ROUMANIAN FAIRY-TALES.
WE suppose that the " pride of life " and the grace of humility will always be the chief moral constituents of all genuine fairy-tales and the tales most nearly allied to them, because it is the former which urges the imagination of mon into all the glow and glory of the region of the marvellous, both as regards conception and achievement ; while the latter is so connected by the secrets of our moral nature with the former, that it is generally regarded as the hidden source out of which all real help from beings of greater power, is supposed to slow. The fairy-tales which follow the type of " Cinderella " are all avowedly of the latter class, concerning themselves chiefly with showing how humble merit is rewarded, and how proud demerit is punished, by the supernatural beings around us. But besides this class of fairy-tales, there is another —belonging, perhaps, more strictly to the original type of all mere fairy-tales—devoted mainly to the glorification of those genial powers and qualities in man which, except when nur- tured at the expense of his neighbours, go to make up the chief part of the essence of " the pride of life " without in any way involving the insolence, or the contemptuousness, or the selfishness, or the insulation of common pride ; qualities, or powers, or virtues which seem to cling so closely to a man that they cannot be concealed from view,—as, for instance, the pride of courage in its absolute fearlessness, of strength in its invin- cibility, of swiftness in its unsurpassable speed, of love even in its involuntary disinterestedness. In the old German tales, this kind of pride of life is well illustrated by the tale of " One who went into the world to learn what fear was like," and in the still more farcical story of the swift man who was so swift that unless he took off one of his legs, he could not be slow enough to keep pace with any of his ordinary companions. Again, pride of life of another kind is illustrated in the fairy-story of " The Brave Little Tailor," who competes so successfully with dull giants and wild beasts, and vanquishes them all by the easy self-confideuoe of his very straightforward trickery. Now in the Southern countries, that pride of life which is the mere blossoming of large vitality, as dis- tinguished from narrow, or ungrateful, or malicious pride, seems to be even more favoured as the main subject of fairy-protection, than iu the North. Homer himself, iu his stories of Achilles and Ulysses, and the favour with which they were specially regarded by the Gods, may be said to have been the first great fairy-tale teller of this species. And in the countries near to Greece, in Roumania, for instance, and to some extent in Italy, is found a great crop of fairy-tales of the same kind. Thus in the pretty little volume of Roumanian tales,—fairy-tales and legends,— which has just been published,* it is obvious enough that pride of life, so long as it is not ungrateful and ignorant, but is simply the overflow of rich qualities of body or mind, is regarded by the Roumanian popular genius with especial favour. The German youth who cannot think what fear means, and goes out into the world to learn its meaning, is supposed to be perfectly unconscious and innocent in his fearlessness ; and the crown- nig joke of that popular tale is the finale, where we are told that after he has vanquished all sorts of terrors, the queen whom he gains for his wife, at last gives him a taste of the meaning of the word "horror," by pouring over him a pail Of cold water full of sticklebacks. But in the Roumanian fairy- tales, a very much more conscious pride of life than this inno- cent „,inability to understand fear, is the favourite moral atti.
* By Mr. Lewis, of Gower Street. tulle in heroes dear to the fairies. For example, this is the description of " Vasilica the Brave," who is one of the favourite heroes of the Roumanian fairy-tales :- "Once upon a time, in a certain town there dwelt a gipsy black- smith,' who was the best ironworker in the whole empire. This gipsy had a son as fair and handsome as a Roumanian fawn, and as strong and as bravo as a young lion. He played with the sledge- hammer as if it were a toy ; twisted tho great anvil between his fingers, and broke across his knee a thick iron bar as though it were a reed. The life of a working blacksmith, however, was not to Ids taste ; athletic sports and playing at soldiers with his young comrades pleased him better, pretending that he woe a great captain, and strut- ting about in a coloured-paper helmet. He liked racing and wrest- ling, and running about in the open air all day long,—to querrel, and to come off victorious. As I have already said, he was very strong, stronger than the strongest man. He did not know the meaning of fear, and was calm and cool in the greatest peril ; he laughed at all the frightful tales of dragons and evil spirits recounted by the old women of the neighbourhood. So he was called Vasilica the Brave. His father, seeing that he was not diligent at learning either his own trade or any other, thought it best that ho should become a soldier. But the boy did not wish to be placed under the command of others, for with his strength he could overcome them all. Seeing that his father was always urging him to take to some business, and now that he was grown to manhood, the time had arrived for him to gain his livelihood, he made a small bundle of his clothes, and left home, without telling any one where he was going to, or without having come to any conclusion himself on that poiut."
