The perfect husband found in this fairy tale from Latvia.

From Latvia: The Little White Dog

A stepmother treated her adopted daughter in a vile way. Although the girl did everything precisely as instructed, she could never satisfy the woman’s demands.

One day the stepdaughter was told to fetch water from the spring well, but in such a way that the pail would not get wet. The poor girl was desperate and cried bitter tears. Suddenly a little white dog came running up to her, as if it had sprung forth from the earth itself. The dog said “If you take me as husband, I will take care of the water.” And so the girl promised. The little dog ran out to do what it had promised, then vanished.

After some time another groom came round and requested the girl’s hand in marriage. She didn’t want to accept his offer, but her stepmother urged her to take him. There was nothing that could be done. On the evening before the wedding, the bridegroom arrived. Everyone rushed out to meet him, even the little white dog. The wedding guests all entered the house, but they left the little dog standing outside. All at once the animal began to sing:

“Let me come inside, my dear little girly,
For I am none other than your dear little burly,
At the well, remember the day,
When you gave to me your heart away?”

Everyone chuckled at the cheek of it all, but for the sake of a good laugh, they let the little dog come in.
The animal trotted into the parlor, gazed upon the bridegroom standing near the bride and began to sing once more:

“Take me as your own, my dear little girly,
It is I, your dear little burly!
At the well, remember the day,
When you gave to me your heart away?”

The bridegroom thought to himself: “What a sweet but odd little creature! We will have to let him sit with us, if he asks in such a polite manner!”

The little dog sat at the feet of the bride and was as quiet as a mouse. The next morning the engagement party began. Once again the little dog began to sing:

“Dear girl, take me as your groom,
Me, your little burly….”

The bride gave the little dog his portion of the feast, and it soon became quiet. After breakfast, they all got into their carriages and rode out to the church to celebrate the wedding. The little dog began to sing again:

“Dear girl, take me in your carriage,
Wed me, in marriage!”

[The groom had permitted his bride to take the dog along with her in the carriage as they rode to church. So they all drove out together.] When they finally arrived at the church, the clergyman began the wedding ceremony. At once the little dog began to sing in loud voice:

“Dear girl wed me in marriage,
Me, your little burly man….”

The pastor asked the bride: “What did you promise? Tell me everything because I can’t marry you until you do!”

The girl now admitted everything, from A to Z. The stepmother stamped her foot in rage, but nothing could be done. The pastor now refused to marry the couple, and the stepmother was momentarily constrained from taking out her anger on the girl. The groom was a compassionate fellow, he said: “Why my dear girl, didn’t you tell me the truth immediately and serve up pure wine? How was I to know your predicament?”

“I would have liked to tell you, but I was afraid of my stepmother!”

When the stepmother heard the accusation, she ran out of the church in rage and the little dog followed her. The stepmother wanted to seize the animal violently, but in that very moment, a beautiful coach arrived pulled by eight horses. A servant jumped down from the step, opened the carriage door and the little white dog jumped inside. Immediately it was transformed into a strapping young prince. The stepdaughter was then married to him and he took her away to his golden castle. But because the first groom had a good heart, he was elevated to the king’s closest advisor, because he had let the little dog in, allowed him to sit at the feet of the bride and took him in the carriage to the church.

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A Legend of Charlemagne and the Strong Bonds that Bind Us

June is the month of brides and rings and the ties that bind us.

Grimm’s Saga No. 458: A Legend of Charlemagne

The Ring in the Lake near Aachen
Petrarch, on his trip through Germany, heard a story told by priests in Aachen. The holy men purported it was true, for the story had been circulated by word of mouth for many years. In ancient times Charlemagne fell in love with a woman of lowly birth. The Kaiser’s love raged so violently for this woman, that he forgot all his worldly affairs and dropped all earthly pursuits. He even neglected his own body and appearance. His entire court was soon in disarray and many of his subjects became embarrassed by his passion, which showed no signs of diminishing. The beloved woman soon fell ill and died. The people now hoped that the Kaiser would abandon his love for the woman, but these hopes were all in vain. Instead he sat for hours with her corpse, kissed and caressed it and talked to it as if it were still alive. The dead body began to smell and decay but the Kaiser would not take leave from it. Finally Turpin, the archbishop, realized that some sort of magic must lie behind it all. When Charlemagne left the room the archbishop therefore carefully ran his hands over the corpse of the dead woman to see if he could not discover the source of the enchantment. Finally he found a ring in her mouth concealed under her tongue and he secretly removed it. When the Kaiser returned to the room he acted surprised, like someone who had just awakened from a deep sleep. He asked:

“Who carried this stinking corpse in here?” and in that very hour he ordered its burial. This was also carried out immediately. But instead of alleviating the problem the king’s strong affection was now re-directed to the archbishop, whom the Kaiser now followed incessantly. When this wise and pious man noticed the change, he recognized the power of the ring and feared it might fall into the wrong hands. That is why he threw it into the lake near the city. After that, the Kaiser loved the place so dearly, he could no longer find it in his heart to leave Aachen. He had a royal castle and cathedral built and spent the remainder of his days there. It was also in Aachen that he desired to be buried. He decreed that all royal successors would be anointed and inaugurated in that city.

To read a tale about Charlemagne and the Snake:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2010/06/legend-of-charlemagne-and-snake.html

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Grimm's Fairy Tale No. 172: The Flounder

The mouth of a fish contemplated in a fairy tale:

For a long time the fish in the sea had been unhappy because there was no order in their kingdom. Fish did not give each other any leeway; each swam right and left, whatever he felt like. Some swam in between those who wanted to swim together. Others blocked the path and the stronger fish gave the weaker ones a slap with their tails, hurling them long distances. Or even worse, the bigger fish devoured the smaller ones. “How nice it would be if we had a king, who spoke law and justice amongst us,” they all said. They agreed they would vote one fish to be their leader; they would pick whoever could swim the fastest through the waves and bring help to the weaker ones.

They positioned themselves on shore, one after another in rank and file. The pike gave a sign with his tail and they all swam away. The pike shot through the waves like an arrow and the herring, gudgeon, perch, carp and all the rest as they are called followed after. The flounder also swam along and hoped to reach the finish line.

All at once a cry was heard “The herring is out in front! The herring is out in front!”

“Who is out in front?” the bad-tempered flounder screamed morosely. He was swimming far behind. “Who is out in front?”

“The herring, the herring!” was the reply. “

“The bare naked herring?” cried the envious flounder flabbergasted, “the bare naked herring?”

Since that time the mouth of the flounder has always been crooked as punishment for those unkind words.

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The Original May Queen, Tacitus and Led Zeppelin

Grimm’s Saga No. 365: The Sacred Sea of Hertha

Seven Germanic tribes lived between river and wood. They were called the Reudigner, Aviones, Angles, Warins, Eudoses, Suarthones and Nuithones*. They all worshipped Hertha, the Mother Earth, believing she involved herself in all human endeavors. The goddess came to the people driving a wagon. Her sacred forest, which had not been desecrated, was on an island in the sea. There her wagon stood enveloped by a cloth. Only a single priest was permitted to approach her. This priest knew the time when the goddess would appear in her sacred wagon. Two cows pulled her cart while everyone else followed behind reverently. Wherever the goddess went and whomever she honored with a visit, happiness and high times followed. No war was fought, no weapon seized, and everything made of iron was locked.

Peace and prosperity ruled the land and were desired by all. This lasted until the goddess had lived long enough among mortals; then the priest returned her to her sanctuary. The goddess along with wagon and cloth were then bathed in a remote lake. But the servants who assisted in this task were subsequently swallowed by its waters.

A secret terror and uncertain solemnity surrounded these matters, because anyone who witnessed the events, died immediately.

(*Names as recorded by Grimm).

