Fairy Tale Magic and Mystery Found in Toadstools

Grimm’s Saga No. 223: The Toadstool

Notweiler Castle lies in the Alsatian region of Wasgau. Long ago a duke’s beautiful daughter lived in the castle. But she was a very proud maiden. None of her many suitors were good enough for her and many vainly lost their lives trying for her hand in marriage.

As punishment, a spell was cast over the maid and from then on she had to live in a forlorn cave dwelling. She was doomed to live this way until the spell could be broken, at which time she would be saved. Once a week on Friday she was allowed to appear in visible form. The first time she appeared it was in the form of a snake, the second time in the form of a toad and the third time in her natural form as beautiful maiden. 

Every Friday she bathed in a spring near the cliff, which today is still called Toadstool. While washing, she always cast glances in every direction to see if anyone was approaching to save her. Whoever undertook such a daring deed found a shell lying on the toadstool. It bore three symbols: a scale from a snake, a piece of toad skin and a yellow lock of her hair. Carrying these three things, the youth had to climb the sheer barren rock up to the castle on a Friday afternoon, wait until the maiden appeared bathing and then kiss her on the lips three weeks in a row and in each of her forms without fleeing. Whoever could withstand this trial, would receive peace and all her treasures. 

Many a lad had already found the shell with the three symbols and had dared to climb the rocks toward the old castle. And many a lad had died by being overcome by fear and loathing. Once a brave fellow had already touched the lips of the snake with his own and was willing to wait for the other figures to appear, but he was gripped by such horror that he ran downhill. She pursued rustling and raving in toad form until they both reached the toadstool. 

Through the ages she has always stayed the same and has never aged. She is most frightening in serpent form. But following the old adage “She is as big as a haystack, but in toadly form as large as an oven and then she spits fire.”

To read more about the magical properties of other plants and herbs:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2008/07/magical-properties-of-plants-and-herbs.html



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Something Terrible in the Trees

Something Terrible in the Trees

I will not be afraid of death and bane
Till Birnam forest come to Dunsinane.

Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V, Scene III

As we know from both the Grimm’s Saga of King Greentree (see below) and Shakespeare’s Macbeth, advancing trees can only mean doom. However, in the Shakespeare play, Macbeth’s death-by-trees is foretold by three witches, who have conjured up a ghostly apparition of a crowned child bearing tree in hand. It speaks:

Be lion-mettled, proud and take no care
Who chafes, who frets or where conspirers are.
Macbeth shall never vanquished be until
Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill
Shall come against him.


Though meant as a warning, this tree-bearing ghost instills a sense of false security in Macbeth. For as every student of Shakespeare knows, Malcolm’s soldiers will soon be reaching Dunsinane camouflaged by the green boughs of the Birnam forest and Macbeth will soon meet his death. Shakespeare based his play on Holinshed’s Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland (1577), which in turn was based on earlier works, including that of Andrew Wyntoun (1350 – 1420) the Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland. Though put forth as a true record of events, these accounts provide a strange amalgam of history and legend. The tree references seem to be more legend than truth, but they might actually describe a real military conflict. It is easy to imagine that camouflage by trees was conceived on the ancient battlefield as a useful tactic for hiding the actual number of men in an approaching army thus heightening the defending army’s uncertainty and terror.


Our earliest written chronicles therefore often combine accurate descriptions of historical events with outright fictions. Mostly the authors do not seem to be bothered by any need to draw a clear line between history and legend. Holinshed considers the precise nature of the three witches in his Chronicles, but never questions their existence. He says : “But afterwards the common opinion was, that these women were either the weird sisters, that is (as ye would say), the goddesses of destinie, or else some nymphs or feiries, inbued with knowledge of prophesie by their necromantical science, because euerie thing came to passe as they had spoken.” In fact, in a world where men firmly believe in goddesses of destiny and prophecy, one might actually expect to find people who claim to be such creatures. So Holinshed’s account might be accurate to the extent that three women, alleged to be witches, prophesized Macbeth’s fate.


