The Enchanted Hog

Once upon a time, a long long time ago, when fleas were shod with ninety

and nine pieces of iron, and flew up into the blue sky to fetch us down

fairy-tales, there lived an Emperor who had three daughters. One day,

when he was going to battle, he called these daughters to him and said

to them:

“Look now, my darlings! Needs must that I go to the wars. My foe is

advancing against me with a huge host. ’Tis with great bitterness of

heart that I part from you. In my absence, take care that you have your

wits about you, behave well, and look after the affairs of the

household. You have my leave to walk in the garden and enter all the

rooms of my house, only in the chamber at the bottom of the corridor on

the right-hand side you must not enter, or it will not be well with

you.”

“Depart in peace, papa!” cried they. “Never yet have we disobeyed the

words of thy commands. Go without any fear of us, and God give thee

victory over all thine enemies!”

So when he was quite ready to depart, the Emperor gave them the keys of

all his chambers; but once more he put them in mind of his command, and

then he bade them good-bye and departed.

The daughters of the Emperor kissed his hand with tears in their eyes,

and wished him victory once more, and then the eldest of the three

daughters received the keys from the hands of the Emperor.

When the daughters of the Emperor found themselves all alone they knew

not what to do with themselves, the time hung so heavily. At last they

agreed to work a part of the day, and to read another part of the day,

and spend the rest of the day walking in the garden. This they did, and

things went well with them.

But the Deceiver of mankind was vexed at the tranquillity of the

maidens, so he must needs twist his tail in their affairs.

“My sisters,” said the eldest of the three damsels one day, “why do we

spend the live-long day in sewing and knitting and reading? I am sick

and tired of it all. It is ever so many days now since we were left to

ourselves, and there’s not a corner of the garden that we have not

walked in over and over again. We have also been through all the rooms

of our father’s palace, and looked at all the ornaments there till we

know them by heart. Let us now enter into that chamber which our father

told us not to enter.”

“Woe is me, dear sister!” said the youngest damsel. “I wonder that thou

shouldst persuade us to tread underfoot the precepts of our father. When

our father told us not to enter there, he must needs have known what he

was saying, and why he told us so to do.”

“Dost thou fancy, silly, that there’s some evil serpent there that will

eat us, or some other foul beast perhaps?” cried the middle sister.

“Besides, how is papa to know whether we were there or not?”

Talking and arguing thus, they had reached the door of the chamber, and

the eldest sister, who was the guardian of the keys, popped the key into

the key-hole, and turning it round--crack-rack!--the door flew wide

open.

The damsels entered.

What do you think they saw there? The room was bare of furniture, but in

the middle of it stood a large table covered with a beautiful cloth, and

on the top of it was a wide-open book.

The girls, all full of impatience, wanted to find out what was written

in this book, and the eldest went up to it and read these words: “The

eldest daughter of the Emperor will marry a son of the Emperor of the

East.”

Then the second daughter went up to the book, and turning over the leaf,

read these words: “The second daughter of the Emperor will marry a son

of the Emperor of the West.”

The girls laughed and made merry at these words, and giggled and joked

among themselves. But the youngest daughter would not go up to the book.

But the elder ones would not leave her in peace, but dragged her up to

the long table, and then, though very unwillingly, she turned over the

leaf and read these words--

“The youngest daughter of the Emperor will have a pig for her spouse.”

A thunderbolt falling from the sky could not have hurt her more than the

reading of these words. She was like to have died of horror, and if her

sisters had not held her she would have dashed her head to pieces

against the ground.

When she had come to herself again, her sisters began to try to comfort

her. “How canst thou believe all that nonsense?” said they. “When didst

thou ever hear of the daughter of an Emperor marrying a pig?”

“What a baby thou art!” added the eldest, “as if papa hadn’t armies

enough to save thee, even if so loathsome a monster as that _did_ come

and try and make thee his wife!”

The youngest daughter of the Emperor would very much have liked to

believe what her sisters said, but her heart would not allow it. She

thought continually of the book which promised her sisters such handsome

bridegrooms, while it foretold that that should happen to her which had

never yet happened since the world began. Then she reflected how she had

transgressed the commands of her father, and her heart smote her. She

began to grow thin, and ere a few days had passed she had so changed

that none could recognize her. She became sad and sallow, instead of

rosy and rollicking, and could take part in nothing at all. She ceased

to play with her sisters in the garden; she ceased to cull posies and

make garlands of them for her head, and when her sisters sang over their

distaffs and embroideries her voice was dumb.

