Chapter IV

. brings before us a childless queen, who is gifted by a dervish with three apples. These she must eat, and she will then give birth to three boys. At the birth of each a pumpkin is to be planted in the garden: it will bring forth one fruit, wherein the child’s strength will reside. Afterwards, when one of the pumpkins is cut and carried away, the corresponding youth falls ill, until it is recovered.[7.2] Here the pumpkin is rather the life itself than the life-token; but the distinction, as we shall hereafter see, is not very important. A Tirolese variant of _The Two Sisters who envied their Cadette_ describes the gardener who rescues the children as planting a gilliflower for each of the two boys, and a rose for the girl. Apparently this is done at the time he finds and adopts the babe. The boys grow up and go away successively to seek the Three Beauties of the World; and their flowers wither when they themselves are changed into marble by the Medusa-witch.[7.3]

Often, however, the original planting is not mentioned. The twins, in a Melanesian story from the island of Aurora, simply set a taboo upon a banana belonging to them, and said to their uncle Qatu: “If you go into the garden and see our bunch of bananas beginning to ripen at the top and ripening downwards to the end, Taso has killed us; but if you see that it has begun to ripen at the end and is ripening upwards, we shall have killed him.”[7.4] A banana {8} growing by the hero’s hut is also his life-token, in a Malagasy story.[8.1]

There is a large number of cases which need not detain us now, where on departure the hero gives a flower that will continue fresh and flourishing so long as he is hale and prosperous, but will fade on misfortune or death happening to him. This is a markedly oriental form of the Life-token, occurring repeatedly in India and among the Arabs of modern Egypt.[8.2] In the _Sinhasana Dwatrinsatika_, or _Thirty-two Stories of the Speaking Statues_, a Sanskrit work, Siva gives to Vikram a lotus-flower, saying: “When this flower withers, then you will know that you must die in six months, and prepare accordingly.”[8.3] Here the ideas of the Life-token, the life itself, and a prophetic message are all mixed up.

The knife stuck into a tree, to drip with blood, or to rust, if the owner die, is a commonplace of Slavonic stories.[8.4] In a Serbian tale the knife falls out when the hero is overpowered by the witch.[8.5] When three brothers part on the search for a magical pelican, in a Hungarian _märchen_, they mark a finger-post at the cross-roads. Blood will ooze out of it, on the return of any of them, if the absent one be in misery or captivity; but milk will flow if he be well.[8.6] A German tale represents the brothers as each cutting a tree. The cut becomes blood-red if either {9} of them be dead or in need.[9.1] In the _Arabian Nights_ Bahman gives his hunting-knife to Perizadah: it will become blood-stained on his death. The same incident is found in Spain, in Iceland, and in Italy.[9.2] Elsewhere other weapons are named. So long as a poniard can be drawn from its sheath, in a tale obtained by M. Luzel at Plouaret in Lower Brittany, no ill has happened to its owner; but if it stick, he is dead.[9.3] Sikulume, in a Kaffir story, sticks his assagai in the ground before he ventures among some cannibals, saying: “If it stands still, you will know I am safe; if it shakes, you will know I am running; if it falls down, you will know I am dead.”[9.4] An Epirote story makes one of the twins say, when they part: “If the sword of either of us become bloody, that will be a sign that the other one lies dying.”[9.5]

Among other articles of property, a rosary, or a ring, is the favourite. Parwez, in the _Arabian Nights_, gives his sister a string of one hundred pearls: while they run loose on the string, he is living. The rosary also appears in a modern Arab folktale from Egypt (already cited), in Catalonia, in Brittany, and in tales obtained at Troyes in Champagne and at Mantua.[9.6] In Arab tales the ring tightens round the finger when the giver of the ring suffers mishap.[9.7] In a Vlach ballad it rusts.[9.8] More usually the {10} stone it contains changes colour. This is the case in the old French romance of _Flores et Blanchefleur_; and it reappears among the Basques, in Italy, and, though rarely, in Russia.[10.1] In Sicily the ring is originally the gift of a fairy, or rather a Fate, at the birth of the three children borne by the heroine of a variant of _The Two Sisters who envied their Cadette_.[10.2] The virtues ascribed of old to precious stones were many; and we should have had cause for surprise if we had not found gems in the list of life-tokens.

