Chapter 66. The External Soul in Folk-Tales.
IN A FORMER part of this work we saw that, in the opinion of primitive
people, the soul may temporarily absent itself from the body without
causing death. Such temporary absences of the soul are often believed to
involve considerable risk, since the wandering soul is liable to a variety of
mishaps at the hands of enemies, and so forth. But there is another aspect
to this power of disengaging the soul from the body. If only the safety of the
soul can be ensured during its absence, there is no reason why the soul
should not continue absent for an indefinite time; indeed a man may, on a
pure calculation of personal safety, desire that his soul should never return
to his body. Unable to conceive of life abstractly as a "permanent
possibility of sensation" or a "continuous adjustment of internal
arrangements to external relations," the savage thinks of it as a concrete
material thing of a definite bulk, capable of being seen and handled, kept
in a box or jar, and liable to be bruised, fractured, or smashed in pieces. It
is not needful that the life, so conceived, should be in the man; it may be
absent from his body and still continue to animate him by virtue of a sort of
sympathy or action at a distance. So long as this object which he calls his
life or soul remains unharmed, the man is well; if it is injured, he suffers; if it
is destroyed, he dies. Or, to put it otherwise, when a man is ill or dies, the
fact is explained by saying that the material object called his life or soul,
whether it be in his body or out of it, has either sustained injury or been
destroyed. But there may be circumstances in which, if the life or soul
remains in the man, it stands a greater chance of sustaining injury than if it
were stowed away in some safe and secret place. Accordingly, in such
circumstances, primitive man takes his soul out of his body and deposits it
for security in some snug spot, intending to replace it in his body when the
danger is past. Or if he should discover some place of absolute security,
he may be content to leave his soul there permanently. The advantage of
this is that, so long as the soul remains unharmed in the place where he
has deposited it, the man himself is immortal; nothing can kill his body,
since his life is not in it. 1
Evidence of this primitive belief is furnished by a class of folk-tales of
which the Norse story of "The giant who had no heart in his body" is
perhaps the best-known example. Stories of this kind are widely diffused
over the world, and from their number and the variety of incident and of
details in which the leading idea is embodied, we may infer that the
conception of an external soul is one which has had a powerful hold on
the minds of men at an early stage of history. For folk-tales are a faithful
reflection of the world as it appeared to the primitive mind; and we may be
sure that any idea which commonly occurs in them, however absurd it may
seem to us, must once have been an ordinary article of belief. This
assurance, so far as it concerns the supposed power of disengaging the
soul from the body for a longer or shorter time, is amply corroborated by a
comparison of the folk-tales in question with the actual beliefs and
practices of savages. To this we shall return after some specimens of the
tales have been given. The specimens will be selected with a view of
illustrating both the characteristic features and the wide diffusion of this
class of tales. 2
In the first place, the story of the external soul is told, in various forms, by
all Aryan peoples from Hindoostan to the Hebrides. A very common form of
it is this: A warlock, giant, or other fairyland being is invulnerable and
immortal because he keeps his soul hidden far away in some secret place;
but a fair princess, whom he holds enthralled in his enchanted castle,
wiles his secret from him and reveals it to the hero, who seeks out the
warlock's soul, heart, life, or death (as it is variously called), and by
destroying it, simultaneously kills the warlock. Thus a Hindoo story tells
how a magician called Punchkin held a queen captive for twelve years,
and would fain marry her, but she would not have him. At last the queen's
son came to rescue her, and the two plotted together to kill Punchkin. So
the queen spoke the magician fair, and pretended that she had at last
made up her mind to marry him. "And do tell me," she said, "are you quite
immortal? Can death never touch you? And are you too great an
enchanter ever to feel human suffering?" "It is true," he said, "that I am not
as others. Far, far away, hundreds of thousands of miles from this, there
lies a desolate country covered with thick jungle. In the midst of the jungle
grows a circle of palm trees, and in the centre of the circle stand six
chattees full of water, piled one above another: below the sixth chattee is a
small cage, which contains a little green parrot;-on the life of the parrot
depends my life;-and if the parrot is killed I must die. It is, however," he
added, "impossible that the parrot should sustain any injury, both on
account of the inaccessibility of the country, and because, by my
appointment, many thousand genii surround the palm trees, and kill all who
approach the place." But the queen's young son overcame all difficulties,
and got possession of the parrot. He brought it to the door of the
magician's palace, and began playing with it. Punchkin, the magician, saw
him, and, coming out, tried to persuade the boy to give him the parrot.
