long, and unless you come with me to Tir na n-Og we must part.”
“Oh,” said Oisin, “wherever you go I’ll go, and wherever you turn I’ll follow.”
Then she turned around, and Oisin went with her, not going back to Knock an Ar to see his father or his son. That very day they set out for Tir na n-Og and never stopped till they came to her father’s castle. And when they arrived, there was a welcome before them, for the king thought his daughter was lost.
That same year there was to be a choice of a king, and when the appointed day came at the end of the seventh year, all the great men and the champions, and the king himself, met together at the front of the castle to run and see who should be first in the chair on the hill. But before a man of them was halfway to the hill, Oisin was sitting above in the chair before them.
After that time no one stood up to run for the office against Oisin, and he spent many happy years as king in Tir na n-Og.
THE DOG BRIDE
India
In this tale recorded in the eastern part of India, the narrative circuits are fully loaded to produce both comedy and tragedy. Like the kind and unkind girls in the tale type of that name, the two young men in the story follow similar paths but end with sharply contrasting destinies, in this case without any kind of lesson about the wages of virtue and vice.
Once upon a time there lived a young man whose job it was to herd buffaloes. One day, as he was watching his animals graze, he noticed that a dog would appear every day at high noon and make its way over to a ravine with some pools of water. His curiosity was aroused, and he wondered who owned the dog and what it was doing in that ravine. He decided to start paying attention to the animal. One day when it appeared, he hid in a place where he could watch the dog. It got into the water, shed its dog skin, and out stepped a beautiful maiden. She bathed in the waters, and when she was finished, she put the skin back on and became a dog. Off she went to the village. The shepherd followed her and saw her enter a house. He asked about the owner of the house, and, once he found out his name, he went back to his work.
That year the shepherd’s father and mother decided that it was time for him to marry. They began looking around for a suitable wife. But he announced that he had already made up his mind. He had decided to marry a dog, and he would never have a human wife.
Everyone laughed out loud when they heard what he had said. But he would not change his mind. Finally everyone began to believe that he must have the soul of a dog in him and that it was best to let him have his way. His mother and father asked whether he had any particular dog in mind for his bride. He gave them the name of the man into whose house he had tracked the dog that had bathed in the area of the ravines. The dog’s master found it hilarious that anyone would want to marry his dog, but he was happy to accept a bride price from the family for her. The day was set for the wedding, and they began building a booth for the ceremony. The bridegroom’s party went to the bride’s house, and the wedding went off without a hitch. The bride was escorted back to her husband’s house.
Every night, after her husband fell asleep, the bride would remove her dog’s skin and leave the house. After her husband discovered what she was doing, he pretended the next night to go to sleep and kept an eye on her. Just as she was about to leave the room, he jumped up and grabbed her. He seized the dog skin and threw it into the fire, where it burned to ashes. The bride kept her human shape, but she was of more than human beauty. Everyone in the village found out what happened, and they congratulated the shepherd for having the wisdom to marry a dog.
Now the shepherd had a friend named Jitu, and when Jitu saw what a prize his friend had won, he decided that he could not do better than to marry a dog. His relatives did not object, and a bride was chosen. The wedding celebrations began, but when they were putting vermilion on the bride’s forehead, she began to growl. Still, they dragged her to the bridegroom’s home and anointed her with oil and turmeric. But when the bride’s party set off for home, the dog broke loose and started running back to them. Everyone shouted at Jitu, telling him to run after his bride and bring her back. But she growled at him and then bit him so that he had to give up. Eve
ryone laughed so hard at him that he was too ashamed to say a word. Two or three days later he hanged himself.
THE SWAN MAIDEN
Sweden
With its precise geographical designation, this story aims to present itself as legend rather than fairy tale. The earth-weighted wife, in this instance, does not need to think twice before seizing the opportunity set before her by her husband. That the hero is a hunter is one of many pungent ingredients in this tale about a swan maiden, captured and forced into domestic servitude. The allegorical elements pointing to the power relationships in domestic arrangements could hardly have escaped listeners.
A young peasant, in the parish of Mellby, who often amused himself with hunting, saw one day three swans flying toward him, which settled down upon the strand of a sound nearby.
Approaching the place, he was astonished at seeing the three swans divest themselves of their feathery attire, which they threw into the grass, and three maidens of dazzling beauty step forth and spring into the water.
After sporting in the waves awhile they returned to the land, where they resumed their former garb and shape and flew away in the same direction from which they came.
One of them, the youngest and fairest, had, in the meantime, so smitten the young hunter that neither night nor day could he tear his thoughts from the bright image.
His mother, noticing that something was wrong with her son, and that the chase, which had formerly been his favorite pleasure, had lost its attractions, asked him finally the cause of his melancholy, whereupon he related to her what he had seen, and declared that there was no longer any happiness in this life for him if he could not possess the fair swan maiden.
“Nothing is easier,” said the mother. “Go at sunset next Thursday evening to the place where you last saw her. When the three swans come, give attention to where your chosen one lays her feathery garb, take it and hasten away.”
The young man listened to his mother’s instructions, and, betaking himself, the following Thursday evening, to a convenient hiding place near the sound, he waited, with impatience, the coming of the swans. The sun was just sinking behind the trees when the young man’s ears were greeted by a whizzing in the air, and the three swans settled down upon the beach, as on their former visit.
As soon as they had removed their swan attire they were again transformed into the most beautiful maidens, and, springing out upon the white sand, they were soon enjoying themselves in the water.
From his hiding place the young hunter had taken careful note of where his enchantress had laid her swan feathers. Stealing softly forth, he took them and returned to his place of concealment in the surrounding foliage.
