Tricky Women: Tales of Warriors, Wives, and Witches by Elevated Publishing

Tricky Women: Tales of Warriors, Wives, and Witches explores clever, powerful, feisty, and tricky women who don’t conform to society’s notions of gender. in between.

TRICKY WOMEN: TALES OF WARRIORS, WIVES, AND WITCHES

These women are heroines, villains and everything

Tricky Women Tales of Warriors, Wives, and Witches

elev ted publishing

$10.99 USA

Tricky Women

Tricky Women An Anthology of Warriors, Wives, and Witches

Lincoln, Nebraska

Tricky Women An Anthology of Warriors, Wives, and Witches

Binisha Maharjan, Managing Editor Karmen Browitt, Acquisitions Editor Emily Moseman, Copy Editor Aryn Huck, Marketing Director Madeline Moore, Design Director

ISBN 978-1-60962-121-6

P bli h d b El t d Publishing P bli hi Published by Elevated Lincoln, Nebraska

Contents Introduction

Karmen Browitt

Warriors The Little Mermaid

Hans Christian Andersen

Ballad of Mulan

The School Days of an Indian Girl

Pocahontas

A Chinese Story Zitkála-Ša

William Makepeace Thackery

Wives The Barber’s Clever Wife

The Serpent-Wife

Flora Annie Webster Steel A Cossack Story

The Witch of Fife

A Scottish Story

Witches The Wise Girl

Mary Toft

Snowdrop

Appendix

Katharine Pyle

A British Story The Brothers Grimm

Sources

102

Introduction Karmen Browitt

hroughout history, there have been many stories and legends circulating about men in literature, who are cunning, adventurous, and achieve the impossible. They go on grand adventures to save the damsel in distress, ultimately to come back and live happily ever after with their new bride. What lacks in this are stories about women who are just as cunning and adventurous. The ones who defy the social norms of their respective societies and are overall empowering to other women during these time periods. As a group, we wanted to compile an anthology that portrayed women as more than just the victims. We wanted to find short stories and poems that included women who are clever, powerful, and feisty, which we have chosen to refer as “Tricky Women”. Throughout the pages of this anthology, you will find tales from all across the world. Some of these women are wives, while some refuse to marry and find clever ways to get out of it. Nonetheless, these women refused to conform to society’s standards in one way or another. As you read through this anthology, you’ll notice that it is separated into three Introduction

different sections: warriors, wives, and witches. To introduce each section, are poems written by Emily Dickinson, who, we believe, embodied the traits that would classify her as a “Tricky Woman”. Each poem we selected by Dickinson has an aspect of the selection that it is introducing. Some of the stories included you may recognize from their Disney adaptations such as “The Little Mermaid”, “The Ballad of Mulan,” or even “Snowdrop”. Each represents tricky women in a different light. “Snowdrop” by The Brothers Grimm, for example, is equivalent to the Disney movie Snow White (1939). Rather than focusing on Snowdrop as the tricky woman of the story, the focus is actually on the queen, who will do absolutely anything to become the fairest of the land, even if it means she has to kill someone. In various attempts, she tries to poison Snowdrop with different items such as a poisonous comb or the oh-so-famous, poisonous apple. In the section titled “Warriors” is not limited to just short stories and poems that discuss war and women who are in war. It also discusses women who are rebelling against their society or societies that they are being forced into. This is prevalent in the memoir, “The School Days of an Indian Girl” by Zitkála-Šá. This specific section is discussing her days at the “eastern school” and what her life was like adjusting to (and rebelling against) the lifestyles of their suppressive ideology. This is represented in a scene where she cleverly destroys a jar of turnips so that her and her classmates don’t have to eat them for dinner. We felt that it was important to include this piece to diversify our selections. We also found it important because Zitkála-Šá grew up to become an activist for Native American people. In the section titled “Wives”, you will also find short stories of women who are rebelling, but some are rebelling against their own husbands. One particular example would be the short story “The Witch of Fife”. It is based in the perspective of a husband who finds out that his wife is a witch. Out of curiosity, the husband follows his wife and other witches 2

Introduction

from town one night and ends up getting himself into a sticky situation. The wife, in an attempt to teach her husband a lesson, refuses to help him until he is almost executed by the King and his court. This is interesting to consider the wife of this story as a tricky woman because while she doesnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t put up with her husbandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s curious nature, she is also kind enough to save him before he is killed. All of the woman that you meet within this anthology are cunning, clever, and able to get themselves out of whatever bind they find themselves in. As a group, we collectively believe that it is of utmost importance to shine light on these stories because often times, stories like these were pushed oďŹ&#x20AC; in order to showcase the stories that involved men as the main protagonists and heroes.

Introduction

Part I

Warriors

There is a word Which bears a sword Can pierce an armed man. It hurls its barbed syllables,— At once is mute again. But where it fell The saved will tell On patriotic day, Some epauletted brother Gave his breath away. Wherever runs the breathless sun, Wherever roams the day, There is its noiseless onset, There is its victory! Behold the keenest marksman! The most accomplished shot! Time’s sublimest target Is a soul ‘forgot’!

—Emily Dickinson, “Forgotten”

The Little Mermaid Hans Christian Andersen

ar out in the ocean, where the water is as blue as the prettiest cornflower and as clear as crystal, it is very, very deep; so deep, indeed, that no cable could sound it, and many church steeples, piled one upon another, would not reach from the ground beneath to the surface of the water above. There dwell the Sea King and his subjects. We must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea but bare yellow sand. No, indeed, for on this sand grow the strangest flowers and plants, the leaves and stems of which are so pliant that the slightest agitation of the water causes them to stir as if they had life. Fishes, both large and small, glide between the branches as birds fly among the trees here upon land. In the deepest spot of all stands the castle of the Sea King. Its walls are built of coral, and the long Gothic windows are of the clearest amber. The roof is formed of shells that open and close as the water flows over them. Their appearance is very beautiful, for in each lies a glittering pearl which would be fit for the diadem of a queen. 6

Warriors

The Sea King had been a widower for many years, and his aged mother kept house for him. She was a very sensible woman, but exceedingly proud of her high birth, and on that account wore twelve oysters on her tail, while others of high rank were only allowed to wear six. She was, however, deserving of very great praise, especially for her care of the little sea princesses, her six granddaughters. They were beautiful children, but the youngest was the prettiest of them all. Her skin was as clear and delicate as a rose leaf, and her eyes as blue as the deepest sea; but, like all the others, she had no feet and her body ended in a fishâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s tail. All day long they played in the great halls of the castle or among the living flowers that grew out of the walls. The large amber windows were open, and the fish swam in, just as the swallows fly into our houses when we open the windows; only the fishes swam up to the princesses, ate out of their hands, and allowed themselves to be stroked. Outside the castle there was a beautiful garden, in which grew bright-red and dark-blue flowers, and blossoms like flames of fire; the fruit glittered like gold, and the leaves and stems waved to and fro continually. The earth itself was the finest sand, but blue as the flame of burning sulphur. Over everything lay a peculiar blue radiance, as if the blue sky were everywhere, above and below, instead of the dark depths of the sea. In calm weather the sun could be seen, looking like a reddish-purple flower with light streaming from the calyx. Each of the young princesses had a little plot of ground in the garden, where she might dig and plant as she pleased. One arranged her flower bed in the form of a whale; another preferred to make hers like the figure of a little mermaid; while the youngest child made hers round, like the sun, and in it grew flowers as red as his rays at sunset. She was a strange child, quiet and thoughtful. While her sisters showed delight at the wonderful things which they obtained from the wrecks of vessels, she cared only for her The Little Mermaid

pretty flowers, red like the sun, and a beautiful marble statue. It was the representation of a handsome boy, carved out of pure white stone, which had fallen to the bottom of the sea from a wreck. She planted by the statue a rose-colored weeping willow. It grew rapidly and soon hung its fresh branches over the statue, almost down to the blue sands. The shadows had the color of violet and waved to and fro like the branches, so that it seemed as if the crown of the tree and the root were at play, trying to kiss each other. Nothing gave her so much pleasure as to hear about the world above the sea. She made her old grandmother tell her all she knew of the ships and of the towns, the people and the animals. To her it seemed most wonderful and beautiful to hear that the flowers of the land had fragrance, while those below the sea had none; that the trees of the forest were green; and that the fishes among the trees could sing so sweetly that it was a pleasure to listen to them. Her grandmother called the birds fishes, or the little mermaid would not have understood what was meant, for she had never seen birds. “When you have reached your fifteenth year,” said the grandmother, “you will have permission to rise up out of the sea and sit on the rocks in the moonlight, while the great ships go sailing by. Then you will see both forests and towns.” In the following year, one of the sisters would be fifteen, but as each was a year younger than the other, the youngest would have to wait five years before her turn came to rise up from the bottom of the ocean to see the earth as we do. However, each promised to tell the others what she saw on her first visit and what she thought was most beautiful. Their grandmother could not tell them enough—there were so many things about which they wanted to know. None of them longed so much for her turn to come as the youngest—she who had the longest time to wait and who was 8

Warriors

so quiet and thoughtful. Many nights she stood by the open window, looking up through the dark blue water and watching the fish as they splashed about with their fins and tails. She could see the moon and stars shining faintly, but through the water they looked larger than they do to our eyes. When something like a black cloud passed between her and them, she knew that it was either a whale swimming over her head, or a ship full of human beings who never imagined that a pretty little mermaid was standing beneath them, holding out her white hands towards the keel of their ship. At length the eldest was fifteen and was allowed to rise to the surface of the ocean. When she returned she had hundreds of things to talk about. But the finest thing, she said, was to lie on a sand bank in the quiet moonlit sea, near the shore, gazing at the lights of the near-by town, that twinkled like hundreds of stars, and listening to the sounds of music, the noise of carriages, the voices of human beings, and the merry pealing of the bells in the church steeples. Because she could not go near all these wonderful things, she longed for them all the more. Oh, how eagerly did the youngest sister listen to all these descriptions! And afterwards, when she stood at the open window looking up through the dark-blue water, she thought of the great city, with all its bustle and noise, and even fancied she could hear the sound of the church bells down in the depths of the sea. In another year the second sister received permission to rise to the surface of the water and to swim about where she pleased. She rose just as the sun was setting, and this, she said, was the most beautiful sight of all. The whole sky looked like gold, and violet and rose-colored clouds, which she could not describe, drifted across it. And more swiftly than the clouds, flew a large flock of wild swans toward the setting sun, like a long white veil across the sea. She also swam towards the sun, but it sank into the waves, and the rosy tints faded from the The Little Mermaid

clouds and from the sea. The third sister’s turn followed, and she was the boldest of them all, for she swam up a broad river that emptied into the sea. On the banks she saw green hills covered with beautiful vines, and palaces and castles peeping out from amid the proud trees of the forest. She heard birds singing and felt the rays of the sun so strongly that she was obliged often to dive under the water to cool her burning face. In a narrow creek she found a large group of little human children, almost naked, sporting about in the water. She wanted to play with them, but they fled in a great fright; and then a little black animal—it was a dog, but she did not know it, for she had never seen one before—came to the water and barked at her so furiously that she became frightened and rushed back to the open sea. But she said she should never forget the beautiful forest, the green hills, and the pretty children who could swim in the water although they had no tails. The fourth sister was more timid. She remained in the midst of the sea, but said it was quite as beautiful there as nearer the land. She could see many miles around her, and the sky above looked like a bell of glass. She had seen the ships, but at such a great distance that they looked like sea gulls. The dolphins sported in the waves, and the great whales spouted water from their nostrils till it seemed as if a hundred fountains were playing in every direction. The fifth sister’s birthday occurred in the winter, so when her turn came she saw what the others had not seen the first time they went up. The sea looked quite green, and large icebergs were floating about, each like a pearl, she said, but larger and loftier than the churches built by men. They were of the most singular shapes and glittered like diamonds. She had seated herself on one of the largest and let the wind play with her long hair. She noticed that all the ships sailed past very rapidly, steering as far away as they could, as if they were afraid of the iceberg. Towards evening, as the sun went down, dark clouds covered the sky, the thunder rolled, and the flashes of 10

Warriors

lightning glowed red on the icebergs as they were tossed about by the heaving sea. On all the ships the sails were reefed with fear and trembling, while she sat on the floating iceberg, calmly watching the lightning as it darted its forked flashes into the sea. Each of the sisters, when first she had permission to rise to the surface, was delighted with the new and beautiful sights. Now that they were grown-up girls and could go when they pleased, they had become quite indiﬀerent about it. They soon wished themselves back again, and after a month had passed they said it was much more beautiful down below and pleasanter to be at home. Yet often, in the evening hours, the five sisters would twine their arms about each other and rise to the surface together. Their voices were more charming than that of any human being, and before the approach of a storm, when they feared that a ship might be lost, they swam before the vessel, singing enchanting songs of the delights to be found in the depths of the sea and begging the voyagers not to fear if they sank to the bottom. But the sailors could not understand the song and thought it was the sighing of the storm. These things were never beautiful to them, for if the ship sank, the men were drowned and their dead bodies alone reached the palace of the Sea King. When the sisters rose, arm in arm, through the water, their youngest sister would stand quite alone, looking after them, ready to cry—only, since mermaids have no tears, she suﬀered more acutely. “Oh, were I but fifteen years old!” said she. “I know that I shall love the world up there, and all the people who live in it.” At last she reached her fifteenth year. “Well, now you are grown up,” said the old dowager, her grandmother. “Come, and let me adorn you like your sisters.” And she placed in her hair a wreath of white lilies, of which every flower leaf was half a pearl. Then the old lady ordered eight great oysters to attach themselves to the tail of the princess The Little Mermaid

to show her high rank. “But they hurt me so,” said the little mermaid. “Yes, I know; pride must suﬀer pain,” replied the old lady. Oh, how gladly she would have shaken oﬀ all this grandeur and laid aside the heavy wreath! The red flowers in her own garden would have suited her much better. But she could not change herself, so she said farewell and rose as lightly as a bubble to the surface of the water. The sun had just set when she raised her head above the waves. The clouds were tinted with crimson and gold, and through the glimmering twilight beamed the evening star in all its beauty. The sea was calm, and the air mild and fresh. A large ship with three masts lay becalmed on the water; only one sail was set, for not a breeze stirred, and the sailors sat idle on deck or amidst the rigging. There was music and song on board, and as darkness came on, a hundred colored lanterns were lighted, as if the flags of all nations waved in the air. The little mermaid swam close to the cabin windows, and now and then, as the waves lifted her up, she could look in through glass window-panes and see a number of gayly dressed people. Among them, and the most beautiful of all, was a young prince with large, black eyes. He was sixteen years of age, and his birthday was being celebrated with great display. The sailors were dancing on deck, and when the prince came out of the cabin, more than a hundred rockets rose in the air, making it as bright as day. The little mermaid was so startled that she dived under water, and when she again stretched out her head, it looked as if all the stars of heaven were falling around her. She had never seen such fireworks before. Great suns spurted fire about, splendid fireflies flew into the blue air, and everything was reflected in the clear, calm sea beneath. The ship itself was so brightly illuminated that all the people, and even 12

