Category: Fairy Tales

Once there was a great warrior named Strong Wind. He lived with his sister in a tent on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean. Strong Wind had an amazing power. He was able to make himself invisible. His sister could see him, but no one else could. He said he would marry the first woman who could see him as he came home at the end of the day.

Many women came to the tent to watch for him. When his sister saw him coming, she would ask, ‘Do you see him?’

Each girl would answer, ’Oh, yes! I see him!’

Then Strong Wind’s sister would ask, ‘What is he pulling his sled with?’

And the girl would answer, ‘with a rope’ or ‘with a wooden pole.’

Then Strong Wind’s sister would know that they were lying, because their guesses were wrong. Many tried and lied and failed. For Strong Wind would not marry anyone who was untruthful.

A chief lived in the village. His wife had died, but he had three daughters. One was much younger than the other two. She was gentle and kind and beautiful, but her sisters were jealous of her and treated her badly.

They cut off her long black hair and they made her wear rags. They also burned her face with coals from the fire to make her look ugly. And they lied to their father and said that she had done these things to herself. But she remained kind and gentle and went about her work with a patient heart.

The two older sisters also went to try and see Strong Wind. When he was coming Strong Wind’s sister asked them, ‘Do you see him?’

Oh, yes! I see him!’ each of them answered.

‘What is his bow made out of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Out of iron,’ answered one. ‘Out of strong wood,’ answered the other.

‘You have not seen him,’ said Strong Wind’s sister

Strong Wind himself heard them and knew that they had lied. They went into the tent, but still they could not see him. They went home very disappointed.

One day the youngest daughter went to try and see Strong Wind. She was wearing rags, and her face was covered in burns. As she went along the road, people pointed and laughed at her, but still she continued on her way. When she came to Strong Wind’s tent she waited.

When Strong Wind was coming, his sister asked the girl, ‘Do you see him?’

‘No,’ the girl answered. ‘I do not see him.’

Strong Wind’s sister was surprised because the girl had told the truth.

‘Now do you see him?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Yes,’ answered the girl. ‘Now I do see him. He is magnificent.’

‘What is his bow made of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘The rainbow,’ answered the girl.

‘And what is the bowstring made of?’ asked Strong Wind’s sister.

‘Of stars,’ answered the girl.

Then Strong Wind’s sister knew that the girl could really see him. He had let her see him because she had told the truth.

‘You really have seen him,’ said Strong Wind’s sister. Then the sister bathed the girl in a sacred spring, and all the burns went away. Her hair grew long and black again. The sister dressed the girl in fine clothes. Strong Wind came to the teepee and greeted his wife.

The girls’ two older sisters were very angry, but Strong Wind turned them into aspen trees. Ever since that day, the leaves of the aspen tree tremble with fear whenever the wind comes near, because they know he will never forget their cruelty.

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Sources: Legends of the Micmacs, by Silas Rand, Longmans, New York and London, 1894; and The Algonquin Legends of New England, by Charles Leland, Houghton Mifflin, Boston, 1884. (Rand’s manuscript, though published later, was the basis for Leland’s version.) Background on the Micmacs came from The Micmac Indians of Eastern Canada, by Wilson and Ruth Wallis, University of Minnesota, Minneapolis, 1955.

Note: This tale was popular in many Native American tribes with languages in the Algonquian family. The variant here comes from the Mi’kmaq (or Micmac) tribe of Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, and Prince Edward Island, Canada, and was recorded in Nova Scotia.

British Cinderella

There was once a very rich gentleman, and he had three daughters, and he thought he’d see how fond they were of him. So he says to the first, ‘How much do you love me, my dear?’

‘Why,’ says she, ‘as I love my life.’

‘That’s good,’ says he.

So he says to the second, ‘How much do you love me, my dear?’

‘Why,’ says she, ‘better nor all the world.’

‘That’s good,’ says he.

So he says to the third, ‘How much do you love me, my dear?’

‘Why, I love you as fresh meat loves salt,’ says she.