That passage describes the true "pride of life" in a very different sense from that of the German hero who was unable to realise the meaning of the word "fear." A boy who strutted about in " a coloured-paper helmet" would be a genuine em-
bodiment of the pride of life, in the sense of the nations of Southern Europe, and " Vasilica the Brave " is the favourite hero of the Roumanian fairy-tales. And it is noticeable that, whenever a Roumanian fairy-tale is of the same stock as one of the German fairy-tales, it distinguishes itself by attributing a great deal more of this grand self-assertion and exaltation of mien to the hero than the German tale attributes to him. Thus, in the Roumanian fairy-tales we have an equivalent for the amusing German tale which is so great a favourite of children, concerning the twelve dancing Princesses, who wore out their satin shoes nightly by dancing in an enchanted palace iu a subterranean region, where all the trees bear silver, or gold, or precious stones, instead of ordinary leaves and flowers. The Roumanian tale varies from the German form chiefly iu this, that the hero of the legend,—a cowherd,—shows the utmost democratic pride in his adventure, and instead, of going to the Emperor and claiming his reward for the discovery of the Princesses' secret,.as the hero of the German tale does, refuses to betray the Princess he loves, and refuses with even more energy to take a bribe for keeping her secret. The fol- lowing trait in the story is peculiar to the Roumanian version of the tale, and, indeed, is not to be found in any of the various German editions of it mentioned by Grimm
When evening arrived, the Princesses again returned to the Ball ; Jonica followed them, and a second time entered Line's boat. Again the Emperor's son complained of the labour required in rowing. No doubt it is the beat which you feel,' replied Line. All passed as on the previous evening, but this time, on returning, Jonica broke off a branch of the Golden Loaves. When the daily bouquets were dis- tributed, the Princess Line found, concealed in hers, the golden branch. Remaining a little behind her sisters, and showing the golden branch to Jonica, she asked, ' From whence hadet thou these leaves ?" Your Highness knows quite well." So thou bast followed us ?" Yes, Highness.' And how didst thou manage that ?" It is a secret." We did not see thee." I was invisible." At any rate, I see that thou bast penetrated the mystery. Speak of it to no one, and take this purse as the price of thy silence,' and she threw to the poor boy a purse of gold. I do not sell my silence,' said Relics, with a haughtiness which astonished the Princess, I know how to hold my tongue, without being paid for it.' And he walked away, leaving the purse on the ground. The three succeeding days Lino neither saw nor heard anything particular, during their nocturnal excursions ; but the fourth night there was a distinct rustling in the wood of Diamond Leaves, and the next morning she found a Diamond Branch hidden in bar bouquet. Then she was fully convinced that the young gardener knew all their escapades, and calling him to her, she asked Host thou know the price which the Emperor, our father, offers for the discovery of our secret F" I know it, Highness.' Then why dost thou not go to him and betray it ?" I do not wish." Art thou afraid ?" No, Highness." Then why wilt thou not speak P' Jonica looked up at her, his eyes full of expression, but did not reply."
And there are other cases, even amongst these very few stories, in which the same sort of democratic scorn towards condescension is shown. For example, one of the tales concerns the daughter of a Boyard, who falls in love with a handsome fisherman, and even goes so far as to make him an offer nf her haud,—an offer which, after much doubt and bashfulness, he at length accepts.
Here is the result
"There was a rule in those days that the newly-married pair should each eat from one lightly boiled egg ; the fisherman cut a thin slice of bread, and was going to dip it into the egg, when Mariola caught his arm, saying, 'No, I must eat of it first ; I am a Boyard's daughter, you are only a fisherman.' No reply did he make, but rising quietly from the table, quitted the banquetting hall, to the astonishment of many of the guests, who did not know that he had been a fisherman. The bride was very troubled at the mistake she had made, and sat biting her lips with dismay and chagrin. Being unable to support her position, she withdrew to her bedroom, and locked herself in. All night long sleep would not come to her, and she could only think of her absent bridegroom. At early morning she went to her father to demand permission to go in search of her husband. Her father tried to dissuade her from taking such a step, but in vain, and she set off on her errand. She traversed the town, the country, villages, country again—again villages ; until at length, in one of those small
sho saw him meanly dressed, and acting as servant at a way- side inn. Approaching him quickly, she began to address him, but he would not appear to know her, and continued hie occupation. She entreated him only to speak one word to her, but be only shrugged his shoulders, and turned away his head. The master of the inn seeing this interruption, called, How is it that you interfere with my servant, and prevent his working ? Don't you see that he is dumb ? If you are as respectable as your appearance would show, 1 advise you to go away and leave him alone.' Ho is not dumb,' cried she ; ' he is my husband, and loft me for a simple misunder- standing.' The villagers, who had collected around, were astonished at what she said, for she did not look like one who would be poking fun at them. The innkeeper was also incredible, saying that a man who was able to speak would not remain a whole week without utter- ing a word. In truth, all around took him to be a mute, and used to converse with him by signs. He had already gained their good-will, by his usefulness and good-temper. Mariola, seeing that no one would believe her story, offered to make a bet that in three days she would make her husband speak, if she were allowed always to be at his side ; that if she did not succeed, she would consent to be hung. This bet was accepted, and legalised by the prefect of the village. The following day was to be the first of the trial. The fisherman, at the beginning of this, knew nothing of the bet, though later on he got a whisper of it. Mariola was constantly entreating for one little word. 