"Give me my parrot!" cried Punchkin. Then the boy took hold of the parrot
and tore off one of his wings; and as he did so the magician's right arm fell
off. Punchkin then stretched out his left arm, crying, "Give me my parrot!"
The prince pulled off the parrot's second wing, and the magician's left arm
tumbled off. "Give me my parrot!" cried he, and fell on his knees. The
prince pulled off the parrot's right leg, the magician's right leg fell off; the
prince pulled off the parrot's left leg, down fell the magician's left. Nothing
remained of him except the trunk and the head; but still he rolled his eyes,
and cried, "Give me my parrot!" "Take your parrot, then," cried the boy;
and with that he wrung the bird's neck, and threw it at the magician; and,
as he did so, Punchkin's head twisted round, and, with a fearful groan, he
died! In another Hindoo tale an ogre is asked by his daughter, "Papa,
where do you keep your soul?" "Sixteen miles away from this place," he
said, "is a tree. Round the tree are tigers, and bears, and scorpions, and
snakes; on the top of the tree is a very great fat snake; on his head is a
little cage; in the cage is a bird; and my soul is in that bird." The end of the
ogre is like that of the magician in the previous tale. As the bird's wings
and legs are torn off, the ogre's arms and legs drop off; and when its neck
is wrung he falls down dead. In a Bengalee story it is said that all the
ogres dwell in Ceylon, and that all their lives are in a single lemon. A boy
cuts the lemon in pieces, and all the ogres die. 3
In a Siamese or Cambodian story, probably derived from India, we are
told that Thossakan or Ravana, the King of Ceylon, was able by magic art
to take his soul out of his body and leave it in a box at home, while he
went to the wars. Thus he was invulnerable in battle. When he was about
to give battle to Rama, he deposited his soul with a hermit called Fire-eye,
who was to keep it safe for him. So in the fight Rama was astounded to see
that his arrows struck the king without wounding him. But one of Rama's
allies, knowing the secret of the king's invulnerability, transformed himself
by magic into the likeness of the king, and going to the hermit asked back
his soul. On receiving it he soared up into the air and flew to Rama,
brandishing the box and squeezing it so hard that all the breath left the
King of Ceylon's body, and he died. In a Bengalee story a prince going
into a far country planted with his own hands a tree in the courtyard of his
father's palace, and said to his parents, "This tree is my life. When you see
the tree green and fresh, then know that it is well with me; when you see
the tree fade in some parts, then know that I am in an ill case; and when
you see the whole tree fade, then know that I am dead and gone." In
another Indian tale a prince, setting forth on his travels, left behind him a
barley plant, with instructions that it should be carefully tended and
watched; for if it flourished, he would be alive and well, but if it drooped,
then some mischance was about to happen to him. And so it fell out. For
the prince was beheaded, and as his head rolled off, the barley plant
snapped in two and the ear of barley fell to the ground. 4
In Greek tales, ancient and modern, the idea of an external soul is not
uncommon. When Meleager was seven days old, the Fates appeared to
his mother and told her that Meleager would die when the brand which
was blazing on the hearth had burnt down. So his mother snatched the
brand from the fire and kept it in a box. But in after-years, being enraged
at her son for slaying her brothers, she burnt the brand in the fire and
Meleager expired in agonies, as if flames were preying on his vitals.
Again, Nisus King of Megara had a purple or golden hair on the middle of
his head, and it was fated that whenever the hair was pulled out the king
should die. When Megara was besieged by the Cretans, the king's
daughter Scylla fell in love with Minos, their king, and pulled out the fatal
hair from her father's head. So he died. In a modern Greek folk-tale a
man's strength lies in three golden hairs on his head. When his mother
pulls them out, he grows weak and timid and is slain by his enemies. In
another modern Greek story the life of an enchanter is bound up with three
doves which are in the belly of a wild boar. When the first dove is killed,
the magician grows sick; when the second is killed, he grows very sick;
and when the third is killed, he dies. In another Greek story of the same
sort an ogre's strength is in three singing birds which are in a wild boar.