A handkerchief is a frequent gift. It becomes black, or more usually besmirched with blood.[10.3] In a Vlach ballad just referred to, the lady delivers to her husband her veil, adorned with a border of golden broidery. “When the gold shall melt,” she says, “know thou that I am dead.” In a modern Greek tale from the island of Syra, two brothers, starting to seek for the magical bird Dikjeretto, leave their shirts with their sister. If misfortune meet them, the shirts will turn black.[10.4] Each of three brothers in a Lithuanian story sets up at the crossway, ere they part, a blue banner, which will be stained with red--in other words, with blood--in the event of his death.[10.5] In a story from Southern Russia, Ivan Popyaloff, going to fight the snake that withheld the daylight, hung up his gloves, desiring his brothers to hasten to his help if blood dropped from them.[10.6] In {11} another Russian story the hero thoughtfully puts a plate beneath, to catch the blood.[11.1] Lemminkäinen, in the _Kalevala_, having brushed his beautiful hair, flings the brush upon the oven-posts, and declares that on harm’s happening to him it will shed blood. Accordingly, when he is done to death in the Underworld, his wife is made aware of the fact by the bristles dripping with gore.[11.2] Mats made from the skins of beasts he has slain, and a pipe, are left behind with his foster-mother by a young Micmac brave, who goes to make war on the savage Culloos: she will see blood on them if he be killed.[11.3] Strong Hans, in a tale from Syra, cannot be got to do anything but play his cither. When he sallies forth to fight the ogre, who has ravished away the king’s daughter, he tells his mother: “If you see that the strings of my cither are broken, then up and seek me!”[11.4] In an obscure passage of the _Popol Vuh_, the sacred book of the Quiché, the heroes Hunhun-Ahpu and Vukub-Hunahpu appear to leave as their life-token with their mother the india-rubber ball with which they loved to play.[11.5] One of the Torres Straits islanders told Professor Haddon a tale wherein a mother, while at work, breaks her digging-stick, and at once concludes that something has happened to her baby-boy. Sure enough it has; for a gust of wind had blown down his basket-cradle, and a man and his wife passing by have found the child in the grass and taken him away.[11.6] Here the instrument neither belongs to, nor {12} is it indicated by, the person affected. So in an Iroquois legend, when the hero starts in search of the daughter of a neighbouring chief, his uncle, under whose tutelage he is, brings out “a curious thing made of coloured string and elk-hair of deep red, about a foot long. ‘I shall keep this by me,’ said he, ‘and so long as you are doing well it will hang as it is; but if you are in danger it will come down itself almost to the ground, and if it does reach the ground you will die.’”[12.1]

According to a _märchen_ told by the Transylvanian Armenians, a maiden presses a gold coin into her lover’s hand and tells him that when it is rusty she will be dead.[12.2] In the Russian tale of _Marya Morevna_, the hero leaves successively his silver spoon, fork and snuff-box with his three Animal Brothers-in-law, when he goes on the perilous adventure of rescuing his fair wife from Koshchei the Deathless. When he is killed and chopped into pieces by the ogre, all the silver turns black.[12.3] The hero of a Tirolese tale and his sister kindle two lights; and he declares that if one of them go out, she must take it as a sign that something has happened to him and he will nevermore return.[12.4] A candle is combined with the handkerchief which becomes bloody in a Russian story. The youngest brother going away in a Sicilian _märchen_ touches a vase of cloves and utters the warning that the drying up of the cloves will be a signal of his having been {13} turned to marble by the Medusa-witch.[13.1] In Russian tales the hero’s horse stands in blood up to his knees, or even up to his neck, or up to his ankles in tears, when his master is dead.[13.2] In another Russian tale a glass of water becomes tinged with blood.[13.3] And in a Servian tale the eldest brother, on going out with the second, directs the youngest to put a kettle on the fire to boil, and to keep stirring the fire beneath it. If the water turn to blood, he is to let a little dog out of the cellar, and bid it follow the way the two elder brothers have taken.[13.4] Similarly in a Georgian story the prince fills a cup with water and puts it near the fire. So long as it remains pure he will be alive; but on its changing to blood he will be dead.[13.5] In the Egyptian manuscript the elder brother is warned of his younger’s fate by the beer he is about to drink turning into froth. Here again, it will be noted, there is no apparent connection with the hero, save that he has previously appointed this sign.