Warriors

the smallest rope, could be distinctly seen. How handsome the young prince looked, as he pressed the hands of all his guests and smiled at them, while the music resounded through the clear night air! It was very late, yet the little mermaid could not take her eyes from the ship or from the beautiful prince. The colored lanterns had been extinguished, no more rockets rose in the air, and the cannon had ceased firing; but the sea became restless, and a moaning, grumbling sound could be heard beneath the waves. Still the little mermaid remained by the cabin window, rocking up and down on the water, so that she could look within. After a while the sails were quickly set, and the ship went on her way. But soon the waves rose higher, heavy clouds darkened the sky, and lightning appeared in the distance. A dreadful storm was approaching. Once more the sails were furled, and the great ship pursued her flying course over the raging sea. The waves rose mountain high, as if they would overtop the mast, but the ship dived like a swan between them, then rose again on their lofty, foaming crests. To the little mermaid this was pleasant sport; but not so to the sailors. At length the ship groaned and creaked; the thick planks gave way under the lashing of the sea, as the waves broke over the deck; the mainmast snapped asunder like a reed, and as the ship lay over on her side, the water rushed in. The little mermaid now perceived that the crew were in danger; even she was obliged to be careful, to avoid the beams and planks of the wreck which lay scattered on the water. At one moment it was pitch dark so that she could not see a single object, but when a flash of lightning came it revealed the whole scene; she could see every one who had been on board except the prince. When the ship parted, she had seen him sink into the deep waves, and she was glad, for she thought he would now be with her. Then she remembered that human beings could not live in the water, so that when he got down to her fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s palace he would certainly be quite dead. No, he must not die! So she swam about among the beams The Little Mermaid

and planks which strewed the surface of the sea, forgetting that they could crush her to pieces. Diving deep under the dark waters, rising and falling with the waves, she at length managed to reach the young prince, who was fast losing the power to swim in that stormy sea. His limbs were failing him, his beautiful eyes were closed, and he would have died had not the little mermaid come to his assistance. She held his head above the water and let the waves carry them where they would. In the morning the storm had ceased, but of the ship not a single fragment could be seen. The sun came up red and shining out of the water, and its beams brought back the hue of health to the princeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cheeks, but his eyes remained closed. The mermaid kissed his high, smooth forehead and stroked back his wet hair. He seemed to her like the marble statue in her little garden, so she kissed him again and wished that he might live. Presently they came in sight of land, and she saw lofty blue mountains on which the white snow rested as if a flock of swans were lying upon them. Beautiful green forests were near the shore, and close by stood a large building, whether a church or a convent she could not tell. Orange and citron trees grew in the garden, and before the door stood lofty palms. The sea here formed a little bay, in which the water lay quiet and still, but very deep. She swam with the handsome prince to the beach, which was covered with fine white sand, and there she laid him in the warm sunshine, taking care to raise his head higher than his body. Then bells sounded in the large white building, and some young girls came into the garden. The little mermaid swam out farther from the shore and hid herself among some high rocks that rose out of the water. Covering her head and neck with the foam of the sea, she watched there to see what would become of the poor prince. It was not long before she saw a young girl approach the spot where the prince lay. She seemed frightened at first, but only for a moment; then she brought a number of people, and the mermaid saw that the prince came to life again and smiled upon those who stood about him. But to her he sent no smile; 14

Warriors

he knew not that she had saved him. This made her very sorrowful, and when he was led away into the great building, she dived down into the water and returned to her father’s castle. She had always been silent and thoughtful, and now she was more so than ever. Her sisters asked her what she had seen during her first visit to the surface of the water, but she could tell them nothing. Many an evening and morning did she rise to the place where she had left the prince. She saw the fruits in the garden ripen and watched them gathered; she watched the snow on the mountain tops melt away; but never did she see the prince, and therefore she always returned home more sorrowful than before. It was her only comfort to sit in her own little garden and fling her arm around the beautiful marble statue, which was like the prince. She gave up tending her flowers, and they grew in wild confusion over the paths, twining their long leaves and stems round the branches of the trees so that the whole place became dark and gloomy. At length she could bear it no longer and told one of her sisters all about it. Then the others heard the secret, and very soon it became known to several mermaids, one of whom had an intimate friend who happened to know about the prince. She had also seen the festival on board ship, and she told them where the prince came from and where his palace stood. “Come, little sister,” said the other princesses. Then they entwined their arms and rose together to the surface of the water, near the spot where they knew the prince’s palace stood. It was built of bright-yellow, shining stone and had long flights of marble steps, one of which reached quite down to the sea. Splendid gilded cupolas rose over the roof, and between the pillars that surrounded the whole building stood lifelike statues of marble. Through the clear crystal of the lofty windows could be seen noble rooms, with costly silk curtains and hangings of tapestry and walls covered with beautiful paintings. In the The Little Mermaid

center of the largest salon a fountain threw its sparkling jets high up into the glass cupola of the ceiling, through which the sun shone in upon the water and upon the beautiful plants that grew in the basin of the fountain. Now that the little mermaid knew where the prince lived, she spent many an evening and many a night on the water near the palace. She would swim much nearer the shore than any of the others had ventured, and once she went up the narrow channel under the marble balcony, which threw a broad shadow on the water. Here she sat and watched the young prince, who thought himself alone in the bright moonlight. She often saw him evenings, sailing in a beautiful boat on which music sounded and flags waved. She peeped out from among the green rushes, and if the wind caught her long silvery-white veil, those who saw it believed it to be a swan, spreading out its wings. Many a night, too, when the fishermen set their nets by the light of their torches, she heard them relate many good things about the young prince. And this made her glad that she had saved his life when he was tossed about half dead on the waves. She remembered how his head had rested on her bosom and how heartily she had kissed him, but he knew nothing of all this and could not even dream of her. She grew more and more to like human beings and wished more and more to be able to wander about with those whose world seemed to be so much larger than her own. They could fly over the sea in ships and mount the high hills which were far above the clouds; and the lands they possessed, their woods and their fields, stretched far away beyond the reach of her sight. There was so much that she wished to know! but her sisters were unable to answer all her questions. She then went to her old grandmother, who knew all about the upper world, which she rightly called “the lands above the sea.” “If human beings are not drowned,” asked the little 16

Warriors

mermaid, “can they live forever? Do they never die, as we do here in the sea?” “Yes,” replied the old lady, “they must also die, and their term of life is even shorter than ours. We sometimes live for three hundred years, but when we cease to exist here, we become only foam on the surface of the water and have not even a grave among those we love. We have not immortal souls, we shall never live again; like the green seaweed when once it has been cut oﬀ, we can never flourish more. Human beings, on the contrary, have souls which live forever, even after the body has been turned to dust. They rise up through the clear, pure air, beyond the glittering stars. As we rise out of the water and behold all the land of the earth, so do they rise to unknown and glorious regions which we shall never see.” “Why have not we immortal souls?” asked the little mermaid, mournfully. “I would gladly give all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars.” “You must not think that,” said the old woman. “We believe that we are much happier and much better oﬀ than human beings.” “So I shall die,” said the little mermaid, “and as the foam of the sea I shall be driven about, never again to hear the music of the waves or to see the pretty flowers or the red sun? Is there anything I can do to win an immortal soul?” “No,” said the old woman; “unless a man should love you so much that you were more to him than his father or his mother, and if all his thoughts and all his love were fixed upon you, and the priest placed his right hand in yours, and he promised to be true to you here and hereafter—then his soul would glide into your body, and you would obtain a share in the future happiness of mankind. He would give to you a soul and retain his own as well; but this can never happen. Your fish’s tail, The Little Mermaid

which among us is considered so beautiful, on earth is thought to be quite ugly. They do not know any better, and they think it necessary, in order to be handsome, to have two stout props, which they call legs.” Then the little mermaid sighed and looked sorrowfully at her fish’s tail. “Let us be happy,” said the old lady, “and dart and spring about during the three hundred years that we have to live, which is really quite long enough. After that we can rest ourselves all the better. This evening we are going to have a court ball.” It was one of those splendid sights which we can never see on earth. The walls and the ceiling of the large ballroom were of thick but transparent crystal. Many hundreds of colossal shells,—some of a deep red, others of a grass green,—with blue fire in them, stood in rows on each side. These lighted up the whole salon, and shone through the walls so that the sea was also illuminated. Innumerable fishes, great and small, swam past the crystal walls; on some of them the scales glowed with a purple brilliance, and on others shone like silver and gold. Through the halls flowed a broad stream, and in it danced the mermen and the mermaids to the music of their own sweet singing. No one on earth has such lovely voices as they, but the little mermaid sang more sweetly than all. The whole court applauded her with hands and tails, and for a moment her heart felt quite gay, for she knew she had the sweetest voice either on earth or in the sea. But soon she thought again of the world above her; she could not forget the charming prince, nor her sorrow that she had not an immortal soul like his. She crept away silently out of her father’s palace, and while everything within was gladness and song, she sat in her own little garden, sorrowful and alone. Then she heard the bugle sounding through the water and thought: “He is certainly sailing above, he in whom my wishes center and in whose hands I should like to place the happiness of my life. I will venture all for him and to win an immortal soul. While my sisters are dancing in my 18

Warriors

fatherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s palace I will go to the sea witch, of whom I have always been so much afraid; she can give me counsel and help.â&#x20AC;? Then the little mermaid went out from her garden and took the road to the foaming whirlpools, behind which the sorceress lived. She had never been that way before. Neither flowers nor grass grew there; nothing but bare, gray, sandy ground stretched out to the whirlpool, where the water, like foaming mill wheels, seized everything that came within its reach and cast it into the fathomless deep. Through the midst of these crushing whirlpools the little mermaid was obliged to pass before she could reach the dominions of the sea witch. Then, for a long distance, the road lay across a stretch of warm, bubbling mire, called by the witch her turf moor. Beyond this was the witchâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s house, which stood in the center of a strange forest, where all the trees and flowers were polypi, half animals and half plants. They looked like serpents with a hundred heads, growing out of the ground. The branches were long, slimy arms, with fingers like flexible worms, moving limb after limb from the root to the top. All that could be reached in the sea they seized upon and held fast, so that it never escaped from their clutches. The little mermaid was so alarmed at what she saw that she stood still and her heart beat with fear. She came very near turning back, but she thought of the prince and of the human soul for which she longed, and her courage returned. She fastened her long, flowing hair round her head, so that the polypi should not lay hold of it. She crossed her hands on her bosom, and then darted forward as a fish shoots through the water, between the supple arms and fingers of the ugly polypi, which were stretched out on each side of her. She saw that they all held in their grasp something they had seized with their numerous little arms, which were as strong as iron bands. Tightly grasped in their clinging arms were white skeletons of human beings who had perished at sea and had sunk down into the deep waters; skeletons of land animals; and oars, rudders, and chests, of ships. There was even a little mermaid whom they The Little Mermaid

had caught and strangled, and this seemed the most shocking of all to the little princess. She now came to a space of marshy ground in the wood, where large, fat water snakes were rolling in the mire and showing their ugly, drab-colored bodies. In the midst of this spot stood a house, built of the bones of shipwrecked human beings. There sat the sea witch, allowing a toad to eat from her mouth just as people sometimes feed a canary with pieces of sugar. She called the ugly water snakes her little chickens and allowed them to crawl all over her bosom. “I know what you want,” said the sea witch. “It is very stupid of you, but you shall have your way, though it will bring you to sorrow, my pretty princess. You want to get rid of your fish’s tail and to have two supports instead, like human beings on earth, so that the young prince may fall in love with you and so that you may have an immortal soul.” And then the witch laughed so loud and so disgustingly that the toad and the snakes fell to the ground and lay there wriggling. “You are but just in time,” said the witch, “for after sunrise to-morrow I should not be able to help you till the end of another year. I will prepare a draft for you, with which you must swim to land to-morrow before sunrise; seat yourself there and drink it. Your tail will then disappear, and shrink up into what men call legs. “You will feel great pain, as if a sword were passing through you. But all who see you will say that you are the prettiest little human being they ever saw. You will still have the same floating gracefulness of movement, and no dancer will ever tread so lightly. Every step you take, however, will be as if you were treading upon sharp knives and as if the blood must flow. If you will bear all this, I will help you.” “Yes, I will,” said the little princess in a trembling voice, as she thought of the prince and the immortal soul. “But think again,” said the witch, “for when once your shape 20

Warriors

has become like a human being, you can no more be a mermaid. You will never return through the water to your sisters or to your father’s palace again. And if you do not win the love of the prince, so that he is willing to forget his father and mother for your sake and to love you with his whole soul and allow the priest to join your hands that you may be man and wife, then you will never have an immortal soul. The first morning after he marries another, your heart will break and you will become foam on the crest of the waves.” “I will do it,” said the little mermaid, and she became pale as death. “But I must be paid, also,” said the witch, “and it is not a trifle that I ask. You have the sweetest voice of any who dwell here in the depths of the sea, and you believe that you will be able to charm the prince with it. But this voice you must give to me. The best thing you possess will I have as the price of my costly draft, which must be mixed with my own blood so that it may be as sharp as a two-edged sword.” “But if you take away my voice,” said the little mermaid, “what is left for me?” “Your beautiful form, your graceful walk, and your expressive eyes. Surely with these you can enchain a man’s heart. Well, have you lost your courage? Put out your little tongue, that I may cut it oﬀ as my payment; then you shall have the powerful draft.” “It shall be,” said the little mermaid. Then the witch placed her caldron on the fire, to prepare the magic draft. “Cleanliness is a good thing,” said she, scouring the vessel with snakes which she had tied together in a large knot. Then she pricked herself in the breast and let the black blood drop into the caldron. The steam that rose twisted itself into such horrible shapes that no one could look at them without fear. The Little Mermaid

Every moment the witch threw a new ingredient into the vessel, and when it began to boil, the sound was like the weeping of a crocodile. When at last the magic draft was ready, it looked like the clearest water. “There it is for you,” said the witch. Then she cut oﬀ the mermaid’s tongue, so that she would never again speak or sing. “If the polypi should seize you as you return through the wood,” said the witch, “throw over them a few drops of the potion, and their fingers will be torn into a thousand pieces.” But the little mermaid had no occasion to do this, for the polypi sprang back in terror when they caught sight of the glittering draft, which shone in her hand like a twinkling star. So she passed quickly through the wood and the marsh and between the rushing whirlpools. She saw that in her father’s palace the torches in the ballroom were extinguished and that all within were asleep. But she did not venture to go in to them, for now that she was dumb and going to leave them forever she felt as if her heart would break. She stole into the garden, took a flower from the flower bed of each of her sisters, kissed her hand towards the palace a thousand times, and then rose up through the dark-blue waters. The sun had not risen when she came in sight of the prince’s palace and approached the beautiful marble steps, but the moon shone clear and bright. Then the little mermaid drank the magic draft, and it seemed as if a two-edged sword went through her delicate body. She fell into a swoon and lay like one dead. When the sun rose and shone over the sea, she recovered and felt a sharp pain, but before her stood the handsome young prince. He fixed his coal-black eyes upon her so earnestly that she cast down her own and then became aware that her fish’s tail was gone and that she had as pretty a pair of white legs and tiny feet as any little maiden could have. But she had no clothes, so she wrapped herself in her long, thick hair. The prince asked her who she was and whence she came. She looked at him mildly and sorrowfully with her deep blue eyes, but could not speak. 22

Warriors

He took her by the hand and led her to the palace. Every step she took was as the witch had said it would be; she felt as if she were treading upon the points of needles or sharp knives. She bore it willingly, however, and moved at the prince’s side as lightly as a bubble, so that he and all who saw her wondered at her graceful, swaying movements. She was very soon arrayed in costly robes of silk and muslin and was the most beautiful creature in the palace; but she was dumb and could neither speak nor sing. Beautiful female slaves, dressed in silk and gold, stepped forward and sang before the prince and his royal parents. One sang better than all the others, and the prince clapped his hands and smiled at her. This was a great sorrow to the little mermaid, for she knew how much more sweetly she herself once could sing, and she thought, “Oh, if he could only know that I have given away my voice forever, to be with him!” The slaves next performed some pretty fairy-like dances, to the sound of beautiful music. Then the little mermaid raised her lovely white arms, stood on the tips of her toes, glided over the floor, and danced as no one yet had been able to dance. At each moment her beauty was more revealed, and her expressive eyes appealed more directly to the heart than the songs of the slaves. Every one was enchanted, especially the prince, who called her his little foundling. She danced again quite readily, to please him, though each time her foot touched the floor it seemed as if she trod on sharp knives. The prince said she should remain with him always, and she was given permission to sleep at his door, on a velvet cushion. He had a page’s dress made for her, that she might accompany him on horseback. They rode together through the sweet-scented woods, where the green boughs touched their shoulders, and the little birds sang among the fresh leaves. She climbed with him to the tops of high mountains, and although her tender feet bled so that even her steps were marked, she only smiled, and followed him till they could see the clouds The Little Mermaid

beneath them like a flock of birds flying to distant lands. While at the prince’s palace, and when all the household were asleep, she would go and sit on the broad marble steps, for it eased her burning feet to bathe them in the cold sea water. It was then that she thought of all those below in the deep. Once during the night her sisters came up arm in arm, singing sorrowfully as they floated on the water. She beckoned to them, and they recognized her and told her how she had grieved them; after that, they came to the same place every night. Once she saw in the distance her old grandmother, who had not been to the surface of the sea for many years, and the old Sea King, her father, with his crown on his head. They stretched out their hands towards her, but did not venture so near the land as her sisters had. As the days passed she loved the prince more dearly, and he loved her as one would love a little child. The thought never came to him to make her his wife. Yet unless he married her, she could not receive an immortal soul, and on the morning after his marriage with another, she would dissolve into the foam of the sea. “Do you not love me the best of them all?” the eyes of the little mermaid seemed to say when he took her in his arms and kissed her fair forehead. “Yes, you are dear to me,” said the prince, “for you have the best heart and you are the most devoted to me. You are like a young maiden whom I once saw, but whom I shall never meet again. I was in a ship that was wrecked, and the waves cast me ashore near a holy temple where several young maidens performed the service. The youngest of them found me on the shore and saved my life. I saw her but twice, and she is the only one in the world whom I could love. But you are like her, and you have almost driven her image from my mind. She belongs to the holy temple, and good fortune has sent you to me in her stead. We will never part.