Grimm’s Sagas likewise seamlessly combine historical fact and popular lore. To the modern reader, an approaching army of trees portending doom might seem like a mere dramatic device. But the saga also suggests another interpretation, namely that it echoes underlying beliefs toward trees held by pre-Christian tribes in Europe. The pagan attitude might have been that there really was something terrible in the trees, a supernatural power that could control one’s destiny. The king's daughter in King Greentree, understands the significance of the marching trees immediately and does not need a prophecy to decipher her fate: "When dawn broke on that day, the daughter looked out of her window and saw the enemy’s army approaching: an enormous procession of green trees. She was terrified because she knew that all was lost." She did not lose heart merely because she saw the approaching army; her castle had been besieged for years. There was something in the trees themselves that warned her all was lost. This suggests a cultural context that was most probably shared by the original audience of the saga but the precise meaning is now long-forgotten.

Grimm’s Saga of King Greentree offers an important clue as to what that meaning might be. The king was able to defend his castle from onslaught until May Day. On that day his daughter spied the green forest approaching on the distant plain. Like Macbeth, she knew that all was lost when she recognized the enemy behind the green trees. But unlike Macbeth, she did not need witches or necromantical science to understand her situation. She immediately grasped the significance of the approaching trees. May Day was a pagan celebration, widely practiced throughout Europe. In some places the May Day custom was celebrated by a throng of villagers processing out into the woods, cutting down a tree and green branches and bringing it all back to the village amidst song and revelry. The tree was then erected on the village green in the form of a May pole. Other accounts reference May Day as the time when evil forces allegedly were at their height. Preparations in the days before culminated in “burning out the witches”, a rite which purportedly expelled all wandering ghosts and devils from the vicinity. The saga King Greentree accurately recalls May Day activities such as cutting and carrying boughs, trees and greenery and marching about, but here the pageantry turns out to be a military exercise. The trees likewise announce defeat on the inauspicious day of May when evil powers were thought to be most potent.

According to Sir James Frazer in The Golden Bough, the intention of these May Day customs was clear: to bring back to the village the blessing and power of the tree spirit. Tree worship was prevalent in pre-Christian Europe. In some places “remarkable oaks and other great shady trees” were revered “and oracular responses could be received from them.” Trees were believed to be inhabited by a soul, god or spirit. But the tree itself was not the deity, rather, it was the dwelling place of the deity. In other words, trees were representatives of divinity. Based on his analysis of the different Germanic words for “temple”, Jakob Grimm concluded that sacred groves themselves were the original sanctuaries or churches of early tribes. The power of trees included all things associated with reproductive power, including the ability to make rain fall, sun shine, crops grow, flocks and herds multiply and the capacity to ease child bearing. Osiris is one of the earliest mentioned gods renowned for his skill in farming and animal husbandry. Egyptian myth tells that Osiris was imprisoned in a chest, which was then enveloped by a growing tree. The wood of this tree was subsequently cut down and worshiped in the temple of Isis. And in Jakob Grimm’s saga of St. Boniface (see link to right), we find the saint cutting down the sacred oak of Jupiter, inextricably linking the saint’s own demise with that of the tree. He was soon murdered by ungrateful pagans.

Boniface’s hatchet job was not the only assault on pagan trees, groves and temples. Tacitus reports in his Annals that “Caesar, to spread devastation widely, divided his eager legions into four columns, and ravaged a space of fifty miles with fire and sword. Neither sex nor age moved his compassion. Everything, sacred or profane, the temple too of Tamfana, as they called it, the special resort of all those tribes, was levelled to the ground.” And in 772 AD Charlemagne destroyed the sacred Saxon settlement of Irminsul, which according to Grimm’s linguistic analysis of the word was probably designed around a sacred tree or pole. Because of their special status in pagan religion, trees became the object of physical attack. Across the ages they also became associated with warfare and battle. In his book Indo-European Poetry and Myth, M.L. West identified the term “tree of battle” as a poetic phrase or kenning for “warrior”in early Welsh and Norse poetry. Grimm alludes to this further by citing the ancient adage “A sacred oak grows out of the mouth of a slain king.” Folk tradition has it that an acvattha-branch can destroy one’s enemies and a sacred tree cannot be cut down without causing one’s own downfall. This fragmentary evidence suggests that trees were imbued with a meaning that we can’t fully reconstruct today and that the ravagers of sacred trees were successful, for in destroying them the memory of their past significance was also lost. We are left with inklings, remnants of stories and our imaginations to fill in the gaps.