The hero kills two of the birds, and then coming to the ogre's house finds
him lying on the ground in great pain. He shows the third bird to the ogre,
who begs that the hero will either let it fly away or give it to him to eat. But
the hero wrings the bird's neck, and the ogre dies on the spot. 5
In a modern Roman version of "Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp," the
magician tells the princess, whom he holds captive in a floating rock in
mid-ocean, that he will never die. The princess reports this to the prince
her husband, who has come to rescue her. The prince replies, "It is
impossible but that there should be some one thing or other that is fatal to
him; ask him what that one fatal thing is." So the princess asked the
magician, and he told her that in the wood was a hydra with seven heads;
in the middle head of the hydra was a leveret, in the head of the leveret
was a bird, in the bird's head was a precious stone, and if this stone were
put under his pillow he would die. The prince procured the stone, and the
princess laid it under the magician's pillow. No sooner did the enchanter
lay his head on the pillow than he gave three terrible yells, turned himself
round and round three times, and died. 6
Stories of the same sort are current among Slavonic peoples. Thus a
Russian story tells how a warlock called Koshchei the Deathless carried
off a princess and kept her prisoner in his golden castle. However, a
prince made up to her one day as she was walking alone and
disconsolate in the castle garden, and cheered by the prospect of
escaping with him she went to the warlock and coaxed him with false and
flattering words, saying, "My dearest friend, tell me, I pray you, will you
never die?" "Certainly not," says he. "Well," says she, "and where is your
death? is it in your dwelling?" "To be sure it is," says he, "it is in the
broom under the threshold." Thereupon the princess seized the broom and
threw it on the fire, but although the broom burned, the deathless Koshchei
remained alive; indeed not so much as a hair of him was singed. Balked in
her first attempt, the artful hussy pouted and said, "You do not love me
true, for you have not told me where your death is; yet I am not angry, but
love you with all my heart." With these fawning words she besought the
warlock to tell her truly where his death was. So he laughed and said,
"Why do you wish to know? Well then, out of love I will tell you where it
lies. In a certain field there stand three green oaks, and under the roots of
the largest oak is a worm, and if ever this worm is found and crushed, that
instant I shall die." When the princess heard these words, she went straight
to her lover and told him all; and he searched till he found the oaks and
dug up the worm and crushed it. Then he hurried to the warlock's castle,
but only to learn from the princess that the warlock was still alive. Then
she fell to wheedling and coaxing Koshchei once more, and this time,
overcome by her wiles, he opened his heart to her and told her the truth.
"My death," said he, "is far from here and hard to find, on the wide ocean.
In that sea is an island, and on the island there grows a green oak, and
beneath the oak is an iron chest, and in the chest is a small basket, and in
the basket is a hare, and in the hare is a duck, and in the duck is an egg;
and he who finds the egg and breaks it, kills me at the same time." The
prince naturally procured the fateful egg and with it in his hands he
confronted the deathless warlock. The monster would have killed him, but
the prince began to squeeze the egg. At that the warlock shrieked with
pain, and turning to the false princess, who stood by smirking and smiling,
"Was it not out of love for you," said he, "that I told you where my death
was? And is this the return you make to me?" With that he grabbed at his
sword, which hung from a peg on the wall; but before he could reach it,
the prince had crushed the egg, and sure enough the deathless warlock
found his death at the same moment. "In one of the descriptions of
Koshchei's death, he is said to be killed by a blow on the forehead
inflicted by the mysterious egg-that last link in the magic chain by which
his life is darkly bound. In another version of the same story, but told of a
snake, the fatal blow is struck by a small stone found in the yolk of an egg,
which is inside a duck, which is inside a hare, which is inside a stone,
which is on an island." 7
Amongst peoples of the Teutonic stock stories of the external soul are not
wanting. In a tale told by the Saxons of Transylvania it is said that a young
man shot at a witch again and again. The bullets went clean through her
but did her no harm, and she only laughed and mocked at him. "Silly
earthworm," she cried, "shoot as much as you like. It does me no harm.
