The people in the house were startled by this nocturnal proclamation from the sky, and they opened the windows to see what was going on. When they looked up into the sky they saw a dim light hovering overhead. The master of the house went out into the garden and kneeled humbly on the ground looking up into the sky. Then the toad let go of the string he held in his hand, and the hawk soared skywards with the lantern still tied to its foot. The rich man was now convinced that what he had heard was spoken by a messenger from Heaven, and at once resolved to consent to the toad’s marriage to one of his daughters.
Next morning the rich man went and called on the toad’s foster-parents, and apologized humbly for his discourteous refusal on the previous day. He said now that he would gladly accept the toad as his son-in-law. Then he returned home and asked his eldest daughter to marry the toad, but she rushed from the room in fury and humiliation. Then he called his second daughter, and suggested that she be the toad’s wife, but she too rushed from the room without a word. So he called his youngest daughter and explained to her that if she refused she would place the whole family in a most difficult position indeed, so stern had been the warning from Heaven. But the youngest daughter agreed without the slightest hesitation to marry the toad.
The wedding took place on the following day, and a great crowd of guests attended consumed by curiosity at such an unusual happening. That night, when they retired, the toad asked his bride to bring him a pair of scissors. She went and got a pair, and then he asked her to cut the skin off his back. This strange request startled her greatly, but he insisted that she do so without delay, and so she made a long cut in his back. Then, lo and behold, there stepped forth from the skin a handsome young man.
In the morning the bridegroom put on his toad skin again, so that nobody noticed any difference. Her two sisters sneered contemptuously at the bride with her repulsive husband, but she took no notice of them. At noon all the men of the household went out on horseback with bows and arrows to hunt. The toad accompanied them on foot and unarmed. But the party had no success in the hunt and had to return empty-handed. The bridegroom stripped off his toad skin and became a man when they had gone, and waved his hand in the air. Then a white-haired old man appeared, and he bade him bring one hundred deer. When the deer came he drove them homeward, once more wearing his toad skin. Everyone was most surprised to see all the deer, and then he suddenly stripped off the toad skin and revealed himself as a handsome young man, at which their astonishment knew no bounds. Then he released all the deer and rose up to Heaven, carrying his bride on his back and his parents on his arms.
TAKEN
Ireland
It is not so long ago that a woman of my mother’s kin, the O’Sheas, was taken, and when I was young I knew people who had seen her. She was a beautiful girl, and she hadn’t been married a year when she fell sick, and she said that she was going to die, and that if she must die she would rather be in the home in which she had spent her life than in a strange house where she had been less than a year. So she went back to her mother’s house, and very soon she died and was buried. She hadn’t been buried more than a year when her husband married again, and he had two children by his second wife. But one day there came a letter to her people, a letter with a seal on it.
It was from a farmer who lived in the neighborhood of Fermoy. He said that now for some months, when the family would go to bed at night in his farm, if any food were left out they would find it gone in the morning. And at last he said to himself that he would find out what it was that came at night and took the food.
So he sat up in a corner of the kitchen one night, and in the middle of the night the door opened and a woman came in, the most beautiful woman he had ever seen with his eyes, and she came up the kitchen and lifted the bowl of milk they had left out, and drank of it. He came between her and the door, and she turned to him and said that this was what she had wanted.
So he asked her who she was, and she said that she came from the liss at the corner of his farm, where the fairies kept her prisoner. They had carried her off from a place in Ventry parish, and left a changeling in her place, and the changeling had died and been buried in her stead.
She said that the farmer must write to her people and say that she was in the liss with the fairies, and that she had eaten none of the food of the fairies, for if once she ate of their food she must remain with them forever till she died; and when she came near to death they would carry her through the air and put her in the place of another young woman, and carry the young woman back to be in the liss with them, in her stead. And when he wrote to her people, he must ask her mother if she remembered one night when her daughter lay sick, and the mother was sitting by the fire, and, thinking so, she had forgotten everything else, and the edge of her skirt had caught fire and was burning for some time before she noticed it. If she remembered that night it would be a token for her, for on that night her daughter had been carried off, and the fire in her mother’s skirt was the last thing she remembered of her life on earth. And when she had said this she went out through the door, and the farmer saw her no more.
So the next day he wrote the letter as she had told him. But her people did nothing, for they feared that if they brought her back there would be trouble because of the new wife and her two children.
And she came again and again to the farmer, and he wrote seven letters with seals, and the neighbors all said it was a shame to them to leave her with the fairies in the liss. And the husband said it was a great wrong to leave his wife in the liss, and, whatever trouble it would bring, they should go and fetch her out of the liss.