Warriors

“Ah, he knows not that it was I who saved his life,” thought the little mermaid. “I carried him over the sea to the wood where the temple stands; I sat beneath the foam and watched till the human beings came to help him. I saw the pretty maiden that he loves better than he loves me.” The mermaid sighed deeply, but she could not weep. “He says the maiden belongs to the holy temple, therefore she will never return to the world— they will meet no more. I am by his side and see him every day. I will take care of him, and love him, and give up my life for his sake.” Very soon it was said that the prince was to marry and that the beautiful daughter of a neighboring king would be his wife, for a fine ship was being fitted out. Although the prince gave out that he intended merely to pay a visit to the king, it was generally supposed that he went to court the princess. A great company were to go with him. The little mermaid smiled and shook her head. She knew the prince’s thoughts better than any of the others. “I must travel,” he had said to her; “I must see this beautiful princess. My parents desire it, but they will not oblige me to bring her home as my bride. I cannot love her, because she is not like the beautiful maiden in the temple, whom you resemble. If I were forced to choose a bride, I would choose you, my dumb foundling, with those expressive eyes.” Then he kissed her rosy mouth, played with her long, waving hair, and laid his head on her heart, while she dreamed of human happiness and an immortal soul. “You are not afraid of the sea, my dumb child, are you?” he said, as they stood on the deck of the noble ship which was to carry them to the country of the neighboring king. Then he told her of storm and of calm, of strange fishes in the deep beneath them, and of what the divers had seen there. She smiled at his descriptions, for she knew better than any one what wonders were at the bottom of the sea. In the moonlight night, when all on board were asleep The Little Mermaid

except the man at the helm, she sat on deck, gazing down through the clear water. She thought she could distinguish her father’s castle, and upon it her aged grandmother, with the silver crown on her head, looking through the rushing tide at the keel of the vessel. Then her sisters came up on the waves and gazed at her mournfully, wringing their white hands. She beckoned to them, and smiled, and wanted to tell them how happy and well oﬀ she was. But the cabin boy approached, and when her sisters dived down, he thought what he saw was only the foam of the sea. The next morning the ship sailed into the harbor of a beautiful town belonging to the king whom the prince was going to visit. The church bells were ringing, and from the high towers sounded a flourish of trumpets. Soldiers, with flying colors and glittering bayonets, lined the roads through which they passed. Every day was a festival, balls and entertainments following one another. But the princess had not yet appeared. People said that she had been brought up and educated in a religious house, where she was learning every royal virtue. At last she came. Then the little mermaid, who was anxious to see whether she was really beautiful, was obliged to admit that she had never seen a more perfect vision of beauty. Her skin was delicately fair, and beneath her long, dark eyelashes her laughing blue eyes shone with truth and purity. “It was you,” said the prince, “who saved my life when I lay as if dead on the beach,” and he folded his blushing bride in his arms. “Oh, I am too happy!” said he to the little mermaid; “my fondest hopes are now fulfilled. You will rejoice at my happiness, for your devotion to me is great and sincere.” The little mermaid kissed his hand and felt as if her heart were already broken. His wedding morning would bring death to her, and she would change into the foam of the sea. All the church bells rang, and the heralds rode through the 26

Warriors

town proclaiming the betrothal. Perfumed oil was burned in costly silver lamps on every altar. The priests waved the censers, while the bride and the bridegroom joined their hands and received the blessing of the bishop. The little mermaid, dressed in silk and gold, held up the brideâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s train; but her ears heard nothing of the festive music, and her eyes saw not the holy ceremony. She thought of the night of death which was coming to her, and of all she had lost in the world. On the same evening the bride and bridegroom went on board the ship. Cannons were roaring, flags waving, and in the center of the ship a costly tent of purple and gold had been erected. It contained elegant sleeping couches for the bridal pair during the night. The ship, under a favorable wind, with swelling sails, glided away smoothly and lightly over the calm sea. When it grew dark, a number of colored lamps were lighted and the sailors danced merrily on the deck. The little mermaid could not help thinking of her first rising out of the sea, when she had seen similar joyful festivities, so she too joined in the dance, poised herself in the air as a swallow when he pursues his prey, and all present cheered her wonderingly. She had never danced so gracefully before. Her tender feet felt as if cut with sharp knives, but she cared not for the pain; a sharper pang had pierced her heart. She knew this was the last evening she should ever see the prince for whom she had forsaken her kindred and her home. She had given up her beautiful voice and suďŹ&#x20AC;ered unheard-of pain daily for him, while he knew nothing of it. This was the last evening that she should breathe the same air with him or gaze on the starry sky and the deep sea. An eternal night, without a thought or a dream, awaited her. She had no soul, and now could never win one. All was joy and gaiety on the ship until long after midnight. She smiled and danced with the rest, while the thought of death was in her heart. The prince kissed his beautiful bride and she The Little Mermaid

played with his raven hair till they went arm in arm to rest in the sumptuous tent. Then all became still on board the ship, and only the pilot, who stood at the helm, was awake. The little mermaid leaned her white arms on the edge of the vessel and looked towards the east for the first blush of morning—for that first ray of the dawn which was to be her death. She saw her sisters rising out of the flood. They were as pale as she, but their beautiful hair no longer waved in the wind; it had been cut oﬀ. “We have given our hair to the witch,” said they, “to obtain help for you, that you may not die to-night. She has given us a knife; see, it is very sharp. Before the sun rises you must plunge it into the heart of the prince. When the warm blood falls upon your feet they will grow together again into a fish’s tail, and you will once more be a mermaid and can return to us to live out your three hundred years before you are changed into the salt sea foam. Haste, then; either he or you must die before sunrise. Our old grandmother mourns so for you that her white hair is falling, as ours fell under the witch’s scissors. Kill the prince, and come back. Hasten! Do you not see the first red streaks in the sky? In a few minutes the sun will rise, and you must die.” Then they sighed deeply and mournfully, and sank beneath the waves. The little mermaid drew back the crimson curtain of the tent and beheld the fair bride, whose head was resting on the prince’s breast. She bent down and kissed his noble brow, then looked at the sky, on which the rosy dawn grew brighter and brighter. She glanced at the sharp knife and again fixed her eyes on the prince, who whispered the name of his bride in his dreams. She was in his thoughts, and the knife trembled in the hand of the little mermaid—but she flung it far from her into the waves. The water turned red where it fell, and the drops that spurted up looked like blood. She cast one more lingering, halffainting glance at the prince, then threw herself from the ship into the sea and felt her body dissolving into foam. 28

Warriors

The sun rose above the waves, and his warm rays fell on the cold foam of the little mermaid, who did not feel as if she were dying. She saw the bright sun, and hundreds of transparent, beautiful creatures floating around her—she could see through them the white sails of the ships and the red clouds in the sky. Their speech was melodious, but could not be heard by mortal ears—just as their bodies could not be seen by mortal eyes. The little mermaid perceived that she had a body like theirs and that she continued to rise higher and higher out of the foam. “Where am I?” asked she, and her voice sounded ethereal, like the voices of those who were with her. No earthly music could imitate it. “Among the daughters of the air,” answered one of them. “A mermaid has not an immortal soul, nor can she obtain one unless she wins the love of a human being. On the will of another hangs her eternal destiny. But the daughters of the air, although they do not possess an immortal soul, can, by their good deeds, procure one for themselves. We fly to warm countries and cool the sultry air that destroys mankind with the pestilence. We carry the perfume of the flowers to spread health and restoration. “After we have striven for three hundred years to do all the good in our power, we receive an immortal soul and take part in the happiness of mankind. You, poor little mermaid, have tried with your whole heart to do as we are doing. You have suﬀered and endured, and raised yourself to the spirit world by your good deeds, and now, by striving for three hundred years in the same way, you may obtain an immortal soul.” The little mermaid lifted her glorified eyes toward the sun and, for the first time, felt them filling with tears. On the ship in which she had left the prince there were life and noise, and she saw him and his beautiful bride searching for her. Sorrowfully they gazed at the pearly foam, as if they knew she had thrown herself into the waves. Unseen she kissed the forehead of the bride and fanned the prince, and then The Little Mermaid

mounted with the other children of the air to a rosy cloud that floated above. “After three hundred years, thus shall we float into the kingdom of heaven,” said she. “And we may even get there sooner,” whispered one of her companions. “Unseen we can enter the houses of men where there are children, and for every day on which we find a good child that is the joy of his parents and deserves their love, our time of probation is shortened. The child does not know, when we fly through the room, that we smile with joy at his good conduct—for we can count one year less of our three hundred years. But when we see a naughty or a wicked child we shed tears of sorrow, and for every tear a day is added to our time of trial.”

Warriors

Ballad of Mulan A Chinese Story

The sound of one sigh after another, As Mulan weaves at the doorway. No sound of the loom and shuttle, Only that of the girl lamenting. Ask her of whom she thinks, Ask her for whom she longs. “There is no one I think of, There is no one I long for. Last night I saw the army notice, The Khan is calling a great draft – A dozen volumes of battle rolls, Each one with my father’s name.

Ballad of Mulan

My father has no grown-up son, And I have no elder brother. I’m willing to buy a horse and saddle, To go to battle in my father’s place.” She buys a fine steed at the east market; A saddle and blanket at the west market; A bridle at the south market; And a long whip at the north market. She takes leave of her parents at dawn, To camp beside the Yellow River at dusk. No sound of her parents hailing their girl, Just the rumbling waters of the Yellow River. She leaves the Yellow River at dawn, To reach the Black Mountains by dusk. No sound of her parents hailing their girl, Just the cries of barbarian cavalry in the Yan hills. Ten thousand miles she rode in war, Crossing passes and mountains as if on a wing. On the northern air comes the sentry’s gong, Cold light shines on her coat of steel. The general dead after a hundred battles, The warriors return after ten years. They return to see the Son of Heaven, Who sits in the Hall of Brilliance.

Warriors

The rolls of merit spin a dozen times, Rewards in the hundreds and thousands. The Khan asks her what she desires, “I’ve no need for the post of a gentleman oﬃcial, I ask to borrow a camel fleet of foot, To carry me back to my hometown.” Her parents hearing their girl returns, Out to the suburbs to welcome her back. Elder sister hearing her sister returns, Adjusts her rouge by the doorway. Little brother hearing his sister returns, Sharpens his knife for pigs and lamb. “I open my east chamber door, And sit on my west chamber bed. I take oﬀ my battle cloak, And put on my old-time clothes. I adjust my wispy hair at the window sill, And apply my bisque makeup by the mirror. I step out to see my comrades-in-arms, They are all surprised and astounded: ‘We travelled twelve years together, Yet didn’t realise Mulan was a lady!’” The buck bounds here and there, Whilst the doe has narrow eyes. But when the two rabbits run side by side, How can you tell the female from the male? Ballad of Mulan

The School Days of an Indian Girl Zitkála-Ša

THE LAND OF RED APPLES

here were eight in our party of bronzed children who were going East with the missionaries. Among us were three young braves, two tall girls, and we three little ones, Judéwin, Thowin, and I. We had been very impatient to start on our journey to the Red Apple Country, which, we were told, lay a little beyond the great circular horizon of the Western prairie. Under a sky of rosy apples we dreamt of roaming as freely and happily as we had chased the cloud shadows on the Dakota plains. We had anticipated much pleasure from a ride on the iron horse, but the throngs of staring palefaces disturbed and troubled us. On the train, fair women, with tottering babies on each arm, stopped their haste and scrutinized the children of absent 34

Warriors

mothers. Large men, with heavy bundles in their hands, halted near by, and riveted their glassy blue eyes upon us. I sank deep into the corner of my seat, for I resented being watched. Directly in front of me, children who were no larger than I hung themselves upon the backs of their seats, with their bold white faces toward me. Sometimes they took their forefingers out of their mouths and pointed at my moccasined feet. Their mothers, instead of reproving such rude curiosity, looked closely at me, and attracted their childrenâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s further notice to my blanket. This embarrassed me, and kept me constantly on the verge of tears. I sat perfectly still, with my eyes downcast, daring only now and then to shoot long glances around me. Chancing to turn to the window at my side, I was quite breathless upon seeing one familiar object. It was the telegraph pole which strode by at short paces. Very near my motherâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s dwelling, along the edge of a road thickly bordered with wild sunflowers, some poles like these had been planted by white men. Often I had stopped, on my way down the road, to hold my ear against the pole, and, hearing its low moaning, I used to wonder what the paleface had done to hurt it. Now I sat watching for each pole that glided by to be the last one. In this way I had forgotten my uncomfortable surroundings, when I heard one of my comrades call out my name. I saw the missionary standing very near, tossing candies and gums into our midst. This amused us all, and we tried to see who could catch the most of the sweetmeats. Though we rode several days inside of the iron horse, I do not recall a single thing about our luncheons. It was night when we reached the school grounds. The lights from the windows of the large buildings fell upon some of the icicled trees that stood beneath them. We were led toward an open door, where the brightness of the lights within flooded out over the heads of the excited palefaces who blocked our way. School Days of an Indian Girl

