A big perch

When a hunter vanishes from his companions on Lake Mistassini’s shores, he reappears claiming to have visited the lake’s bottom, encountering fish of every kind and a colossal perch unable to turn in deep waters. His account gives rise to the timeless and wondrous “big perch” legend, passed from father to son, eclipsing modern sea serpent stories and preserving its rich ancestral lore.

Source:
Folk-Lore of the Cree Indians
by Fred Swindlehurst
The American Folklore Society
Journal of American Folklore
Vol.18, No.69, pp. 139-143
April-June, 1905

► Themes of the story

Underworld Journey: The hunter’s descent to the lake’s bottom parallels a voyage into a realm beyond the living world.

Mythical Creatures: The colossal perch transcends ordinary biology, embodying a legendary beast.

Echoes of the Past: The tale’s transmission from father to son preserves ancestral memory across generations.

► From the same Region or People

North America
- Sub-Arctic Region
  - Cree Lore

Learn more about the Cree people

Some Indian hunters were camped along the shores of Lake Mistassini. As fish and game were plentiful they were happy and contented. One evening they missed one of their number, and though they searched everywhere could not find him. They had many days given him up for dead, when he surprised them by calmly walking into camp. On their asking him where he had been he told the following story:

“That night you lost me I was at the bottom of the lake, where I saw all kinds of fish, some pretty, some ugly, and some savage. There was one perch so large that he could not turn around in the lake, but had to swim up and down without turning.”

► Continue reading…

The above story has been handed down from father to son, and even today Indians refer to the “big perch,” just as seriously as if it really existed. Lake Mistassini is 120 miles long and 20 miles wide, so the legend far eclipses the white man’s story of the sea serpent.

Running and expanding this site requires resources: from maintaining our digital platform to sourcing and curating new content. With your help, we can grow our collection, improve accessibility, and bring these incredible narratives to an even wider audience. Your sponsorship enables us to keep the world’s stories alive and thriving. ♦ Visit our Support page

The grand-daughter and the beads

An old woman and her granddaughter lived together, fishing year-round. One day, the girl discovered beads at an abandoned village site, which her grandmother identified as belonging to the girl’s grandfather. After adorning her granddaughter with the beads, the grandmother instructed her to offer them to a man who approached, saying “U’kgo yu’go.” The man accepted the beads and, in return, provided them with a sled full of provisions, enriching their lives.

Source:
Ten’a Texts and Tales
(from Anvik, Alaska)
by John W. Chapman
The American Ethnological Society
Publications, Volume 6 (ed. Franz Boas)
E.J. Brill, Leyden, 1914

► Themes of the story

Ancestral Spirits: The discovery of the ornament from the ancestral village connects the girl and her grandmother to their forebears, highlighting the influence of ancestors on the present.

Sacred Objects: The ornament (beads) holds significant value, serving as a link to their heritage and playing a crucial role in the narrative.

Echoes of the Past: The remnants of the old village and the ancestral beads influence the present, demonstrating how past events and objects can shape current realities.

► From the same Region or People

North America
- Sub-Arctic Region
  - Koyukon Lore

Learn more about Koyukon people

There was an old woman who had a grandchild, a girl; and they lived together, and fished in front of their house, the year round. There they lived. They had a fine place. The girl grew to be quite large, and worked with her grandmother. She was old enough to work, and her grandmother was grateful. Now, there came a time when her grandmother said, “My grandchild, go and look down the river!” So she went down the river from the house. There she walked along the bank; and there she saw where houses had been, no one knows how long since. She went down where it appeared that a house had been. She took a little stick and went poking around with it. “What’s this?” thought she, and she was glad. She ran back to her grandmother. She ran into the house.

► Continue reading…

“Grandma,” she said, “how pretty this is!” “Why, why!” she said. “Why, my grandchild!” she said, “that was where your grandfather’s village was long ago. It used to be his,” she said. Then she bathed her, and combed her hair, and dressed her in fine clothes, and that bright ornament hung upon her hair. “My grandchild,” she said, “go get some water.” So she took her pails and went to the water-hole. She dipped one full of water and the other half full, when she thought she heard something. She listened, and (it was) some one coming from below. She took a good look.

There was a big sled with dogs, — three of them. (The man) stopped in front of her and spoke, and said, “U’kgo yu’go.” But the girl did not understand him, and he went away, and she took up her pails and went up. She went in to her grandmother. “Grandma,” she said, “a man came to me with a big sled and dogs, and said, ‘U’kgo yu’go’ to me.” And her grandmother said, “Why, why! It is the beads only that he was saying that he wanted. My grandchild,” she said, “go take off the curtain. Let’s make the fire!” she said. So she went out and took off the curtain. She threw down the wood and made the fire, and her grandmother put on the pot, and they put their meal into it and cooked it; and the poor old woman said, “Come, my grandchild! that’s all, put on the curtain.” So she put on the curtain, and they ate their meal and went to bed. They woke up in the morning; and the grandmother said, “My grandchild, go and get some more water. Now, if you see a man, if he says ‘U’kgo yu’go’ to you, give him (the beads).” She went to the waterhole, and saw the man again. He came up to her, and his sled was full of things; and the man spoke, and said, “U’kgo yu’go.” She gave him (the beads), and he ran off. The girl ran up to her grandmother. “Grandma,” said she, “hurry!” And they took the sled up, and put the contents into the house, — oil and fat; and they became rich. She was glad, that poor old grandmother, because she was thankful. And there they lived.