(Postscript:

One last attempt at deciphering terror in the trees as illustrated in the saga of King Greentree and Macbeth: According to Germanic mythology, giants had such enormous strength they could pull trees out by their roots and hurl them or use them as clubs in battle. Walking trees on the battlefield could mean that giants, other supernatural forces or the indwelling dieties of the trees had allied themselves with the approaching army. An army bolstered by such forces could not be defeated and thus signified all was lost.)

Fairy Tales on this website in which trees are prominent (click on title to access):

The Singing Fir Tree

Koenig Gruenewald

Saint Boniface

Gnomes in the Tree

Fairy Tale in which a sacred grove is used as temple:

Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary


Bibliography for further reading:

The Golden Bough, Sir James Frazer
Deutsche Mythologie, Jakob Grimm
Chronicles of England, Scotland and Ireland, Raphael Holinshed
Meetings with Remarkable Trees, Thomas Pakenham
Indo-European Poetry and Myth, M.L. West 

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Walking Trees Portend Defeat in the Saga of King Greentree

Grimm’s Saga No. 92: Koenig Gruenewald

Long ago a king lived in Upper Hesse at Christenberg, where his castle stood. He had only one daughter, whom he loved dearly and who also possessed many splendid fineries. Now it happened that his arch-enemy, King Greentree, came and besieged his castle. When the siege lasted many years, the king spoke to his daughter and urged her to be courageous. Their dire circumstances, however, continued until the first day of May. When dawn broke on that day, the daughter looked out of her window and saw the enemy’s army approaching: an enormous procession of green trees. She was terrified because she knew that all was lost. She ran to her father and said:

“Father, give up and turn yourself in
Green trees are coming amidst all the din.”

Her father sent her into the camp of King Greentree and they agreed that she would be allowed free departure and could take all the possessions that her one donkey could carry. She took her own father, packed him along with her best treasures, and departed. When they had gone quite a distance and were exhausted, the king’s daughter spoke: “We shall rest here!” (“Hier wollemer ruhen!”) For that reason the village is called Wollmar, an hour away from Christenberg on the plain). They continued through the wilderness into the mountains until they finally found a congenial spot. “Here is a field!” the daughter exclaimed (“Hier hat’s Feld!”). So they remained there and built a castle and called it Hatzfeld. You can still see the ruins of their abode and the city nearby also has taken the name of the castle (Hatzberg, a village on the Eder River in the hills, about four hours from Christenberg to the West).

Read the mysterious tale of the pied piper:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2008/06/grimms-saga-no-245-children-of-hameln.html

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Fairy Tale of Prince and Horse Chapter 8: In the Werewolf's Den

Walpurga, the Abbess of Heidenheim

Fairy Tale of Prince and Horse Chapter 8, in the Werewolf’s Den.As the brightness of day faded, the horse carried the prince further and further into the woods. The sun was hanging low in the sky, when the prince awoke as from a dream. Horse and rider continued on a crooked path twisting deeper and deeper into the woods. At last they left the cold and dewy forest and emerged on a steep road, which became stonier with each step. As a full moon rose in the sky, a small hut could be seen and through its window glimmered candlelight.

The prince dismounted from his exhausted horse, its body damp from exertion. Looking through the window, he spied an old woman setting the table with what looked like a banquet feast. He heard a raspy voice command from within “Enter! The food is ready and you shall be fed the very best!”

She was a hunched woman with a mane of silvery-brown hair. Shuffling back and forth through the room, she never looked into the prince’s face as she carried heaped platters of food and pitchers full to the brim. A broad leather belt girdled her dark and dank dress. Her hair was matted, her skin wrinkled and moist. The prince returned to the horse, who whispered in his ear: “I would advise using a silver spoon when you eat her fare!” The prince removed from the horse’s saddlebag a shiny silver spoon and entered the clammy and dark hut. A chill ran down his spine as he sat at the table. Although a fire burned in the fireplace, the room was cold and the prince could not shake the chill that seized him.

