Serbian Folk-lore. Anonymous

research is day by day illustrating more clearly the original oneness of the language of mankind; and collections of household stories and popular legends are showing that much of the really popular literature, especially such as lingers in lands uninvaded by modern civilisation, and in sequestered spots in the midst of such civilisation, was possessed in common, before mankind was parted off into races, and subdivided into tribes and nations; so that they also furnish another proof of the unity of the human race. We are still able, at least to some extent, to trace the genealogy of many popular stories, and to ascend to their fountain-head, or at least to such a distance as to indicate the time when they originated, and the land where they were first told. Thus we may feel sure that had some of the tales in this volume been the original fancies of Slavonic minstrels and story-tellers they would not have been garnished with crocodiles, alligators, elephants, and the fauna and flora of Hindoostan, and that the germ of such stories must therefore have existed before the Slav made his home in Europe. Such accessories are sufficient proof that the tales themselves could not have been indigenous to the banks of the Danube, but must have been brought thither by a race which had migrated from a more southern and eastern home.

      Whilst the original home of these stories may thus be satisfactorily proved to have been in other lands than that in which they are now found, the growth of the tale, story, legend, or droll may be traced by an examination of the stories themselves. They are, in most instances, composite—an agglutination of fragments such as is seen in the breccias and similar stones of igneous origin. The desire of being credited with originality—a common weakness of humanity—the necessity of lengthening out a tale so as to fill up a definite amount of time in its recitation, and the wish to amuse by novel combinations—all tended to the structural growth of these tales. This was effected in part by the unexpected arrangements of old and well-known incidents, in part by the easier and coarser expedient of mere repetition. Thus, a common trick of the story-teller was to repeat all the details of the events which happened to one of the personages in his story, and to attribute them to each of the three, or even the seven heroes who had started in search of adventures, and whom he makes meet with precisely similar fortunes. These repetitions sometimes appear and are sometimes dispensed with, according to the exigencies of time, or the skill of the narrator. The other expedient of adding to the original tale incidents taken from other stories, admits of the exercise of much ingenuity on the part of the story-teller, and entitled him, in some degree, to the credit of originality. The fact remains, however, that the materials out of which such stories are constructed are less numerous than the stories themselves; which have for thousands of years delighted and amused, and sometimes instructed, both old and young alike, the peasant and the prince, the rude Hottentot of Southern Africa, the stolid boor of Russia, and the quick-witted and intelligent Greek.

      It is comparatively an easy task to trace the popular stories which are familiar to us, to the countries where they were originally told; or, at least, to decide approximately as to the land of their birth. Still more easy to decompose them, and separate the original germ from the accretions which have gathered around it in its course. It is not so easy, however, to determine the motive of the original story. According to one school of writers, these popular folk-tales embody profound mythological dogmas, and were even purposely constructed to convey, by means of symbolical or histrionic teaching, the maxims of ancient religions and philosophies. To some extent this is possibly true; apart, however, from the fact, and the speculations which the facts may give rise to, the truth or falsity of this is of but little practical value. No skill which we possess can decide with any certainty as to the mythological or non-mythological origin of a folk-tale, or families of such tales, and the attempts which have been made to interpret such tales in accordance with mythology, have ended in absurd failures.

      Much confusion of thought, as it appears to me, exists as to the mythological motive which is claimed for many of these folk-tales; and men have confounded the mythological explanation of a tale with its mythological origin and motive. We shall, however, have done but little in the way of clearing up this question when we have adjusted the various incidents of a folk-tale to the teaching of ancient mythology. The attempt to do so resembles the labours of the neo-Platonic expounders of declining Paganism, in their endeavours to make it appear more reasonable by giving to the gross and material incidents of ancient polytheism a subtle and recondite spiritual interpretation. The question—too frequently lost sight of—being not whether the incidents of Pagan mythology might by any such process be reconciled with the intellect of a philosopher, but whether the incidents themselves originated in the intent to present spiritual truth to the mind, and were bodied forth in order to convey such spiritual lessons to the apprehension of the worshipper. There is a similar order to be observed in the examination and interpretation of these tales; and the most ingenious interpretation of a folk-tale, and its adjustment to the incidents of mythology, do not advance us one step towards determining its motive, and clearing up the obscurities which surround its origin. Again, the presence of mythological incidents in a tale in no degree accounts for its origin; nor does it assist us in proving these tales to possess a mythological character. In popular literature—especially in such a literature as that of which I am speaking—the tone of the popular mind must needs be reflected; and if mythology had, at the date of the creation of the tale, or during its growth, any considerable hold over the popular mind, this fact would be indicated by the characters introduced, as well as by the general colouring given to the tale itself; just as a profoundly religious mind tinges the creations of the imagination or the productions of the intellect with the religious convictions which possess it. But tales and scientific treatises may be profoundly Christian in their ethos, without it being necessary for us to attribute to their authors the intention of presenting, by this means, an esoteric explanation of the articles of the Creed.

      Now it is to be borne in mind, that at the time when most of the primary materials, out of which these folk-tales are constructed, originated, polytheism had peopled the groves and streams, the mountains and the valleys, the hills and plains, the sky above and the deep sea below, and even the centre of the earth, with supernatural beings. Every day and every fraction of life had its tutelary; every family its special lar; and every individual its genius, or guardian spirit. Omnipresence was subdivided into atoms, and an atom was everywhere present. Under such circumstances it would hardly have been possible to construct a tale or to rearrange the fragments of older tales without introducing these elements of the popular belief. Without doing so, indeed, a tale would not—could not have become a folk-tale. This, however, in no way makes probable the mythological signification and origin of such tales, any more than the introduction of guns and pistols, of gas or the telegraph, into a modern tale, would prove it to have a military or a scientific motive.

      A specimen of the way in which folk-tales are interpreted mythologically will, I think, show at once the ingenuity of the interpreter and the baselessness of the interpretation. The tale which I cite as a specimen of this kind of treatment is one which, like folk-tales in general, occurs in several forms in England, in Southern Italy, in Germany, in the Tyrol, in Hungary, in Iceland, Swabia, Wallachia, and Greece, and probably in other countries. I give it in the form in which it appears in the ‘Modern Greek Household Tales,’ edited by Von Hahn, because the Greek version of this tale has the merit of being ‘shorter than most of its variants.’ The ingenious though fanciful explanation will be found in the appendix to Mr. Henderson’s ‘Notes on the Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties of England’:—

      ‘A man and a woman had no children; the woman prayed that she might be granted one, even though it were a serpent; and in due course of time she brought forth a serpent, which left the house and took up its abode in a hole.

      ‘The woman is a terrible shrew, and a bad woman to boot; she brings the house to poverty, and then goes to the serpent to ask for relief. The serpent gives his mother a gold-dropping ass, warning her never to let it touch water. The couple live on the gold for some while, but at last the woman leads the ass to the water, and it runs away and is lost. She goes once more to her child, who gives her a pitcher, which does all she wants; she sells this to the king, and is reduced to poverty. The old man now goes to the serpent’s lair and obtains a stick, to which he says, “Up stick, and do your duty!” whereupon it knocks the woman on the head and kills her; so the man lives in happiness ever after.’

      On this, the writer who undertakes