One of the magical objects most famous in tradition and in romantic literature is the mirror wherein the beholder can see any object at will. It became prominent in the dreams of science during the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries, when it is said to have figured among the properties of astrologers. In English literature the Enchanted Mirror is best remembered from the Squire’s Tale of Cambuscan Bold, and by the admirable use of it in one of the _Ingoldsby Legends_. I do not propose to discuss it here further than is necessary to show its relations with the Life-token. The first time we meet with it in literature is in Lucian’s _True History_. It is found in the {14} moon, of enormous dimensions, lying over a well. Anybody, we are told, who enters the well hears whatever is said upon the earth; and anybody looking into the mirror sees as in a panorama all the cities and nations of the world. The Greek Munchausen declares that he saw his family and his entire fatherland; and whoever does not believe him can go there and look for himself! A singular parallel is found among the Dyaks of Borneo. According to their traditions, one of the ancient fathers of the race climbed upon a gigantic tree to the Pleiades, where he was hospitably entertained by a friendly being, who introduced him to rice--a food until then unknown on earth. Being left alone for a short time, the visitor peeped into a big jar, and there, to his astonishment, saw, as in a mirror, his father’s house, with the whole family party gathered in animated discussion. His spirits fell, for he feared he should never return home from that immense distance. But his host cheered him up; and after giving him a good dinner, and some rice to plant, with full instructions as to its cultivation and other hints on husbandry, he let him down by a rope to the earth again. The adventurer, having thus got back in safety, taught his people the lessons he had learned in the Pleiades; and he is still venerated as the father of agriculture.[14.1] In the far west the Ynca Yupanqui, if we may trust the Peruvian legend reported by Molina, once went to visit his father Viracocha Ynca. Coming to a certain fountain, he saw a piece of crystal fall into it; and within the crystal he beheld the figure of a man dressed like an Ynca. From the back of his head issued three brilliant rays like those of the sun. The royal fringe was upon his head, and {15} ear-pieces, like those of the Yncas, adorned his ears. Serpents twined around his arms and shoulders. Upon his shoulders there was a lion, while the head of another lion appeared between his legs. Yupanqui fled; but from within the fountain the apparition called him by name. “Come hither,” it said, “my son, and fear not, for I am the Sun, thy father. Thou shalt conquer many nations: therefore be careful to pay great reverence to me, and remember me in thy sacrifices.” Saying this, the apparition vanished; but the crystal remained. The Ynca took care of it, and we are told that thenceforth he saw in it everything he wanted.[15.1]

Mr. Clouston, in his notes to John Lane’s feeble continuation of the Squire’s Tale, has brought together a large number of instances of magical mirrors, beginning with Vergil the Magician and coming down to the practices recorded by Mr. E. W. Lane and others in modern Egypt and India.[15.2] A boy is ordinarily the agent in the last-mentioned practices, and a spot of ink in the hollow of his hand the mirror. The same practices were employed in classical antiquity, and were not unknown during the Middle Ages. A German saga relates that a jewel of crystal was by a mysterious stranger left as a gift with a burgess of Nuremberg who had shown him hospitality for three days. If a chaste boy looked into the crystal he would see a little man, who would show him everything it was desired to know. So great was the reputation of the {16} glass, that people used to threaten one another: “Speak the truth, or I’ll go to the little man.”[16.1] In a Gipsy story from Transylvania a king’s daughter possesses a mirror wherein she can see everything in the world.[16.2] Another mirror with somewhat more limited capacity was the gift of a mountain spirit in a German tale; but it had other powers that resulted at last in a curse.[16.3] When Vasco da Gama was sailing towards India, some of the Indian wizards are said to have shown the people at Calicut in basins of water his three ships.[16.4] The Egyptian and modern Indian practices are ordinarily used for discovering thefts; and this was often the purpose in Europe. In Tahiti and Hawaii the priest was sent for on similar occasions. After some prayers he caused a hole to be dug in the floor of the house, and filled with water. He continued his incantations with a young plantain in his hand until he observed the image of the thief in the water.[16.5] In the Isle of Man a notorious witch is reported to have made use of a bowl of {17} water in order to divine as to the safety of a herring-fleet.[17.1] The Otando fetish-man of Equatorial Africa also uses a vessel of water; the Mpongwe fetish-man uses a mirror.[17.2] In Borneo the _manang_, or medicine-man, is frequently provided with a magical stone into which he can look and see what is ailing a sick man, and prescribe for him accordingly.[17.3] The Cakchiquels of Central America had a sacred obsidian stone, which was their national oracle, and was mysteriously connected with the origin of mankind. A stone, apparently identified with this, is preserved in the church of Tecpan, Guatemala. It was shown to Mr. Stephens, who describes it as “a piece of common slate, fourteen inches by ten, and about as thick as those used by boys at school, without characters of any kind upon it.”[17.4] No doubt the eye of faith was required to see anything in it. Crystals are used by the medicine-men of the Apaches for divining.[17.5] The Urim and Thummim of Hebrew antiquity seem to have been objects of the same kind of superstition. The “Mirror of Light” is not unknown even in these days, and has been honoured with the attention of the Society for Psychical Research.[17.6]