True to her promise, the food was indeed delicious and plentiful. But alas, the old woman placed a tin spoon on the table. Carefully slipping the silver spoon from his pocket, the prince began eating from the splendid assortment. He was soon satisfied and somewhat drowsy from the strong drink.

“You were hungered!” the woman said approvingly. Her chest heaved with each word and her breathing was loud and uneven. “It is good to understand true hunger, food tastes better,” she muttered. The old woman then began a raspy monologue while she cleared the table. She said her name was Walpurga and had lived in the region since birth. She was the last surviving member of a noble family. The prince dozed off as she prattled on about her extensive land holdings, the servants who tended the fine herd of sheep, the succulent little lambs, the sinewy cattle. Soon the prince was snoring. The old woman cautiously rose from her chair and unbuckled her leather belt. It slipped from her waist and she was a wolf.

With lightening speed the wolf lunged across the table toward the sleeper. In the nick of time the prince, now roused and still gripping the silver spoon, held it up to ward off the blow of the wolf’s powerful body. The dreaded snout hissed, the stench and foulness of its breath could be felt against the prince’s cheek. In the last second, the animal veered off to the side howling pitifully. “Quick!” the horse cried out, “You are no match for a werewolf! We must invoke the mistletoe.

“Mistletoe, Mistletoe, Where do you grow?” the steed cried out.

With the prince still holding the silver spoon to keep the wolf at bay, the horse chanted this magic charm:

“Mistletoe, mistletoe, where do you grow?
Neath the full moon glittering?
Neath the owl twittering?
Climb up and around,
Without a sound.

Mistletoe, mistletoe, where do you grow?
Neath the full moon glittering?
Neath the owl twittering?
Form strong bands,
Round werewolf hands.”

Grow fast,
Grow round,
Grow up,
Grow down.
Mistletoe, Mistletoe grow!”

Small voices could be heard from the floor of the cabin as buds sprouted swiftly around the werewolf, who stood subdued by the shining silver spoon:

“Here we grow, here we grow.
All fat-stemmed blossoms.
Your cry was heard,
Like cuckoo bird.
We grow fast,
We grow round,
We grow up,
We grow down. “

The mistletoe grew up on all sides of the werewolf, encircling the beast in a ring of green leaves. The wolf could not step beyond the ring of vegetation and the silver spoon sparkling in the candlelight seemed to terrify the creature even more.

“You must shout out her Christian name three times to break the werewolf spell. Then, she shall serve you and you both will be allied!”

“Walpurga, Walpurga, Walpurga!” the prince screamed out as loudly and forcefully as his lungs permitted.

Where the wolf had stood, a young woman in an abbess’s frock now appeared. At that moment a warmth spread through the room and the prince could feel it in his bones.
“I am Walpurga, the Abbess of Heidenheim. Welcome!” she said.

Read Chapter 7:
http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2009/06/fairy-tale-of-prince-and-horse-chapter.html

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Fairy Tales to Read Under a Full Moon: The Werewolf Stone and Werewolf Lullaby

Grimm’s Saga No. 215: The Werewolf Stone
Otmar, pages 270 – 276

Near a village in Magdeburg called Eggenstedt, not far from Sommerschenburg and Schoenigen, a huge rock juts out of the Anger Mountain near Seehausen. Folks call it the W o l f or W e r e w o l f Stone. A long, long time ago a stranger was staying near the Brandsleber Forest (otherwise known as a place where the pick axe was used). No one knew this stranger or where he came from. They only knew him as the “old man”. He often appeared in villages, offered his services and then accomplished his tasks to the utmost satisfaction of the townspeople. He especially liked to tend the sheep.