Migration legend

Long ago, the Eskimos migrated from the east to the Yukon River, building a large village. Internal conflict divided them, leading to wars with surrounding groups. Survivors dispersed to locations like Kushunuk, Nunivak Island, and Bristol Bay. Over time, they faced conflicts with Kodiak and Aleut forces, relocating repeatedly. Language differences emerged as groups settled in distinct areas, with descendants eventually resettling near Goodnews Bay.

Source:
The Eskimo about Bering Strait
by Edward William Nelson
[Smithsonian Institution]
Bureau of American Ethnology
Eighteenth Annual Report
Washington, 1900

► Themes of the story

Conflict with Authority: The internal conflicts and wars among the Eskimo groups and with surrounding communities highlight struggles against oppressive forces.

Community and Isolation: The dispersal of the Eskimo people into separate groups and their eventual resettlement illustrate themes of belonging and estrangement.

Echoes of the Past: The narrative reflects on ancestral migrations and conflicts, emphasizing their influence on the present settlements and cultural differences.

► From the same Region or People

North America
- Arctic Region
  - Inuit/Eskimo Lore

Learn more about Inuit peoples

The following legend was obtained from an old man at Ikogmut, on the Lower Yukon. I had no opportunity of verifying any part of it, which was given as a statement of fact.

Very long ago the Eskimo lived far away from the Yukon, and were continually moving from place to place; traveling from the far east to the west. After long wanderings some of them built a village on the bank of Yukon river, just below where Ikogmut now stands, which increased in size until there were thirty-five kashims. The ruins of this village can be seen at the present time, with large pits where the kashims stood.

Finally the villagers quarreled, formed two parties, and made war against each other. The inhabitants of the surrounding villages had hated these people for a long time on account of their overbearing manner, and when they began to quarrel among themselves the out side people united to make war upon them. These enemies were so powerful that they were able to defeat the divided forces of the villagers in a battle, and those who survived became separated into three parties and dispersed.

► Continue reading…

One party stopped at the village of Kushunuk, near Cape Vancouver; another party went to Nunivak island, and another traveled on until it reached Bristol bay, and settled near where Nushagak now stands. The people on the great island of Kodiak, having heard of the strangers near Nushagak, sent a war party across from the island to attack them, but the newcomers on Bristol bay succeeded in almost exterminating them. After this the Aleut, on the island of Uminak, heard of the strangers, and of their having defeated the Kodiak men, so they sent out a war party against these people. This time the Yukon men were defeated and lost half their number. Those who were left then joined with some of their friends from Nunivak island and attacked the people living at Goodnews bay, below the mouth of Kuskokwim river, killing them and burning their village.

The victors then built themselves a village in the same locality, where they were living at the time the Russians came to the country. When the Russians came the people on Goodnews bay resisted them for some time, but finally they scattered, some going back to Bristol bay and others settling with their people on Nunivak island. Since then the descendants of these people have gradually returned to Goodnews bay, where they are now living. During the last few years the people on Bristol bay have been gradually working along the coast toward the mouth of the Kuskokwim.

During the time of the migration from the Yukon all of these people spoke one tongue, but having settled at three widely separated places, their languages gradually became different, the people living at Bristol bay and on Nunivak island being nearest alike in speech.

The Tunnit

The Tunnit, a legendary giant race, once inhabited Labrador, Hudson Strait, and Baffin Island. Known for their strength but described as slow and unsophisticated by the Inuit, they lived in stone houses and used primitive tools. Tensions arose with the Inuit over resources, leading to violent conflicts. Gradually, the Tunnit were exterminated or assimilated, with archaeological evidence and Inuit traditions preserving their legacy.

Source:
The Labrador Eskimo
by E.W. Hawkes
[Canada, Department of Mines]
Geological Survey, Memoir 91
Anthropological Series no. 14
Ottawa, 1916

► Themes of the story

Mythical Creatures: The Tunnit are depicted as giants with extraordinary strength, representing beings beyond ordinary human experience.

Conflict with Authority: Tensions and violent conflicts arose between the Tunnit and the Inuit over resources, leading to the eventual extermination or assimilation of the Tunnit.

Echoes of the Past: The legacy of the Tunnit persists through archaeological evidence and Inuit traditions, highlighting the enduring influence of historical deeds on the present.

► From the same Region or People

North America
- Arctic Region
  - Inuit/Eskimo Lore

Learn more about Inuit peoples

Tunnit (Tornit, Baffin island), according to tradition, were a gigantic race formerly inhabiting the northeastern coast of Labrador, Hudson strait, and southern Baffin island. Ruins of old stone houses and graves, which are ascribed to them by the present Eskimo, are found throughout this entire section, penetrating only slightly, however, into Ungava bay. Briefly we may say that there is evidence, archaeological as well as traditional, that the Tunnit formerly inhabited both sides of Hudson strait. The oldest Eskimo of northern Labrador still point out these ruins, and relate traditions of their having lived together until the Tunnit were finally exterminated or driven out by the present Eskimo.

► Continue reading…

According to the account given by an old Nachvak Eskimo, the Tunnit in ancient times had two villages in Nachvak bay. Their houses were built on an exposed shore (the present Eskimo always seek a sheltered beach for their villages, where they can land in their kayaks), showing that they had little knowledge of the use of boats. When they wanted boats, they stole them from the Eskimo. From this thieving of kayaks the original quarrel is said to have begun.