So they set out, her own people and her husband, and when they had gone as far as Dingle, they said they would go and ask the advice of the priest.
So they went to the priest that was there that time, and they told him the story from the beginning to the end. And when he had heard the story, he said that it was a hard case, and against the law of the church. And the husband said that, when they had brought the woman out of the liss, he would not bring her back with him to make sandal in the countryside, but would send her to America, and would live with his second wife and her children. But the priest said that even if a man’s wife were in America, she was still his wife, and it was against the law of the Pope that a man should have two wives; and, though it was a hard thing, they must leave her in the liss with the fairies, for it was a less evil that she should eat the fairy bread and be always with the fairies in the liss than that God’s law should be broken and a man have two wives living in this world.
They found nothing to say against the priest, and they went home sorrowing. And when the woman heard this from the farmer she went back with the fairies to the liss, and ate their bread and remained with them.
THE GIRL AT THE SHIELING
Iceland
There was once a priest in the North Quarter who had brought up a little girl as his own. The summer pastures belonging to his farm were high up in the fells, and he always sent his sheep and cattle there in the summer with the herdsmen, and with a woman to keep house for them. When his foster-daughter grew up, she became the housekeeper at this shieling, and was as good at this as at everything—for she was a skillful girl, and beautiful, and had many accomplishments. Many well-to-do men asked for her hand, for she was thought the best match in the North Quarter, but she refused all offers.
One day the priest spoke seriously to his adopted daughter and urged her to marry, saying he would not always be there to look after her, for he was an old man. She took it very badly, and said she had no fancy for such things, and was very happy as she was, and that there was no luck in marriage. So they said no more about it, for the time being.
As that winter wore on, people thought the girl was getting rather plump below the belt, and the plumpness grew more and more marked as time went on. In spring her foster-father spoke to her again, and urged her to tell him how things were with her, and said she must surely be with child, and should no
t go up to the shieling that summer. She strongly denied that she was pregnant, and said there was nothing the matter with her, and that she would see to her housekeeping that summer just as before. When the pastor saw he was getting nowhere, he let her have her way, but he told the men who were to be in the shieling never to go out at any time leaving her quite alone, and this they promised faithfully. So then they all moved up to the shieling, and the girl was as merry as could be.
So time passed, and nothing noteworthy happened. The men at the shieling kept strict watch on their housekeeper and never left her alone.
One evening it happened that a shepherd found that all the sheep and cows were missing, and so every living soul left the shieling except the housekeeper, who stayed behind alone. The search party searched very late and did not find the beasts till almost morning, for it was very misty. When they came home, the housekeeper was up and about, and she was brisker in her movements and lighter on her feet than she had usually been. The men also saw, as time went by, that her plumpness had lessened, though they could not tell how, and so they thought that it must have been some other kind of swelling, and not pregnancy.
So home they went from the shieling in autumn, the whole company of men and beasts. The priest saw then that the housekeeper was far slimmer in the waist than she had been the previous winter, so then he went to the men who had been at the shieling and asked whether they had disobeyed his orders and left the girl quite alone. They told him the truth, that they had once all left her to go out searching for their beasts, as these had all gone missing. The pastor grew angry, and wished bad luck on all who had disregarded his orders, for he said he had suspected as much as soon as the girl went off to the shieling in spring.
Next winter a man came to ask the hand of the priest’s foster-daughter, and she was not at all pleased about it, but the priest told her she would not avoid marrying him, for he was a fine man and everyone spoke well of him. He had inherited his father’s farm that spring, and his mother ran the house for him. So this marriage was settled, whether the girl liked or not, and their wedding was held next spring at the priest’s house.
But before the woman put her bridal dress on, she said to her betrothed, “Before you go ahead and marry me against my wishes, I lay down one condition—that you never take strangers in to lodge for the winter without first telling me, or else things will go wrong for you.” And this the man promised.
So the wedding feast was held, and she went home with her husband and took over the running of his home, but her heart was not in it, for she was never cheerful or happy-looking, though her husband pampered her and would not have her working her fingers to the bone.