A traipse through time: the trajectory of the May Queen, from pre-historical pagan ritual to Tacitus to the Brother's Grimm to Led Zeppelin to modern Druid celebrations.
This German saga by Grimm is based on an account by Tacitus. At first glance, the joyous spring procession described here might seem like a hippie-parade. The goddess Hertha (as translated by Grimm) or Nerthus (the name given her by Tacitus) is driving in a Zeltwagen, a cart covered with cloth or tent-like fabric (imagine a proto-historical VW camper, without any of the bells and whistles). This practical wagon was pulled on wooden wheels and served both as roving domicile and temple for the spring deity. Like a travel trailer, this goddess-vehicle was parked in a safe place for the winter, on an island in a sacred grove of trees. Hertha’s followers, male and female, probably all wore their hair long. According to Tacitus, many of the youthful male members of Germanic tribes combed their long locks to the side and tied these tresses into an enormous knot. Although Tacitus says these hair-dos were principally worn by young people, he sees this as a stature-enhancing ploy not tied to notions of beauty or adornment. Such hair-raising practices were intended to shock onlookers, especially enemies. The spring procession coincided with the first sprouting tree buds and it was the responsibility of the priest-consort to determine when this happened. The ritual was not without danger because the goddess- and cart-bathers did not survive after the wagon was returned to its garage for the winter. Most likely the helpers were slaves, who were subsequently pushed into the water and drowned. Although the spring procession ushered in a period of peace and prosperity (because tribes now turned their attentions to the more important pastimes of growing food and fishing from the sea) an underlying sense of terror and horror was never far from the surface of such celebrations. Remnants of the spring festival survived into the 12th century and beyond. But the goddess was now called the Pfingstkoenigin or Pentecost Queen. Later she was celebrated as the May Queen and her priest-consort became the May King. She was placed on a throne, draped in fine white cloth and honored with song and dance. In the seventies Led Zeppelin revived the May Queen in the popular rock ballad Stairway to Heaven. With her nature-loving ways (roving around in a camper, long hair and summer filled with music, love and peace, not to mention the high times that followed her) it is perhaps no wonder she was popular in the seventies. But May Queen celebrations have continued to the present, see the link below

To see a 2008 Druid's Beletane Celebration of the Blessing of the May Queen and King in Glastonbury, England hit the link and type in Druids' Beltane Celebration 2008 in the search box:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3UHrhfeKHY


If you have the Sitzfleisch and can sit through the whole song, you can see wonderful hair and rather slow-moving pictures of Led Zeppelin performing Stairway to Heaven:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w9TGj2jrJk8


Or visit http://www.ledzeppelin.com/
and type in Stairway to Heaven


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An Ancient Tribe of Swiss Gnomes called the Gotwergeni

Life on the land can be quite hectic in springtime.

(Click on picture to enlarge.)

For people living close to the land, spring is a busy time and there are never enough helping hands to accomplish all the chores. In this saga lucky farmers in Switzerland are helped by a strange tribe of gnomes until scorn drives the creatures away. Another testimony to the hubris of mortals and a reminder to all gardeners to treat gnomes kindly.

In ancient times the Gotwergeni or gnomes were also at home in the Saas Valley region of Switzerland. In caves and cliffs they made their secret dwellings, where they practiced their peaceful arts and pursued their strange existence. This shy folk eschewed the light of day.

To good people they were known as helpers when there was hard work or distress or danger. They tended the cattle at night, watched over a sick animal in the stall, did their work in the fields of corn or hay when everyone else was sleeping and made sure misfortune did not visit the sleeper. But they were quiet and timid around the houses of godless men.

On starry nights they held their merry meetings on lonely boulders or in a quiet clearing in the larch forest.

But ungratefulness and malice took over the hearts of men and the Gotwergeni departed from the Saas Valley and settled in the crags and cliffs of Zeneggen. And when the people of the Zenegg savagely drove them off, the gnome folk left the region for ever.

Today there is a Gotwergeni grave at Mellig above the Hannig Alps which still reminds us of this lively little folk.

Behind Zermeiggern, the last continuously settled area of the Sass Valley, on the path to the Mattmark Lake, a rock slide ravaged the area in ancient times. A giant sea of boulders remains, today called the ABC-Gufer (gravel pile), and reminds the hiker of this avalanche. There is a Gotwergeni hole in the gravel, which once served the gnomes as dwelling.