Well, but he was angry. ‘You don’t love me at all,’ says he, ‘and in my house you stay no more.’ So he drove her out there and then, and shut the door in her face.

She went away on and on till she came to a fen, and there she gathered a lot of rushes and made them into a kind of a sort of a cloak with a hood, to cover her from head to foot, and to hide her fine clothes. And then she went on and on till she came to a great house.

‘Do you want a maid?’ says she.

‘No, we don’t,’ said they.

‘I haven’t nowhere to go,’ says she; ‘and I ask no wages, and do any sort of work,’ says she.

‘If you like to wash the pots and scrape the saucepans you may stay,’ said they.

So she stayed there and washed the pots and scraped the saucepans and did all the dirty work. And because she gave no name they called her ‘Cap o’ Rushes’.

One day there was to be a great dance a little way off, and the servants were allowed to go and look on at the grand people. Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go, so she stayed at home.

But when they were gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes and cleaned herself, and went to the dance. And no one there was so finely dressed as she.

Who should be there but her master’s son, and what should he do but fall in love with her the minute he set eyes on her. He wouldn’t dance with anyone else.

But before the dance was done, Cap o’ Rushes slipt off, and away she went home. And when the other maids came back, she was pretending to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on.

Well, next morning they said to her, ‘You did miss a sight, Cap o’ Rushes!’

‘What was’ that?’ says she.

‘Why, the beautifullest lady you ever see, dressed right gay and ga’. The young master, he never took his eyes off her.’

‘I should have liked to have seen her,’ says Cap o’ Rushes.

‘There’s to be another dance this evening, and perhaps she’ll be there.’

But, come the evening, Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go with them. Howsoever, when they were gone, she offed with her cap o’ rushes and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

The master’s son had been reckoning on seeing her, and he danced with no one else, and never took his eyes off her. But, before the dance was over, she slipt off, and home she went, and when the maids came back she pretended to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on.

Next day they said to her again, ‘Well, Cap o’ Rushes, you should ha’ been there to see the lady. There she was again, gay and ga’, and the young master he never took his eyes off her.’

‘Well, there,’ says she, ‘I should ha’ liked to ha’ seen her.’

‘There’s a dance again this evening, and you must go with us, for she’s sure to be there.’

Come this evening, Cap o’ Rushes said she was too tired to go, and do what they would she stayed at home. But when they were gone, she offed her cap o’ rushes and cleaned herself, and away she went to the dance.

The master’s son was rarely glad when he saw her. He danced with none but her and never took his eyes off her. When she wouldn’t tell him her name, nor where she came from, he gave her a ring and told her if he didn’t see her again he should die.

Before the dance was over, off she slipped, and home she went, and when the maids came home she was pretending to be asleep with her cap o’ rushes on.

Next day they says to her, ‘There, Cap o’ Rushes, you didn’t come last night, and now you won’t see the lady, for there’s no more dances.’

‘I should have rarely liked to have seen her,’ says she.

The master’s son tried every way to find out where the lady was gone, but go where he might, and ask whom he might he never heard anything about her. And he got worse and worse for the love of her till ‘he had to keep his bed.

‘Make some gruel for the young master,’ they said to the cook. ‘He’s dying for the love of the lady.’ The cook set about making it when Cap o’ Rushes came in.

‘What are you a-doing of?’ says she.

‘I’m going to make some gruel for the young master,’ says the cook, ‘for he’s dying for love of the lady.’

‘Let me make it,’ says Cap o’ Rushes.

Well, the cook wouldn’t at first, but at last she said yes, and Cap o’ Rushes made the gruel. And when she had made it, she slipped the ring into it on the sly before the cook took it upstairs.

The young man he drank it and then he saw the ring at the bottom.

‘Send for the cook,’ says he. So up she comes.

‘Who made this gruel here?’ says he.

‘I did,’ says the cook, for she was frightened.

And he looked at her.

‘No, you didn’t,’ says he. ‘Say who did it, and you shan’t be harmed.’

‘Well, then, ’twas Cap o’ Rushes,’ says she.

‘Send Cap o’ Rushes here,’ says he.

So Cap o’ Rushes came.