Now it happened that there was a nice little dark-hued lamb among the herd that Shepherd Melle tended. The stranger relentlessly urged the shepherd to give the lamb to him. The shepherd wouldn’t hear of it. On shearing day, Melle brought along the old man who was helping him. When he came back, everything was as he had left it and the work was done; only the old man and the lamb could not be found. No one heard from the old man for a long time. Finally he appeared unexpectedly to Melle, who was grazing his flock in the Katten Valley. He called to him scornfully “Good day, Melle, your colorful lamb sends greetings!” In anger the shepherd reached for his staff to take revenge. Suddenly the stranger changed shape and lunged at him in the form of a werewolf. The shepherd recoiled in fear but his hounds fell upon the wolf in rage and the wolf fled. Pursued, the wolf ran through forest and valley until he was close to Eggenstedt. The hounds surrounded him there and the shepherds cried “Now you must die!” But suddenly the old man stood there again in human form and pleaded for his life. He cried out for mercy to all. The shepherd in his rage fell upon him with his staff – but before him now stood a budding rose bush. The shepherd was bent on revenge and did not stop, but brutally cut down the branches. Once more the stranger turned into a man and asked that his life be spared. The hard-hearted Melle was unyielding. The werewolf attempted to flee but one blow from Melle struck him dead and he fell to the earth like a stone. Where he fell and was buried, a rock marks the spot and has been called the Werewolf Stone for all ages.

The Werewolf Lullaby

If I were, were, were, were a werewolf,

Not werebear or were-mouse,

Not were-pig or were-louse,

Free of wem, stainless,

Free of scar, blameless,

I would walk with the wedders and their sheep wives,

Always even-tempered past the bee hives.

I would do no harm, ther'd be no alarm.

Sweet dreams, sleep deep little were-pup.

Further reading:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2010/09/men-who-become-wolves.html


http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2009/06/fairy-tales-to-read-under-full-moon.html

Another famous fairy tale featuring a wolf:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2008/11/grimms-fairy-tale-no-26-little-red.html

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Fairy Tales to Read Under a Full Moon: The Werewolf

Grimm’s Saga No. 213: The Werewolf

Oral tradition from Hessen.
See Braeuner’s Curiostiy Pages

A soldier told the following story, which supposedly happened to his own grandfather. His grandfather once went out into the forest to cut wood with his cousin and a third person. They both suspected something wasn’t right with this third person, but couldn’t lay their finger on it. Now the three had finished their work and were tired. The stranger proposed that they should all sleep it off. And so it happened, each lay down on the ground. The grandfather lay down and only pretended to sleep and opened his eyes a little. The stranger looked around to see whether the others were sleeping and when he believed that they were, he threw off his belt and became a werewolf. A werewolf doesn’t look exactly like a natural wolf but looks a bit different. He ran away to a nearby meadow where a young foal was grazing. He attacked and ate it, skin, hair and all. Returning to his two sleeping comrades, he buckled the belt around his girth and lay there as before in human form. After a short time they all got up and made haste to get to their homes in town. As they stood at the edge of the town, the stranger complained about a fearsome bellyache. The grandfather whispered secretly into his ear: “That I do believe, when one devours a horse, skin and all!” But the stranger replied: “If you had said those words in the forest, you wouldn’t be speaking now.”

A woman took on the form of a werewolf and fell upon the flock of a shepherd, whom she hated. She would have done him enormous harm. But the shepherd wounded the wolf by throwing a hatchet into its hip and the wolf crept into the bushes. The shepherd followed the wolf into the brush and thought he would subdue him. But instead he found a woman trying to stop blood from flowing out of a hip-wound with a torn-off scrap from her dress.

Two magicians were executed in Luettich in 1610 because they had turned themselves into werewolves and killed many children. They kept a young boy of twelve years their captive, whom the devil transformed into a raven when they tore to pieces and devoured their prey.


To read more tales about wolves and werewolves:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2010/09/men-who-become-wolves.html

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2009/06/fairy-tales-to-read-under-full-moon_24.html

To read a fairy tale about a prince and his horse:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2009/04/fairy-tale-of-prince-and-horse-how.html

More fairy tales can be found under the link:

Translation FairyTaleChannel.com

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