Meanwhile the Emperor, the father of these girls, succeeded beyond even

the wishes of his dearest friends, and vanquished and dispersed his

enemies. As his thoughts were continually with his daughters, he did

what he had to do quickly and returned home. Crowds and crowds of people

turned out to meet him with fifes and drums and trumpets, and great was

their joy at the sight of their victorious Emperor.

When he reached his capital, before going home, he gave thanks to God

for aiding him against the enemies who had tried to do him evil. Then he

went to his own house, and his daughters came out to meet him. His joy

was great when he saw how well they were, for his youngest daughter did

her best to appear as gay and happy as the others.

But it was not very long before the Emperor observed that, little by

little, his youngest daughter was growing sadder and thinner. “What if

she has broken my commands?” thought he, and as it were a red-hot iron

pierced his soul. Then he called his daughters to him, and bade them

speak the truth. They confessed, but they did not say which of them had

first persuaded them.

When the Emperor heard this he was filled with bitterness, and from

henceforth sadness took possession of him. But he held his tongue, and

did but make all the more of his youngest daughter because he was about

to lose her. What’s done is done, and he knew that thousands and

thousands of words can’t make one farthing.

Time went on, and he had almost come to forget the circumstance, when

one day there appeared at the Emperor’s court the son of the Emperor of

the East, who sought the hand of his eldest daughter. The Emperor gave

her to him with joy. They had a splendid wedding, and after three days

he conducted them with great pomp to the frontier. A little while

afterwards the same thing happened to the second daughter, for the son

of the Emperor of the West came and sought her in marriage likewise.

Accordingly as she saw what had been written in the book gradually

fulfilled, the youngest daughter of the Emperor grew sadder and sadder.

She no longer enjoyed her food; she would not go out walking; she even

lost all pleasure in raiment; she preferred to die rather than become

the laughing-stock of the whole world. But the Emperor did not give her

the opportunity of doing anything foolish, but took care to divert her

with all manner of pleasant stories.

Time went on, and lo!--oh, wonderful!--one day a large hog entered the

royal palace and said: “Hail, O Emperor! May thy days be as rosy and as

joyous as sunrise on a cloudless day!”

“Good and fair is thy greeting, my son!” replied the Emperor; “but what

ill wind hath blown thee hither, I should like to know?”

“I have come as a wooer,” replied the hog.

The Emperor marvelled greatly at hearing such a pretty speech in the

mouth of a hog, and immediately felt within himself that all was not

right here. He would have put the hog off with some excuse if he could,

to save his daughter, but when he heard the court and all the ways

leading to it full of the grunts of the hogs who had accompanied the

wooer, he had nothing to say for himself, and promised the hog that he

would do what it asked. But the hog was not content with his bare

promise, but insisted that the wedding should take place within a week.

Only when it had obtained the Emperor’s word that it should be so did it

go away.

The Emperor told his daughter that she must submit to her fate, as it

was clearly the will of God. Then he added: “My daughter, the speech and

sensible bearing of this hog belong to no brute beast with which I am

acquainted. I’ll wager my head upon it that he was never _born_ a hog.

There must be a touch of sorcery here, or some other devilry. If thou

art obedient, thou wilt not depart from thy given word, for God will not

allow thee to be tormented for long.”

“If thou dost think it good, dear father,” replied the girl, “I will

obey thee, and put my trust in God. Let Him do what He will with me. It

must be so, I have no other way to turn.”

In the meantime the wedding-day arrived. The marriage was celebrated in

secret. Then the hog got into one of the imperial carriages with his

bride, and so they set off homewards.

On the journey they had to pass by a large marsh. The hog ordered the

carriage to stop, got down, and wallowed about in the mire till he was

pretty nearly one with it. Then he got into the carriage again, and told

his bride to kiss him. Poor girl, what could she do? She took out her

cambric pocket-handkerchief, wiped his snout a little, and then kissed

him. “I am but obeying my father’s commands,” thought she.

At last they reached the hog’s house, which was in the midst of a dense

forest. It was now evening, and when they had rested a little from the

fatigues of the road they supped together and lay down to rest. In the

night the daughter of the Emperor perceived that her husband was a man

and not a hog, and she marvelled greatly. Then she called to mind the

words of her father, and hope once more arose in her breast.

Every evening the hog shook off his hog-skin, and every morning before

she awoke he put it on again.