My body trembled more from fear than from the snow I trod upon. Entering the house, I stood close against the wall. The strong glaring light in the large whitewashed room dazzled my eyes. The noisy hurrying of hard shoes upon a bare wooden floor increased the whirring in my ears. My only safety seemed to be in keeping next to the wall. As I was wondering in which direction to escape from all this confusion, two warm hands grasped me firmly, and in the same moment I was tossed high in midair. A rosy-cheeked paleface woman caught me in her arms. I was both frightened and insulted by such trifling. I stared into her eyes, wishing her to let me stand on my own feet, but she jumped me up and down with increasing enthusiasm. My mother had never made a plaything of her wee daughter. Remembering this I began to cry aloud. They misunderstood the cause of my tears, and placed me at a white table loaded with food. There our party were united again. As I did not hush my crying, one of the older ones whispered to me, “Wait until you are alone in the night.” It was very little I could swallow besides my sobs, that evening. “Oh, I want my mother and my brother Dawée! I want to go to my aunt!” I pleaded; but the ears of the palefaces could not hear me. From the table we were taken along an upward incline of wooden boxes, which I learned afterward to call a stairway. At the top was a quiet hall, dimly lighted. Many narrow beds were in one straight line down the entire length of the wall. In them lay sleeping brown faces, which peeped just out of the coverings. I was tucked into bed with one of the tall girls, because she talked to me in my mother tongue and seemed to soothe me. I had arrived in the wonderful land of rosy skies, but I was not happy, as I had thought I should be. My long travel and 36

Warriors

the bewildering sights had exhausted me. I fell asleep, heaving deep, tired sobs. My tears were left to dry themselves in streaks, because neither my aunt nor my mother was near to wipe them away

THE CUTTING OF MY LONG HAIR

he first day in the land of apples was a bitter-cold one; for the snow still covered the ground, and the trees were bare. A large bell rang for breakfast, its loud metallic voice crashing through the belfry overhead and into our sensitive ears. The annoying clatter of shoes on bare floors gave us no peace. The constant clash of harsh noises, with an undercurrent of many voices murmuring an unknown tongue, made a bedlam within which I was securely tied. And though my spirit tore itself in struggling for its lost freedom, all was useless. A paleface woman, with white hair, came up after us. We were placed in a line of girls who were marching into the dining room. These were Indian girls, in stiďŹ&#x20AC; shoes and closely clinging dresses. The small girls wore sleeved aprons and shingled hair. As I walked noiselessly in my soft moccasins, I felt like sinking to the floor, for my blanket had been stripped from my shoulders. I looked hard at the Indian girls, who seemed not to care that they were even more immodestly dressed than I, in their tightly fitting clothes. While we marched in, the boys entered at an opposite door. I watched for the three young braves who came in our party. I spied them in the rear ranks, looking as uncomfortable as I felt. A small bell was tapped, and each of the pupils drew a chair from under the table. Supposing this act meant they were to be seated, I pulled out mine and at once slipped into it from one side. But when I turned my head, I saw that I was the only one seated, and all the rest at our table remained standing. Just as I began to rise, looking shyly around to see how chairs were to be used, a second bell was sounded. All were seated at last, and I had to crawl back into my chair again. I heard a manâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s voice at one end of the hall, and I looked School Days of an Indian Girl

around to see him. But all the others hung their heads over their plates. As I glanced at the long chain of tables, I caught the eyes of a paleface woman upon me. Immediately I dropped my eyes, wondering why I was so keenly watched by the strange woman. The man ceased his mutterings, and then a third bell was tapped. Every one picked up his knife and fork and began eating. I began crying instead, for by this time I was afraid to venture anything more. But this eating by formula was not the hardest trial in that first day. Late in the morning, my friend Judéwin gave me a terrible warning. Judéwin knew a few words of English; and she had overheard the paleface woman talk about cutting our long, heavy hair. Our mothers had taught us that only unskilled warriors who were captured had their hair shingled by the enemy. Among our people, short hair was worn by mourners, and shingled hair by cowards! We discussed our fate some moments, and when Judéwin said, “We have to submit, because they are strong,” I rebelled. “No, I will not submit! I will struggle first!” I answered. I watched my chance, and when no one noticed, I disappeared. I crept up the stairs as quietly as I could in my squeaking shoes,—my moccasins had been exchanged for shoes. Along the hall I passed, without knowing whither I was going. Turning aside to an open door, I found a large room with three white beds in it. The windows were covered with dark green curtains, which made the room very dim. Thankful that no one was there, I directed my steps toward the corner farthest from the door. On my hands and knees I crawled under the bed, and cuddled myself in the dark corner. From my hiding place I peered out, shuddering with fear whenever I heard footsteps near by. Though in the hall loud voices were calling my name, and I knew that even Judéwin was searching for me, I did not open my mouth to answer. Then the steps were quickened and the voices became excited. The 38

Warriors

sounds came nearer and nearer. Women and girls entered the room. I held my breath and watched them open closet doors and peep behind large trunks. Some one threw up the curtains, and the room was filled with sudden light. What caused them to stoop and look under the bed I do not know. I remember being dragged out, though I resisted by kicking and scratching wildly. In spite of myself, I was carried downstairs and tied fast in a chair. I cried aloud, shaking my head all the while until I felt the cold blades of the scissors against my neck, and heard them gnaw oﬀ one of my thick braids. Then I lost my spirit. Since the day I was taken from my mother I had suﬀered extreme indignities. People had stared at me. I had been tossed about in the air like a wooden puppet. And now my long hair was shingled like a coward’s! In my anguish I moaned for my mother, but no one came to comfort me. Not a soul reasoned quietly with me, as my own mother used to do; for now I was only one of many little animals driven by a herder.

THE SNOW EPISODE

short time after our arrival we three Dakotas were playing in the snowdrift. We were all still deaf to the English language, excepting Judéwin, who always heard such puzzling things. One morning we learned through her ears that we were forbidden to fall lengthwise in the snow, as we had been doing, to see our own impressions. However, before many hours we had forgotten the order, and were having great sport in the snow, when a shrill voice called us. Looking up, we saw an imperative hand beckoning us into the house. We shook the snow oﬀ ourselves, and started toward the woman as slowly as we dared. Judéwin said: “Now the paleface is angry with us. She is going to punish us for falling into the snow. If she looks straight into your eyes and talks loudly, you must wait until she stops. Then, after a tiny pause, say, ‘No.’” The rest of the way we practiced upon the little word “no.” School Days of an Indian Girl

As it happened, Thowin was summoned to judgment first. The door shut behind her with a click. Judéwin and I stood silently listening at the keyhole. The paleface woman talked in very severe tones. Her words fell from her lips like crackling embers, and her inflection ran up like the small end of a switch. I understood her voice better than the things she was saying. I was certain we had made her very impatient with us. Judéwin heard enough of the words to realize all too late that she had taught us the wrong reply. “Oh, poor Thowin!” she gasped, as she put both hands over her ears. Just then I heard Thowin’s tremulous answer, “No.” With an angry exclamation, the woman gave her a hard spanking. Then she stopped to say something. Judéwin said it was this: “Are you going to obey my word the next time?” Thowin answered again with the only word at her command, “No.” This time the woman meant her blows to smart, for the poor frightened girl shrieked at the top of her voice. In the midst of the whipping the blows ceased abruptly, and the woman asked another question: “Are you going to fall in the snow again?” Thowin gave her bad passwood another trial. We heard her say feebly, “No! No!” With this the woman hid away her half-worn slipper, and led the child out, stroking her black shorn head. Perhaps it occurred to her that brute force is not the solution for such a problem. She did nothing to Judéwin nor to me. She only returned to us our unhappy comrade, and left us alone in the room. During the first two or three seasons misunderstandings as 40

Warriors

ridiculous as this one of the snow episode frequently took place, bringing unjustifiable frights and punishments into our little lives. Within a year I was able to express myself somewhat in broken English. As soon as I comprehended a part of what was said and done, a mischievous spirit of revenge possessed me. One day I was called in from my play for some misconduct. I had disregarded a rule which seemed to me very needlessly binding. I was sent into the kitchen to mash the turnips for dinner. It was noon, and steaming dishes were hastily carried into the dining-room. I hated turnips, and their odor which came from the brown jar was oďŹ&#x20AC;ensive to me. With fire in my heart, I took the wooden tool that the paleface woman held out to me. I stood upon a step, and, grasping the handle with both hands, I bent in hot rage over the turnips. I worked my vengeance upon them. All were so busily occupied that no one noticed me. I saw that the turnips were in a pulp, and that further beating could not improve them; but the order was, â&#x20AC;&#x153;Mash these turnips,â&#x20AC;? and mash them I would! I renewed my energy; and as I sent the masher into the bottom of the jar, I felt a satisfying sensation that the weight of my body had gone into it. Just here a paleface woman came up to my table. As she looked into the jar, she shoved my hands roughly aside. I stood fearless and angry. She placed her red hands upon the rim of the jar. Then she gave one lift and stride away from the table. But lo! the pulpy contents fell through the crumbled bottom to the floor I She spared me no scolding phrases that I had earned. I did not heed them. I felt triumphant in my revenge, though deep within me I was a wee bit sorry to have broken the jar. As I sat eating my dinner, and saw that no turnips were served, I whooped in my heart for having once asserted the rebellion within me.

School Days of an Indian Girl

THE DEVIL

mong the legends the old warriors used to tell me were many stories of evil spirits. But I was taught to fear them no more than those who stalked about in material guise. I never knew there was an insolent chieftain among the bad spirits, who dared to array his forces against the Great Spirit, until I heard this white man’s legend from a paleface woman. Out of a large book she showed me a picture of the white man’s devil. I looked in horror upon the strong claws that grew out of his fur-covered fingers. His feet were like his hands. Trailing at his heels was a scaly tail tipped with a serpent’s open jaws. His face was a patchwork: he had bearded cheeks, like some I had seen palefaces wear; his nose was an eagle’s bill, and his sharp-pointed ears were pricked up like those of a sly fox. Above them a pair of cow’s horns curved upward. I trembled with awe, and my heart throbbed in my throat, as I looked at the king of evil spirits. Then I heard the paleface woman say that this terrible creature roamed loose in the world, and that little girls who disobeyed school regulations were to be tortured by him. That night I dreamt about this evil divinity. Once again I seemed to be in my mother’s cottage. An Indian woman had come to visit my mother. On opposite sides of the kitchen stove, which stood in the center of the small house, my mother and her guest were seated in straight-backed chairs. I played with a train of empty spools hitched together on a string. It was night, and the wick burned feebly. Suddenly I heard some one turn our door-knob from without. My mother and the woman hushed their talk, and both looked toward the door. It opened gradually. I waited behind the stove. The hinges squeaked as the door was slowly, very slowly pushed inward. Then in rushed the devil! He was tall! He looked exactly 42

Warriors

like the picture I had seen of him in the white man’s papers. He did not speak to my mother, because he did not know the Indian language, but his glittering yellow eyes were fastened upon me. He took long strides around the stove, passing behind the woman’s chair. I threw down my spools, and ran to my mother. He did not fear her, but followed closely after me. Then I ran round and round the stove, crying aloud for help. But my mother and the woman seemed not to know my danger. They sat still, looking quietly upon the devil’s chase after me. At last I grew dizzy. My head revolved as on a hidden pivot. My knees became numb, and doubled under my weight like a pair of knife blades without a spring. Beside my mother’s chair I fell in a heap. Just as the devil stooped over me with outstretched claws my mother awoke from her quiet indiﬀerence, and lifted me on her lap. Whereupon the devil vanished, and I was awake. On the following morning I took my revenge upon the devil. Stealing into the room where a wall of shelves was filled with books, I drew forth The Stories of the Bible. With a broken slate pencil I carried in my apron pocket, I began by scratching out his wicked eyes. A few moments later, when I was ready to leave the room, there was a ragged hole in the page where the picture of the devil had once been.

IRON ROUTINE

loud-clamoring bell awakened us at half-past six in the cold winter mornings. From happy dreams of Western rolling lands and unlassoed freedom we tumbled out upon chilly bare floors back again into a paleface day. We had short time to jump into our shoes and clothes, and wet our eyes with icy water, before a small hand bell was vigorously rung for roll call. There were too many drowsy children and too numerous orders for the day to waste a moment in any apology to nature for giving her children such a shock in the early morning. We rushed downstairs, bounding over two high steps at a time, to land in the assembly room. School Days of an Indian Girl

A paleface woman, with a yellow-covered roll book open on her arm and a gnawed pencil in her hand, appeared at the door. Her small, tired face was coldly lighted with a pair of large gray eyes. She stood still in a halo of authority, while over the rim of her spectacles her eyes pried nervously about the room. Having glanced at her long list of names and called out the first one, she tossed up her chin and peered through the crystals of her spectacles to make sure of the answer “Here.” Relentlessly her pencil black-marked our daily records if we were not present to respond to our names, and no chum of ours had done it successfully for us. No matter if a dull headache or the painful cough of slow consumption had delayed the absentee, there was only time enough to mark the tardiness. It was next to impossible to leave the iron routine after the civilizing machine had once begun its day’s buzzing; and as it was inbred in me to suﬀer in silence rather than to appeal to the ears of one whose open eyes could not see my pain, I have many times trudged in the day’s harness heavy-footed, like a dumb sick brute. Once I lost a dear classmate. I remember well how she used to mope along at my side, until one morning she could not raise her head from her pillow. At her deathbed I stood weeping, as the paleface woman sat near her moistening the dry lips. Among the folds of the bedclothes I saw the open pages of the white man’s Bible. The dying Indian girl talked disconnectedly of Jesus the Christ and the paleface who was cooling her swollen hands and feet. I grew bitter, and censured the woman for cruel neglect of our physical ills. I despised the pencils that moved automatically, and the one teaspoon which dealt out, from a large bottle, healing to a row of variously ailing Indian children. I blamed the hard-working, well-meaning, ignorant woman who was inculcating in our hearts her superstitious ideas. Though I was sullen in all my little troubles, as soon as I felt 44

Warriors

better I was ready again to smile upon the cruel woman. Within a week I was again actively testing the chains which tightly bound my individuality like a mummy for burial. The melancholy of those black days has left so long a shadow that it darkens the path of years that have since gone by. These sad memories rise above those of smoothly grinding school days. Perhaps my Indian nature is the moaning wind which stirs them now for their present record. But, however tempestuous this is within me, it comes out as the low voice of a curiously colored seashell, which is only for those ears that are bent with compassion to hear it.

FOUR STRANGE SUMMERS

fter my first three years of school, I roamed again in the Western country through four strange summers.