For all their bigness and strength, the Tunnit were a stupid slow-going race (according to the Eskimo version), and fell an easy prey to the Eskimo, who used to stalk them and hunt them down like game. They did not dare to attack them openly, so cut them off, one by one, by following them, and attacking and killing them when asleep. Their favourite method was to bore holes in the foreheads of the Tunnit with an awl (a drill in the Greenland story in Rink). Two brothers especially distinguished themselves in this warfare, and did not desist until the last of the Tunnit was exterminated. The Tunnit built their houses of heavy rocks, which no Eskimo could lift. They used the rocks for walls, and whale ribs and shoulder blades for the roof. At the entrance of the house two whale jaw-bones were placed. Ruins of these houses can still be seen, overgrown with grass, with the roof fallen in. They may be distinguished from old Eskimo iglus by the small, square space they occupy.

The Tunnit did not use the bow and arrow, but flint-headed lances and harpoons with bone or ivory heads. They were so strong that one of them could hold a walrus as easily as an Eskimo a seal.

They did not understand the dressing of sealskins, but left them in the sea, where the little sea-worms (?) cleaned off the fat in a short time. The Tunnit dressed in winter in untanned deerskins. They were accustomed to carry pieces of meat around with them, between their clothing and body, until it was putrid, when they ate it.

The Tunnit were very skilful with the lance, which they threw, sitting down and aiming at the object by resting the shaft on the boot. For throwing at a distance they used the throw-stick.

They did not hunt deer like the Eskimo, but erected long lines of stone “men” in a valley through which the deer passed. The deer would pass between the lines of stones, and the hunters hidden behind them would lance them. Remains of these lines of rocks may still be seen.

Their weapons were much larger, but not so well made as those of the Eskimo, as can be seen from the remains on their graves. The men used flint for the harpoon heads, and crystal for their drills. The women used a rounded piece of slate without a handle for a knife. They used a very small lamp for heating purposes, which they carried about them. For cooking they had a much larger lamp than the Eskimo. Until trouble arose between them, the Tunnit and the Eskimo used to intermarry, but after it was found that an alien wife would betray her husband to her people, no more were taken. A Tuneq woman, who betrayed the Eskimo of the village she lived in to the Tunnit, had her arms cut off. After that no women were taken on either side. (The story of this incident is given following in “An Adlit Tale.”)

The Tunnit were gradually exterminated by the Eskimo, until only a scattered one remained here and there in their villages. How these were overcome by stratagems is handed down in the tales of the giant at Hebron, said to be the last of the Tunnit, and Adlasuq and the Giant. The giant allows himself to be bound in a snow-house, and is slain by the Eskimo hunters. This story has attained a mythological character in Baffin island, but is ascribed by the Labrador Eskimo directly to the Tunnit. A story about the Tunnit, giving considerable circumstantial detail, was obtained from a Nachvak woman:

“At Nachvak the Tunnit were chasing a big whale (this was before the time of the present Eskimo). They were in two skin boats, about twenty men and women in each boat. They had the whale harpooned, and were being towed round and round the bay by him. Somehow the line got tangled in one of the boats and capsized. The other boat with the line still made fast to the whale, went to pick up the people in the water, and was capsized too. Another boat came off from the shore, and picked up some of the people in the water. Most of them were drowned.

“They were buried under a hill on a big bank near Nachvak. There are some thirty graves on this bank, with pots, harpoons, and knives buried by the graves. Even the remains of the boats are there. The knives and pots are of stone. The harpoon blades are of flint. The umiaks were much larger than the present boats.” My informant added that there were also remains of bows and arrows. “The bows were of whalebone and the arrows of flint.”

The inhabitants of Akilinek

Iviangersook, a traveler, eventually settled in Akilinek, leaving descendants. Years later, northerners crossing the ice encountered a distant crevice and exchanged words with people identifying as Iviangersook’s descendants. Both groups alternated listing the products of their homesteads, fostering a connection despite the separation. This interaction highlights enduring ties across vast distances and the legacy of shared lineage.

Source:
Tales and Traditions of the Eskimo
by Henry Rink
[William Blackwood and Sons]
Edinburgh and London, 1875

► Themes of the story

Ancestral Spirits: The narrative emphasizes the enduring connection between Iviangersook’s descendants and their ancestors, highlighting the influence of lineage across generations.

Echoes of the Past: The encounter between the northerners and Iviangersook’s descendants underscores how historical deeds and ancestral ties continue to impact and resonate in the present.

Community and Isolation: The story contrasts the separation of the groups by physical distance with their efforts to establish a sense of community through the exchange of information about their homesteads.

► From the same Region or People

North America
- Arctic Region
  - Inuit/Eskimo Lore

Learn more about the Inuit peoples

Abridged version of the story.

Iviangersook, while travelling far and wide for some time, settled down in Akilinek, leaving descendants there.

Many years after, some people from the farthest north, in crossing the ice, came to a crevice far off the coast, and had some talk with people who appeared on the opposite side and announced themselves as Iviangersook’s descendants in Akilinek.

The countrymen from each side alternately enumerated all the products of their homesteads.

► Continue reading…

The King and His Family

A king of Maghreb, his wife, and four sons are separated by a shipwreck. Each finds their path: the king discovers a silver mine and builds a city, while his sons become learned men across different lands. Unknowingly reunited at court, their shared stories reveal their identities. The mother overhears them, and the family is joyfully restored, their fate shaped by divine intervention.

Source
Moorish Literature
   romantic ballads, tales of the Berbers,
   stories of the Kabyles, folk-lore,
   and national traditions
The Colonial Press,
   London, New York, 1901

► Themes of the story

Loss and Renewal: The initial loss of family unity is followed by a renewal of bonds when they are miraculously reunited.