For know that my life resides not in me but far, far away. In a mountain is a
pond, on the pond swims a duck, in the duck is an egg, in the egg burns a
light, that light is my life. If you could put out that light, my life would be at
an end. But that can never, never be." However, the young man got hold
of the egg, smashed it, and put out the light, and with it the witch's life
went out also. In a German story a cannibal called Body without Soul or
Soulless keeps his soul in a box, which stands on a rock in the middle of
the Red Sea. A soldier gets possession of the box and goes with it to
Soulless, who begs the soldier to give him back his soul. But the soldier
opens the box, takes out the soul, and flings it backward over his head. At
the same moment the cannibal drops dead to the ground. 8
In another German story and old warlock lives with a damsel all alone in
the midst of a vast and gloomy wood. She fears that being old he may die
and leave her alone in the forest. But he reassures her. "Dear child," he
said, "I cannot die, and I have no heart in my breast." But she importuned
him to tell her where his heart was. So he said, "Far, far from here in an
unknown and lonesome land stands a great church. The church is well
secured with iron doors, and round about it flows a broad deep moat. In
the church flies a bird and in the bird is my heart. So long as the bird lives,
I live. It cannot die of itself, and no one can catch it; therefore I cannot die,
and you need have no anxiety." However the young man, whose bride the
damsel was to have been before the warlock spirited her away, contrived
to reach the church and catch the bird. He brought it to the damsel, who
stowed him and it away under the warlock's bed. Soon the old warlock
came home. He was ailing, and said so. The girl wept and said, "Alas,
daddy is dying; he has a heart in his breast after all." "Child," replied the
warlock, "hold your tongue. I can't die. It will soon pass over." At that the
young man under the bed gave the bird a gentle squeeze; and as he did
so, the old warlock felt very unwell and sat down. Then the young man
gripped the bird tighter, and the warlock fell senseless from his chair. "Now
squeeze him dead," cried the damsel. Her lover obeyed, and when the
bird was dead, the old warlock also lay dead on the floor. 9
In the Norse tale of "the giant who had no heart in his body," the giant
tells the captive princess, "Far, far away in a lake lies an island, on that
island stands a church, in that church is a well, in that well swims a duck,
in that duck there is an egg, and in that egg there lies my heart." The hero
of the tale, with the help of some animals to whom he had been kind,
obtains the egg and squeezes it, at which the giant screams piteously and
begs for his life. But the hero breaks the egg in pieces and the giant at
once bursts. In another Norse story a hill-ogre tells the captive princess
that she will never be able to return home unless she finds the grain of
sand which lies under the ninth tongue of the ninth head of a certain
dragon; but if that grain of sand were to come over the rock in which the
ogres live, they would all burst "and the rock itself would become a gilded
palace, and the lake green meadows." The hero finds the grain of sand
and takes it to the top of the high rock in which the ogres live. So all the
ogres burst and the rest falls out as one of the ogres had foretold. 10
In a Celtic tale, recorded in the West Highlands of Scotland, a giant is
questioned by a captive queen as to where he keeps his soul. At last, after
deceiving her several times, he confides to her the fatal secret: "There is a
great flagstone under the threshold. There is a wether under the flag. There
is a duck in the wether's belly, and an egg in the belly of the duck, and it
is in the egg that my soul is." On the morrow when the giant was gone, the
queen contrived to get possession of the egg and crushed it in her hands,
and at that very moment the giant, who was coming home in the dusk, fell
down dead. In another Celtic tale, a sea beast has carried off a king's
daughter, and an old smith declares that there is no way of killing the
beast but one. "In the island that is in the midst of the loch is Eillid
Chaisfhion-the white-footed hind, of the slenderest legs, and the swiftest
step, and though she should be caught, there would spring a hoodie out of
her, and though the hoodie should be caught, there would spring a trout
out of her, but there is an egg in the mouth of the trout, and the soul of the
beast is in the egg, and if the egg breaks, the beast is dead." As usual the
egg is broken and the beast dies. 11
In an Irish story we read how a giant kept a beautiful damsel a prisoner in
his castle on the top of a hill, which was white with the bones of the
champions who had tried in vain to rescue the fair captive. At last the
hero, after hewing and slashing at the giant all to no purpose, discovered
that the only way to kill him was to rub a mole on the giant's right breast
with a certain egg, which was in a duck, which was in a chest, which lay
locked and bound at the bottom of the sea. With the help of some obliging