During this time I seemed to hang in the heart of chaos, beyond the touch or voice of human aid. My brother, being almost ten years my senior, did not quite understand my feelings. My mother had never gone inside of a schoolhouse, and so she was not capable of comforting her daughter who could read and write. Even nature seemed to have no place for me. I was neither a wee girl nor a tall one; neither a wild Indian nor a tame one. This deplorable situation was the eﬀect of my brief course in the East, and the unsatisfactory “teenth” in a girl’s years. It was under these trying conditions that, one bright afternoon, as I sat restless and unhappy in my mother’s cabin, I caught the sound of the spirited step of my brother’s pony on the road which passed by our dwelling. Soon I heard the wheels of a light buckboard, and Dawée’s familiar “Ho!” to his pony. He alighted upon the bare ground in front of our house. Tying his pony to one of the projecting corner logs of the low-roofed cottage, he stepped upon the wooden doorstep. I met him there with a hurried greeting, and, as I passed by, School Days of an Indian Girl

he looked a quiet “What?” into my eyes. When he began talking with my mother, I slipped the rope from the pony’s bridle. Seizing the reins and bracing my feet against the dashboard, I wheeled around in an instant. The pony was ever ready to try his speed. Looking backward, I saw Dawée waving his hand to me. I turned with the curve in the road and disappeared. I followed the winding road which crawled upward between the bases of little hillocks. Deep waterworn ditches ran parallel on either side. A strong wind blew against my cheeks and fluttered my sleeves. The pony reached the top of the highest hill, and began an even race on the level lands. There was nothing moving within that great circular horizon of the Dakota prairies save the tall grasses, over which the wind blew and rolled oﬀ in long, shadowy waves. Within this vast wigwam of blue and green I rode reckless and insignificant. It satisfied my small consciousness to see the white foam fly from the pony’s mouth. Suddenly, out of the earth a coyote came forth at a swinging trot that was taking the cunning thief toward the hills and the village beyond. Upon the moment’s impulse, I gave him a long chase and a wholesome fright. As I turned away to go back to the village, the wolf sank down upon his haunches for rest, for it was a hot summer day; and as I drove slowly homeward, I saw his sharp nose still pointed at me, until I vanished below the margin of the hilltops. In a little while I came in sight of my mother’s house. Dawée stood in the yard, laughing at an old warrior who was pointing his forefinger, and again waving his whole hand, toward the hills. With his blanket drawn over one shoulder, he talked and motioned excitedly. Dawée turned the old man by the shoulder and pointed me out to him. “Oh, han!” (Oh, yes) the warrior muttered, and went his way. He had climbed the top of his favorite barren hill to survey the surrounding prairies, when he spied my chase after the 46

Warriors

coyote. His keen eyes recognized the pony and driver. At once uneasy for my safety, he had come running to my mother’s cabin to give her warning. I did not appreciate his kindly interest, for there was an unrest gnawing at my heart. As soon as he went away, I asked Dawée about something else. “No, my baby sister, I cannot take you with me to the party tonight,” he replied. Though I was not far from fifteen, and I felt that before long I should enjoy all the privileges of my tall cousin, Dawée persisted in calling me his baby sister. That moonlight night, I cried in my mother’s presence when I heard the jolly young people pass by our cottage. They were no more young braves in blankets and eagle plumes, nor Indian maids with prettily painted cheeks. They had gone three years to school in the East, and had become civilized. The young men wore the white man’s coat and trousers, with bright neckties. The girls wore tight muslin dresses, with ribbons at neck and waist. At these gatherings they talked English. I could speak English almost as well as my brother, but I was not properly dressed to be taken along. I had no hat, no ribbons, and no close-fitting gown. Since my return from school I had thrown away my shoes, and wore again the soft moccasins. While Dawée was busily preparing to go I controlled my tears. But when I heard him bounding away on his pony, I buried my face in my arms and cried hot tears. My mother was troubled by my unhappiness. Coming to my side, she oﬀered me the only printed matter we had in our home. It was an Indian Bible, given her some years ago by a missionary. She tried to console me. “Here, my child, are the white man’s papers. Read a little from them,” she said most piously. I took it from her hand, for her sake; but my enraged spirit felt more like burning the book, which aﬀorded me no help, and was a perfect delusion to my mother. I did not read it, but laid it School Days of an Indian Girl

unopened on the floor, where I sat on my feet. The dim yellow light of the braided muslin burning in a small vessel of oil flickered and sizzled in the awful silent storm which followed my rejection of the Bible. Now my wrath against the fates consumed my tears before they reached my eyes. I sat stony, with a bowed head. My mother threw a shawl over her head and shoulders, and stepped out into the night. After an uncertain solitude, I was suddenly aroused by a loud cry piercing the night. It was my mother’s voice wailing among the barren hills which held the bones of buried warriors. She called aloud for her brothers’ spirits to support her in her helpless misery. My fingers Grey icy cold, as I realized that my unrestrained tears had betrayed my suﬀering to her, and she was grieving for me. Before she returned, though I knew she was on her way, for she had ceased her weeping, I extinguished the light, and leaned my head on the window sill. Many schemes of running away from my surroundings hovered about in my mind. A few more moons of such a turmoil drove me away to the eastern school. I rode on the white man’s iron steed, thinking it would bring me back to my mother in a few winters, when I should be grown tall, and there would be congenial friends awaiting me.

INCURRING MY MOTHER’S DISPLEASURE

n the second journey to the East I had not come without some precautions. I had a secret interview with one of our best medicine men, and when I left his wigwam I carried securely in my sleeve a tiny bunch of magic roots. This possession assured me of friends wherever I should go. So absolutely did I believe in its charms that I wore it through all the school routine for more than a year. Then, before I lost my faith in the dead roots, I lost the little buckskin bag containing 48

Warriors

all my good luck. At the close of this second term of three years I was the proud owner of my first diploma. The following autumn I ventured upon a college career against my mother’s will. I had written for her approval, but in her reply I found no encouragement. She called my notice to her neighbors’ children, who had completed their education in three years. They had returned to their homes, and were then talking English with the frontier settlers. Her few words hinted that I had better give up my slow attempt to learn the white man’s ways, and be content to roam over the prairies and find my living upon wild roots. I silenced her by deliberate disobedience. Thus, homeless and heavy-hearted, I began anew my life among strangers. As I hid myself in my little room in the college dormitory, away from the scornful and yet curious eyes of the students, I pined for sympathy. Often I wept in secret, wishing I had gone West, to be nourished by my mother’s love, instead of remaining among a cold race whose hearts were frozen hard with prejudice. During the fall and winter seasons I scarcely had a real friend, though by that time several of my classmates were courteous to me at a safe distance. My mother had not yet forgiven my rudeness to her, and I had no moment for letter-writing. By daylight and lamplight, I spun with reeds and thistles, until my hands were tired from their weaving, the magic design which promised me the white man’s respect. At length, in the spring term, I entered an oratorical contest among the various classes. As the day of competition approached, it did not seem possible that the event was so near at hand, but it came. In the chapel the classes assembled together, with their invited guests. The high platform was School Days of an Indian Girl

carpeted, and gaily festooned with college colors. A bright white light illumined the room, and outlined clearly the great polished beams that arched the domed ceiling. The assembled crowds filled the air with pulsating murmurs. When the hour for speaking arrived all were hushed. But on the wall the old clock which pointed out the trying moment ticked calmly on. One after another I saw and heard the orators. Still, I could not realize that they longed for the favorable decision of the judges as much as I did. Each contestant received a loud burst of applause, and some were cheered heartily. Too soon my turn came, and I paused a moment behind the curtains for a deep breath. After my concluding words, I heard the same applause that the others had called out. Upon my retreating steps, I was astounded to receive from my fellow-students a large bouquet of roses tied with flowing ribbons. With the lovely flowers I fled from the stage. This friendly token was a rebuke to me for the hard feelings I had borne them. Later, the decision of the judges awarded me the first place. Then there was a mad uproar in the hall, where my classmates sang and shouted my name at the top of their lungs; and the disappointed students howled and brayed in fearfully dissonant tin trumpets. In this excitement, happy students rushed forward to oďŹ&#x20AC;er their congratulations. And I could not conceal a smile when they wished to escort me in a procession to the studentsâ&#x20AC;&#x2122; parlor, where all were going to calm themselves. Thanking them for the kind spirit which prompted them to make such a proposition, I walked alone with the night to my own little room. A few weeks afterward, I appeared as the college representative in another contest. This time the competition was among orators from diďŹ&#x20AC;erent colleges in our State. It was held at the State capital, in one of the largest opera houses. Here again was a strong prejudice against my people. In 50

Warriors

the evening, as the great audience filled the house, the student bodies began warring among themselves. Fortunately, I was spared witnessing any of the noisy wrangling before the contest began. The slurs against the Indian that stained the lips of our opponents were already burning like a dry fever within my breast. But after the orations were delivered a deeper burn awaited me. There, before that vast ocean of eyes, some college rowdies threw out a large white flag, with a drawing of a most forlorn Indian girl on it. Under this they had printed in bold black letters words that ridiculed the college which was represented by a â&#x20AC;&#x153;squaw.â&#x20AC;? Such worse than barbarian rudeness embittered me. While we waited for the verdict of the judges, I gleamed fiercely upon the throngs of palefaces. My teeth were hard set, as I saw the white flag still floating insolently in the air. Then anxiously we watched the man carry toward the stage the envelope containing the final decision. There were two prizes given, that night, and one of them was mine! The evil spirit laughed within me when the white flag dropped out of sight, and the hands which hurled it hung limp in defeat. Leaving the crowd as quickly as possible, I was soon in my room. The rest of the night I sat in an armchair and gazed into the crackling fire. I laughed no more in triumph when thus alone. The little taste of victory did not satisfy a hunger in my heart. In my mind I saw my mother far away on the Western plains, and she was holding a charge against me.

School Days of an Indian Girl

Pocahontas

William Makepeace Thackery

Wearied arm and broken sword Wage in vain the desperate fight: Round him press a countless horde; He is but a single knight. Hark! a cry of triumph shrill Through the wilderness resounds, As, with twenty bleeding wounds, Sinks the warrior, fighting still. Now they heap the fatal pyre, And the torch of death they light; Ah! â&#x20AC;&#x2122;tis hard to die of fire! Who will shield the captive knight? Round the stake with fiendish cry Wheel and dance the savage crowd, Gold the victimâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s mien, and proud, And his breast is bared to die. Who will shield the fearless heart? Who avert the murderous blade? 52

Warriors

From the throng, with sudden start, See there springs an Indian maid. Quick she stands before the knight: “Loose the chain, unbind the ring; I am daughter of the King, And I claim the Indian right!” Dauntlessly aside she flings Lifted axe and thirsty knife; Fondly to his heart she clings, And her bosom guards his life! In the woods of Powhatan, Still ’tis told by Indian fires, How a daughter of their sires Saved the captive Englishman.

Pocahontas

Part II

Wives

I gave myself to him, And took himself for pay. The solemn contract of a life Was ratified this way. The wealth might disappoint, Myself a poorer prove Than this great purchaser suspect, The daily own of Love Depreciate the vision; But, till the merchant buy, Still fable, in the isles of spice, The subtle cargoes lie. At least, ‘t is mutual risk, — Some found it mutual gain; Sweet debt of Life, — each night to owe, Insolvent, every noon.

—Emily Dickinson, “The Contract”

The Barber’s Clever Wife Flora Annie Webster Steel

nce upon a time there lived a barber, who was such a poor silly creature that he couldn’t even ply his trade decently, but snipped oﬀ his customers’ ears instead of their hair, and cut their throats instead of shaving them. So of course he grew poorer every day, till at last he found himself with nothing left in his house but his wife and his razor, both of whom were as sharp as sharp could be. For his wife was an exceedingly clever person, who was continually rating her husband for his stupidity; and when she saw they hadn’t a farthing left, she fell as usual to scolding. But the barber took it very calmly. “What is the use of making such a fuss, my dear?” said he; “you’ve told me all this before, and I quite agree with you. I never did work, I never could work, and I never will work. That is the fact!”

Wives

“Then you must beg!” returned his wife, “for I will not starve to please you! Go to the palace, and beg something of the King. There is a wedding feast going on, and he is sure to give alms to the poor.” “Very well, my dear!” said the barber submissively. He was rather afraid of his clever wife, so he did as he was bid, and going to the palace, begged of the King to give him something. “Something?” asked the King; “what thing?” Now the barber’s wife had not mentioned anything in particular, and the barber was far too addle-pated to think of anything by himself, so he answered cautiously, “Oh, something!” “Will a piece of land do?” said the King. Whereupon the lazy barber, glad to be helped out of the diﬃculty, remarked that perhaps a piece of land would do as well as anything else. Then the King ordered a piece of waste, outside the city, should be given to the barber, who went home quite satisfied. “Well! what did you get?” asked the clever wife, who was waiting impatiently for his return. “Give it me quick, that I may go and buy bread!” And you may imagine how she scolded when she found he had only got a piece of waste land. “But land is land!” remonstrated the barber; “it can’t run away, so we must always have something now!” “Was there ever such a dunderhead?” raged the clever wife. ”What good is ground unless we can till it? and where are we to get bullocks and ploughs?” But being, as we have said, an exceedingly clever person, she set her wits to work, and soon thought of a plan whereby to make the best of a bad bargain. The Barber’s Clever Wife

She took her husband with her, and set oﬀ to the piece of waste land; then, bidding her husband imitate her, she began walking about the field, and peering anxiously into the ground. But when any-* body came that way, she would sit down, and pretend to be doing nothing at all. Now it so happened that seven thieves were hiding in a thicket hard by, and they watched the barber and his wife all day, until they became convinced something mysterious was going on. So at sunset they sent one of their number to try and find out what it was. “Well, the fact is,” said the barber’s wife, after beating about the bush for some-time, and with many injunctions to strict secrecy, “this field belonged to my grandfather, who buried five pots full of gold in it, and we were just trying to discover the exact spot before beginning to dig. You won’t tell any one, will you?” The thief promised he wouldn’t, of course, but the moment the barber and his wife went home, he called his companions, and telling them of the hidden treasure, set them to work. All night long they dug and delved, till the field looked as if it had been ploughed seven times over, and they were as tired as tired could be; but never a gold piece, nor a silver piece, nor a farthing did they find, so when dawn came they went away disgusted. The barber’s wife, when she found the field so beautifully ploughed, laughed heartily at the success of her stratagem, and going to the corn-dealer’s shop, borrowed some rice to sow in the field. This the corn-dealer willingly gave her, for he reckoned he would get it back threefold at harvest time. And so he did, for never was there such a crop!—the barber’s wife paid her debts, kept enough for the house, and sold the rest for a great crock of gold pieces. Now, when the thieves saw this, they were very angry indeed, and going to the barber’s house, said, “Give us our 58

Wives

share of the harvest, for we tilled the ground, as you very well know.” “I told you there was gold in the ground,” laughed the barber’s wife, “but you didn’t find it. I have, and there’s a crock full of it in the house, only you rascals shall never have a farthing of it!” “Very well!” said the thieves; “look out for yourself to-night. If you won’t give us our share we’ll take it!” So that night one of the thieves hid himself in the house, intending to open the door to his comrades when the housefolk were asleep; but the barber’s wife saw him with the corner of her eye, and determined to lead him a dance. Therefore, when her husband, who was in a dreadful state of alarm, asked her what she had done with the gold pieces, she replied, “Put them where no one will find them,—under the sweetmeats, in the crock that stands in the niche by the door.” The thief chuckled at hearing this, and after waiting till all was quiet, he crept out, and feeling about for the crock, made oﬀ with it, whispering to his comrades that he had got the prize. Fearing pursuit, they fled to a thicket, where they sat down to divide the spoil. “She said there were sweetmeats on the top,” said the thief; “I will divide them first, and then we can eat them, for it is hungry work, this waiting and watching.” So he divided what he thought were the sweetmeats as well as he could in the dark. Now in reality the crock was full of all sorts of horrible things that the barber’s wife had put there on purpose, and so when the thieves crammed its contents into their mouths, you may imagine what faces they made and how they vowed revenge. But when they returned next day to threaten and repeat their claim to a share of the crop, the barber’s wife only laughed at them. The Barber’s Clever Wife

“Have a care!” they cried; “twice you have fooled us—once by making us dig all night, and next by feeding us on filth and breaking our caste. It will be our turn to-night!” Then another thief hid himself in the house, but the barber’s wife saw him with half an eye, and when her husband asked, “What have you done with the gold, my dear? I hope you haven’t put it under the pillow?” she answered, “Don’t be alarmed; it is out of the house. I have hung it in the branches of the nîm tree outside. No one will think of looking for it there!” The hidden thief chuckled, and when the house-folk were asleep he slipped out and told his companions. “Sure enough, there it is!” cried the captain of the band, peering up into the branches. “One of you go up and fetch it down.” Now what he saw was really a hornets’ nest, full of great big brown and yellow hornets. So one of the thieves climbed up the tree; but when he came close to the nest, and was just reaching up to take hold of it, a hornet flew out and stung him on the thigh. He immediately clapped his hand to the spot. “Oh, you thief!” cried out the rest from below, “you’re pocketing the gold pieces, are you? Oh! shabby! shabby!”—For you see it was very dark, and when the poor man clapped his hand to the place where he had been stung, they thought he was putting his hand in his pocket. “I assure you I’m not doing anything of the kind!” retorted the thief; “but there is something that bites in this tree!” Just at that moment another hornet stung him on the breast, and he clapped his hand there. “Fie! fie for shame! We saw you do it that time!” cried the rest. “Just you stop that at once, or we will make you!” 60