Family Dynamics: The narrative explores the relationships within the family, highlighting their separation and the joy of their reunion.

Echoes of the Past: The characters’ past experiences and identities play a crucial role in their recognition and reunion, emphasizing the lasting impact of their shared history.

► From the same Region or People

North Africa
- Berber Lore

Learn more about the Berber peoples

Translated by Réne Basset
and Chauncey C. Starkweather

In times gone by a king reigned over Maghreb. He had four sons. He started, he, his wife, and his children, for the Orient. They set sail, but their ship sank with them. The waves bore them all in separated directions. One wave took the wife; another bore the father alone to the middle of the sea on an island where he found a mine of silver. He dug out enough silver until he had a great quantity and he established himself in the country. His people after heard tell of him and learned that he dwelt in the midst of the sea. They built houses until there was a great city. He was king of that country. Whoever came poor to him he gave him pieces of money. A poor man married his wife. As for his sons, they applied themselves to a study, each in a different country. They all became learned men and feared God.

► Continue reading…

The King had a search made for tolbas who should worship God. The first of the brothers was recommended to him. He sent for him. He sought also a khodja. The second brother was designated. He summoned him to the court. The prince also especially wanted an adel. Another brother was pointed to him. He made him come to him as, indeed, he also did the imam, who was none other than the fourth brother. They arrived at their father’s without knowing him or being known by him. The wife and the man who had espoused her also came to the King to make complaint. When they arrived the wife went alone that night to the palace. The prince sent for the four tolba to pass the night with him until morning. During the; night he spied upon them to see who they were. One of them said to the others, “Since sleep comes not upon us, let each one make known who he is.”

One said: “My father was a king. He had much money and four sons whose names were like yours.”

Another said: “My father was a king. My case is like yours.”

The fourth said in his turn: “My father, too, was a king. My case is like that of your three. You are my brothers.”

Their mother overheard them and took to weeping until day.

They took her to the prince, who said, “Why do you weep?”

She answered: “I was formerly the wife of a king and we had four sons. We set sail, he, our children, and I. The ship which bore us was wrecked. Each one was borne away alone, until yesterday when they spoke before me during the night and showed me what had happened to them, to their father, and to their mother.”

The King said, “Let me know your adventure.”

They told him all that had happened. Then the prince arose, weeping, and said, “You are my children,” and to the woman, “You are my wife.” God reunited them.

How the Cannibals drove the People from Insofan Mountain to the Cross River (Ikom)

Long ago, the towns near the Insofan Mountain held annual New Yam feasts, marked by human sacrifices and communal feasts involving yams and slave bodies. However, the discovery of grave-digging cannibals forced King Agbor to separate the towns for safety. Each community resettled by the Cross River, preserving their traditions but delaying burials to prevent further desecration, a practice that persists today.

Source
Folk Stories from Southern Nigeria
by Elphinstone Dayrell
Longmans, Green & Co.
London, New York, Bombay, Calcutta, 1910

► Themes of the story

Moral Lessons: The tale imparts lessons on the consequences of greed and the importance of respecting the deceased, as the cannibals’ actions lead to significant upheaval for the communities.

Community and Isolation: The story illustrates the dynamics between different towns, their collective traditions, and the eventual separation and resettlement due to external threats.

Echoes of the Past: The narrative reflects on ancestral customs and the lasting impact of historical events on present-day practices, such as the delayed burials to prevent desecration.

► From the same Region or People

West Africa
- Nigerian Lore

Learn more about Nigerian peoples

Very many years ago, before the oldest man alive at the present time can remember, the towns of Ikom, Okuni, Abijon, Insofan, Obokum, and all the other Injor towns were situated round and near the Insofan Mountain, and the head chief of the whole country was called Agbor. Abragba and Enfitop also lived there, and were also under King Agbor. The Insofan Mountain is about two days’ march inland from the Cross River, and as none of the people there could swim, and knew nothing about canoes, they never went anywhere outside their own country, and were afraid to go down to the big river.

► Continue reading…

The whole country was taken up with yam farms, and was divided amongst the various towns, each town having its own bush. At the end of each year, when it was time to dig the yams, there was a big play held, which was called the New Yam feast. At this festival there was always a big human sacrifice, fifty slaves being killed in one day. These slaves were tied up to trees in a row, and many drums were beaten; then a strong man, armed with a sharp matchet, went from one slave to another and cut their heads off. This was done to cool the new yams, so that they would not hurt the stomachs of the people. Until this sacrifice was made no one in the country would eat a new yam, as they knew, if they did so, they would suffer great pain in their insides.

When the feast was held, all the towns brought one hundred yams each as a present to King Agbor. When the slaves were all killed fires were lit, and the dead bodies were placed over the fires to burn the hair off. A number of plantain leaves were then gathered and placed on the ground, and the bodies, having been cut into pieces, were placed on the plantain leaves.

When the yams were skinned, they were put into large pots, with water, oil, pepper, and salt. The cut-up bodies were then put in on top, and the pots covered up with other clay pots and left to boil for an hour.

The king, having called all the people together, then declared the New Yam feast had commenced, and singing and dancing were kept up for three days and nights, during which time much palm wine was consumed, and all the bodies and yams, which had been provided for them, were eaten by the people.

The heads were given to the king for his share, and, when he had finished eating them, the skulls were placed before the Ju Ju with some new yams, so that there should be a good crop the following season.

But although these natives ate the dead bodies of the slaves at the New Yam feast, they did not eat human flesh during the rest of the year.