One night passed, two nights passed, a great many nights passed, and the

damsel could not make out how it was that her husband was a man at night

and a hog in the daytime. For he was under a spell; an enchanter had

done him this mischief.

Gradually she began to love him, especially when she felt that she was

about to become a mother, but what grieved her most was that she was

all alone, with none at hand to aid her in her hour of need.

One day, however, she saw an old long-nosed witch pass by that way. Now

as she had seen no human creature for a long time, she was full of joy,

and called to her, and they had a long talk together.

“Tell me now, old woman,” cried she, “the meaning of this marvel. In the

daytime my husband is a hog, but when he sleeps beside me at night he is

a man. Explain this marvel to me!”

“I’ll tell thee that later on, but in the meanwhile shall I give thee

some medicines that will put an end to the spell that holds him?”

“Oh, do, little mother, and I’ll pay thee for them whatever thou wilt,

for I hate to see him as he is now.”

“Very well, then. Take this bit of rope, my little chicken, but let him

not know anything about it, or it will lose its effect. Now when he is

asleep, rise up, and going to him very very softly, tie his left leg as

hard as thou canst, and thou wilt see, dear heart, that on the morrow

he’ll remain a man. Money I do not want. I shall be more than repaid if

I release him from this scourge. My very heart-strings are bursting with

compassion for thy lord, my rose-bud, and I grieve, oh how bitterly I

grieve, that I did not come this way before, so as to help thee

sooner.”

When the old hag had departed, the daughter of the Emperor took care to

carefully conceal the piece of rope, but in the middle of the night she

softly arose so that he shouldn’t hear her, and holding her very breath,

tied the string round her husband’s left leg, but when she tied the

knot--r-rch!--the string broke, for it was rotten, and instantly her

husband started up.

“Unhappy woman!” cried he, “what hast thou done? But three days more and

I should have been free of this vile spell, but now who knows how long I

may have to carry this vile bestial skin! And know, moreover, that thy

hand can never touch me again till thou hast worn out three pairs of

iron sandals, and worn down three staves of steel, seeking me all over

the wide world, for now I must depart.”

And with these words he disappeared.

The poor daughter of the Emperor, when she found herself all alone,

began to cry and sob as if her heart would break. She cursed the vile

witch with fire and sword, but all in vain, and when at last she saw

that all her cursing and moaning did no good, she got up and went

whithersoever the mercy of God and the desire of her husband might lead

her.

At the first city she arrived at she bade them make her three pairs of

iron sandals and three staves of steel, made provision for her journey,

and set off to seek her husband.

She went on and on, past nine kingdoms and nine seas, she passed through

vast forests where the treestumps were like barrels, she got black and

blue from stumbling over the trunks of fallen trees, yet often as she

fell, she always got up again and resumed her way; the branches of the

trees struck her in the face, the briars tore her hands, yet on and on

she went without so much as looking back once. At last, weary with her

journey and her burden, bowed down with grief and yet with hope in her

heart, she came to a little house. And who should be living there but

the Holy Moon.

The damsel knocked at the door and begged them to let her come in and

rest a little, especially as she was about to become a mother.

The mother of the Holy Moon had compassion on her and her afflictions,

so she let her come inside and took good care of her. Then she asked

her: “How is it that thou, a creature of another race, hast managed to

come so far as this?”

Then the poor daughter of the Emperor told her everything that had

happened to her, and wound up by saying: “I praise and thank God first

of all for directing my footsteps even to this place, and I thank Him in

the second place because He allows not my child to perish at the hour

of its birth. And now I beg thee to tell me whether thy daughter, the

Holy Moon, hath seen my husband anywhere?”

“That I cannot tell thee, my dear,” replied the mother of the Holy Moon;

“but if thou dost go on thy way towards the east till thou comest to the

house of the Holy Sun, maybe he will be able to tell thee somewhat.”

Then she gave her a roast fowl to eat, and told her to be very careful

not to lose one of the bones, as they would be very useful to her.

The daughter of the Emperor thanked the mother of the Moon for her

hospitality and kind words, and after throwing away the pair of iron

sandals which she had worn out, she put on another pair, placed the

fowl’s bones in her bosom, took her child on her arm, and a second staff

of steel in her hand, and took to the road again.