Soon thereafter two of the swans were heard to fly away, but the third, in search of her clothes, discovered the young man, before whom, believing him responsible for their disappearance, she fell upon her knees and prayed that her swan attire might be returned to her. The hunter was, however, unwilling to yield the beautiful prize, and, casting a cloak around her shoulders, carried her home.
Preparations were soon made for a magnificent wedding, which took place in due form, and the young couple dwelt lovingly and contentedly together.
One Thursday evening, seven years later, the hunter related to her how he had sought and won her. He brought forth and showed her, also, the white swan feathers of her former days. No sooner were they placed in her hands than she was transformed once more into a swan, and instantly took flight through the open window. In breathless astonishment, the man stared wildly after his rapidly vanishing wife, and before a year and a day had passed, he was laid, with his longings and sorrows, in his allotted place in the village church-yard.
THE HUNTER AND THE TORTOISE
Ghana
This story, a variant of the widely known “Talking Skull,” was collected in Accra, Ghana, in the early part of the twentieth century. It has a softly confrontational speaker, one whose beautiful voice teaches harsh lessons about loose talk. Readers will notice the kinship with folktales about selkies, mermaids, swan maidens, and all those animal brides who leave their natural habitat to live with a human and move from nature to culture. Doomed and divided, they have conflicted allegiances to their two habitats and families.
A village hunter had one day gone farther afield than usual. Coming to a part of the forest with which he was unacquainted, he was astonished to hear a voice singing. He listened; this was the song:
“It is man who forces himself on things,
Not things, which force themselves on him.”
The singing was accompanied by sweet music—which entirely charmed the hunter’s heart.
When the little song was finished, the hunter peeped through the branches to see who the singer could be. Imagine his amazement when he found it was none other than a tortoise, with a tiny harp slung in front of her. Never had he seen such a marvelous thing.
Time after time he returned to the same place in order to listen to this wonderful creature. At last he persuaded her to let him carry her back to his hut that he might enjoy her singing daily in comfort. This she permitted, only on the understanding that she sang to him alone.
The hunter did not rest long content with this arrangement, however. Soon he began to wish that he could show off this wonderful tortoise to the entire world, and thereby thought he would gain great honor. He told the secret, first to one, then to another, until finally it reached the ears of the chief himself. The hunter was commanded to come and tell his tale before the Assembly. When, however, he described the tortoise and how it could sing and play the harp, the people shouted in scorn. They refused to believe him.
At last he said, “If I do not speak truth, I give you leave to kill me. Tomorrow I will bring the tortoise to this place and you may all hear her. If she cannot do as I say, I am willing to die.” “Good,” replied the people, “and if the tortoise can do as you say, we give you leave to punish us in any way you choose.”
The matter being then settled, the hunter returned home, well pleased with the prospect. As soon as the morrow dawned, he carried tortoise and harp down to the Assembly Place—where a table had been placed ready for her. Everyone gathered round to listen. But no song came. The people were very patient, and quite willing to give both tortoise and hunter a chance. Hours went by, and, to the hunter’s dismay and shame, the tortoise remained mute. He tried every means in his power to coax her to sing, but in vain. The people at first whispered, then spoke outright, in scorn of the boaster and his claims.
Night came on and brought with it the hunter’s doom. As the last ray of the setting sun faded, he was beheaded. The instant this happened the tortoise spoke. The people looked at one another in troubled wonder: “Our brother spoke truth, then, and we have killed him.” The tortoise, however, went on to explain. “He brought his punishment on himself. I led a happy life in the forest, singing my little song. He was not content to come and listen to me. He had to tell my secret (which did not at all concern him) to the entire world. Had he not tried to make a show of me this would never have happened.”
“It is man who forces himself on things,
Not things that force themselves on him.”
THE PEASANT AND ZEMYNE
Lithuania
In Lithuania, the name Zemyne means “earth.” The snake in this story, associated with mobility, fertility, and metamorphosis, bears a strong resemblance to Ishtar, Astarte, and other ancient goddesses. In her animal form she is an ambiguous creature, able to kill but also to heal. Successfully assimilating her to the human sphere becomes an impossible challenge.
Zemyne is a snake with a single eye. Whoever she bites will die immediately. She may only be seen in summer, and then only at either noon or midnight. The blood of Zemyne is black, but it can cure every illness. Whoever bathes in the black blood of Zemyne is protected against all magic.
God has granted Zemyne dominion in the rea
lm beneath the ground. The metals belong to her. “If I had two eyes instead of one,” Zemyne once said, “I would kill enough people to cover the walls of my home with their skulls.”
Some say Zemyne was once a lovely young girl who refused the advances of a wicked magician. Upon his curse, she assumed her present form. Whoever wishes to rescue her must beat her until her skin falls off. Then, he must burn the skin immediately.
A young peasant habitually killed all the snakes which he found in the garden, forest, and field. One day he was cutting the grass in a meadow, when he suddenly heard a loud hiss. He became aware of a movement in the grass behind him. Looking around, he recognized Zemyne.
Seeing his chance, the peasant pinned the head of Zemyne firmly against the earth with the blade of his sickle. Then he grabbed a knotted branch with his free hand and pounded the snake furiously, until the skin of Zemyne broke open. All of a sudden, a beautiful maiden was standing before him. Beside her sparkled a many-colored dress.
The maiden immediately reached for the dress, but the peasant was faster. He grabbed the garment, placed it beneath his arm and led the maiden to his home. There he gave her food and new clothes.
The young people were married and lived happily together for many years. Their joy increased still more as the wife presented her husband with many children.
But one day the wife found a chest containing the many-colored dress. She put it on, changed immediately back into a snake and killed her husband and children with her poisonous kiss. Leaving the farmstead, she took up her old residence in the meadow by the forest.