This went on for many years, until at last the Okuni people noticed that the graves of the people who had been buried were frequently dug open and the bodies removed. This caused great wonder, and, as they did not like the idea of their dead relations being taken away, they made a complaint to King Agbor. He at once caused a watch to be set on all newly dug graves, and that very night they caught seven men, who were very greedy, and used to come whenever a body was buried, dig it up, and carry it into the bush, where they made a fire, and cooked and ate it.

When they were caught, the people made them show where they lived, and where they cooked the bodies.

After walking for some hours in the forest, they came to a place where large heaps of human bones and skulls were found.

The seven men were then securely fastened up and brought before King Agbor, who held a large palaver of all the towns, and the whole situation was discussed.

Agbor said that this bad custom would necessitate all the towns separating, as they could not allow their dead relations to be dug up and eaten by these greedy people, and he could see no other way to prevent it. Agbor then gave one of the men to each of the seven towns, and told some of them to go on the far side of the big river and make their towns there. The others were to go farther down the river on the same side as Insofan Mountain, and when they found suitable places, they were each to kill their man as a sacrifice and then build their town.

All the towns then departed, and when they had found good sites, they built their towns there.

When they had all gone, after a time Agbor began to feel very lonely, so he left the site of his old town and also went to the Cross River to live, so that he could see his friends.

After that the New Yam feast was held in each town, and the people still continued to kill and eat a few slaves at the feast, but the bodies of their relations and friends were kept for a long time above ground until they had become rotten, so that the greedy people should not dig them up and eat them. This is why, even at the present time, the people do not like to bury their dead relations until they have become putrid.

The Pope’s Game of Chess

This story recounts the life of Elkanan, a Jewish boy from Mayence, kidnapped by a Catholic priest and raised in the Church, ultimately becoming Pope Andreas. Despite his new identity, Elkanan retains memories of his Jewish roots. When his father, Simon, visits Rome to advocate for the Jewish community, a chess match reveals their bond. Reunited, Elkanan renounces his papacy, returning home to live as Simon’s son.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919

► Themes of the story

Family Dynamics: The relationship between Elkanan and his father, Simon, is central to the narrative, highlighting the enduring bond between parent and child despite separation and changing identities.

Conflict with Authority: Elkanan’s eventual renunciation of the papacy reflects a challenge to established authority, choosing personal truth and familial bonds over institutional power.

Echoes of the Past: Elkanan’s memories of his Jewish heritage and his father’s recognition during the chess match illustrate how the past continues to influence the present, shaping decisions and identities.

► From the same Region or People

West Asia
- Jewish Lore

Learn more about Jewish mythology

Nearly a thousand years ago in the town of Mayence, on the bank of the Rhine, there dwelt a pious Jew of the name of Simon ben Isaac. Of a most charitable disposition, learned and ever ready to assist the poor with money and wise counsel, he was reverenced by all, and it was believed he was a direct descendant of King David. Everybody was proud to do him honor.

Simon ben Isaac had one little son, a bright boy of the name of Elkanan, who he intended should be trained as a rabbi.

► Continue reading…

Little Elkanan was very diligent in his studies and gave early promise of developing into an exceptionally clever student. Even the servants in the household loved him for his keen intelligence. One of them, indeed, was unduly interested in him.

She was the Sabbath-fire woman who only came into the house on the Sabbath day to attend to the fires, because, as you know, the Jewish servants could not perform this duty. The Sabbath-fire woman was a devoted Catholic and she spoke of Elkanan to a priest. The latter was considerably impressed.

“What a pity,” he remarked, “that so talented a boy should be a Jew. If he were a Christian, now,” he added, winningly, “he could enter the Holy Church and become famous.”

The Sabbath-fire woman knew exactly what the priest meant.

“Do you think he could rise to be a bishop?” she asked.

“He might rise even higher–to be the Pope himself,” replied the priest.

“It would be a great thing to give a bishop to the Church, would it not?” said the woman.

“It is a great thing to give anyone to the Church of Rome,” the priest assured her.

Then they spoke in whispers. The woman appeared a little troubled, but the priest promised her that all would be well, that she would be rewarded, and that nobody would dare to accuse her of doing anything wrong.

Convinced that she was performing a righteous action, she agreed to do what the priest suggested.

Accordingly, the following Friday night when the household of Simon ben Isaac was wrapped in slumber, she crept stealthily and silently into the boy’s bedroom. Taking him gently in her arms, she stole silently out of the house and carried him to the priest who was waiting. Elkanan was well wrapped up in blankets, and so cautiously did the woman move that he did not waken.

The priest said not a word. He just nodded to the woman, and then placed Elkanan in a carriage which he had in waiting.

Elkanan slept peacefully, totally unaware of his adventure, and when he opened his eyes he thought he must be dreaming. He was not in his own room, but a much smaller one which seemed to be jolting and moving, like a carriage, and opposite to him was a priest.

“Where am I?” he asked in alarm.

“Lie still, Andreas,” was the reply.

“But my name is not Andreas,” he answered. “That is not a Jewish name. I am Elkanan, the son of Simon.”

To his amazement, however, the priest looked at him pityingly and shook his head.

“You have had a nasty accident,” he said, “and it has affected your head. You must not speak.”

Not another word would he say in response to all the boy’s eager queries. He simply ignored Elkanan who puzzled his head over the matter until he really began to feel ill and to wonder whether he was Elkanan after all. Tired out, he fell asleep again, and next time he awoke he was lying on a bed in a bare room. A bell was tolling, and he heard a chanting chorus. By his side stood a priest.