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Fairy Tale of Horse and Fox

Grimm’s Fairy Tale No. 132 Fox and Horse

A farmer had a trusted horse, but it had become so old it could no longer work. His master, not wanting to feed him anymore, said “I don’t need you now, but I still want to be good to you. Show me that you are strong enough to bring me a lion. Then I will keep you. But now go and leave my stall,” and he chased the horse far into the field. 

The horse was sad and went into the forest to find protection from the weather. He met the fox, who asked “Why are you hanging your head so and walking around alone?” “Oh,” the horse replied, “Stinginess and trust cannot live together in one house: my master forgot the service I performed faithfully for so many years and because I can no longer toil in the fields, he doesn’t want to feed me and has chased me away.” “Without giving you any consolation?” the fox asked. “The consolation was poor. He said, if I were strong enough to bring him a lion, he would keep me, but he knows that I can’t do that.” 

The fox replied “I will help you. Lie down and don’t move. Act as if you were dead.” The horse did what the fox asked. But the fox went to the lion, whose cave was nearby, “Out there lies a dead horse. Come out with me and you shall have a fine meal!” 

The lion went out and when they stood next to the horse the fox said “It’s not as nice here as you are usually accustomed to. You know what? I will tie your tail to the horse, so you can pull it in your cave and eat it in peace.” The lion liked this piece of advice. He positioned himself so that the fox could tie the horse to him. He stood very still. But the fox tied the lion’s feet together with the horse’s tail, and turned and pulled it tight so that it could not be broken by any amount of strength. When he had finished, he tapped the horse on the shoulder and said “Horse, pull.” 

The horse jumped up and pulled the lion away. The lion began to bellow so loud that the birds flew out of the trees, but the horse pulled him over the field to his master’s door. When the master saw everything, he saw the error of his ways and said to the horse “From now on you shall stay with me and have a good life and he gave him plenty of food to eat until he died.



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Garden-States and Merry Mornings

"Through the hedge and down the furrow,

Till he gets into his burrow." (Nicholas Breton)

This is the time gardeners take a closer look at the state of things. We relish the dewy morning and the glorious task of turning up the soil. We plow furrows in neat rows and plan where the cabbage and turnips will go. This is the season of lush green grass and clouds of lilacs in bloom. It’s only fitting to read a fairy tale in which the primary action takes place in the garden, down in the furrow to be exact!


The Buxtehude Hedgehog (Grimm’s Fairy Tale No. 187)

(Or: The Hare and the Hedgehog)

This story is really a lie, but there is some truth in it, for my grandfather who told the story to me, always said the following when he told it: “True it must be, my son, or you wouldn’t be able to tell it.” The story happened this way. It was a Sunday morning in autumn, just when the buckwheat was blooming, the sun had risen on the horizon and the wind blew softly through the stubble. The larks sang as they soared high in the air and the bees hummed busily round the buckwheat. People wore their Sunday best to church and all creatures were cheerful, the hedgehog too. He stood in front of his door with his arms crossed and looked out into the morning sunshine. He warbled a little song and sang as beautifully as any hedgehog can sing on a Sunday morning. While he stood there and trilled like a little bird, he suddenly had the idea that while his wife was washing and dressing the children, he would go out and take a little walk in the field to see how the turnips were doing. The turnips grew quite close to his house and it was his habit and that of his family to eat them. That is why he considered them to be his own.