Lucian, in placing the mirror in a well, was probably {18} satirising the belief in sacred wells which had properties like those he attributed to the mirror. Such wells and pools are still to be found, both in stories and in fact. A fairy in an Italian tale points out to the hero a fountain which will be a mirror for him, into which he can look, and to which he can give commands, and they will be obeyed.[18.1] It was formerly believed at York that he who flung, on May morning before the Minster clock struck one, five white stones into a certain part of the Ouse near the city, would see in the water, as in a mirror, whatever he might desire, whether past, present, or future.[18.2] On the promontory of Tænarum, now Cape Matapan, Pausanias tells us, was a famous fountain. In his day there was nothing remarkable to be seen in it; but anciently those who pried into its depths might see views of ports and ships. In the Cyaneæ, hard by Lycia, too, there was a spring, into which whoso descended saw whatever he wished to behold.[18.3] And there is a wonderful well in Samoa, wherein a variety of scenes may be perceived by those who will undertake the risk of being enticed into its stony depths.[18.4]

So far we have found no Life-token in mirror or well. A mirror or well, however, which reveals to the inquirer only the health of one in whom he has an interest, is obviously nothing more than a special variety of the mirror {19} or well revealing anything or everything. This is the variety mentioned in a Roman variant of _Beauty and the Beast_, where Beauty, on taking leave of the Beast for a short time, is given a mirror, into which she can look and see how he is.[19.1] In a Swedish _märchen_ already cited, on the two comrades parting at a crossway, one of them dips his knife into the fountain adjacent, and says to the other: “It shall be to thee a sign that I am living so long as the water of this spring is clear; but if it be red and turbid, then I shall be dead, and I certainly expect that thou wilt avenge my death.”[19.2]