Elkanan looked at the priest like one dazed. Before he could utter a word, the priest said: “Rise, Andreas, and follow me.”

The boy had no alternative but to obey. To his horror he was taken into a chapel and made to kneel. The priests sprinkled water on him. He did not understand what the service meant, and when it was over he began to cry for his father and mother. For days nobody took the slightest notice of his continual questionings until a priest, with a harsh, cruel face, spoke to him severely one day.

“I perceive, Andreas,” he said, “thou hast a stubborn spirit. It shall be curbed. Thy father and mother are dead–all the world is dead to thee. Thou hast strange notions in thy head. We shall rid thee of them.”

Elkanan cried so much on hearing these terrible words that he made himself seriously ill. How long he was kept in bed he knew not, but when he recovered, he found himself a prisoner in a monastery. All the priests called him Andreas, they were kind to him, and in time he began to doubt himself whether he was Elkanan, the son of Simon, the pious Jew of Mayence.

To put an end to the unrest in his mind, he devoted himself earnestly to his lessons. His tutors never had so brilliant a pupil, nor so intelligent a companion. He was a remarkable chess player.

“Where did you learn?” they asked him.

“My father, Simon ben Isaac, of Mayence, taught me,” he replied, with a sob in his voice.

“It is well,” they replied, having received their instructions what to say in answer to such remarks, “thou art blessed from Heaven, Andreas. Not only dost thou absorb learning in the hours of daylight, but angels and dead sages visit thee in they sleep and impart knowledge unto thee.”

He could obtain no more satisfactory words from his tutors, and in time he made no mention whatever of the past, and his tutors and companions refrained from touching upon the subject either. Once or twice he formed the idea of endeavoring to escape, but he soon discovered the project impossible. He was never allowed to be alone for a moment; he was virtually a prisoner, although all men began to do him honor because of his amazing knowledge and learning.

In due time, he became a priest and a tutor and was even called to Rome and was created a cardinal. He wore a red cap and cloak, people kneeled to him and sought his blessing, and all spoke of him as the wisest, kindliest and most scholarly man in the Church.

He had not spoken of his boyhood for years, but he never ceased to think of those happy days. And although he tried hard, he could not believe that it was all a dream. Whenever he played a game of chess, which was his one pastime, he seemed to see himself in his old room at Mayence, and he sighed. His fellow priests wondered why he did this, and he laughingly told them it was because he had no idea how to lose a game.

Then a great event happened. The Pope died and Andreas was elected his successor. He was placed on a throne, a crown was put upon his head, and he was called Holy Father. The power of life and death over millions of people in many countries was vested in him; kings, princes and nobles visited him in his great palace to do him homage, and his fame spread far and wide. But he himself grew more thoughtful and silent and sought only to exercise his great powers for the people’s good.

This, however, did not altogether please some of his counselors.

“The Church needs money,” they told him. “We must squeeze it out of the Jews.”

But Andreas steadfastly refused to countenance any persecutions. Many edicts were placed before him for his signature, giving permission to bishops in certain districts to threaten the Jews unless they paid huge sums of money in tribute, but Andreas declined to assent to any one of them.

One day a document was submitted to him from the archbishop of the Rhine district, craving permission to drive the Jews from the city of Mayence. The Pope’s face hardened when he read the iniquitous letter. He gave instant orders that the archbishop should be summoned to Rome, and to the utter amazement of his cardinals he also commanded them to bring before him three leading Jews from Mayence, to state their case.

“It shall not be said,” he declared, “that the Pope issued a decree of punishment without giving the people condemned an opportunity of defending themselves.”

When the news reached Mayence there was great wailing and sorrow among the Jews, for, alas! bitter experience had taught them to expect no mercy from Rome. Delegates were selected, and when they arrived at the Vatican they were asked for their names. These were given and communicated to the Pope.

“The delegates of the Jews of the city of Mayence,” announced a secretary, “humbly crave audience of Your Holiness.”

“Their names?” demanded the Pope.

“Simon ben Isaac, Abraham ben Moses, and Issachar, the priest.”

“Let them enter,” said the Pope, in a quiet, firm voice. He had heard but one name; his plan had proved successful, for he had counted upon Simon being one of the chosen delegates.

The three men entered the audience chamber and stood expectant before the Pope. His Holiness appeared to be lost in deep thought. Suddenly he aroused himself from his reverie and looked keenly at the aged leader of the party.

“Simon of Mayence, stand forth,” he said, “and give voice to thy plea. We give thee attention.”

The old man approached a few paces nearer, and in simple, but eloquent language, pleaded that the Jews should be permitted to remain unmolested in Mayence in which city their community had been long established.

“Thy prayer” said the Pope, when he had finished, “shall have full consideration, and my answer shall be made known to thee without delay. Now tell me, Simon of Mayence, something of thyself and thy co-delegates. Who are ye in the city?”

Simon gave the information.

“Have ye come hither alone?” asked the Pope. “Or have ye been escorted by members of your families–your sons?”

The Pope’s voice was scarcely steady, but none noticed.

“I have no son,” said Simon, with a weary sigh.

“Hast thou never been blessed with offspring?”

Simon looked sharply at the Pope before answering. Then, with bowed head and broken voice, he said: “God blessed me with one son, but he was stolen from me in childhood. That has been the sorrow of my life.”

The old man’s voice was choked with sobs.

“I have heard,” said the Pope, after a while, “that thou art famed as a chess-player. I, too, am credited with some skill in the game. I would fain pit it against thine. Hearken! If thou prove the victor in the game, then shall thy appeal prevail.”