Wives

So they sent up another thief, but he fared no better, for by this time the hornets were thoroughly roused, and they stung the poor man all over, so that he kept clapping his hands here, there, and everywhere. “Shame! Shabby! Ssh-sh!” bawled the rest; and then one after another they climbed into the tree, determined to share the booty, and one after another began clapping their hands about their bodies, till it came to the captain’s turn. Then he, intent on having the prize, seized hold of the hornets’ nest, and as the branch on which they were all standing broke at the selfsame moment, they all came tumbling down with the hornets’ nest on top of them. And then, in spite of bumps and bruises, you can imagine what a stampede there was! After this the barber’s wife had some peace, for every one of the seven thieves was in hospital. In fact, they were laid up for so long a time that she began to think that they were never coming back again, and ceased to be on the look-out. But she was wrong, for one night, when she had left the window open, she was awakened by whisperings outside, and at once recognised the thieves’ voices. She gave herself up for lost; but, determined not to yield without a struggle, she seized her husband’s razor, crept to the side of the window, and stood quite still. By and by the first thief began to creep through cautiously. She just waited till the tip of his nose was visible, and then, flash!—she sliced it oﬀ with the razor as clean as a whistle. “Confound it!” yelled the thief, drawing back mighty quick; “I’ve cut my nose on something!” “Hush-sh-sh-sh!” whispered the others, “you’ll wake some one. Go on!” “Not I!” said the thief; “I’m bleeding like a pig!” “Pooh!—knocked your nose against the shutter, I suppose,” returned the second thief. “I’ll go!” The Barber’s Clever Wife

But, swish!—off went the tip of his nose too. “Dear me!” said he ruefully, “there certainly is something sharp inside!” “A bit of bamboo in the lattice, most likely,” remarked the third thief. “I”ll go!’ And, flick!—off went his nose too. “It is most extraordinary!” he exclaimed, hurriedly retiring; “I feel exactly as if some one had cut the tip of my nose off!” “Rubbish!” said the fourth thief. “What cowards you all are! Let me go!” But he fared no better, nor the fifth thief, nor the sixth. “My friends!” said the captain, when it came to his turn, “you are all disabled. One man must remain unhurt to protect the wounded. Let us return another night.” He was a cautious man, you see, and valued his nose. So they crept away sulkily, and the barber’s wife lit a lamp, and gathering up all the nose tips, put them away safely in a little box. Now before the robbers’ noses were healed over, the hot weather set in, and the barber and his wife, finding it warm sleeping in the house, put their beds outside; for they made sure the thieves would not return. But they did, and seizing such a good opportunity for revenge, they lifted up the wife’s bed, and carried her off fast asleep. She woke to find herself borne along on the heads of four of the thieves, whilst the other three ran beside her. She gave herself up for lost, and though she thought, and thought, and thought, she could find no way of escape; till, as luck would have it, the robbers paused to take breath under a banyan tree. Quick as lightning, she seized hold of a branch that was within reach, and swung herself into the tree, leaving her quilt on the bed just as if she were still in it. 62

Wives

“Let us rest a bit here,” said the thieves who were carrying the bed; “there is plenty of time, and we are tired. She is dreadfully heavy!” The barber’s wife could hardly help laughing, but she had to keep very still, for it was a bright moonlight night; and the robbers, after setting down their burden, began to squabble as to who should take first watch. At last they determined that it should be the captain, for the others had really barely recovered from the shock of having their noses sliced oﬀ; so they lay down to sleep, while the captain walked up and down, watching the bed, and the barber’s wife sat perched up in the tree like a great bird. Suddenly an idea came into her head, and drawing her white veil becomingly over her face, she began to sing softly. The robber captain looked up, and saw the veiled figure of a woman in the tree. Of course he was a little surprised, but being a goodlooking young fellow, and rather vain of his appearance, he jumped at once to the conclusion that it was a fairy who had fallen in love with his handsome face. For fairies do such things sometimes, especially on moonlight nights. So he twirled his moustaches, and strutted about, waiting for her to speak. But when she went on singing, and took no notice of him, he stopped and called out, “Come down, my beauty! I won’t hurt you!” But still she went on singing; so he climbed up into the tree, determined to attract her attention. When he came quite close, she turned away her head and sighed. “What is the matter, my beauty?” he asked tenderly. “Of course you are a fairy, and have fallen in love with me, but there is nothing to sigh at in that, surely?” “Ah—ah—ah!” said the barber’s wife, with another sigh, “I believe you’re fickle! Men with long-pointed noses always are!” But the robber captain swore he was the most constant of men; yet still the fairy sighed and sighed, until he almost The Barber’s Clever Wife

wished his nose had been shortened too. “You are telling stories, I am sure!” said the pretended fairy. “Just let me touch your tongue with the tip of mine, and then I shall be able to taste if there are fibs about!” So the robber captain put out his tongue, and, snip!—the barber’s wife bit the tip off clean! What with the fright and the pain, he tumbled off the branch, and fell bump on the ground, where he sat with his legs very wide apart, looking as if he had come from the skies. “What is the matter?” cried his comrades, awakened by the noise of his fall. “Bul-ul-a-bul-ul-ul!” answered he, pointing up into the tree; for of course he could not speak plainly without the tip of his tongue. “What—is—the—matter?” they bawled in his ear, as if that would do any good. “Bul-ul-a-bul-ul-ul!” said he, still pointing upwards. “The man is bewitched!” cried one; “there must be a ghost in the tree!” Just then the barber’s wife began flapping her veil and howling; whereupon, without waiting to look, the thieves in a terrible fright set off at a run, dragging their leader with them; and the barber’s wife, coming down from the tree, put her bed on her head, and walked quietly home. After this, the thieves came to the conclusion that it was no use trying to gain their point by force, so they went to law to claim their share. But the barber’s wife pleaded her own cause so well, bringing out the nose and tongue tips as witnesses, that the King made the barber his Wazîr, saying, “He will never do a foolish thing as long as his wife is alive!”

Wives

The Serpent-Wife A Cossack Story

here was once a gentleman who had a labourer who never went about in company. His fellow- servants did all they could to make him come with them, and now and then enticed him into the tavern, but they could never get him to stay there long, and he always wandered away by himself through the woods. One day he went strolling about in the forest as usual, far from any village and the haunts of men, when he came upon a huge Serpent, which wriggled straight up to him and said: “I am going to eat thee on the spot!” But the labourer, who was used to the loneliness of the forest, replied: “Very well, eat me if thou hast a mind to!”Then the Serpent said: “Nay! I will not eat thee; only do what I tell thee!” And the Serpent began to tell the man what he had to do. “Turn back home,” it said, “and thou wilt find thy master angry because thou hast tarried so long, and there was none to work for him, so that his corn has to remain standing in the field. Then he will send thee to bring in his sheaves, and I’ll help The Serpent-Wife

thee. Load the wagon well, but dou’t take quite all the sheaves from the field. Leave one little sheaf behind; more than that thou needst not leave, but that thou must leave. Then beg thy master to let thee have this little sheaf by way of wages. Take no money from him, but that one little sheaf only. Then, when thy master has given thee this sheaf, burn it, and. a fair lady will leap out of it; take her to wife!” The labourer obeyed, and went and worked for his master as the Serpent had told him. He went out into the field to bring home his master’s corn, and marvellously he managed it. He did all the carrying himself, and loaded the wagon so heavily that it creaked beneath its burden. Then when he had brought home all his master’s corn, he begged that he might have the remaining little sheaf for himself. He refused to be rewarded for his smart labour, he would take no money; he wanted nothing for himself, he said, but the little sheaf he had left in the field. So his master let him have the sheaf. Then he went out by himself into the field, burnt the sheaf, just as the Serpent had told him, and immediately a lovely lady leapt out of it. The labourer forthwith took and married her; and now he began to look out for a place to build him a hut upon. His master gave him a place where he might build his hut, and his wife helped him so much with the building of it that it seemed to him as if he himself never laid a hand to it. His hut grew up as quick as thought, and it contained everything that they wanted. The man could not understand it; he could only walk about and wonder at it. Wherever he looked there was everything quite spick and span and ready for use: none in the whole village had a better house than he. And so he might have lived in all peace and prosperity to the end of his days had not his desires outstripped his deserts. He had three fields of standing corn, and when he came home one day his labourers said to him: “Thy corn is not gathered in yet, though it is standing all ripe on its stalks.” Now the season was getting on, and for all the care and labour of his wife, the corn was still standing in the field. “Why, what’s the meaning 66

Wives

of this?” thought he. Then in his anger he cried: “I see how it is. Once a serpent, always a serpent!” He was quite beside himself all the way home, and was very Avroth with his wife because of the corn. When he got home he went straight to his chamber to lie down on his pillow. There was no sign of his wife, but a huge serpent was just coiling itself round and round and settling down in the middle of the pillow. Then he called to mind how, once, his wife had said to him: “Beware, for Heaven’s sake, of ever calling me a serpent. I will not suﬀer thee to call me by that name, and if thou dost thou shalt lose thy wife.” He called this to mind now, but it was already too late; what he had said could not be unsaid. Then he reflected what a good wife he had had, and how she herself had sought him out, and how she had waited upon him continually and done him boundless good, and yet he had not been able to refrain his tongue, so that now, maybe, he would be without a wife for the rest of his days. His heart grew heavy within him as he thought of all this, and he wept bitterly at the harm he had done to himself. Then the Serpent said to him: “Weep no more. What is to be, must be. Is it thy standing corn thou art grieved about? Go up to thy barn, and there thou wilt find all thy corn lying, to the very last little grain. Have I not brought it all home and threshed it for thee, and set everything in order? And now I must depart to the place where thou didst first find me.” Then she crept oﬀ, and the man followed her, weeping and mourning all the time as for one already dead. When they reached the forest she stopped and coiled herself round and round beneath a hazel-nut bush. Then she said to the man: “Now kiss me once, but see to it that I do not bite thee!”—Then he kissed her once, and she wound herself round a branch of a tree and asked him: “What dost thou feel within thee ?”He answered: “At the moment when I kissed thee it seemed to me as if I knew everything that was going on in the world !” — Then she said to him again: “Kiss me a second time !”— “And The Serpent-Wife

what dost thou feel now ?” she asked when he had kissed her again. —”Now,” said he, “I understand all languages which are spoken amongst men.” — Then she said to him: “And now kiss me a third time, but this will be for the last time.” Then he kissed the Serpent for the last time, and she said to him: “What dost thou feel now?”—”Now,” said he, “I know all that is going on under the earth.” — ”Go now,” said she, “to the Tsar, and he will give thee his daughter for the knowledge thou hast. But pray to God for poor me, for now I must be and remain a serpent again.” And with that the Serpent uncoiled herself and disappeared among the bushes, but the man went away and wedded the Tsar’s daughter.

Wives

The Witch of Fife A Scottish Story

n the Kingdom of Fife, in the days of long ago, there lived an old man and his wife. The old man was a douce, quiet body, but the old woman was lightsome and flighty, and some of the neighbours were wont to look at her askance, and whisper to each other that they sorely feared that she was a Witch. And her husband was afraid of it, too, for she had a curious habit of disappearing in the gloaming and staying out all night; and when she returned in the morning she looked quite white and tired, as if she had been travelling far, or working hard. He used to try and watch her carefully, in order to find out where she went, or what she did, but he never managed to do so, for she always slipped out of the door when he was not looking, and before he could reach it to follow her, she had vanished utterly. At last, one day, when he could stand the uncertainty no longer, he asked her to tell him straight out whether she were a The Witch of Fife

Witch or no. And his blood ran cold when, without the slightest hesitation, she answered that she was; and if he would promise not to let anyone know, the next time that she went on one of her midnight expeditions she would tell him all about it. The Goodman promised; for it seemed to him just as well that he should know all about his wifeâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s cantrips. He had not long to wait before he heard of them. For the very next week the moon was new, which is, as everybody knows, the time of all others when Witches like to stir abroad; and on the first night of the new moon his wife vanished. Nor did she return till daybreak next morning. And when he asked her where she had been, she told him, in great glee, how she and four like-minded companions had met at the old Kirk on the moor and had mounted branches of the green bay tree and stalks of hemlock, which had instantly changed into horses, and how they had ridden, swift as the wind, over the country, hunting the foxes, and the weasels, and the owls; and how at last they had swam the Forth and come to the top of Bell Lomond. And how there they had dismounted from their horses, and drunk beer that had been brewed in no earthly brewery, out of horn cups that had been fashioned by no mortal hands. And how, after that, a wee, wee man had jumped up from under a great mossy stone, with a tiny set of bagpipes under his arm, and how he had piped such wonderful music, that, at the sound of it, the very trouts jumped out of the Loch below, and the stoats crept out of their holes, and the corby crows and the herons came and sat on the trees in the darkness, to listen. And how all the Witches danced until they were so weary that, when the time came for them to mount their steeds again, if they would be home before cock-crow, they could scarce sit on them for fatigue. 70

Wives

The Goodman listened to this long story in silence, shaking his head meanwhile, and, when it was finished, all that he answered was: “And what the better are ye for all your dancing? Ye’d have been a deal more comfortable at home.” At the next new moon the old wife went oﬀ again for the night; and when she returned in the morning she told her husband how, on this occasion, she and her friends had taken cockle-shells for boats, and had sailed away over the stormy sea till they reached Norway. And there they had mounted invisible horses of wind, and had ridden and ridden, over mountains and glens, and glaciers, till they reached the land of the Lapps lying under its mantle of snow. And here all the Elves, and Fairies, and Mermaids of the North were holding festival with Warlocks, and Brownies, and Pixies, and even the Phantom Hunters themselves, who are never looked upon by mortal eyes. And the Witches from Fife held festival with them, and danced, and feasted, and sang with them, and, what was of more consequence, they learned from them certain wonderful words, which, when they uttered them, would bear them through the air, and would undo all bolts and bars, and so gain them admittance to any place soever where they wanted to be. And after that they had come home again, delighted with the knowledge which they had acquired. “What took ye to siccan a land as that?” asked the old man, with a contemptuous grunt. “Ye would hae been a sight warmer in your bed.” But when his wife returned from her next adventure, he showed a little more interest in her doings. For she told him how she and her friends had met in the cottage of one of their number, and how, having heard that the Lord Bishop of Carlisle had some very rare wine in his cellar, they had placed their feet on the crook from which the pot hung, and had pronounced the magic words which they had The Witch of Fife

learned from the Elves of Lappland. And, lo and behold! they flew up the chimney like whiﬀs of smoke, and sailed through the air like little wreathes of cloud, and in less time than it takes to tell they landed at the Bishop’s Palace at Carlisle. And the bolts and the bars flew loose before them, and they went down to his cellar and sampled his wine, and were back in Fife, fine, sober, old women by cock-crow. When he heard this, the old man started from his chair in right earnest, for he loved good wine above all things, and it was but seldom that it came his way. “By my troth, but thou art a wife to be proud of!” he cried. “Tell me the words, Woman! and I will e’en go and sample his Lordship’s wine for myself.” But the Goodwife shook her head. “Na, na! I cannot do that,” she said, “for if I did, an’ ye telled it over again, ‘twould turn the whole world upside down. For everybody would be leaving their own lawful work, and flying about the world after other folk’s business and other folk’s dainties. So just bide content, Goodman. Ye get on fine with the knowledge ye already possess.” And although the old man tried to persuade her with all the soft words he could think of, she would not tell him her secret. But he was a sly old man, and the thought of the Bishop’s wine gave him no rest. So night after night he went and hid in the old woman’s cottage, in the hope that his wife and her friends would meet there; and although for a long time it was all in vain, at last his trouble was rewarded. For one evening the whole five old women assembled, and in low tones and with chuckles of laughter they recounted all that had befallen them in Lappland. Then, running to the fireplace, they, one after another, climbed on a chair and put their feet on the sooty crook. Then they repeated the magic words, and, hey, presto! 72