This convenient way of obtaining news of absent friends is said to be still in use. The Eskimo of Greenland, when a man has not returned in due time from an expedition in his kayak, hold the head of his nearest relation over a tub of water, and judge from the reflection beneath whether the absent person has been upset, or is still sitting in the boat, rowing.[19.3] In the island of Tahiti, if one, looking at the water of certain springs, chance to see it tinged with blood, it is a sign that one of the beholder’s friends is about to die.[19.4] Nor is it different in our own country. Gulval Well, in Cornwall, answers inquiries put with the proper formula. If the person asked after be alive and well, the quiet water will instantly boil and bubble clear and pure; if he be sick, the water becomes foul and puddled; if he be dead, it remains calm and lifeless.[19.5] The legends accounting for these phenomena in Tahiti and Cornwall are unrecorded. In the parish of Kirkmichael, in the county of Banff, there {20} is a fountain dedicated to St. Michael, and famous for its healing virtues. The guardian of the well appears in the shape of a fly which, it is believed, never dies. “To the eye of ignorance,” we are told, “he might sometimes appear dead; but agreeably to the Druidic system, it was only a Transmigration into a similar form, which made little alteration on the real identity.” He was, in former days at all events, constantly on duty. “If the sober matron wished to know the issue of her husband’s ailment, or the love-sick Nymph that of her languishing Swain, they visited the Well of St. Michael. Every movement of the sympathetic Fly was regarded in silent awe; and as he appeared cheerful or dejected, the anxious votaries drew their presages; their breasts vibrated with correspondent emotions.”[20.1] Brand and Ellis quote from an old writer a passage concerning fountains which prognosticate plenty or famine. The writer concludes by saying: “Myselfe know some Gentlemen that confesse, if a certaine Fountaine (being otherwise very cleane and cleare) be suddenly troubled by meanes of a Worme unknowne, that the same is a personall Summons for some of them to depart out of the world.”[20.2] These superstitions frequently degenerated into mere divination. Dalyell records that auguries as to the fate of {21} any one were drawn from the finding of a dead or a living worm in a well in the parish of Strathdon, and also in the well at Ardnacloich in Appin, Argyllshire.[21.1] Sir John Lubbock quotes a striking instance from Dr. Anderson’s account of the expedition to Western Yunnan. Three men having gone to the Kakhyen hills, a report reached their families that one of them had died. To ascertain which of them it was, the old women were divining by means of needles and cotton-wool. Each needle representing one of the absent men, threaded with a piece of cotton-wool to act as a float, was let down gently into the water. As the floats got thoroughly wetted, the needles would sink one after another; and the man whose needle sank first would be the dead one.[21.2] The water there was probably contained in a vessel; but the principle, as we see from several instances already cited, is the same. Before the temple of Demeter at Patras there was a spring that was consulted on the issue of any disease. The method (and here, perhaps, we touch the object of Lucian’s satire) was to let down a mirror suspended by a cord so as just to allow the water lightly to touch its edges, but not its face. After praying and clearing the air with incense, the performers (probably priests) looked down into the mirror, and thence perceived whether the patient would live or die.[21.3] On the isle of Andros it is still the practice for Greek maidens to hold a mirror over a well and to look in it for the face of their future husbands reflected from the well below.[21.4] In Brittany there are certain wells wherein children’s shirts are dipped. If a shirt sink to the bottom, it is a sign of the child’s death within a year. Contrariwise, {22} if the shirt swim, the child will live; and to ensure its living and to preserve it from every kind of evil the wet garment is immediately put on.[22.1] After that, nobody would deny the child’s continued health to be a miracle. The superstition was not by any means confined to Brittany; but it will suffice to give one more example of it here. “Between the towns of Alten and Newton,” says one of the Cottonian Manuscripts, “near the foot of Rosberrye Toppinge, there is a Well dedicated to St. Oswald. The neighbours have an opinion that a Shirt or Shift taken off a sick person and thrown into that Well, will show whether the person will recover or die: for, if it floated, it denoted the recovery of the party; if it sank, there remained no hope of their life; and to reward the Saint for his intelligence, they tear off a Rag of the Shirt, and leave it hanging on the Briars thereabout; where I have seen such numbers as might have made a fayre Rheme in a Paper Myll.”[22.2]

For divination of this kind no special connection would be necessary between the life and the pool or fountain, such as is hinted at in the quotation concerning the “Worme unknown.” This is not always so. At Brereton, in Cheshire, is a lake whereon floating logs betokened the death of the head of the family of Brereton.[22.3] Leonard Vair in his book on charms and sortileges mentions a very curious case communicated to him by Cardinal Granvelle. {23} At the monastery of Saint Maurice on the borders of Burgundy, near to the Rhone, was a fish-pond which was kept stocked with as many fish as there were monks. When any of the monks fell sick (we are bound to believe it on the authority of a bishop and cardinal), one of the fish floated on the surface of the water, half dead; and if the monk were going to die, the fish would die three or four days before him.[23.1] In like manner, on a mountain in Franconia a fountain issues near the cradle (_Stammhaus_) of an ancient noble family. The clear stream gushes forth incessantly the whole year round; and it was believed to fail only when one of the family was about to die.[23.2] It is reported of the holy spring of Szörény that its water becomes blood-red as often as a King of Hungary dies.[23.3] There is a crater-lake in Madagascar, about eighty miles south-south-west of Antanánarívo, called Tritriva. It is of a deep green colour, almost black. The natives hold that there is an intimate and secret relation between the lake and the members of a neighbouring tribe, the Zanatsara. When a tribesman is taken ill, the waters of the lake are at once examined. If they are troubled and become of a brown colour, it is a presage of death: if they remain clear, {24} the patient will have a chance of life.[24.1] In these cases we have precisely the conditions of the Life-token; and we may be allowed to conjecture that other cases of inquiry after absent friends, or divination for the sick, were originally limited to persons believed to stand in some special relation with the fountain consulted. Further, the stories and superstitions regarding mirrors have evidently been transferred from pools and springs, to which they must have originally attached. And in the Eskimo practice, and the divination at Patras, and elsewhere, in the performances of Indian and Egyptian conjurers and of the fetish-men and priests of Equatorial Africa and the Pacific Islands, we may perhaps trace some of the intermediate stages.

