Scottish Folk and Fairy Tales from Burns to Buchan (Penguin Classics) (8 page)

As I heard about it, there was once upon a time a tailor. In those days, as I myself remember, tailors used to go around the houses making clothes. And this tailor came to the house of a certain man who had three sons and one daughter; and the tailor was making suits for the three sons. And the girl told him she needed some clothes too and that she would be very glad if he would make them before he departed, after he had made the sons’ clothes. The tailor replied that he couldn’t wait to make clothes for her. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I want you to make clothes for me very much, and I’ll pay you for them separately from the others.’ ‘What will you pay me?’ said the tailor. ‘Anything you like, as long as you make the clothes.’ ‘Will you give me leave to spend a night with you?’ said the tailor. ‘Make you the clothes,’ said she, ‘and you’ll get that.’

So when the tailor had finished making the sons’ clothes, he made the girl’s too, and he did not ask her for any payment; he had only been joking with the girl anyway. He went away not long afterwards, and a little time later the girl fell ill and died, and that was all there was to it. But one night when the tailor was coming home, he met the girl after her death. He recognized the girl very well and he spoke to her, and she replied to him. ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I never paid you what I promised for making the clothes.’ ‘Oh,’ said the tailor, ‘I never expected to get such payment, though I suggested it at the time.’ ‘Oh,’ she said, ‘what I promised must be done, or else I shall follow you everywhere.’ So it was. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘nine months after tonight you will come to my gravestone, and you will find a baby boy there, and he will be half above the earth and half under it, and’, she said,
‘you will call him Thomas. And you will find a red book beside him on the gravestone, and you are not to give it to him until he is fourteen years old.’ They parted after this conversation and the tailor went home.

At the end of nine months the tailor went to the graveyard, as he had promised, and he found the baby boy as she had told him, and the red book. And the boy was lying half above the earth and half beneath it. The tailor took him home, and gave him to a wet nurse, and put away the book, later showing it to many learned men, of the kind who might be able to read it, but none of the learned men was able to make out a word of it. When the boy was fourteen years old, the tailor gave him the book, and there was not a word in it he couldn’t read as if he had been studying it all his life.

Then his father started to teach him tailoring. He used to go around the houses with his father. One time, an old man of the village had died and the tailor was asked to make a shroud for the body. And he and his son went to the house where the dead man was, and when they went indoors they discovered that the people were making no great lamentation over the departed. But when Thomas came in after his father, he began to cry. And he was crying and lamenting all the time they were making the shroud, and his father was ashamed that Thomas was making such a lamentation for a man whom even the bereaved relations themselves were not lamenting very much. But that did not stop Thomas from his lamenting. Well, when they had finished, they went home, Thomas and his father.

Not long afterwards, another old man in the neighbourhood died, and Thomas and his father were asked to make his shroud too. They were sent for, and when they reached the house they found everyone lamenting the departed with much sorrow; but when Thomas came in he began to rejoice noisily and no one could keep up with his rejoicing and delight. And if his father was ashamed on the first occasion, he was utterly ashamed tonight, what with Thomas rejoicing in the middle of a house full of sorrowful lamentation. Then the tailor said to himself, ‘There has to be some explanation for this strange behaviour, and before I get home tonight I’ll find out what all this means.’

When they had finished, they walked home, and as they were walking the tailor said, ‘Alas, alas, Thomas, how ashamed you made me tonight. What do you mean by laughing all the time, when everyone else was lamenting the man who had gone from them? Tell me what you mean before we go any further.’ ‘Oh,’ said Thomas, ‘you know that it takes very little to make me laugh. I was only thinking about all the things I had seen at the house.’ ‘No, no, that wasn’t it at all, tell me what you meant, and don’t prevaricate with me.’

Thomas didn’t want to tell, and tried to distract his father, but his father wouldn’t be distracted and insisted he explain himself. ‘Well,’ said Thomas, ‘if you let me be until I’m sixteen years old I’ll tell you then. And then I’ll be with you and everyone I see in the world until the Day of Judgement. But if you make me tell you tonight you’ll never see me again.’ At this his father thought Thomas was still prevaricating, and he insisted on being told. ‘Well, I’ll tell you,’ said Thomas, ‘and it won’t surprise you when you hear why I behaved as I did. The first house we visited to make the shroud for the dead man was without lamentation, because he wasn’t worth it. But when I looked around the house,’ he said, ‘it was packed full of demons waiting to tear the dead man’s soul to shreds; and I alone could see that. Do you wonder now why I was sorrowful and sad to see that? Whereas at the house we visited tonight,’ he said, ‘the people were very sad lamenting the death of a good man. And thicker than the crowd of demons in the first house was the crowd of angels waiting all around the second house for the dead man’s soul. And was that not a great joy to me when I saw it? Didn’t I have good cause to rejoice at the second house? And now,’ said Thomas, ‘I have to part from you, and you shall never see me again.’

