Women as Missionaries, Women as Prophets, Strong Women and Serpent Women.—Children’s Myths.—Godmothers.—Fairies.—The Magic Wand and the Broomstick.—The Lady of Kynast.—The World of the Dead,’ the World of Ghosts, and the World of Shadows.—Myths of Animals.
Well? Have you seen enough of the gods and demigods of Germany, of the Nixen and goblins, the Kobolds, the giants, and the dwarfs? Have I shown you enough of this vast storehouse of human folly? I must confess, it makes me melancholy to speak of all this, and I feel an urgent desire to “shut up shop.”
The conscientious collector of myths, who has more material than he can manage, and sees new myths continually rising before him, is not unlike those learned physicians who spend their lives among crowds of insane people. A fever of imitation seizes them and soon they begin to wander like their patients.
Perhaps I have reached that point myself without becoming aware of it. The reader must judge for himself.
My mind, filled with myths, symbols, and eccentricities, is ready to ask for mercy, and still I feel it, there are some things yet to be done. For instance, I recollect having promised to give a completion of the history of the Druidesses, that is to say, of women, those myth-like beings by eminence! That kind of instinctive sense, that delicacy of almost intuitive perceptions which distinguished them from the other sex in its material coarseness, could not fail to give them easily the advantage over men. In Celtic lands as in Scandinavia they were the models of all virtues, the oracles of the house. They were occasionally beaten, it is true, but they were also grandly honored, and in Germany especially people burnt incense before them, long before they smoked tobacco in their presence.
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At the time when Christianity came, the women played a prominent and truly glorious part there; all the historians bear witness. Between the fourth and the sixth century Fritigill, Queen of the Marcomanni, Clotilda, Queen of France, and Bertha. Queen of England, had compelled their husbands to bow down before the Cross, and not by witchcraft, as the pagans wickedly maintained, but simply by persuasion. Other women, who belonged to noble families or to the common people at large, a Krimhild, a Thekla, and a Liobat, assisted the missionaries in their dangerous enterprise and actually helped them in cutting down the sacred oak trees.
What had become, during these long continued persecutions, of you, fair Gann, noble Aurinia, majestic Velleda, and of your sisters, the other Druidesses?
They were wandering about in dark forests, proscribed and weeping over their departed glory; they concealed themselves in remote places where the agents of the civil power but rarely appeared. Sometimes, of an evening, they would venture forth, approach a belated traveller on a cross-road, and hold with him mysterious converse. Sometimes, also, the inhabitants of a village, or even of a larger place, would go secretly to their well chosen hiding places to consult them on the good or evil chances of their prospects in life, or on an epidemic that was attacking their cattle. Some people, and among them not unfrequently recent converts, who were still strongly imbued with their former creed, would ask them to name their new-born infants and thus to bring them good luck. Hence they were at first known as Godmothers, and at a later time as Fairies.
It was naturally supposed that like the ancient fairies of the East, these women also derived their power from the stars, for why else should they have been met so constantly on the mountain slopes, when the moon was shining brightly, or slipping suddenly from behind a rock or a tree, where will-o’-the-wisps and fireflies alone were in the habit of being about?
Among these fairies many were kind and naturally benevolent; others, no doubt embittered by their fate, appeared irascible and ill disposed. Woe to the men, or even the cattle upon whom they cast an evil eye!
This evil influence could be averted only by the assistance of another fairy, a good one in this case, who relieved you more or less promptly by means of a talisman, a constellated stone, or certain words possessed of magic power.
Now, if we add to these godmothers, to these godchildren, to good and bad fairies, the terrible Ogres, whose very name filled the people of those days with terror, you will know all the mysterious personages which appear in the myths of children and which we have all known in our early days.
