retelling for this generation of readers, I have exercised the traditional storyteller’s privilege. I have shaped each tale, sometimes adding or omitting details, to reflect my sense of what makes it a satisfying tale. The stories “Maria Morevna” and “Finn Magic,” for example, have been compressed to make a smoother flow of narrative.
Most of the tales in this book follow the story outlines of earlier sources quite closely. In a few cases I’ve added my own details to amplify the story’s ending, as in “The Husband Who Stayed at Home” and “Elsa and the Evil Wizard.”
For the tale “Lanval and the Lady Triamor,” I have used as sources the versions of fourteenth-century literary storytellers who drew on oral folktales of their period. As might be expected, this is more complex than other tales in the collection. However, there are tales to appeal to the very young as well as the more sophisticated reader. Through the tales’ diversity, the reader becomes aware of the extraordinary vitality of the fairy and folktale heritage, not only in the range of imaginative fantasy but also in humor. I confess a partiality for the lighthearted tale. The humor here is most obvious in the comic tales of “Duffy and the Devil” and “The Husband Who Stayed at Home.”
Two of the tales in the book deserve longer comment. The tale of Lanval dates back to the twelfth century, if not earlier, and has many variants. Fairy women who marry or mate with humans are found frequently in Celtic folktales. They are powerful, independent women who confer benefits on the man of their choice. The terms they state for the union always contain a taboo, and they always glow with the radiant, eternal youth of the Other World.
This is the one tale in the present collection in which dazzling beauty is a plot element—but it is the humans who place false value on the illusion of beauty, not Triamor herself. It is clear that Triamor’s dazzling beauty is a supernatural attribute. The ability of fairy folk to create an illusion of glamour was well-known to the Celtic people who told and listened to these tales. Actually Triamor’s strange beauty is a side issue; the mainspring of the story is Triamor’s power to confer fame and wealth. She grants young Lanval his heart’s desire and adds the usual taboo to their pact—in this case, Lanval is forbidden to mention Triamor to humans.
The tale is a little more complex than most folktales using this basic plot. As usual, the human’s impulsive thoughtlessness causes the breakup of the pact and the withdrawal of good fortune. In this tale, Triamor relents at the end and rescues Lanval—if dwelling in the shadowy Other World of fairy folk can be called a rescue. Implicit in the tale is a moral concerning Lanval’s fate. Extravagance and thoughtless speech brought about his first misfortunes. Although Triamor rescued him from that state with her magic bounty, this good fortune was again lost through thoughtless speech—a character flaw that may seem minor to us. Nonetheless, Lanval did achieve his dream of wealth and fame for a time, and his departure for the Other World of fairy folk may not be a sad fate after all.
“Finn Magic” is told from the hero’s point of view. Although there is no doubt that Zilla is a heroine of strength and courage, hers is a much smaller, though crucial, role. However, the theme of ethnic prejudice is unusual. I felt that the story belonged in this collection, despite the fact that Zilla is seen only through Eilert’s eyes. Whatever her role may be in rescuing Eilert from the Draug and Merfolk (the tale is deliberately discreet on this point), it is clear the Nordlanders believed she possessed magic spells or influence over the people beneath the sea. While Eilert may be uncertain about Zilla’s magic, he does recognize her physical courage in saving him.
Although I have taken the greater part of this introduction to speak of the remarkably spirited heroines I have culled from the large body of traditional folktales, I cannot end without a few words about the heroes who appear in some of the tales with them. By and large, they are not the stereotyped heroes of most fairy and folktales. They are not flat cardboard characters, but are individually appealing in their own right. Eilert struggles with family loyalty before breaking through prejudice; brave Alexey redeems his mistake of impulsive curiosity; and Lanval is extravagant and thoughtless.
But enough has been said about the quite special heroines—and heroes—in these tales. The proof is in the reading.
Long ago in southern Africa, demon spirits and monstrous ogres were much more to be feared than the wild animals of the forests. The ogres were both sly and cruel—they could quickly change their shapes, and were said to devour children.
Mulha, like many other children, had heard tales of the ogre Inzimu and his sister, Imbula. However, it was not until she was fourteen and almost fully grown that she came face-to-face with these monsters. This is the way it happened:
One day Mulha’s father was away hunting. Her mother was at work tending the crops in their field, some distance away. Mulha’s task was to stay at the family’s thatched hut and care for her two younger sisters. Unfortunately, Mulha became quite bored watching the children.
Her eyes fell on the large storage pot sitting near the door of the hut. The three children had always been forbidden to open this pot, but this day Mulha decided she was going to peek inside. Perhaps, she thought hungrily, her mother kept honey cakes or special treats there.
So Mulha lifted up the heavy lid. Before she could even see the contents, a small, sharp-fanged animal that had hidden there leaped out and grew at once into a huge ogre. When Mulha saw his long tail, she knew he was the ogre Inzimu.
The three girls ran into the hut, the Inzimu after them.
“I won’t harm you,” said he, making his voice as sweet as honey. “I only want you to cook me some dinner. I’m very hungry.”
He persuaded the two older girls to go out for buckets of water; then, as soon as they left the hut, he popped the youngest girl into a large cooking pot and put on a heavy lid.
While the two girls were filling the buckets, a large honeybee buzzed about their heads. The buzzing became words: “The Inzimu has hidden your little sister in the cooking pot!”
“How can we save her?” cried the younger sister. Mulha thought a few moments. Then she said, “After we return, I will run out of the hut. As soon as the Inzimu chases me, you must rescue our sister. Both of you run into the brush behind the hut and hide.”
The girls returned with the water and stood quietly near the door. Suddenly Mulha called out in a taunting voice, “You will never catch me, Inzimu!” And she ran out of the hut.
In a rage, the Inzimu started after her. But he tripped over the pail of water the younger sister thrust out, and Mulha had a good start. Fleet as a deer, she dodged the bushes and trees until she reached the river. There she plunged in and swam easily to the other side—for she knew the Inzimu was powerless to follow her over water.
The Inzimu returned to find the small hut empty, and after shouting angry threats of revenge, he departed. But the younger sisters did not creep out of their hiding place until they heard their parents’ return.
After Mulha’s parents heard the story of the Inzimu who had hidden in the storage pot, they became very alarmed.
“We must leave this hut,” declared the father. “Our children are not safe