And his father never saw Thomas again. Then it was that his father repented, and realized that Thomas had been telling him the truth all along.

Once upon a time there was a king who had a wife, whose name was Silver-tree, and a daughter, whose name was Gold-tree. On a certain day of the days, Gold-tree and Silver-tree went to a glen, where there was a well, and in it there was a trout.

Said Silver-tree, ‘Troutie, bonny little fellow, am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?’

‘Oh! indeed you are not.’

‘Who then?’

‘Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.’

Silver-tree went home, blind with rage. She lay down on the bed, and vowed she would never be well until she could get the heart and the liver of Gold-tree, her daughter, to eat.

At nightfall the King came home, and it was told him that Silver-tree, his wife, was very ill. He went where she was, and asked her what was wrong with her.

‘Oh! only a thing which you may heal if you like.’

‘Oh! indeed there is nothing at all which I could do for you that I would not do.’

‘If I get the heart and the liver of Gold-tree, my daughter, to eat, I shall be well.’

Now it happened about this time that the son of a great king had come from abroad to ask Gold-tree for marrying. The King now agreed to this, and they went abroad.

The King then went and sent his lads to the hunting-hill for a he-goat, and he gave its heart and its liver to his wife to eat; and she rose well and healthy.

A year after this Silver-tree went to the glen, where there was the well in which there was the trout.

‘Troutie, bonny little fellow,’ said she, ‘am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?’

‘Oh! indeed you are not.’

‘Who then?’

‘Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.’

‘Oh! well, it is long since she was living. It is a year since I ate her heart and liver.’

‘Oh! indeed she is not dead. She is married to a great prince abroad.’

Silver-tree went home, and begged the King to put the long ship in order, and said, ‘I am going to see my dear Gold-tree, for it is so long since I saw her.’ The long ship was put in order, and they went away.

It was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The Prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew the long ship of her father coming.

‘Oh!’ said she to the servants, ‘my mother is coming, and she will kill me.’

‘She shall not kill you at all; we will lock you in a room where she cannot get near you.’

This was done; and when Silver-tree came ashore, she began to cry out: ‘Come to meet your own mother, when she comes to see you.’

Gold-tree said that she could not, that she was locked in the room, and that she could not get out of it.

‘Will you not put out,’ said Silver-tree, ‘your little finger through the keyhole, so that your own mother may give a kiss to it?’

She put out her little finger, and Silver-tree went and put a poisoned stab in it, and Gold-tree fell dead.

When the Prince came home, and found Gold-tree dead, he was in great sorrow, and when he saw how beautiful she was, he did not bury her at all, but he locked her in a room where nobody would get near her.

In the course of time he married again, and the whole house was under the management of this wife but one room, and he himself always kept the key of that room. On a certain day of
the days he forgot to take the key with him, and the second wife got into the room. What did she see there but the most beautiful woman that she ever saw.

She began to turn and try to wake her, and she noticed the poisoned stab in her finger. She took the stab out, and Gold-tree rose alive, as beautiful as she was ever.

At the fall of night the Prince came home from the hunting-hill, looking very downcast.

‘What gift,’ said his wife, ‘would you give me that I could make you laugh?’

‘Oh! indeed, nothing could make me laugh, except if Gold-tree were to come alive again.’

‘Well, you’ll find her alive down there in the room.’

When the Prince saw Gold-tree alive he made great rejoicings, and he began to kiss her, and kiss her, and kiss her. Said the second wife, ‘Since she is the first one you had it is better for you to stick to her, and I will go away.’

‘Oh! indeed you shall not go away, but I shall have both of you.’

At the end of that year, Silver-tree went again to the glen, where there was the well, in which there was the trout.

‘Troutie, bonny little fellow,’ said she, ‘am not I the most beautiful queen in the world?’

‘Oh! indeed you are not.’

‘Who then?’

‘Why, Gold-tree, your daughter.’

‘Oh! well, she is not alive. It is a year since I put the poisoned stab into her finger.’

‘Oh! indeed she is not dead at all, at all.’

Silver-tree went home, and begged the King to put the long ship in order, for that she was going to see her dear Gold-tree, as it was so long since she saw her. The long ship was put in order, and they went away. It was Silver-tree herself that was at the helm, and she steered the ship so well that they were not long at all before they arrived.

The Prince was out hunting on the hills. Gold-tree knew her father’s ship coming.

‘Oh!’ said she, ‘my mother is coming again, and she will kill me.’

‘Not at all,’ said the second wife; ‘we will go down to meet her.’

Silver-tree came ashore. ‘Come down, Gold-tree, love,’ said she, ‘for your own mother has come to you with a precious drink.’

‘It is a custom in this country,’ said the second wife, ‘that the person who offers a drink takes a draught out of it first.’

Silver-tree put her mouth to it, and the second wife went and struck it so that some of it went down her throat, and she was poisoned and fell dead. They had only to carry her home a dead corpse and bury her.

The Prince and his two wives were long alive after this, pleased and peaceful.