These pools and mirrors have led me to anticipate somewhat. And before returning to Life-tokens a few words must be spent upon the cognate subject of Tokens of Fidelity. The extension of the idea of a life-token to a faith-token is obvious where the persons parted are lovers or spouses. In such cases it would not be enough for one to know that the other was living: constant assurance of the absent one’s fidelity would be as necessary to the other’s happiness as his life. There is another magical object, familiar in certain stages of civilisation, with which the Faith-token may easily be confounded. I mean the Test of Chastity, like the mirror in the beautiful tale of _Zayn al-Asnam_, or Florimel’s girdle in the _Faerie Queene_. With this test of chastity in a general sense we have not here to do; nor is it necessary to discuss the Faith-token itself at any length.

In Eastern tales the Faith-token ordinarily assumes the {25} form of a flower. In the _Tutinameh_, a soldier’s wife gives her husband on his departure a rose which will remain fresh while she preserves her purity.[25.1] In the _Kathá-sarit-Ságara_, the god Siva appears in a dream to Guhasena and his wife Devasmitá when they are about to part, and gives them a red lotus apiece, saying: “Take each of you one of these lotuses in your hand. And if either of you shall be unfaithful during your separation, the lotus in the hand of the other shall fade, but not otherwise.” When they awoke, each beheld in the other’s hand a red lotus, “and it seemed as if they had got one another’s hearts.”[25.2] In a modern folktale obtained in the Panjáb the kind of flower is not specified, but the incident is the same.[25.3] The token appears also as a flower or a garland in several of the European romances of chivalry; and in a Hungarian _märchen_ a king, going to war, gives to his two daughters two wreaths which will wither if they lose their maidenhood.[25.4] In a modern folksong of one of the Greek islands, an apple-tree, questioned why it withers, replies:

“They plighted a youth and maiden beneath my shelter; They swore by my branches that they would cling together, And now, because I know they part, my leaves are turning yellow.”[25.5]

These stories have their counterpart in practice. Siva, the Hindu god who is the agent in one of the stories just quoted, is a phallic deity. Among the Mech of Bengal, a Mongoloid tribe just now in a transitional state of religion between animism and the Hinduism which is macadamising the innumerable aboriginal cults of India, a sij plant {26} (_Euphorbia Indica_) grows in the courtyard of every house. This plant is carefully tended as the abode of Siva and the emblem of conjugal fidelity. If its leaves wither, something is wrong with one of the women of the household.[26.1] A curious superstition of an analogous kind was commonly practised among our own countrymen within the memory of men only a few years dead. Lovers who desired to know how they should succeed in their suit carried flowers called bachelors’ buttons in their pockets, and judged of their good or bad success by the flowers’ growing or not growing there.[26.2] So it is noted among the superstitions prevalent in France two hundred years ago, that, in order to know which of three or four persons loved one the best, a corresponding number of thistles should be taken, the buds cut off, and to each plant should be imputed the name of one of the persons concerning whom it was intended to inquire. The thistles were then to be placed under the head of the inquirer’s bed; and the one representing the person who had most affection would put forth new buds.[26.3] At Siena a maiden who wished to know how her love progressed kept and tended a plant of rue. While it flourished all went well; but if it withered it was a sign that the love she desired had failed her.[26.4]

In the ballad of _Hind Horn_ the king’s daughter gives the hero a jewelled ring. As long as the stone keeps its {27} colour, he may know that she is faithful; but if it change its hue, he may ken she loves another man. Professor Child, commenting on the ballad, adduces not merely several variants and romances on the same subject, but also a Roumanian ballad wherein a prince going to war gives his wife a ring which will rust if he be dead, and a Silesian story and another British ballad where the ring breaks in twain.[27.1] In these ballads and stories we probably have the real meaning of plighting the troth in the marriage service with a ring. Bacon, somewhere discussing the superstition, gravely suggests that a trial should be made by two persons of the effect of compact and agreement; that a ring should be put on for each other’s sake, to try whether, if one should break his promise, the other would have any feeling of it in his absence. The hero of a North German tale receives from his bride the day after marriage a snow-white shirt, which will turn black if she die, and become stained and spotted if she be untrue.[27.2] A Hungarian tradition speaks of a carbuncle which lighted up the neighbourhood of a lake in the Carpathians while the consort of the king of the water-fays was true to him; but when she fell in love with a mortal prince it lost its splendour, and the king with his golden palace and all his treasures sank into the black depths of the lake.[27.3] The Faith-token is a piece of machinery too suggestive to be {28} overlooked by poets and dramatists of more refined art than the mediæval romancers. Davenant mentions an emerald, not set like the Carpathian carbuncle on a palace tower, but worn by a lady, and growing pale when her husband is unfaithful. Massinger’s play of _The Picture_ turns upon a portrait of his wife given to the parting knight, Mathias, by “a great scholar,” or magician, with these instructions:

“Carry it still about you, and as oft As you desire to know how she’s affected, With curious eyes peruse it: while it keeps The figure it now has, entire and perfect, She is not only innocent in fact, But unattempted; but if once it vary From the true form, and what’s now white and red Incline to yellow, rest most confident She’s with all violence courted, but unconquer’d; But if it all turn black, ’tis an assurance The fort by composition or surprise Is forced or with her free consent surrender’d.”

I do not propose, however, to trace the Faith-token through literature. If a gift of doubtful benefit to a jealous lover, many a literary artist in search of a plot has found it useful. Our business is with the Life-token, to which we may now return. Tales of life-tokens credited as facts are not very numerous. Perhaps one or two of the stories already mentioned may be included in that category. The rest may be treated together with superstitions and customs.

In many variants of the Perseus cycle, as well as in many of the _märchen_ cited in the present chapter, we have found the life-token to be a tree planted before or at the time of the hero’s birth, or sometimes planted by himself or merely indicated by him. In the Smyrnæan tale, it will be {29} remembered, the queen plants a pumpkin on the birth of each of her sons. The pumpkin brings forth one fruit, wherein the strength of the boy resides; and when it is cut the boy falls ill. As I have already pointed out, the pumpkin would seem here to be the life itself, and not merely the life-token. A distinction between the life and the life-token is generally observed in _märchen_. On the one hand, we have the story of Punchkin with his hidden soul, in which the magician, or demoniacal enemy of the hero, cannot be slain by any evil inflicted on his own body. His soul, or life, must be sought out in a distant spot where, enveloped in various coverings and protected by numerous defences, is a parrot, or an egg, to destroy which is to kill the magician. On the other hand, we have in the variants of _The King of the Fishes_ and other types the mysterious token left at home while its owner sallies forth in search of adventures. If he fall, or suffer reverses, the token at home, if a tree or a flower, withers; if a knife, or a phial of liquid, or some other article, it drops blood, or rusts, or changes colour, or indicates in some other manner its sympathy with the hero’s fortunes.

This broad distinction is natural in a story the plot of which is made to depend upon it. It is easy to understand, however, that the distinction could not be maintained in any corresponding practical superstition. To assume, for instance--what is quite possible--that the lives of the monks of Saint Maurice were actually believed to be bound up with those of the fishes in the fishpond of the monastery, how could it be determined whether a fish’s death caused the death of one of the brethren or only betokened it? In the course of the following pages we shall meet with many cases of sympathy between a child {30} and a tree or other object. The child’s death and the withering of the tree, or some other corresponding change, are believed to be coincident. Experience will very soon show that sometimes the injury may happen to the child, sometimes to the life-token. If the superstition survive, it can only do so by supposing that both alike are vulnerable, and that the consequences of an injury to either are mysteriously transmitted to the other.[30.1] Even in a story, however, the distinction between the Life-token and the “External Soul,” as Mr. Frazer calls it, is not always maintained. In the tale of Prince Lionheart, referred to at the beginning of this chapter, the hero derives his origin from a barleycorn. His life-token, multiplied in a lavish oriental manner by three, consists of three barley-plants. It is noteworthy that he directs that every one of them shall be carefully tended, for so long as they flourished he would be alive and well, and, on the contrary, if they drooped, misfortune would be at hand: implying that his life and prosperity were dependent upon them. His external soul proper is a sword. When its hilt comes off, his head falls, and at the same instant the ear of each of the barley-plants snaps. Other stories may easily be recalled where a plant as the hero’s life-token is commended to the special care of the friend or kinsman left behind, as if injury to the plant would affect its absent owner. We shall, accordingly, be justified in treating the Life-token and the External Soul as almost always one and the same thing in belief and custom.

In the _Popol Vuh_, the twin divinities, Hun Ahpu and Xbalanque, whose birth I have already described in