“I consent,” said the old man, proudly. “It is many years since I have sustained defeat.”

It was arranged that the game should be played that evening. Naturally, the strange contest aroused the keenest interest. The game was followed closely by the papal secretaries and the Jewish delegates. It was a wonderful trial of subtle play. The two players seemed about evenly matched. First one and then the other made a daring move which appeared to place his opponent in difficulties, but each time disaster was ingeniously evaded. A draw seemed the likeliest result until, suddenly, the Pope made a brilliant move which startled the onlookers. It was considered impossible now for Simon to avoid defeat.

No one was more astounded at the Pope’s move than the old Jew. He rose tremblingly from his chair, gazed with piercing eyes into the face of the Pope and said huskily, “Where didst thou learn that move? I taught it to but one other.”

“Who?” demanded the Pope, eagerly.

“I will tell thee alone,” said Simon.

The Pope made a sign, and the others left the room in great surprise.

Then Simon exclaimed excitedly, “Unless thou art the devil himself, thou canst only be my long lost son, Elkanan.”

“Father!” cried the Pope, and the old man clasped him in his arms.

When the others re-entered the room, the Pope said quietly, “We have decided to call the game a draw, and in thankfulness for the rare pleasure of a game of chess with so skilled a player as Simon of Mayence, I grant the prayer of the delegates of that city. It is my will that the Jews shall live in peace.”

Shortly afterward, a new Pope was elected. Various rumors gained currency. One was that Andreas had thrown himself into the flames; another that he had mysteriously disappeared. And at the same time a stranger arrived in Mayence and was welcomed by Simon joyfully as his son, Elkanan.

King for Three Days

Godfrey de Bouillon, a central figure of the First Crusade, led an army to Jerusalem in 1095, committing atrocities against Jews along the way. He sought a prophecy from Rabbi Rashi, who foretold his brief rule as Jerusalem’s king and the decimation of his forces. Despite initial success, Godfrey’s army dwindled, fulfilling Rashi’s prophecy. His legacy contrasts starkly with Rashi’s enduring scholarly influence.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919

► Themes of the story

Prophecy and Fate: Rashi’s prophecy about Godfrey’s brief reign and the decimation of his forces underscores the inevitability of fate.

Good vs. Evil: The narrative contrasts Godfrey’s violent crusade with Rashi’s moral stance, highlighting the struggle between opposing forces.

Echoes of the Past: The historical context of the Crusades and its impact on future generations are central to the narrative.

► From the same Region or People

West Asia
- Jewish Lore

Learn more about Jewish mythology

Godfrey de Bouillon was a famous warrior, a daring general and bold leader of men, who gained victories in several countries. And so, in the year 1095, when the first Crusade came to be arranged, he was entrusted with the command of one of the armies and led it across Europe in the historic march to the Holy Land.

Like many a great soldier of his period, Godfrey was a cruel man, and, above all, he hated the Jews.

► Continue reading…

“In this, our Holy War,” he said to his men, “we shall slay all the children of Israel wherever we shall fall in with them. I shall not rest content until I have exterminated the Jews.”

True to his inhuman oath, Godfrey and his soldiers massacred large numbers of Jews. They did this without pity or mercy, saying: “We are performing a sacred duty, for we have the blessings of the priests on our enterprise.”

Godfrey felt sure he would be victorious, but he also wanted to obtain the blessing of a rabbi. It was a curious desire, but in those days such things were not considered at all strange, and so Godfrey de Bouillon sent for the learned Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, better known by his world-famed name of Rashi.

Rashi, one of the wisest sages of the Jews, came to Godfrey, and the two men stood facing each other.

“Thou hast heard of my undertaking to capture Jerusalem,” said Godfrey, haughtily. “I demand thy blessing on my venture.”

“Blessings are not in the gift of man; they are bestowed by Heaven–on worthy objects,” answered Rashi.

“Trifle not with words,” retorted the warrior, “or they may cost thee dear. A holy man can invoke a blessing.”

But Rashi was not afraid. He was becoming an old man then, but he was as brave as the swaggering soldier, and he faced Godfrey unflinchingly.

“I can make no claim on the God of Israel on behalf of one who has sworn to destroy all the descendants of His chosen people,” he said.

“So, ho!” exclaimed Godfrey, “you defy me.”

But he stopped his angry words abruptly. He had no wish to quarrel with any holy man, for that might make him nervous. And nervousness, then, was misunderstood as superstition. Besides, the rabbi might curse him.

“If you will not bless,” he said, “perhaps you will deign to raise the veil of the future for me. You wise men of the Jews are seers and can foretell events–so they say. A hundred thousand chariots filled with soldiers brave, determined and strong, are at my command. Tell me, shall I succeed, or fail?”

“Thou wilt do both.” Rashi replied.

“What mean you?” demanded Godfrey, angrily.

“This. Jerusalem will fall to thee. So it is ordained, and thou wilt become its king.”

“Ha, ha! So you deem it wisest to pronounce a blessing after all,” interrupted Godfrey. “I am content.”

“I have not spoken all,” said the rabbi, gravely. “Three days wilt thou rule and no more.”

Godfrey turned pale.

“Shall I return?” he asked, slowly.

“Not with thy multitude of chariots. Thy vast army will have dwindled to three horses and three men when thou reachest this city.”