Wives

they were up the lum and away before the old man could draw his breath. “I can do that, too,” he said to himself; and he crawled out of his hiding-place and ran to the fire. He put his foot on the crook and repeated the words, and up the chimney he went, and flew through the air after his wife and her companions, as if he had been a Warlock born. And, as Witches are not in the habit of looking over their shoulders, they never noticed that he was following them, until they reached the Bishop’s Palace and went down into his cellar, then, when they found that he was among them, they were not too well pleased. However, there was no help for it, and they settled down to enjoy themselves. They tapped this cask of wine, and they tapped that, drinking a little of each, but not too much; for they were cautious old women, and they knew that if they wanted to get home before cock-crow it behoved them to keep their heads clear. But the old man was not so wise, for he sipped, and he sipped, until at last he became quite drowsy, and lay down on the floor and fell fast asleep. And his wife, seeing this, thought that she would teach him a lesson not to be so curious in the future. So, when she and her four friends thought that it was time to be gone, she departed without waking him. He slept peacefully for some hours, until two of the Bishop’s servants, coming down to the cellar to draw wine for their Master’s table, almost fell over him in the darkness. Greatly astonished at his presence there, for the cellar door was fast locked, they dragged him up to the light and shook him, and cuﬀed him, and asked him how he came to be there. The Witch of Fife

And the poor old man was so confused at being awakened in this rough way, and his head seemed to whirl round so fast, that all he could stammer out was, “that he came from Fife, and that he had travelled on the midnight wind.” As soon as they heard that, the men servants cried out that he was a Warlock, and they dragged him before the Bishop, and, as Bishops in those days had a holy horror of Warlocks and Witches, he ordered him to be burned alive. When the sentence was pronounced, you may be very sure that the poor old man wished with all his heart that he had stayed quietly at home in bed, and never hankered after the Bishop’s wine. But it was too late to wish that now, for the servants dragged him out into the courtyard, and put a chain round his waist, and fastened it to a great iron stake, and they piled faggots of wood round his feet and set them alight. As the first tiny little tongue of flame crept up, the poor old man thought that his last hour had come. But when he thought that, he forgot completely that his wife was a Witch. For, just as the little tongue of flame began to singe his breeches, there was a swish and a flutter in the air, and a great Grey Bird, with outstretched wings, appeared in the sky, and swooped down suddenly, and perched for a moment on the old man’s shoulder. And in this Grey Bird’s mouth was a little red pirnie, which, to everyone’s amazement, it popped on to the prisoner’s head. Then it gave one fierce croak, and flew away again, but to the old man’s ears that croak was the sweetest music that he had ever heard. For to him it was the croak of no earthly bird, but the voice of his wife whispering words of magic to him. And when he 74

Wives

heard them he jumped for joy, for he knew that they were words of deliverance, and he shouted them aloud, and his chains fell oﬀ, and he mounted in the air—up and up—while the onlookers watched him in awestruck silence. He flew right away to the Kingdom of Fife, without as much as saying good-bye to them; and when he found himself once more safely at home, you may be very sure that he never tried to find out his wife’s secrets again, but left her alone to her own devices.

The Witch of Fife

Part III

Witches

The murmur of a bee A witchcraft yieldeth me. If any ask me why, ‘T were easier to die Than tell. The red upon the hill Taketh away my will; If anybody sneer, Take care, for God is here, That’s all. The breaking of the day Addeth to my degree; If any ask me how, Artist, who drew me so, Must tell!

—Emily Dickinson, “Why?”

The Wise Girl Katharine Pyle

here was once a girl who was wiser than the King and all his councilors; there never was anything like it. Her father was so proud of her that he boasted about her cleverness at home and abroad. He could not keep his tongue still about it. One day he was boasting to one of his neighbors, and he said, “The girl is so clever that not even the King himself could ask her a question she couldn’t answer, or read her a riddle she couldn’t unravel.” Now it so chanced the King was sitting at a window near by, and he overheard what the girl’s father was saying. The next day he sent for the man to come before him. “I hear you have a daughter who is so clever that no one in the kingdom can equal her; and is that so?” asked the King. Yes, it was no more than the truth. Too much could not be said of her wit and cleverness. That was well, and the King was glad to hear it. He had thirty eggs; they were fresh and good, but it would take a clever person to hatch chickens out of them. He then bade his 78

Witches

chancellor get the eggs and give them to the man. “Take these home to your daughter,” said the King, “and bid her hatch them out for me. If she succeeds she shall have a bag of money for her pains, but if she fails you shall be beaten as a vain boaster.” The man was troubled when he heard this. Still his daughter was so clever he was almost sure she could hatch out the eggs. He carried them home to her and told her exactly what the King had said, and it did not take the girl long to find out that the eggs had been boiled. When she told her father that, he made a great to-do. That was a pretty trick for the King to have played upon him. Now he would have to take a beating and all the neighbors would hear about it. Would to Heaven he had never had a daughter at all if that was what came of it. The girl, however, bade him be of good cheer. “Go to bed and sleep quietly,” said she. “I will think of some way out of the trouble. No harm shall come to you, even though I have to go to the palace myself and take the beating in your place.” The next day the girl gave her father a bag of boiled beans and bade him take them out to a certain place where the King rode by every day. “Wait until you see him coming,” said she, “and then begin to sow the beans.” At the same time he was to call out this, that, and the other so loudly that the King could not help but hear him. The man took the bag of beans and went out to the field his daughter had spoken of. He waited until he saw the King coming, and then he began to sow the beans, and at the same time to cry aloud, “Come sun, come rain! Heaven grant that these boiled beans may yield me a good crop.” The King was surprised that any one should be so stupid as to think boiled beans would grow and yield a crop. He did not recognize the man, for he had only seen him once, and he The Wise Girl

stopped his horse to speak to him. “My poor man,” said he, “how can you expect boiled beans to grow? Do you not know that that is impossible?” “Whatever the King commands should be possible,” answered the man, “and if chickens can hatch from boiled eggs why should not boiled beans yield a crop?” When the King heard this he looked at the man more closely, and then he recognized him as the father of the clever daughter. “You have indeed a clever daughter,” said he. “Take your beans home and bring me back the eggs I gave you.” The man was very glad when he heard that, and made haste to obey. He carried the beans home and then took the eggs and brought them back to the palace of the King. After the King had received the eggs he gave the man a handful of flax. “Take this to your clever daughter,” he said, “and bid her make for me within the week a full set of sails for a large ship. If she does this she shall receive the half of my kingdom as a reward, but if she fails you shall have a drubbing that you will not soon forget.” The man returned to his home, loudly lamenting his hard lot. “What is the matter?” asked his daughter. “Has the King set another task that I must do?” Yes, that he had; and her father showed her the flax the King had sent her and gave her the message. “Do not be troubled,” said the girl. “No harm shall come to you. Go to bed and sleep quietly, and to-morrow I will send the King an answer that will satisfy him.” The man believed what his daughter said. He went to bed and slept quietly. The next day the girl gave her father a small piece of wood. 80

Witches

“Carry this to the King,” said she. “Tell him I am ready to make the sails, but first let him make me of this wood a large ship that I may fit the sails to it.” The father did as the girl bade him, and the King was surprised at the cleverness of the girl in returning him such an answer. “That is all very well,” said he, “and I will excuse her from this task. But here! Here is a glass mug. Take it home to your clever daughter. Tell her it is my command that she dip out the waters from the ocean bed so that I can ride over the bottom dry shod. If she does this, I will take her for my wife, but if she fails you shall be beaten within an inch of your life.” The man took the mug and hastened home, weeping aloud and bemoaning his fate. “Well, and what is it?” asked his daughter. “What does the King demand of me now?” The man gave her the glass mug and told her what the King had said. “Do not be troubled,” said the girl. “Go to bed and sleep in peace. You shall not be beaten, and soon I shall be reigning as Queen over all this land.” The man had trust in her. He went to bed and slept and dreamed he saw her sitting by the King with a crown on her head. The next day the girl gave her father a bunch of tow. “Take this to the King,” she said. “Tell him you have given me the mug, and I am willing to dip the sea dry, but first let him take this tow and stop up all the rivers that flow into the ocean.” The man did as his daughter bade him. He took the tow to the King and told him exactly what the girl had said. Then the King saw that the girl was indeed a clever one, and The Wise Girl

he sent for her to come before him. She came just as she was, in her homespun dress and her rough shoes and with a cap on her head, but for all her mean clothing she was as pretty and fine as a flower, and the King was not slow to see it. Still he wanted to make sure for himself that she was as clever as her messages had been. “Tell me,” said he, “what sound can be heard the farthest throughout the world?” “The thunder that echoes through heaven and earth,” answered the girl, “and your own royal commands that go from lip to lip.” This reply pleased the King greatly. “And now tell me,” said he, “exactly what is my royal sceptre worth?” “It is worth exactly as much as the power for which it stands,” the girl replied. The King was so well satisfied with the way the girl answered that he no longer hesitated; he determined that she should be his Queen, and that they should be married at once. The girl had something to say to this, however. “I am but a poor girl,” said she, “and my ways are not your ways. It may well be that you will tire of me, or that you may be angry with me sometime, and send me back to my father’s house to live. Promise that if this should happen you will allow me to carry back with me from the castle the thing that has grown most precious to me.” The King was willing to agree to this, but the girl was not satisfied until he had written down his promise and signed it with his own royal hand. Then she and the King were married with the greatest magnificence, and she came to live in the palace and reign over the land. Now while the girl was still only a peasant she had been well content to dress in homespun and live as a peasant should, but 82

Witches

after she became Queen she would wear nothing but the most magnificent robes and jewels and ornaments, for that seemed to her only right and proper for a Queen. But the King, who was of a very jealous nature, thought his wife did not care at all for him, but only for the fine things he could give her. One time the King and Queen were to ride abroad together, and the Queen spent so much time in dressing herself that the King was kept waiting, and he became very angry. When she appeared before him, he would not even look at her. “You care nothing for me, but only for the jewels and fine clothes you wear,” he cried. “Take with you those that are the most precious to you, as I promised you, and return to your father’s house. I will no longer have a wife who cares only for my possessions and not at all for me.” Very well; the girl was willing to go. “And I will be happier in my father’s house than I was when I first met you,” said she. Nevertheless she begged that she might spend one more night in the palace, and that she and the King might sup together once again before she returned home. To this the King agreed, for he still loved her, even though he was so angry with her. So he and his wife supped together that evening, and just at the last the Queen took a golden cup and filled it with wine. Then, when the King was not looking, she put a sleeping potion in the wine and gave it to him to drink. He took it and drank to the very last drop, suspecting nothing, but soon after he sank down among the cushions in a deep sleep. Then the Queen caused him to be carried to her father’s house and laid in the bed there. When the King awoke the next morning he was very much surprised to find himself in the peasant’s cottage. He raised himself upon his elbow to look about him, and at once the girl came to the bedside, and she was again dressed in the coarse and common clothes she had worn before she was married. The Wise Girl

“What means this?” asked the King, “and how came I here?” “My dear husband,” said the girl, “your promise was that if you ever sent me back to my father’s house I might carry with me the thing that had become most precious to me in the castle. You are that most precious thing, and I care for nothing else except as it makes me pleasing in your sight.” Then the King could no longer feel jealous or angry with her. He clasped her in his arms, and they kissed each other tenderly. That same day they returned to the palace, and from that time on the King and his peasant Queen lived together in the greatest love and happiness.

Witches

Mary Toft A British Story

he first Intelligence I received of this Matter, was on the 5th Instant, when I saw a very particular* Account of a Woman living at Godlyman lately delivered of five Rabbets by Mr. John Howard, Surgeon at Guilford in Surrey, a Man of known Probity, Character, and Capacity in his Profession, who has practis’d Midwifery for above these thirty Years. This Account was again confirmed by two **Letters from the said Mr. Howard, the first dated Nov. the 6th, 4 a Clock in the Afternoon; the substance of which is, That from the 4th Instant to the 6th he had deliver’d the Woman of three more Rabbets; that the last of them had leap’d in her Belly for the space of eighteen Hours, before it dy’d, and that the Moment it was taken away, another was perceiv’d to struggle for Birth. The second is dated Nov. the ninth, and here transcribed verbatim, viz. Sir, since I wrote to you, I hate taken or deliver’d the poor Woman of three more Rabbets, all three half grown, one of Mary Toft

them a dunn Rabbet; the last leap’d twenty three Hours in the Uterus before it dy’d. As soon as the eleventh Rabbet was taken away, up leap’d the twelfth Rabbet, which is now leaping. If you have any curious Person that is pleased to come Post, may see another leap in her Uterus, and shall take it from her if he pleases; which will be a great Satisfaction to the Curious: If she had been with Child, she has but ten Days more to go, so I do not know how many Rabbets may be behind, I have brought the Woman to Guilford for better Convenience. I am, Sir, Your humble Servant, John Howard

If you send a Person, let him bring a Letter from you.

*[Original footnote:] This Account was taken the 4th Instant at Guilford by Mr. Davenant **The Letters were directed to Mr. Davenant … Mary Toft, the Wife of Joshua Toft, of Godlyman in the County of Surrey, Clothworker, and Mary Coften Nurse to the said Mary Toft, severally make Oath, That Mr. Ahlers declared it was wonderful People would not believe a Fact that was so true as this appeared to him, and the said Mary Toft faith, That Mr. Ahlers examined her Breasts, and found Milk in one of them. The Mark of Mary ‡ Toft.

Witches

The Mark of x Mary Coften.

Sur. Die & Anno supradict. coram Jos. Burtt Mayor. James Cliï¬&#x20AC;ton.