animals, the hero made himself master of the precious egg and slew the
giant by merely striking it against the mole on his right breast. Similarly in a
Breton story there figures a giant whom neither fire nor water nor steel can
harm. He tells his seventh wife, whom he has just married after murdering
all her predecessors, "I am immortal, and no one can hurt me unless he
crushes on my breast an egg, which is in a pigeon, which is in the belly of
a hare; this hare is in the belly of a wolf, and this wolf is in the belly of my
brother, who dwells a thousand leagues from here. So I am quite easy on
that score." A soldier contrived to obtain the egg and crush it on the breast
of the giant, who immediately expired. In another Breton tale the life of a
giant resides in an old box-tree which grows in his castle garden; and to
kill him it is necessary to sever the tap-root of the tree at a single blow of
an axe without injuring any of the lesser roots. This task the hero, as usual,
successfully accomplishes, and at the same moment the giant drops
dead. 12
The notion of an external soul has now been traced in folk-tales told by
Aryan peoples from India to Ireland. We have still to show that the same
idea occurs commonly in the popular stories of peoples who do not belong
to the Aryan stock. In the ancient Egyptian tale of "The Two Brothers,"
which was written down in the reign of Rameses II., about 1300 B.C., we
read how one of the brothers enchanted his heart and placed it in the
flower of an acacia tree, and how, when the flower was cut at the
instigation of his wife, he immediately fell down dead, but revived when his
brother found the lost heart in the berry of the acacia and threw it into a
cup of fresh water. 13
In the story of Seyf el-Mulook in the Arabian Nights the jinnee tells the
captive daughter of the King of India, "When I was born, the astrologers
declared that the destruction of my soul would be effected by the hand of
one of the sons of the human kings. I therefore took my soul, and put it into
the crop of a sparrow, and I imprisoned the sparrow in a little box, and put
this into another small box, and this I put within seven other small boxes,
and I put these within seven chests, and the chests I put into a coffer of
marble within the verge of this circumambient ocean; for this part is remote
from the countries of mankind, and none of mankind can gain access to it."
But Seyf el-Mulook got possession of the sparrow and strangled it, and
the jinnee fell upon the ground a heap of black ashes. In a Kabyle story an
ogre declares that his fate is far away in an egg, which is in a pigeon,
which is in a camel, which is in the sea. The hero procures the egg and
crushes it between his hands, and the ogre dies. In a Magyar folk-tale, an
old witch detains a young prince called Ambrose in the bowels of the
earth. At last she confided to him that she kept a wild boar in a silken
meadow, and if it were killed, they would find a hare inside, and inside the
hare a pigeon, and inside the pigeon a small box, and inside the box one
black and one shining beetle: the shining beetle held her life, and the
black one held her power; if these two beetles died, then her life would
come to an end also. When the old hag went out, Ambrose killed the wild
boar, and took out the hare; from the hare he took the pigeon, from the
pigeon the box, and from the box the two beetles; he killed the black
beetle, but kept the shining one alive. So the witch's power left her
immediately, and when she came home, she had to take to her bed.
Having learned from her how to escape from his prison to the upper air,
Ambrose killed the shining beetle, and the old hag's spirit left her at once.
In a Kalmuck tale we read how a certain khan challenged a wise man to
show his skill by stealing a precious stone on which the khan's life
depended. The sage contrived to purloin the talisman while the khan and
his guards slept; but not content with this he gave a further proof of his
dexterity by bonneting the slumbering potentate with a bladder. This was
too much for the khan. Next morning he informed the sage that he could
overlook everything else, but that the indignity of being bonneted with a
bladder was more than he could bear; and he ordered his facetious friend
to instant execution. Pained at this exhibition of royal ingratitude, the sage
dashed to the ground the talisman which he still held in his hand; and at
the same instant blood flowed from the nostrils of the khan, and he gave up
the ghost. 14
In a Tartar poem two heroes named Ak Molot and Bulat engage in mortal
combat. Ak Molot pierces his foe through and through with an arrow,
grapples with him, and dashes him to the ground, but all in vain, Bulat
could not die. At last when the combat has lasted three years, a friend of
Ak Molot sees a golden casket hanging by a white thread from the sky,
and bethinks him that perhaps this casket contains Bulat's soul. So he shot
through the white thread with an arrow, and down fell the casket. He
opened it, and in the casket sat ten white birds, and one of the birds was
Bulat's soul. Bulat wept when he saw that his soul was found in the casket.
