The Blue Fairy Book
yoursel’ on that stane, and move neither hand nor fit till I come back,
else I’ll never find ye again. And if everything round about ye turns
blue I hae beated the deil; but should a’ things turn red he’ll hae
conquered me.” She set hersel’ down on the stane, and by-and-by a’ round
her turned blue. O’ercome wi’ joy, she lifted the ae fit and crossed it
owre the ither, sae glad was she that her companion was victorious. The
bull returned and sought for but never could find her.
Lang she sat, and aye she grat, till she wearied. At last she rase and
gaed awa’, she kedna whaur till. On she wandered till she came to a
great hill o’ glass, that she tried a’ she could to climb, bat wasna
able. Round the bottom o’ the hill she gaed, sabbing and seeking a
passage owre, till at last she came to a smith’s house; and the smith
promised, if she wad serve him seven years, he wad make her iron shoon,
wherewi’ she could climb owre the glassy hill. At seven years’ end she
got her iron shoon, clamb the glassy hill, and chanced to come to the
auld washerwife’s habitation. There she was telled of a gallant young
knight that had given in some bluidy sarks to wash, and whaever washed
thae sarks was to be his wife. The auld wife had washed till she was
tired, and then she set to her dochter, and baith washed, and they
washed, and they better washed, in hopes of getting the young knight;
but a’ they could do they couldna bring out a stain. At length they set
the stranger damosel to wark; and whenever she began the stains came
out pure and clean, but the auld wife made the knight believe it was her
dochter had washed the sarks. So the knight and the eldest dochter were
to be married, and the stranger damosel was distracted at the thought
of it, for she was deeply in love wi’ him. So she bethought her of her
apple, and breaking it, found it filled with gold and precious jewelry,
the richest she had ever seen. “All these,” she said to the eldest
dochter, “I will give you, on condition that you put off your marriage
for ae day, and allow me to go into his room alone at night.” So
the lady consented; but meanwhile the auld wife had prepared a
sleeping-drink, and given it to the knight, wha drank it, and never
wakened till next morning. The lee-lang night ther damosel sabbed and
sang:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
Next day she kentna what to do for grief. She then brak the pear, and
found it filled wi’ jewelry far richer than the contents o’ the apple.
Wi’ thae jewels she bargained for permission to be a second night in
the young knight’s chamber; but the auld wife gied him anither
sleeping-drink, and he again sleepit till morning. A’ night she kept
sighing and singing as before:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,” &c. Still he sleepit, and she
nearly lost hope a’thegither. But that day when he was out at the
hunting, somebody asked him what noise and moaning was yon they heard
all last night in his bedchamber. He said he heardna ony noise. But they
assured him there was sae; and he resolved to keep waking that night
to try what he could hear. That being the third night, and the damosel
being between hope and despair, she brak her plum, and it held far the
richest jewelry of the three. She bargained as before; and the auld
wife, as before, took in the sleeping-drink to the young knight’s
chamber; but he telled her he couldna drink it that night without
sweetening. And when she gaed awa’ for some honey to sweeten it wi’, he
poured out the drink, and sae made the auld wife think he had drunk it.
They a’ went to bed again, and the damosel began, as before, singing:
“Seven lang years I served for thee,
The glassy hill I clamb for thee,
The bluidy shirt I wrang for thee;
And wilt thou no wauken and turn to me?”
He heard, and turned to her. And she telled him a’ that had befa’en her,
and he telled her a’ that had happened to him. And he caused the auld
washerwife and her dochter to be burned. And they were married, and he
and she are living happy till this day, for aught I ken.(1)
(1) Chambers, Popular Traditions of Scotland.
THE RED ETIN
There were ance twa widows that lived on a small bit o’ ground, which
they rented from a farmer. Ane of them had twa sons, and the other had
ane; and by-and-by it was time for the wife that had twa sons to send
them away to seeke their fortune. So she told her eldest son ae day to
take a can and bring her water from the well, that she might bake a cake
for him; and however much or however little water he might bring, the
cake would be great or sma’ accordingly; and that cake was to be a’ that
she could gie him when he went on his travels.
The lad gaed away wi’ the can to the well, and filled it wi’ water, and
then came away hame again; but the can being broken the maist part of
the water had run out before he got back. So his cake was very sma’; yet
sma’ as it was, his mother asked if he was willing to take the half of
it with her blessing, telling him that, if he chose rather to have the
hale, he would only get it wi’ her curse. The young man, thinking he
might hae to travel a far way, and not knowing when or how he might get
other provisions, said he would like to hae the hale cake, com of his
mother’s malison what like; so she gave him the hale cake, and her
malison alang wi’t. Then he took his brither aside, and gave him a
knife to keep till he should come back, desiring him to look at it every
morning, and as lang as it continued to be clear, then he might be sure
that the owner of it was well; but if it grew dim and rusty, then for
certain some ill had befallen him.