Mary Toft

Snowdrop The Brothers Grimm

t was the middle of winter, when the broad flakes of snow were falling around, that the queen of a country many thousand miles oﬀ sat working at her window. The frame of the window was made of fine black ebony, and as she sat looking out upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three drops of blood fell upon it. Then she gazed thoughtfully upon the red drops that sprinkled the white snow, and said, “Would that my little daughter may be as white as that snow, as red as that blood, and as black as this ebony windowframe!” And so the little girl really did grow up; her skin was as white as snow, her cheeks as rosy as the blood, and her hair as black as ebony; and she was called Snowdrop. But this queen died; and the king soon married another wife, who became queen, and was very beautiful, but so vain that she could not bear to think that anyone could be handsomer than she was. She had a fairy looking-glass, to which she used to go, and then she would gaze upon herself in it, and say:

Witches

“Tell me, glass, tell me true! Of all the ladies in the land, Who is fairest, tell me, who?” And the glass had always answered: “Thou, queen, art the fairest in all the land.” But Snowdrop grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years old she was as bright as the day, and fairer than the queen herself. Then the glass one day answered the queen, when she went to look in it as usual: “Thou, queen, art fair, and beauteous to see, But Snowdrop is lovelier far than thee!” When she heard this she turned pale with rage and envy, and called to one of her servants, and said, “Take Snowdrop away into the wide wood, that I may never see her any more.” Then the servant led her away; but his heart melted when Snowdrop begged him to spare her life, and he said, “I will not hurt you, thou pretty child.” So he left her by herself; and though he thought it most likely that the wild beasts would tear her in pieces, he felt as if a great weight were taken oﬀ his heart when he had made up his mind not to kill her but to leave her to her fate, with the chance of someone finding and saving her. Then poor Snowdrop wandered along through the wood in great fear; and the wild beasts roared about her, but none did her any harm. In the evening she came to a cottage among the hills, and went in to rest, for her little feet would carry her no further. Everything was spruce and neat in the cottage: on the table was spread a white cloth, and there were seven little plates, seven little loaves, and seven little glasses with wine in them; and seven knives and forks laid in order; and by the wall stood seven little beds. As she was very hungry, she picked a little piece of each loaf and drank a very little wine out of each Snowdrop

glass; and after that she thought she would lie down and rest. So she tried all the little beds; but one was too long, and another was too short, till at last the seventh suited her: and there she laid herself down and went to sleep. By and by in came the masters of the cottage. Now they were seven little dwarfs, that lived among the mountains, and dug and searched for gold. They lighted up their seven lamps, and saw at once that all was not right. The first said, “Who has been sitting on my stool?” The second, “Who has been eating oﬀ my plate?” The third, “Who has been picking my bread?” The fourth, “Who has been meddling with my spoon?” The fifth, “Who has been handling my fork?” The sixth, “Who has been cutting with my knife?” The seventh, “Who has been drinking my wine?” Then the first looked round and said, “Who has been lying on my bed?” And the rest came running to him, and everyone cried out that somebody had been upon his bed. But the seventh saw Snowdrop, and called all his brethren to come and see her; and they cried out with wonder and astonishment and brought their lamps to look at her, and said, “Good heavens! what a lovely child she is!” And they were very glad to see her, and took care not to wake her; and the seventh dwarf slept an hour with each of the other dwarfs in turn, till the night was gone. In the morning Snowdrop told them all her story; and they pitied her, and said if she would keep all things in order, and cook and wash and knit and spin for them, she might stay where she was, and they would take good care of her. Then they went out all day long to their work, seeking for gold and silver in the mountains: but Snowdrop was left at home; and they 90

Witches

warned her, and said, “The queen will soon find out where you are, so take care and let no one in.” But the queen, now that she thought Snowdrop was dead, believed that she must be the handsomest lady in the land; and she went to her glass and said: “Tell me, glass, tell me true! Of all the ladies in the land, Who is fairest, tell me, who?” And the glass answered: “Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land: But over the hills, in the greenwood shade, Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made, There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.” Then the queen was very much frightened; for she knew that the glass always spoke the truth, and was sure that the servant had betrayed her. And she could not bear to think that anyone lived who was more beautiful than she was; so she dressed herself up as an old pedlar, and went her way over the hills, to the place where the dwarfs dwelt. Then she knocked at the door, and cried, “Fine wares to sell!” Snowdrop looked out at the window, and said, “Good day, good woman! what have you to sell?” “Good wares, fine wares,” said she; “laces and bobbins of all colours.” “I will let the old lady in; she seems to be a very good sort of body,” thought Snowdrop, as she ran down and unbolted the door. “Bless me!” said the old woman, “how badly your stays are laced! Let me lace them up with one of my nice new laces.” Snowdrop

Snowdrop did not dream of any mischief; so she stood before the old woman; but she set to work so nimbly, and pulled the lace so tight, that Snowdrop’s breath was stopped, and she fell down as if she were dead. “There’s an end to all thy beauty,” said the spiteful queen, and went away home. In the evening the seven dwarfs came home; and I need not say how grieved they were to see their faithful Snowdrop stretched out upon the ground, as if she was quite dead. However, they lifted her up, and when they found what ailed her, they cut the lace; and in a little time she began to breathe, and very soon came to life again. Then they said, “The old woman was the queen herself; take care another time, and let no one in when we are away.” When the queen got home, she went straight to her glass, and spoke to it as before; but to her great grief it still said: “Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land: But over the hills, in the greenwood shade, Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made, There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.” Then the blood ran cold in her heart with spite and malice, to see that Snowdrop still lived; and she dressed herself up again, but in quite another dress from the one she wore before, and took with her a poisoned comb. When she reached the dwarfs’ cottage, she knocked at the door, and cried, “Fine wares to sell!” But Snowdrop said, “I dare not let anyone in.” Then the queen said, “Only look at my beautiful combs!” and gave her the poisoned one. And it looked so pretty, that she took it up and put it into her hair to try it; but the moment it touched her head, the poison was so powerful that she fell down senseless. 92

Witches

“There you may lie,” said the queen, and went her way. But by good luck the dwarfs came in very early that evening; and when they saw Snowdrop lying on the ground, they thought what had happened, and soon found the poisoned comb. And when they took it away she got well, and told them all that had passed; and they warned her once more not to open the door to anyone. Meantime the queen went home to her glass, and shook with rage when she read the very same answer as before; and she said, “Snowdrop shall die, if it cost me my life.” So she went by herself into her chamber, and got ready a poisoned apple: the outside looked very rosy and tempting, but whoever tasted it was sure to die. Then she dressed herself up as a peasant’s wife, and travelled over the hills to the dwarfs’ cottage, and knocked at the door; but Snowdrop put her head out of the window and said, “I dare not let anyone in, for the dwarfs have told me not.” “Do as you please,” said the old woman, “but at any rate take this pretty apple; I will give it you.” “No,” said Snowdrop, “I dare not take it.” “You silly girl!” answered the other, “what are you afraid of? Do you think it is poisoned? Come! do you eat one part, and I will eat the other.” Now the apple was so made up that one side was good, though the other side was poisoned. Then Snowdrop was much tempted to taste, for the apple looked so very nice; and when she saw the old woman eat, she could wait no longer. But she had scarcely put the piece into her mouth, when she fell down dead upon the ground. “This time nothing will save thee,” said the queen; and she went home to her glass, and at last it said: “Thou, queen, art the fairest of all the fair.” Snowdrop

And then her wicked heart was glad, and as happy as such a heart could be. When evening came, and the dwarfs had gone home, they found Snowdrop lying on the ground: no breath came from her lips, and they were afraid that she was quite dead. They lifted her up, and combed her hair, and washed her face with wine and water; but all was in vain, for the little girl seemed quite dead. So they laid her down upon a bier, and all seven watched and bewailed her three whole days; and then they thought they would bury her: but her cheeks were still rosy; and her face looked just as it did while she was alive; so they said, “We will never bury her in the cold ground.” And they made a coffin of glass, so that they might still look at her, and wrote upon it in golden letters what her name was, and that she was a king’s daughter. And the coffin was set among the hills, and one of the dwarfs always sat by it and watched. And the birds of the air came too, and bemoaned Snowdrop; and first of all came an owl, and then a raven, and at last a dove, and sat by her side. And thus Snowdrop lay for a long, long time, and still only looked as though she was asleep; for she was even now as white as snow, and as red as blood, and as black as ebony. At last a prince came and called at the dwarfs’ house; and he saw Snowdrop, and read what was written in golden letters. Then he offered the dwarfs money, and prayed and besought them to let him take her away; but they said, “We will not part with her for all the gold in the world.” At last, however, they had pity on him, and gave him the coffin; but the moment he lifted it up to carry it home with him, the piece of apple fell from between her lips, and Snowdrop awoke, and said, “Where am I?” And the prince said, “Thou art quite safe with me.” 94

Witches

Then he told her all that had happened, and said, “I love you far better than all the world; so come with me to my father’s palace, and you shall be my wife.” And Snowdrop consented, and went home with the prince; and everything was got ready with great pomp and splendour for their wedding. To the feast was asked, among the rest, Snowdrop’s old enemy the queen; and as she was dressing herself in fine rich clothes, she looked in the glass and said: “Tell me, glass, tell me true! Of all the ladies in the land, Who is fairest, tell me, who?” And the glass answered: “Thou, lady, art loveliest here, I ween; But lovelier far is the new-made queen.” When she heard this she started with rage; but her envy and curiosity were so great, that she could not help setting out to see the bride. And when she got there, and saw that it was no other than Snowdrop, who, as she thought, had been dead a long while, she choked with rage, and fell down and died: but Snowdrop and the prince lived and reigned happily over that land many, many years; and sometimes they went up into the mountains, and paid a visit to the little dwarfs, who had been so kind to Snowdrop in her time of need.

Snowdrop

Because I could not stop for Death He kindly stopped for me The carriage held but just ourselves And Immortality We slowly drove, he knew no haste And I had put away My labor, and my leisure too For his civility We passed the school where children played Their lessons scarcely done We passed the fields of gazing grain We passed the setting sun We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground The roof was scarcely visible The cornice but a mound Since then ‘t is centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity

—Emily Dickinson, “The Chariot”

Appendix Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875) was a Danish author that had written many of the fairytales that are well known today. He originally wanted to be an actor and worked on his writing while he was working. Many of his stories have themes of homoeroticism because he was known to be attracted to men and women. He was very well known all over the world while he was alive and his stories were translated into English and influenced other authors. Andersen developed liver cancer, and the Danish government commemorated his life and work before he died.

The Ballad of Mulan is a folk song from Northern Wei dynasty (386-534). The ballad’s reference to the “Son of Heaven” as “Khan” places Mulan (or the author) in the Kuobo or Xianbei people of northern China. There are many translations, adaptations, and interpretations of this story. The poem consists of 31 couplets without a consistent pattern of syllables or characters. Many of the older translations into English use a traditional English rhyming scheme, since they were mostly written for children.

Zitkála-Šá, given name Gertrude Simmons Bonnin, (18761938) was a Sioux writer and activist. She lived on the Yankton Sioux Reservation in South Dakota. At age eight she was moved to a Quaker missionary school in Wabash, Indiana, where she 98

Appendix

struggled to keep her Sioux cultural identity. She co-founded the National Council of American Indians with her husband. She fought for Native American rights and had written many stories about Native American lives, including her own.

William Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) was a British writer, known for his satirical pieces. He worked as a freelance journalist, and had a couple of his novel published as well. He wrote travel and fictional novels during his time. Although he spent much of his life taking care of his wife, who suﬀered from depression. He spent many years looking for a cure for his wife and taking care of his children. He died suddenly of a stroke, which shocked everyone in his life.

Charles Alexander Eastman (1858-1939) born with the name Hakadah then later changed to Ohíye S’a, was part of the Wahpeton band of the Eastern Sioux tribe. He was also a well known Native American author, known to have written eleven books, including Old Indian Days, which has “The War Maiden”. He also published articles about Native American culture, customs, beliefs, and history. He helped spread awareness of Native American beliefs and customs through lectures he gave over his books. He also worked with Secretary of Interior, Hubert W. Work to study federal Indian policies in 1923. After his death, his wife took some of his manuscripts and had them published.

Flora Annie Webster Steel (1847-1929) was an English writer who wrote many stories about British India. She and her husband moved to India where she learned more about the Indian culture, and later became an inspectress of government and aided schools in the Punjab, a region in Appendix

northern India, where she helped foster Indian arts and crafts. She produced about 30 books including, Tales of the Punjab: Folklore of India.

The Serpent-Wife is part of the book Cossack Fairy Tales and Folk-Tales, which was collected and translated by R. Nisbet Bain and was published in 1895. The collection is based on the language that the stories were originally in, which is Ruthenian (Old Ukrainian). Cossack show influence from other Slavic traditions but are still in a way unique. The stories show traditions that can be traced now to the Ukraine, Russia, Poland, Lithuania, and other Slavic countries.

The Witch of Fife is a Scottish fairy tale that does not have a known author and could have been written between the years of 1573 to 1735. This time period was the same time as Scotland was going through its Witch Trials. Scotlandâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s parliament set laws against witchcraft and struck fear into its citizens. There is an estimated 4000 or more people were killed during this time. The witch hunts ended in 1696, but the last execution was in 1727. It is believed that because of the fear of witches, this story was written.

Katharine Pyle (1863-1938) wrote Serbian stories and has a book called, Tales of Folk and Fairies. She drew her inspiration from the royal family in Serbia, although she was born and raised in Wilmington, Delaware. She was a very well known American artist, illustrator, and author, and wrote over 30 books during her time. Although she was a very private person, and much of her personal life was undocumented.

100

Appendix

The Brothers Grimm, Jakob (1785-1863) and Wilhelm (1786-1859), are very famous brothers from Hanau, Germany who gathered folklore from villages around Germany to create their book of fairytales. Both brothers were greatly influenced by the German Romanticism era. They created multiple editions of their stories, which caused them to change the language of the stories so the stories were more suitable for children to read. Both of the Grimm brothers had great passion for the arts which was displayed throughout their lives.

Mary Toft (1703-1763) was a poor woman who lived in Surrey, Great Britain, who convinced people that she gave birth to rabbits. The phenomenon was recorded by John Howard in a letter who sent it to many doctors, and King George Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s secretary. Although she caused many doctors to be conned into believing this, when in fact it was a trick. She was sent to jail and was supposed to have a trial but it was dismissed due to public embarrassment to doctors and the medical field. Her obituary was listed among statesmen of Britain. James Caulfield created a portrait of Toft in 1819, which was a copy of a portrait drawn in 1727, by William Hogarth, while Toft was in prison.

Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) was an American poet that had written about 1800 poems before her death. She was greatly influenced by people in her life, as well as the deaths of her friends and loved ones, and her own chronic illness. None of her poems were published during her life, although they were sent to her friends, which was organized into a stitched book which was discovered after her death. Her sister, Lavinia, had her poems published for the world to see.

Appendix

101

Sources Andersen, Hans Christian. The Little Mermaid. C.A. Reitzel, 1873. Project Gutenberg. Bain, Nisbet R. “The Serpent’s Wife.” Cossack Fairy Tales and Folk-Tales. New York: F.A. Stokes Co, 1902. HathiTrust. Caulfield, James. “Mary Toft.” London, 1819. Wikimedia Commons. Dickinson, Emily. “The Chariot.” Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One. 1890. Project Gutenberg. Dickinson, Emily. “The Contract.” Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series Two. 1890. Project Gutenberg. Dickinson, Emily. “Why?” Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series One. 1890. Project Gutenberg. Dickinson, Emily. “Forgotten.” Poems by Emily Dickinson, Series Three. 1890. Project Gutenberg. Eastman, Charles Alexander. “The War Maiden.” Old Indian Days. U of Nebraska Press, 1907, pp. 260-276. Project Gutenberg. Grimm, Jakob and Wilhelm Grimm. “Snowdrop.” Grimms’ Fairy Tales. 1905. Project Gutenberg.

Grierson, Elizabeth W. “The Witch of Fife.” The Scottish Fairy Book. 1910. Project Gutenberg. 102

Appendix

Pyle, Katharine. “The Wise Girl.” Tales of Folk and Fairies. Library of Alexandria, 1919. Project Gutenberg. Howard, John “A short narrative of an extraordinary delivery of rabbets, : perform’d by Mr John Howard, Surgeon at Guilford,” Internet Archive, London: Printed for John Clarke. 1727. Thackery, William Makepeace, and Elva Smith. “Pocahontas.” Heroines of History and Legend; Stories and Poems. Lothrop, Lee & Shepard Co. 1921, pp 155. HathiTrust. Webster Steel, Flora Annie. “The Barber’s Clever Wife.” Tales of the Punjab: Folklore of India, 1894. Project Gutenberg. Yuan, Jack.“Ballad of Mulan.” 386-534. Translation. Wikisource. Zitkála-Šá. “The School Days of an Indian Girl.” American Indian Stories, 1921. Project Gutenberg.

Appendix

103