'My darling,' she said, ' I have been very wrong. I married you because I loved you. I bind myself never again, in all our life- time, to commit such a fault. Soften your heart, and speak one word to me.' Yet no answer,—only a shrug of the shoulders, as if lie did not understand what she was saying. The first day passed—came the second day ; that passed too, and yet not a sound, On the third day, Mariola began to tremble with fear, and followed the fisherman wherever he went, still begging him to speak only one word to her. He, on the other hand, fearing to be overcome by her tears, fled from her presence. The three days have passed, all the villagers are taken up with the affair of the dumb servant at the inn, and the pretty-looking girl, who had mistaken him for some one else, and brought this misfortune on herself. The scaffold was erected, the people had congregated together to see the end of this tragedy ; the officials were there, who, against their will, were bound to carry out the punishment. The executioner approached Mariola, and led her to the scaffold, saying, that as she had failed to make the dumb man speak, sho must accept the forfeit of her life. Sighing, she turned her head once more towards her impassive husband, but seeing no yielding from him she prepared herself to die. Loosening her hair, making the sign of the Cross, she commended herself in prayer to God. All the spectators were moved at the sight. On the steps of tho scaffold, with the priest at her aide, once more she turned towards the fisherman, crying, °My dear husband, pray come to my rescue ; ono word from you will suffice.' Shaking his head, he looked in another direction. With the noose in his hand, waited the execu- tioner; soon he adjusted it round Mariola's pretty neck—one more minute and all would have been over ; but the fisherman, stretching forth his hand, called—' Stop l' All the people were struck with astonishment, and tears of joy rolled down their cheeks, The execu- tioner withdrew the noose, and the fisherman, looking severely at Mariola, asked, ' Will you again taunt me with being a fisherman ?' With great emotion she cried, Forgive me, my dear husband, I own my fault, and will never wound your feelings again.' Lot her come down,' said ho, ' for sho is indeed my wife ;' and taking her by the hand, he led her back to their home, where their life was one ban- quet of happiness and prosperity in future."
It is evident that this fisherman's pride is regarded with thorough approval, as a noble and self-respecting feeling, by the popular makers of that legend, and that it is because he possesses this quality that he is selected as the hero of a great stroke of fortune. Moreover, in the same little volume there are other instances of the same kind of disposition to make a democratic pride,—the pride of a man of no position in showing his superiority to those of a much higher position,—the one quality which fairies agree to single out for reward. For example, in " The Hermit's Found.
ling," the glories are all showered on the head of the nameless brave man, to the exclusion of princes ; and in the instance of " Vasilica the Brave," this nameless brave man is, as we have seen, signalised as the son of a gipsy blacksmith. On the other hand, the ungrateful pride which shows itself in boastful independence of a benefactor is the subject of a separate fairy-tale, called "The Ungrateful Wood-cutter." And the Roumanian tale varies from the German tale of the same stook expressly in this, that in the former the pride is punished, not because it is pride, but because it is un- grateful pride,—because it means ingratitude to a benefac- tor ; whereas, in the German tale, the pride is punished simply as a sort of impiety, simply as the vaingloriousness which sought to be above all human beings, which desired to swell itself to the dimensions of a god. In the Southern fairy- tales, that sort of pride,—so long as there is no malice and in- gratitude in it,—is hardly condemned at all. We suspect that the fisherman's wife in the German tale who kept asking the super- natural fish for higher and higher dignities, till at last she asked that her husband should become God himself, and that she should become the Virgin Mary, would never have been regarded with the same condemnation and horror in the fairy-lore of any Southern land. What is rebuked in the Roumanian tale is not the ambition or impiety of the woman, but the cold ingratitude and scorn of the man for one who had showered on him so many gifts. The " pride of life " is richer and more winning in the Southern fairy-tales than in the Northern ; the humility of life is much more winning in the Northern fairy-lore than in the Southern. The difference between the two geniuses seems to us chiefly this,—that the coming marvel in the Southern tales more often announces itself by the richness of natural gifts ; while the coming marvel in the Northern tales more often announces itself by the modesty and reticence of the hero in the use of the gifts which he has. In other words, in the Southern fairy-tale, the powerful protector more often lends now fascination to the gifts which had already been bestowed on the hero; while in the Northern fairy-tale, the powerful protector more often bestows wholly unexpected gifts, which there is no sign, exceept the signs of modesty and humility, to foretell. Thus, there is in the Southern version of fairy-tales common to the North and South, a richness and glow, by the side of which the stories of fairy interposition in the Northern versions appear, in comparison, to be rather deficient in colour.
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