So the young man set out to seek his fortune. And he gaed a’ that day,
and a’ the next day; and on the third day, in the afternoon, he came up
to where a shepherd was sitting with a flock o’ sheep. And he gaed up
to the shepherd and asked him wha the sheep belanged to; and the man
answered:
“The Red Etin of Ireland
Ance lived in Bellygan,
And stole King Malcolm’s daughter,
The King of fair Scotland.
He beats her, he binds her,
He lays her on a band;
And every day he dings her
With a bright silver wand
Like Julian the Roman
He’s one that fears no man.
It’s said there’s ane predestinate
To be his mortal foe;
But that man is yet unborn
And lang may it be so.”
The young man then went on his journey; and he had not gone far when he
espied an old man with white locks herding a flock of swine; and he gaed
up to him and asked whose swine these were, when the man answered:
“The Red Etin of Ireland”--
(Repeat the verses above.)
Then the young man gaed on a bit farther, and came to another very old
man herding goats; and when he asked whose goats they were, the answer
was:
“The Red Etin of Ireland”--
(Repeat the verses again.)
This old man also told him to beware of the next beasts that he should
meet, for they were of a very different kind from any he had yet seen.
So the young man went on, and by-and-by he saw a multitude of very
dreadfu’ beasts, ilk ane o’ them wi’ twa heads, and on every head four
horns. And he was sore frightened, and ran away from them as fast as he
could; and glad was he when he came to a castle that stood on a hillock,
wi’ the door standing wide to the wa’. And he gaed into the castle for
shelter, and there he saw an auld wife sitting beside the kitchen fire.
He asked the wife if he might stay there for the night, as he was tired
wi’ a lang journey; and the wife said he might, but it was not a good
place for him to be in, as it belanged to the Red Etin, who was a very
terrible beast, wi’ three heads, that spared no living man he could get
hold of. The young man would have gone away, but he was afraid of the
beasts on the outside of the castle; so he beseeched the old woman to
conceal him as well as she could, and not to tell the Etin that he was
there. He thought, if he could put over the night, he might get away in
the morning without meeting wi’ the beasts, and so escape. But he had
not been long in his hidy-hole before the awful Etin came in; and nae
sooner was he in than he was heard crying:
“Snouk but and snouk ben,
I find the smell of an earthly man;
Be he living, or be he dead,
His heart this night shall kitchen(1) my bread.”
(1) “Kitchen,” that is, “season.”
The monster soon found the poor young man, and pulled him from his hole.
And when he had got him out he told him that if he could answer him
three questions his life should be spared. The first was: Whether
Ireland or Scotland was first inhabited? The second was: Whether man was
made for woman, or woman for man? The third was: Whether men or
brutes were made first? The lad not being able to answer one of these
questions, the Red Etin took a mace and knocked him on the head, and
turned him into a pillar of stone.
On the morning after this happened the younger brither took out the
knife to look at it, and he was grieved to find it a’ brown wi’ rust. He
told his mother that the time was now come for him to go away upon
his travels also; so she requested him to take the can to the well for
water, that she might bake a cake for him. The can being broken, he
brought hame as little water as the other had done, and the cake was as
little. She asked whether he would have the hale cake wi’ her malison,
or the half wi’ her blessing; and, like his brither, he thought it best
to have the hale cake, come o’ the malison what might. So he gaed away;
and everything happened to him that had happened to his brother!
The other widow and her son heard of a’ that had happened frae a fairy,
and the young man determined that he would also go upon his travels, and
see if he could do anything to relieve his twa friends. So his mother
gave him a can to go to the well and bring home water, that she might
bake him a cake for his journey. And he gaed, and as he was bringing
hame the water, a raven owre abune his head cried to him to look, and
he would see that the water was running out. And he was a young man of
sense, and seeing the water running out, he took some clay and patched
up the holes, so that he brought home enough water to bake a large cake.
When his mother put it to him to take the half-cake wi’ her blessing,
he took it in preference to having the hale wi’ her malison; and yet the
half was bigger than what the other lads had got a’thegither.
So he gaed away on his journey; and after he had traveled a far way he
met wi’ an auld woman, that asked him if he would give her a bit of his
bannock. And he said he would gladly do that, and so he gave her a piece
of the bannock; and for that she gied him a magical wand, that she said
might yet be of service to him if he took care to use it rightly. Then
the auld woman, who was a fairy, told him a great deal that whould
happen to him, and what he ought to do in a’ circumstances; and after
that she vanished in an instant out o’ his sight. He gaed on a great way
farther, and then he came up to the old man herding the sheep; and when
he asked whose sheep these were, the answer was:
“The Red Etin of Ireland
Ance lived in Bellygan,
And stole King Malcolm’s daughter,
The King of fair Scotland.
He beats her, he binds her,
He lays her on a band;
And every day he dings her
With a bright silver wand.
Like Julian the Roman,
He’s one that fears no man,
But now I fear his end is near,
And destiny at hand;
And you’re to be, I plainly see,
The heir of all his land.”