If we were to examine these legends and traditions more carefully, we should no doubt easily find “Bluebeard” again among the old burggraves of the Rhine, as “Puss in Boots” has already been discovered there. “The Sleeping Beauty” might very well be the peasant woman who had slept a century under the influence of magic magnetism, and why should not our little dwarf Kreiss and his brothers have furnished the first idea of little Tom Thumb, with Quadragant to play the part of the ogre? In “Cinderella” we might with the same readiness recognize one of the three Undine sisters, who forgot amid the delights of the evening assembly, that their furlough was out at ten o’clock? The same would apply, no doubt, to many others who lived under the influence of wicked Nichus or evil disposed fairies.
Poor Druidesses! If you had at least survived as fairies! If they had met you only in the air travelling simply by the aid of your magic wand! But in proportion as Christianity increased, your power necessarily decreased.
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The day came at last, when they dared transform you into fortune tellers, and finally into accursed witches! Then your enchantress’ wand became that atrocious broomstick upon which you travelled through the air on your way to the witches’ Sabbath! Oh misery! Oh wretchedness! What a fatal overthrow of all earthly glory and grandeur!
When the women thus saw their power of ruling men by prophetic inspiration slip away from them, they one fine day determined to change their tactics, their ways and manners, and, I am sorry to have to say it, almost their sex! They assumed the noisy and truculent manners of their brothers and husbands and affected violent exercises, riding on horseback, wrestling, and even fighting in battles. This was the age of bullying women, of Strong Women in fact.
When they were young ladies they would admit no lover who could not prove his affections by the most perilous adventures and impossible enterprises. Such was the case with the famous Lady of Kynast.
She owned a large domain and on this domain a ruined old tower which stood on the summit of a steep, high rock, surrounded on all sides by a deep abyss.
Rich, young, and beautiful, eagerly sought for by a number of admirers, she did not think, in her desire to keep them from becoming too pressing, of undertaking an endless piece of embroidery like Penelope. She did not embroider; in fact, she looked with contempt, and almost with disgust, upon every kind of work that was done by women. She told her lovers that she was betrothed to Ky-nast—this was the name of the old tower—and that any one who thought of winning her good will, would first have to compete with her betrothed. To do this, nothing was required but to climb up the rock and the tower, and after having reached the battlements, to make a complete round, not on foot, however, and assisted by the hands and knees, but on horseback, without other assistance than the bridle.
The flock of lovers took flight instantly; only two remained. They were two brothers, bereft of reason by the strength of their passion.
After having cast lots, the first one attempted the task and at first he was successful. But that was all. He had no sooner reached the crenelated top of the old tower, unaccompanied by his less active courser, than he was seized with vertigo and fell instantly into the abyss.
The second brother, in his turn, climbed up to the top and actually succeeded in riding some length along the battlements; but soon his horse, feeling the stones slipping from under its hoofs, and the whole tower rocking under the weight, refused to go on. To return was as impossible as to proceed.
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The knight, determined to carry through the undertaking in which he was engaged, encouraged his horse with his voice and with his spurs, but the poor animal remained immovable, apparently wedged in between the large stones of the tower. At last, knight and horse disappeared together; the abyss swallowed up their bleeding, mangled remains.
The Lady of Kynast could not disguise her delight and her pride as she received the congratulations of her noble neighbors; all the great ladies thought of having a Kynast, or a similar trap, in which they might catch’ and try their lovers.
No other claimants, however, appeared to woo this fair lady, who was so well protected by her betrothed. The poor damsel felt rather aggrieved by this neglect. She was by no means satisfied with having sacrificed only two young men to her pride; she was gradually becoming soured and ill-tempered, when at last a third lover presented himself and asked leave to attempt the trial.
She did not know who it was, and this surprised her; for how could he have fallen in love with her? He might possibly have seen her on her balcony, or at some royal feast; perhaps he was only allured by her great reputation. However, there was nothing to lose by accepting his offer. At best, he was only one more victim to be added to the list; that was all. At that time women were ferocious.
For some days a thick, heavy fog had shrouded the castle and the old tower from top to bottom, so as to make the ascent utterly impossible.
The simple laws of hospitality, required, therefore, that the lady should offer her castle to the newly arrived knight.