She went on and on through nothing but plains of sand, and the way was

so bad that she glided one step backwards for every two steps she went

forwards. On and on she struggled till at last she left these plains

behind her; and now she got amongst high mountains, steep and rugged,

and crawled from rock to rock and from crag to crag. Whenever she came

to a little plot of level ground she stopped and rested a little, and

reflected that now she was a little nearer her husband than she was

before, and then she went on her way again. The sides of the mountains

were of hard-pointed flints, which bruised and cut her feet, knees, and

sides till they were covered with blood; for you must know that these

mountains were so high that they reached beyond the clouds. There were

precipices in the way too that she could only pass by going down on her

hands and knees and guiding herself with her staff.

At last, quite overcome by fatigue, she came to a palace.

Here lived the Sun.

She knocked at the door and begged them to take her in.

The mother of the Sun received her, and was amazed to see a creature of

another race in those regions, and full of compassion when she heard

what had befallen her. Then, when she had promised to ask her son about

the damsel’s husband, she hid her in the cellar, that the Sun might not

perceive her when he came home in the evening, for he always came back

in a bad temper.

Next day the daughter of the Emperor was afraid she would be found out,

as the Sun said he smelt a creature from another world. But his mother

soothed him with soft words, and told him that it was pears that he

smelt. The daughter of the Emperor took courage when she saw how well

she was treated, and said:

“Tell me now, how can the Sun be ever vexed, seeing that he is so

beauteous, and doeth so much good to mortals?”

“I’ll tell thee,” replied the mother of the Sun. “In the morning he

stands in the gate of Heaven, and then he is merry, so merry, and smiles

upon the whole world. But at mid-day he is full of disgust, inasmuch as

he sees all the follies of men, and so his wrath burns and he gets

hotter and hotter; while in the evening he is vexed and sorrowful

because he stands in the gate of Hades, for that is the usual way by

which he comes home.”

She told her besides that she had asked about her husband, and her son

had replied that he knew not anything about him, as he was living in the

midst of a vast and dense forest, so that his beams could not pierce

through the thick foliage; the only thing to do was to go and ask the

Wind about it. Then she also gave her a roast fowl, and told her to take

great care of the bones.

So the daughter of the Emperor pitched away the second pair of iron

sandals that she had worn out, tied up the bones, took her child on her

arm and a third staff in her hand, and went after the Wind.

On this journey she met with hardships greater than any before, for she

came upon mountains of flintstones, one after another, through which

darted flames of fire, forests untrodden by man, and fields of ice dark

with snow-storms. More than once the poor creature was on the point of

falling, but with perseverance and the help of God she overcame even

these great hardships, and at last she reached a ravine between two

mountains, large enough to hold seven cities.

This was the abode of the Wind.

There was a gate in the wall which surrounded it. She knocked and

implored them to let her in. The mother of the Wind had compassion on

her, and let her in and invited her to rest. “If she had hidden from the

Sun,” she said, “surely the Wind would not find her out.”

The next day the mother of the Wind told her that her husband was living

in a huge dense wood, which the axe of man had never yet reached, and

there he had made him a sort of house by piling up the trunks of trees

one on the top of another, and plaiting them together with withy bands,

where he lived all alone for fear of wicked men. Then, after she had

given her a roast fowl and told her to take good care of the bones, the

mother of the Wind counselled her to follow the road that led straight

to the sky, and let the stars of heaven be her guides. She said she

would, and after thanking her with tears of joy for her hospitality and

for her glad tidings, she went on her way.

The poor woman turned night into day. She stopped neither to eat nor to

rest, so fiercely did the desire to find her husband burn within her.

She went on and on till she quite wore out the third pair of sandals.

She threw them away, and began to walk with bare feet. She cared not for

the hard clumps of earth, she took no heed of the thorns that entered

into her feet, nor of the pain she suffered when she stumbled over the

hard stones. At last she came to a green and beauteous meadow on the

margin of a forest, and her heart rejoiced within her when she felt the

soft grass and saw the sweet flowers. She stopped and rested a little.

But when she saw the birds in couples and couples on the branches of the

trees, a burning desire for her own husband came upon her, and she began

to weep bitterly, and with her child on her arm, and her bundle of bones

in her girdle, she went on her way. She entered the forest. She did not

once look at the soft green turf which soothed her feet, she listened

not to the birds that chirped enough to deafen her, she regarded not the

flowers that peeped out from among the bushes, but groped her way step

by step into the depths of the forest. For from the tokens given her by

the mother of the Wind she perceived that this must be the forest in

which her husband was staying.