‘Did you make my gruel?’ says he.

‘Yes, I did,’ says she.

‘Where did you get this ring?’ says he.

‘From him that gave it me,’ says she.

‘Who are you, then?’ says the young man.

‘I’ll show you,’ says she. And she offed with her cap o’ rushes, and there she was in her beautiful clothes.

The master’s son he got well very soon, and they were to be married in a little time. It was to be a very grand wedding, and everyone was asked far and near. And Cap o’ Rushes’s father was asked. But she never told anybody who she was.

But before the wedding, she went to the cook, and says she:

‘I want you to dress every dish without a mite o’ salt.’

‘That’ ll be rare nasty,’ says the cook.

‘That doesn’t signify,’ says she.

‘Very well,’ says the cook.

Well, the wedding day came, and they were married. And after they were married, all the company sat down to the dinner. When they began to eat the meat, it was so tasteless they couldn’t eat it.

But Cap o’ Rushes’s father tried first one dish and then another, and then he burst out crying.

‘What is the matter?’ said the master’s son to him.

‘Oh!’ says he, ‘I had a daughter. And I asked her how much she loved me. And she said. “As much as fresh meat loves salt.” And I turned her from my door, for I thought she didn’t love me. And now I see she loved me best of all. And she may be dead for aught I know.’

‘No, father, here she is!’ said Cap o’ Rushes. And she goes up to him and puts her arms round him.

And so they were all happy ever after.

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Source: English Fairy Tales collected by Joseph Jacobs. London: David Nutt, 1890.

Note: Scholars of both folklore and Shakespeare have commented on analogies in the play, King Lear, to common folktale motifs found in “Cap ‘O Rushes” among other tales. Most notable is the motif of the plot and the subplot of Shakespeare’s King Lear that correspond to the female and male versions of a folktale type called The Outcast Child, which is itself a variant of a Cinderella tale. “Love like salt” is another common motif and is similar to the plain talk of Cordelia who does not flatter her father. The oral tradition thus forms a basis for King Lear in these motifs and others, such as Edgar, the Earl of Kent’s disguise as a ragged servant in the King’s service.

Reference: The Written and Oral Sources of King Lear and the Problem of Justice in the Play. Alan R. Young. https://www.jstor.org/stable/449674?seq=1

As wildfires burn in our country and other disasters follow, I am reminded of the tale of the Firebird and its hero—the young archer and his horse. As the archer confronts one impossible task after the other under threat of death, we can identify. We also are faced with seemingly insurmountable difficulties.

It is our fate at this time in history, to have picked up the feathers of the Firebird

In Slavic folklore, the Firebird burns with flames so bright that it lights up its surroundings: a single feather from the magical bird will light up an entire room. Firebirds are hunted and treasured, but a meeting with the firebird always means trouble. If one picks up a feather of the firebird, it signals the start of a difficult quest. One thing leads to another, as in this rousing folktale.

The Firebird, The Horse of Power, and the Princess Vasilissa 

Once a strong and powerful Tzar ruled in a country far away. And among his servants was a young archer, and this archer had a horse—a horse of power—such a horse as belonged to the wonderful men of long ago—a great horse with a broad chest, eyes like fire, and hoofs of iron.

Well, one day long ago, in the green time of the year, the young archer rode through the forest on his horse of power. The trees were green; there were little blue flowers on the ground under the trees; the squirrels ran in the branches, and the hares in the undergrowth; but no birds sang.

The young archer rode along the forest path and listened for the singing of the birds, but there was no singing. The forest was silent, and the only noises in it were the scratching of four-footed beasts, the dropping of fir cones, and the heavy stamping of the horse of power in the soft path.

“What has come to the birds?” said the young archer.

He had scarcely said this before he saw a big curving feather lying in the path before him. The feather was larger than a swan’s, larger than an eagle’s. It lay in the path, glittering like a flame, for the sun was on it, and it was a feather of pure gold.

Then he knew why there was no singing in the forest. For he knew that the firebird had flown that way, and that the feather in the path before him was a feather from its burning breast.