But one after the other the birds were killed, and then Ak Molot easily slew
his foe. In another Tartar poem, two brothers going to fight two other
brothers take out their souls and hide them in the form of a white herb with
six stalks in a deep pit. But one of their foes sees them doing so and digs
up their souls, which he puts into a golden ram's horn, and then sticks the
ram's horn in his quiver. The two warriors whose souls have thus been
stolen know that they have no chance of victory, and accordingly make
peace with their enemies. In another Tartar poem a terrible demon sets all
the gods and heroes at defiance. At last a valiant youth fights the demon,
binds him hand and foot, and slices him with his sword. But still the demon
is not slain. So the youth asked him, "Tell me, where is your soul hidden?
For if your soul had been hidden in your body, you must have been dead
long ago." The demon replied, "On the saddle of my horse is a bag. In the
bag is a serpent with twelve heads. In the serpent is my soul. When you
have killed the serpent, you have killed me also." So the youth took the
saddle-bag from the horse and killed the twelve-headed serpent,
whereupon the demon expired. In another Tartar poem a hero called Kök
Chan deposits with a maiden a golden ring, in which is half his strength.
Afterwards when Kök Chan is wrestling long with a hero and cannot kill
him, a woman drops into his mouth the ring which contains half his
strength. Thus inspired with fresh force he slays his enemy. 15
In a Mongolian story the hero Joro gets the better of his enemy the lama
Tschoridong in the following way. The lama, who is an enchanter, sends
out his soul in the form of a wasp to sting Joro's eyes. But Joro catches
the wasp in his hand, and by alternately shutting and opening his hand he
causes the lama alternately to lose and recover consciousness. In a Tartar
poem two youths cut open the body of an old witch and tear out her
bowels, but all to no purpose, she still lives. On being asked where her
soul is, she answers that it is in the middle of her shoe-sole in the form of
a seven-headed speckled snake. So one of the youths slices her
shoe-sole with his sword, takes out the speckled snake, and cuts off its
seven heads. Then the witch dies. Another Tartar poem describes how the
hero Kartaga grappled with the Swan-woman. Long they wrestled. Moons
waxed and waned and still they wrestled; years came and went, and still
the struggle went on. But the piebald horse and the black horse knew that
the Swan-woman's soul was not in her. Under the black earth flow nine
seas; where the seas meet and form one, the sea comes to the surface of
the earth. At the mouth of the nine seas rises a rock of copper; it rises to
the surface of the ground, it rises up between heaven and earth, this rock
of copper. At the foot of the copper rock is a black chest, in the black
chest is a golden casket, and in the golden casket is the soul of the
Swan-woman. Seven little birds are the soul of the Swan-woman; if the
birds are killed the Swan-woman will die straightway. So the horses ran to
the foot of the copper rock, opened the black chest, and brought back the
golden casket. Then the piebald horse turned himself into a bald-headed
man, opened the golden casket, and cut off the heads of the seven birds.
So the Swan-woman died. In another Tartar poem the hero, pursuing his
sister who has driven away his cattle, is warned to desist from the pursuit
because his sister has carried away his soul in a golden sword and a
golden arrow, and if he pursues her she will kill him by throwing the
golden sword or shooting the golden arrow at him. 16
A Malay poem relates how once upon a time in the city of Indrapoora
there was a certain merchant who was rich and prosperous, but he had no
children. One day as he walked with his wife by the river they found a
baby girl, fair as an angel. So they adopted the child and called her
Bidasari. The merchant caused a golden fish to be made, and into this fish
he transferred the soul of his adopted daughter. Then he put the golden
fish in a golden box full of water, and hid it in a pond in the midst of his
garden. In time the girl grew to be a lovely woman. Now the King of
Indrapoora had a fair young queen, who lived in fear that the king might
take to himself a second wife. So, hearing of the charms of Bidasari, the
queen resolved to put her out of the way. She lured the girl to the palace
and tortured her cruelly; but Bidasari could not die, because her soul was
not in her. At last she could stand the torture no longer and said to the
queen, "If you wish me to die, you must bring the box which is in the pond
in my father's garden." So the box was brought and opened, and there was
the golden fish in the water. The girl said, "My soul is in that fish. In the
morning you must take the fish out of the water, and in the evening you
must put it back into the water. Do not let the fish lie about, but bind it
round your neck. If you do this, I shall soon die." So the queen took the
fish out of the box and fastened it round her neck; and no sooner had she
done so than Bidasari fell into a swoon. But in the evening, when the fish
was put back into the water, Bidasari came to herself again. Seeing that
she thus had the girl in her power, the queen sent her home to her
adopted parents. To save her from further persecution her parents resolved
to remove their daughter from the city. So in a lonely and desolate spot
they built a house and brought Bidasari thither. There she dwelt alone,
undergoing vicissitudes that corresponded with the vicissitudes of the
golden fish in which was her soul. All day long, while the fish was out of
the water, she remained unconscious; but in the evening, when the fish
was put into the water, she revived. One day the king was out hunting,
and coming to the house where Bidasari lay unconscious, was smitten with
her beauty. He tried to waken her, but in vain. Next day, towards evening,
he repeated his visit, but still found her unconscious. However, when
darkness fell, she came to herself and told the king the secret of her life.