Every summer she used to stay at home when the others were out haymaking, and her mother-in-law would stay to keep her company and to see to the housekeeping with her. Between whiles they would sit knitting or spinning, and the older woman would tell her stories to amuse her. One day when the old woman had ended a story, she told her daughter-in-law that she ought to tell a story now. But she said that she did not know any. The other pressed her hard, and so she promised to tell her the only one she knew, and so she began her tale:
“There was once a girl on a farm who was housekeeper at the shieling. Not far from the shieling there were great rocky scarps, and she often went walking near them. There was a man of the Hidden Folk who lived inside these scarps, and they soon got acquainted and grew to love one another dearly. He was so good and kind to the girl that he would refuse her nothing, and would follow her wishes in everything. But the upshot was that when some time had gone by the girl became pregnant; the head of her houshold accused her of it when she was about to go to the shieling the following summer, but the girl denied it, and went to the shieling as usual. But he ordered the others who were to be at the shieling never to go off and leave her alone, and they promised. They did all leave her, however, to search for their cattle, and then the pangs of childbirth came on her. The man who had been her lover came then, and sat beside her, and he cut the cord and washed the baby and swaddled it. Then, before he went off with the child, he gave her a drink from a flask, and it was the sweetest drink which I ever—” at that moment the ball of knitting wool slipped from her hand, so she bent down for it, and corrected herself—“which she had ever tasted, that’s what I meant to say, and so she was well again in a moment, after all her pains. From that hour they never saw one another again, she and the man of the Hidden Folk; but she was married off to another man, much against her will, for she pined bitterly for her first lover, and from that time she never knew one happy day. And so ends this story.”
The mother-in-law thanked her for the story, and took good care to remember it. And so things went on for some time, and nothing notable happened, an the woman went on being sad, in her usual way, but was good to her husband all the same.
One summer when the mowing was almost done, two men came up to the farmer; one was tall, the other short, and both wore broad-brimmed hats so that one could hardly see their faces. The taller one spoke up, asking the farmer to take them in for the winter. He said he never took anyone in without his wife knowing, and that he would go and speak to her before promising them lodgings. The tall one said this was a ridiculous thing to say, that such a fine, masterful man was so henpecked that he couldn’t make up his mind on a little matter like giving two men bed and board for one winter. So they settled the matter, and the farmer promised these men their winter quarters without asking his wife’s leave.
That evening the strangers arrive at the farmer’s house, and he assigns them their quarters in a building on the outskirts of the farm, and tells them to stay there. Then he goes to his wife, and tells her how matters stand. She took it very badly, saying that this had been the first favor she had ever asked him, and it would probably be the last, and that as he had taken them in on his own, he could see to everything they might need all winter on his own; and so the conversation ended.
Now all was quiet until one day that autumn, when the farmer and his wife were meaning to go to Holy Communion. It was the custom in those days, as it long was in some parts of Iceland, that those who mean to go to Communion should go to all the people in the house, kiss them and beg their forgiveness if they had offended them. Up till then, the mistress of the house had always avoided the lodgers and not let them see her, and so on this occasion likewise she did not go to greet them.
She and her husband set out, but as soon as they were beyond the fence, he said to her, “You did of course greet our lodgers, didn’t you?”
She said no.
He told her not to commit such a sin as to go off without greeting them.
“You show me in many ways that you care nothing for me,” said she. “First by the fact that you took these men in without my leave, and now again when you want to force me to kiss them. All the same, I will obey; but you’ll be sorry for it, for my life is at stake, and yours too, very likely.”
Now she turns back homewards, and is a very long time gone. Now the farmer too goes back home, and goes to where he expects the lodgers to be, and there he finds them, in their own quarters. He sees the taller lodger and the mistress of the house both lying on the floor dead, in one another’s arms, and they had died of grief. The other was standing by them, weeping, when the farmer came in, but he soon disappeared, and nobody knew where he went.
From the story which the wife had told her mother-in-law, people felt sure that the tall stranger must have been the elf she had made love with in the shieling, and the small one who disappeared, her son and his.
DEAR HUNTER AND WHITE CORN MAIDEN
American Indian (Tewa)
Long ago in the ancient home of the San Juan people, in a village whose ruins can be seen across the river from present-day San Juan, lived two magically gifted young people. The youth was called Deer Hunter because even as a boy, he was the only one who never returned empty-handed from the hunt. The girl, whose name was White Corn Maiden, made the finest potte
ry and embroidered clothing with the most beautiful designs of any woman in the village. These two were the handsomest couple in the village, and it was no surprise to their parents that they always sought one another’s company. Seeing that they were favored by the gods, the villagers assumed that they were destined to marry.
And in time they did, and contrary to their elders’ expectations, they began to spend even more time with one another. White Corn Maiden began to ignore her pottery making and embroidery, while Deer Hunter gave up hunting, at a time when he could have saved many of his people from hunger. They even began to forget their religious obligations. At the request of the pair’s worried parents, the tribal elders called a council. This young couple was ignoring all the traditions by which the tribe had lived and prospered, and the people feared that angry gods might bring famine, flood, sickness, or some other disaster upon the village.
But Deer Hunter and White Corn Maiden ignored the council’s pleas and drew closer together, swearing that nothing would ever part them. A sense of doom pervaded the village, even though it was late spring and all nature had unfolded in new life.