The latter was handsome and of fine figure; his features beamed with bravery and intelligence; his white, delicate hands, exquisitely shaped, proved sufficiently that he was of noble descent; and his large retinue bespoke his high rank and large fortune. During three days he spent almost all his time with the young lady, but as yet he had not dared say a word of his love. She, however, felt herself gradually conquered by a feeling which had, until now, been unknown to her heart.
When the dense veil of mist was at length torn aside, and the Kynast shone forth in its full splendor, she was on the point of telling the knight that she would not insist on the trial in his case; but what would her good friends, the noble ladies of the neighborhood, have said?
When the moment came, the Lady of Kynast felt her heart fail her. She shut herself in, she wept, she cried, and although little given to prayers generally, she besought God to do a miracle in behalf of her knight. She could, however, hope very little from such a miracle, for in the meantime, loud clamors had been heard below, and as she surely thought the spectators were bewailing the death of her last lover, she fainted away.
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Cries of joy and of triumph roused her again; the knight had successfully accomplished the task. Quite overcome, she rushes to meet him, and in her intense excitement and the depth of her passion, she forgets that all eyes are upon her, and breathlessly cries out: “My hand is yours.”
But he draws himself up to his full height, and, haughtily and harshly he replies with a withering smile:—
“Have I ever asked you for your hand? I only came to avenge my two brothers, whom you have killed, and I have done it, for I do not love you, and you love me! Very well! Now you can die of your love, or of your shame, as you like it! Farewell, I am going back to Margaret, my darling, my wife!”
The same evening the wretched lady had herself hoisted up to the top of the tower, from whence she wished, as she said, to watch the setting sun.
But before the sun had sunk below the horizon, she had rejoined her victims at the foot of the ruined old tower.
Thus the Kynast obtained possession of his betrothed.
The story might furnish an admirable plot for a grand opera. But, upon reflection, I think it would suit a circus better, for there are in it three first-class parts for horses.
The Lady of Kynast was a strong minded woman, rather than a really strong woman; but there were others, who really distinguished themselves by extraordinary physical strength. It would seem that the habit of taking violent exercise had finally developed their muscles and sinews to such a degree, that few men could be found strong enough to overcome them in a wrestling match, or in armed combat.
Such was the noble Brunehilt, queen of Isenstein, in Norway.
Soothsayers, Godmothers, Fairies, Strong Women, and Serpent Women are not the only women of this class which we ought to mention here perhaps. We might also speak of the Swan Women, who floated on the water in the dim morning mist, clothed in a cloak of eider down; and the Forest Woman, who was honored every year by the burning of a spindle full of hemp, to keep her from doing any harm; and the Water Sneezers, to whom you had to say three times “God bless you!” in order to save their souls from purgatory; and the little Moss Gatherers, who could not escape from their enemies, the Forest Woman and the Wild Huntsman, unless a benevolent charcoal burner would mark some trees with three crosses, behind which they could conceal themselves. But we must make haste to conclude.
However, as the great Wild Huntsman has accidentally been mentioned, we do not think it would be fair to leave him out and pass him over in silence.
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He is the Lord Hackelberg. Most imprudently he had begged God to allow him to exchange his place in heaven for the right to hunt upon earth for all time to come. To punish him, God granted his prayer, and ever since he has been hunting, with horns blowing and dogs barking, without respite or repose. He hunts continually, day and night, to-day as yesterday; he must hunt to-morrow as he does to-day, and yet he must hunt the same deer, which forever escapes from him, and ever will escape.
Which of the two is most to be pitied, the everlasting huntsman, or the everlasting game?
How many others could claim a right to be mentioned here as well as he?
These are the people who are condemned to remain standing forever, and those who are condemned to dance forever, another variety of bewitched people.
You do not think my material is all used up? By no means! In the first place, I might have told you all about mythological animals; of Thor’s buck-goat, which enjoyed the same privilege as the boar of the Walhalla, of daily satisfying the powerful appetite of its master and his guests, and yet being replaced in all its bodily fullness, provided only care had been taken to put all the bones aside.