The horse of power spoke and said, “Leave the golden feather where it lies. If you take it you will be sorry for it, and know the meaning of fear.”

But the brave young archer sat on the horse of power and looked at the golden feather, and wondered whether to take it or not. He had no wish to learn what it was to be afraid, but he thought, “If I take it and bring it to the Tzar my master, he will be pleased; and he will not send me away with empty hands, for no Tzar in the world has a feather from the burning breast of the firebird.”

And the more he thought, the more he wanted to carry the feather to the Tzar. And in the end, he did not listen to the words of the horse of power. He leapt from the saddle, picked up the golden feather of the firebird, mounted his horse again, and galloped back through the green forest till he came to the palace of the Tzar.

He went into the palace, and bowed before the Tzar and said, “O Tzar, I have brought you a feather of the firebird.”

The Tzar looked gladly at the feather, and then at the young archer.

“Thank you,” says he, “but if you have brought me a feather of the firebird, you will be able to bring me the bird itself. I should like to see it. A feather is not a fit gift to bring to the Tzar. Bring the bird itself, or, I swear by my sword, your head shall no longer sit between your shoulders!”

The young archer bowed his head and went out. Bitterly he wept, for he knew now what it was to be afraid. He went out into the courtyard, where the horse of power was waiting for him, tossing its head and stamping on the ground.

“Master,” says the horse of power, “why do you weep?”

“The Tzar has told me to bring him the firebird, and no man on earth can do that,” says the young archer, and he bowed his head on his breast.

“I told you,” says the horse of power, “that if you took the feather you would learn the meaning of fear. Well, do not be frightened yet, and do not weep. The trouble is not now; the trouble lies before you. Go to the Tzar and ask him to have a hundred sacks of maize scattered over the open field, and let this be done at midnight.”

The young archer went back into the palace and begged the Tzar for this, and the Tzar ordered that at midnight a hundred sacks of maize should be scattered in the open field.

Next morning, at the first redness in the sky, the young archer rode out on the horse of power, and came to the open field. The ground was scattered all over with maize. In the middle of the field stood a great oak with spreading boughs. The young archer leapt to the ground, took off the saddle, and let the horse of power loose to wander as he pleased about the field. Then he climbed up into the oak and hid himself among the green boughs.

The sky grew red and gold, and the sun rose. Suddenly there was a noise in the forest round the field. The trees shook and swayed, and almost fell. There was a mighty wind. The sea piled itself into waves with crests of foam, and the firebird came flying from the other side of the world. Huge and golden and flaming in the sun, it flew, dropped down with open wings into the field, and began to eat the maize.

The horse of power wandered in the field. This way he went, and that, but always he came a little nearer to the firebird. Nearer and nearer came the horse. He came close up to the firebird, and then suddenly stepped on one of its spreading fiery wings and pressed it heavily to the ground.

The bird struggled, flapping mightily with its fiery wings, but it could not get away. The young archer slipped down from the tree, bound the firebird with three strong ropes, swung it on his back, saddled the horse, and rode to the palace of the Tzar.

The young archer stood before the Tzar, and his back was bent under the great weight of the firebird, and the broad wings of the bird hung on either side of him like fiery shields, and there was a trail of golden feathers on the floor.

The young archer swung the magic bird to the foot of the throne before the Tzar; and the Tzar was glad, because since the beginning of the world no Tzar had seen the firebird flung before him like a wild duck caught in a snare.

The Tzar looked at the firebird and laughed with pride. Then he lifted his eyes and looked at the young archer, and says he,

“As you have known how to take the firebird, you will know how to bring me my bride, for whom I have long been waiting. In the land of Never, on the very edge of the world, where the red sun rises in flame from behind the sea, lives the Princess Vasilissa. I will marry none but her. Bring her to me, and I will reward you with silver and gold. But if you do not bring her, then, by my sword, your head will no longer sit between your shoulders!”

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And so the trouble continues…to read the entire folktale, click here:

Old Peter’s Russian tales

By Arthur Ransome
Published: 1916
Publisher: Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd., London.