So the king returned to the palace, took the fish from the queen, and put it
in water. Immediately Bidasari revived, and the king took her to wife. 17
Another story of an external soul comes from Nias, an island to the west
of Sumatra. Once on a time a chief was captured by his enemies, who
tried to put him to death but failed. Water would not drown him nor fire burn
him nor steel pierce him. At last his wife revealed the secret. On his head
he had a hair as hard as a copper wire; and with this wire his life was
bound up. So the hair was plucked out, and with it his spirit fled. 18
A West African story from Southern Nigeria relates how a king kept his
soul in a little brown bird, which perched on a tall tree beside the gate of
the palace. The king's life was so bound up with that of the bird that
whoever should kill the bird would simultaneously kill the king and
succeed to the kingdom. The secret was betrayed by the queen to her
lover, who shot the bird with an arrow and thereby slew the king and
ascended the vacant throne. A tale told by the Ba-Ronga of South Africa
sets forth how the lives of a whole family were contained in one cat. When
a girl of the family, named Titishan, married a husband, she begged her
parents to let her take the precious cat with her to her new home. But they
refused, saying, "You know that our life is attached to it"; and they offered
to give her an antelope or even an elephant instead of it. But nothing
would satisfy her but the cat. So at last she carried it off with her and shut
it up in a place where nobody saw it; even her husband knew nothing
about it. One day, when she went to work in the fields, the cat escaped
from its place of concealment, entered the hut, put on the warlike trappings
of the husband, and danced and sang. Some children, attracted by the
noise, discovered the cat at its antics, and when they expressed their
astonishment, the animal only capered the more and insulted them besides.
So they went to the owner and said, "There is somebody dancing in your
house, and he insulted us." "Hold your tongues," said he, "I'll soon put a
stop to your lies." So he went and hid behind the door and peeped in, and
there sure enough was the cat prancing about and singing. He fired at it,
and the animal dropped down dead. At the same moment his wife fell to the
ground in the field where she was at work; said she, "I have been killed at
home." But she had strength enough left to ask her husband to go with her
to her parents' village, taking with him the dead cat wrapt up in a mat. All
her relatives assembled, and bitterly they reproached her for having
insisted on taking the animal with her to her husband's village. As soon as
the mat was unrolled and they saw the dead cat, they all fell down lifeless
one after the other. So the Clan of the Cat was destroyed; and the
bereaved husband closed the gate of the village with a branch, and
returned home, and told his friends how in killing the cat he had killed the
whole clan, because their lives depended on the life of the cat. 19
Ideas of the same sort meet us in stories told by the North American
Indians. Thus the Navajoes tell of a certain mythical being called "the
Maiden that becomes a Bear," who learned the art of turning herself into a
bear from the prairie wolf. She was a great warrior and quite invulnerable;
for when she went to war she took out her vital organs and hid them, so
that no one could kill her; and when the battle was over she put the organs
back in their places again. The Kwakiutl Indians of British Columbia tell of
an ogress, who could not be killed because her life was in a hemlock
branch. A brave boy met her in the woods, smashed her head with a
stone, scattered her brains, broke her bones, and threw them into the
water. Then, thinking he had disposed of the ogress, he went into her
house. There he saw a woman rooted to the floor, who warned him,
saying, "Now do not stay long. I know that you have tried to kill the ogress.
It is the fourth time that somebody has tried to kill her. She never dies; she
has nearly come to life. There in that covered hemlock branch is her life.
Go there, and as soon as you see her enter, shoot her life. Then she will
be dead." Hardly had she finished speaking when sure enough in came
the ogress, singing as she walked. But the boy shot at her life, and she fell
dead to the floor. 20