I might have gone back to give a fuller account of that famous Iormungandur, the great sea serpent, which still exists in our days—who dares doubt it? The crew of an English vessel, passengers, officers, and sailors, have unanimously testified in a legally drawn up deposition that they have met it quite recently in the Northern seas. What more evidence do you want?
And the Kraken, that most marvelous of all cetaceans, which could easily be mistaken for a habitable island, and on which imprudent navigators once really landed, erecting their tents and saying mass, without its ever stirring, until they hoisted anchors, when the animal for the first time gave signs of life?
And the Griffins, those perfect symbols of avarice, who are all the time busily engaged in dragging forth from underground vast heaps of gold and precious stones, merely in order to guard and defend them ever afterwards, at the peril of their lives, although the gold and the jewels are of no use to any one? And Sleipner, Odin’s eight-legged horse, and the dog Garm, etc?
Passing on to another variety of zoological marvels, I might have mentioned the Salmon, whose scaly skin wicked Loki assumed as a disguise in order to escape from the wrath of the gods after Balder’s death. And that marvelous Sturgeon in the Rhine, which the French legends have put to good profit. Let us pause a moment in contemplation of this wonderful fish.
A young, noble lady determined, in order to save her honor, to destroy her beauty, the grandest, most heroic, and most calamitous sacrifice that can possibly be made. Hence, when the moment for action arrived, her courage failed her. But if she could not bear the idea of becoming ugly, she could at least mutilate herself. So she puts her dagger upon the ledge of a window which overlooked the Rhine, seizes a hatchet, and with a single blow cuts off her hand, which falls into the river, and then with the bleeding stump terrifies her infamous persecutor. Here the sturgeon makes its appearance. This providential sturgeon has seen the hand drop into the river; it swallows it with well-known voracity, but in the anticipation of restoring it, seven years later, uninjured to the true owner, and thus to prove her superhuman virtue. And this really happened seven years after the occurrence in Rome, in the presence of the Pope and his assembled Cardinals.
At first sight it does not appear quite clear, how the sturgeon could have passed from the waters of the Rhine into those of the Tiber, but in this kind of stories there is no use in trying to comprehend everything.
The noble lady and the sturgeon have furnished the theme for the famous novel, “La Manekine,” and later, in the Middle Ages, for a great dramatic mystery on the French stage. Before concluding this chapter, I may be allowed to say a word about the World of the Dead, which sends in certain consecrated nights its representatives to some of the churches, or to silent dinners, and about the World of Ghosts, the annals of which have been collected, and the laws of which have been explained by Jung Stilling and Kerner.
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These ghosts can imitate all the motions of men, walk, run, and even jump, but they have no power over material objects; they cannot move a table, a chair, or even a straw. All their united efforts would not succeed in causing the light of a candle to flicker. We can therefore feel perfectly easy with regard to these ghosts; they cannot injure our furniture, nor draw the knot of our cravat inconveniently tight, if they should take a fancy to make an end of us.
Nor can I keep altogether silence as to the World of Shadows, still dimmer and less perceptible than the World of Ghosts. I shall therefore content myself with a single instance, which we owe to a Dutch legend. The master bell-ringer of the city of Haarlem, caught at a tavern by his wife escaped with such extraordinary rapidity that his shadow was unable to follow him, and remained hanging on the wall—a fact duly certified by the signature and seal of the reigning burgomaster, the aldermen, and other notables of said town.
In spite of such overwhelming evidence one might be disposed to doubt the authenticity of this remarkable occurrence, which Hoffmann, I believe, has used in one of his Tales; but had not long before Hoffmann, and long before the master bell-ringer of Haarlem even, the god FÔ left his shadow in some town of Hindustan, instead of his card? We try in vain to find anything new under the sun; all our most famous myths and all our most amusing anecdotes have travelled all over India before they reached us.
I might also tell you.... but he who tells everything, says too much. Let us here pause once more, and for the last time. Farewell, reader, and may Heaven keep you sound in body and soul.
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