Three days and three nights she roamed through the forest, and could see

no one. So worn was she now with fatigue that she fell to the ground,

and there she lay for a day and a night without moving, nor did she eat

and drink.

At last she rallied all her remaining strength, rose up, and tottering

along, tried to support herself on her staff; but it could help her no

more, for that also was quite worn down so that it was now no good to

her. Still trusting in God, she went on as best she could. She hadn’t

taken ten steps forward when she saw in a cleft of the rock just such a

sort of house as the mother of the Wind had told her of. She went

towards it, and just managed to get up to it and no more. It was a house

that had neither window nor door, but there was an opening in the roof.

She looked around her, but there was no sign of a ladder.

What was she to do to get inside it?

She thought and thought again. She tried to climb up it, but in vain.

Suddenly she thought of the bones which she had been carrying all this

way. “If only I could find out,” said she, “how these bones are to

assist me!” She took them out of the bundle, looked at them, reflected a

little, and then put one atop the other, and--oh, wonderful!--they

joined on to each other as if they had been glued. Then she joined

another on to the first two and then another till she made out of them

two long bars. Then she put a little bone across the two bars, and it

stuck fast like the rung of a ladder. She mounted on it, and placed

another little bone across a bit higher, and then she mounted on that

also, and so she ascended from rung to rung, placing the small bones

across as she went along, till she got quite near the top; but then she

saw that there was a wide gap between the last rung of her ladder and

the door in the roof of the house, and she now had no more bones to make

the last rung. She must have lost it on the way. What was she to do now?

She bethought her for a while, and then she cut off a finger and placed

that between the bars. Sure enough it joined on to and formed the last

rung, and mounting on it she entered the door of the house with her

child in her arms. There she rested for awhile, gave her child to suck,

and sat down herself on the threshold.

When her husband came he was so amazed at what he saw that he could

scarce believe his eyes, and there he stood looking at the ladder of

bones, the last rung of which was a severed human finger. Fear came upon

him lest there should be some evil enchantment about the thing, and he

would have turned his back upon the house if God had not put it into his

mind to enter. So turning himself into a dove, and flying up into the

air without once touching the ladder, lest evil spells should lay hold

of him, he entered the house in full flight, and there he beheld his

wife nursing a child; and instantly he was full of tenderness and

compassion towards her, for he bethought him of how much she must have

suffered and endured before she could have found her way to him. Nay, he

could scarce recognize her, so changed was she by her hardships and

sufferings.

But the daughter of the Emperor, when she saw him, sprang from her seat,

and her heart failed her for fright, for she did not know him. Then he

made himself known to her, and she regretted no longer all she had gone

through to find him, nay, she forgot it altogether, for he was as tall

and straight as a lordly pine.

Then they began talking together. She told him all that had befallen

her, and he wept for pity. Then he also spoke, and told her his story.

“I am the son of an Emperor,” said he. “In the war which my father waged

with the dragons, our neighbours (and evil neighbours they were, ever

ravaging his domains), I slew the smallest of the dragons. Now his

mother knew that thou wert my destined bride, so she laid the curse of

her spells upon me, and constrained me to wear the skin of an unclean

beast, with the design of preventing me from having thee. Yet God aided

me, and I won thee nevertheless. That old woman who gave thee the cord

to tie my legs with was the dragon’s mother, and when I had but three

days more to bear the spell, I was forced, by thy folly, to go about in

pigskin three years longer. But now since thou hast suffered for me and

I have suffered for thee, let us praise God and return to our parents.

Without thee I should have resigned myself to living the life of a

hermit, and so I chose this desert for my habitation, and built me this

house so that no child of man should get at me.”

Then they embraced each other full of joy, and promised to forget all

their past sorrows.

The next day they rose early and went back first of all to the Emperor

his father. When it was known that he and his consort had arrived, all

the world wept with joy; but his father and mother embraced them

tightly, and the public rejoicings lasted three days and three nights.

Then he went on to the Emperor the father of his wife, and he was like

to have gone out of his mind for joy when he saw them. When he had heard

all their adventures he said to his daughter: “Did I not tell thee not

to believe that he who sought thy hand was ever born a hog? Thou hast

done well, my daughter, to listen to my words.”

And being an old man, and having no heirs, he descended from his throne

and put them upon it in his stead. Then they reigned in peace, and if

they are not dead they are living still.

And now I’ll mount my horse again and say an “Our Father” before I go.