No sooner thought than done. He closed the front door behind him and took the path to the field. He had not gone very far and was just about to go round the blackthorn bush, which marked the edge of the field, when he saw the hare. The hare was walking on ahead engaged in similar pursuits, namely looking after his cabbage. When the hedgehog saw the hare, he wished him good morning in a cordial way. But the hare, who in his own right was a distinguished gentleman and furthermore, was terribly conceited, did not respond to the hedgehog’s greeting. Instead with a scornful countenance he replied icily: “How is that you are already running about so early in the morning?”
“I’m going for a walk,” the hedgehog replied.
“A walk?” laughed the hare. “You should use your little legs for better things.”
This remark annoyed the hedgehog very much, who was a very good-natured fellow. He could tolerate anything except disparaging remarks about his legs, because they were naturally crooked.
“You imagine that you could do more with your legs?” he said.
“I do indeed,” the hare replied.
“Well, we will have to try it then,” the hedgehog said. “I bet that if we run a race, I will run faster than you.”
“You – with your crooked little legs?” the hare said. “That’s rich! But if you have such a keen desire let’s have a go at it – what shall we wager?”
“One gold coin and one bottle of brandy,” the hedgehog said.
“Accepted,” replied the hare. “Go ahead and we can start the race right now.”
“No, there is no need for such haste,” the hedgehog replied. “I haven’t had anything to eat. I want to go home first and have some breakfast. I’ll be back in an hour.”

With that, he left and the hare was satisfied. But on the way home he thought to himself: “The hare is counting that his long legs will win the day, but I will show him. He is indeed a refined gentleman but a stupid rabbit, and for that he will pay.” When he arrived home he said to his wife: “Wifey, dear, get dressed quickly, you must go with me to the field.”
“What is it?” his wife asked.
“I have made a bet with the hare for one gold coin and one bottle of brandy that I will win a race with him. And you will be there.”
“O my God, husband,” the wife began to cry, “Have you lost your mind? How can you race the hare?”
“Woman, silence your blabbermouth,” the hedgehog said, “that is my concern. Don’t interfere with a man’s business! Go now, get dressed and come along!”
What else could the wife of the hedgehog do? She had to comply but she did not like it. When they were walking together the hedgehog said to his wife: “Now listen very carefully to what I say. I will run the race up there in the long field. The hare will run in one furrow and I in the other. We will start up there. You have nothing else to do but to wait down here in the furrow. And when the hare comes running in his furrow, call out to him as he approaches and say: “I’m already here!”

And so they arrived in the field. The hedgehog indicated the spot to his wife and went up the hill. When he arrived at the top, the hare was already there. “Can we begin?” he asked.
“Of course,” the hedgehog replied.
“Then let’s go.”

Each positioned himself in his furrow. The hare counted: “On your mark, get set, go!” and off he ran down the hill like the rushing gale wind. But the hedgehog ran only three steps, then he crouched down in the furrow and sat there calmly. And when the hare arrived down below at the finish line at full speed, the hedgehog wife called out to him “I’m already here!”

The hare was astonished not a little, but believed that the hedgehog stood before him. For it is well-known that Mrs. Hedgehog looks exactly like her husband. “Something is quite strange here,” he cried out. “Let’s race again, in the opposite direction!”
And once again the hare took off like the storm wind and his long rabbit ears were pressed down to his skull. The wife of the hedgehog remained sitting calmly in her place, and when the hare arrived Mr. Hedgehog called out to the hare “I’m already here!”
The hare was beside himself with rage and cried “Once more, the other way!”
“All right,” the hedgehog replied. “As often as you wish.” So the hare ran seventy-three times, and the hedgehog always kept up. Each time, when the hare arrived at the top of the field or arrived at the finish line at the bottom, the hedgehog or his wife called out “I’m already here!”.

But the seventy-fourth time, the hare did not arrive at the finish line. He fell to the ground in the middle of the field, blood came out of his nose and he lay dead. The hedgehog took the gold coin and bottle of brandy that were his prize and called to his wife at the end of the furrow. Cheerfully they returned home. And if they have not died, they are still living today. And so it happened that on the Buxtehude Heath the hedgehog ran the hare to death and since that time no other hare has dared to run a race with the Buxtehude hedgehog.

The moral of the story is, first, no one (regardless of how distinguished he might be) should make fun of a small man, even if the small man is only a hedgehog. And second, it’s a very good idea to marry a woman of your own stature, one that looks exactly like you. Whoever is a hedgehog must make sure that his wife is also a hedgehog.

More gardening fairy tales:

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2008/06/grimms-saga-no-17-giantesss-plaything.html

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2010/05/from-gore-to-garden-french-fairy-tale.html

http://www.fairytalechannel.com/2010/07/king-of-all-carrots.html

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