Myths and Myth-Makers | Page 8

enclosed
in another small box, and this again in seven other boxes, which are put

into seven chests, contained in a coffer of marble, which is sunk in the
ocean that surrounds the world. Seyf-el-Mulook raises the coffer by the
aid of Suleyman's seal-ring, and having extricated the sparrow,
strangles it, whereupon the Jinni's body is converted into a heap of
black ashes, and Seyf-el-Mulook escapes with the maiden
Dolet-Khatoon. See Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III. p. 316.
The story is also told in the highlands of Scotland, and some portions of
it will be recognized by the reader as incidents in the Arabian tale of
the Princess Parizade. The union of close correspondence in conception
with manifest independence in the management of the details of these
stories is striking enough, but it is a phenomenon with which we
become quite familiar as we proceed in the study of Aryan popular
literature. The legend of the Master Thief is no less remarkable than
that of Punchkin. In the Scandinavian tale the Thief, wishing to get
possession of a farmer's ox, carefully hangs himself to a tree by the
roadside. The farmer, passing by with his ox, is indeed struck by the
sight of the dangling body, but thinks it none of his business, and does
not stop to interfere. No sooner has he passed than the Thief lets
himself down, and running swiftly along a by-path, hangs himself with
equal precaution to a second tree. This time the farmer is astonished
and puzzled; but when for the third time he meets the same unwonted
spectacle, thinking that three suicides in one morning are too much for
easy credence, he leaves his ox and runs back to see whether the other
two bodies are really where he thought he saw them. While he is
framing hypotheses of witchcraft by which to explain the phenomenon,
the Thief gets away with the ox. In the Hitopadesa the story receives a
finer point. "A Brahman, who had vowed a sacrifice, went to the
market to buy a goat. Three thieves saw him, and wanted to get hold of
the goat. They stationed themselves at intervals on the high road. When
the Brahman, who carried the goat on his back, approached the first
thief, the thief said, 'Brahman, why do you carry a dog on your back?'
The Brahman replied, 'It is not a dog, it is a goat.' A little while after he
was accosted by the second thief, who said, 'Brahman, why do you
carry a dog on your back?' The Brahman felt perplexed, put the goat
down, examined it, took it up again, and walked on. Soon after he was
stopped by the third thief, who said, 'Brahman, why do you carry a dog

on your back?' Then the Brahman was frightened, threw down the goat,
and walked home to perform his ablutions for having touched an
unclean animal. The thieves took the goat and ate it." The adroitness of
the Norse King in "The Three Princesses of Whiteland" shows but
poorly in comparison with the keen psychological insight and cynical
sarcasm of these Hindu sharpers. In the course of his travels this prince
met three brothers fighting on a lonely moor. They had been fighting
for a hundred years about the possession of a hat, a cloak, and a pair of
boots, which would make the wearer invisible, and convey him
instantly whithersoever he might wish to go. The King consents to act
as umpire, provided he may once try the virtue of the magic garments;
but once clothed in them, of course he disappears, leaving the
combatants to sit down and suck their thumbs. Now in the "Sea of
Streams of Story," written in the twelfth century by Somadeva of
Cashmere, the Indian King Putraka, wandering in the Vindhya
Mountains, similarly discomfits two brothers who are quarrelling over
a pair of shoes, which are like the sandals of Hermes, and a bowl which
has the same virtue as Aladdin's lamp. "Why don't you run a race for
them?" suggests Putraka; and, as the two blockheads start furiously off,
he quietly picks up the bowl, ties on the shoes, and flies away![7]
[7] The same incident is repeated in the story of Hassan of El-Basrah.
See Lane's Arabian Nights, Vol. III p. 452.
It is unnecessary to cite further illustrations. The tales here quoted are
fair samples of the remarkable correspondence which holds good
through all the various sections of Aryan folk-lore. The hypothesis of
lateral diffusion, as we may call it, manifestly fails to explain
coincidences which are maintained on such an immense scale. It is
quite credible that one nation may have borrowed from another a
solitary legend of an archer who performs the feats of Tell and
Palnatoki; but it