“Enough,” cried Godfrey. “If you think to affright me with these ominous words, you fail in your intent. And hearken, Rabbi of the Jews, your words shall be remembered. Should they prove incorrect in the minutest detail–if I am King of Jerusalem for four days, or return with four horsemen–you shall pay the penalty of a false prophet and shall be consigned to the flames. Do you understand? You shall be put to death.”

“I understand well,” returned Rashi, quite unmoved, “it is a sentence which you and your kind love to pronounce with or without the sanction of those whom you call your holy men. It is not I who fear, Godfrey de Bouillon. I seek not to peer into the future to assure my own safety.”

With these words they parted, the rabbi returning to his prayers and to his studies which have enriched the learning of the Jews, while Godfrey proceeded to lay a trail of innocent Jewish blood along the banks of the Rhine in his march to Palestine.

History has set on record the events of the Crusade. Godfrey, after many battles, laid siege to the Holy City, captured it, and drove the Jews into one of the synagogues and burned them alive. Eight days afterward, his soldiers raised him on their shields and proclaimed him king.

Godfrey was delighted, but two days later he thought the matter over carefully and decided that he could not live in Jerusalem always. So next day he called together his captains and said:

“You have done me great honor. But I must return to Europe, and it would be more befitting that I should be styled Duke of Jerusalem and Guardian of the Holy City than its sovereign.”

That night, however, he suddenly remembered the prediction of Rashi.

“For three days I have been King of Jerusalem,” he muttered. “The rabbi of the Jews spoke truth.”

He could not help wondering whether the rest of the prophecy would be fulfilled, and he became moody. He was joyful when he gained a victory, but there came also disasters, and he was plunged into despondency. The reverses affected the buoyancy of his troops, disease decimated their ranks, and desertions further depleted their numbers. Slowly but surely his mighty army dwindled away to a mere handful of dissatisfied men and decrepit horses.

It was a ragged and wretched procession that he led back across Europe, and daily his retinue grew smaller. Men and horses dropped from sheer fatigue helpless by the wayside, and were left there to die, with the hungry vultures perched on trees, patiently waiting for the last flicker of life to depart before they set to work to pick the bones of all flesh.

Godfrey de Bouillon had gained his victory, but at what cost? Thousands of men, women and children had been murdered, thousands of his soldiers had fallen in battle, and now hundreds of others had dropped out of the ranks to end their last hours on the ghastly road that led from Jerusalem back to western Europe. Do you wonder that Godfrey was unhappy, and that he thought every moment of the words of Rashi?

At length he reached the city of Worms where Rashi dwelt. With him were four men, mounted on horses.

“It is well,” he said, with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, as he surveyed the remnants of his once proud army. “The rabbi has failed.”

Godfrey bade his men fall into line behind him and he proudly rode through the gate of the city. As he did so, he heard a cry of alarm. He turned hastily and saw a huge stone falling from the city’s gate. It dropped on the soldier riding just behind him, killing both man and horse.

“You have spoken truth; would that I had taken heed of your words,” he said to the rabbi. “I am a broken man. You will assuredly achieve great fame in Israel.” And so it has come to pass. Should you, by chance, ever visit the city of Brussels, the capital of Belgium, fail not to look upon the statue of Godfrey de Bouillon, with his sword proudly raised. It stands in the Place Royale but a few minutes’ walk from the synagogue. Should you ever be in the ancient city of Worms that stands on the Rhine, do as other visitors, Jews and Gentiles–enter the synagogue that was built many centuries ago, and you will see the room where Rashi studied and the stone seat on which he sat. And not far from the synagogue you will see the ancient gate of the city, named in honor of Rabbi Solomon ben Isaac, the Rashi Gate. Perhaps it is the very one under which Godfrey de Bouillon passed into the city with his three mounted companions, as the legend tells.

The Sleep of One Hundred Years

Rabbi Onias, mourning the destruction of Jerusalem, falls into a miraculous century-long sleep near the ruined city. When he awakens, he discovers Jerusalem rebuilt, yet feels alienated by the changed world. Recognizing he no longer belongs, Onias returns to his resting place and peacefully departs this life. His tale underscores resilience, the passage of time, and the enduring spirit of renewal and legacy.

Source
Jewish Fairy Tales and Legends
by Gertrude Landa (“Aunt Naomi”)
Bloch Publishing Co., New York, 1919

► Themes of the story

Time and Timelessness: Onias’s century-long sleep serves as a narrative device to explore the passage of time and the changes it brings, contrasting his unchanged state with the transformed world around him.

Echoes of the Past: Upon awakening, Onias confronts a world that has moved on without him, emphasizing how history and past events continue to influence the present, even as society progresses.

Rebirth: Jerusalem’s rise from ruins symbolizes rebirth, illustrating the enduring spirit of renewal and the possibility of new beginnings after devastation.

► From the same Region or People

West Asia
- Jewish Lore

Learn more about Jewish mythology

It was at the time of the destruction of the First Temple. The cruel war had laid Jerusalem desolate, and terrible was the suffering of the people.

Rabbi Onias, mounted on a camel, was sorrowfully making his way toward the unhappy city. He had traveled many days and was weary from lack of sleep and faint with hunger, yet he would not touch the basket of dates he had with him, nor would he drink from the water in a leather bottle attached to the saddle.

► Continue reading…

“Perchance,” he said, “I shall meet some one who needs them more than I.”

But everywhere the land was deserted. One day, nearing the end of the journey, he saw a man planting a carob tree at the foot of a hill.

“The Chaldeans,” said the man, “have destroyed my beautiful vineyards and all my crops, but I must sow and plant anew, so that the land may live again.”

Onias passed sorrowfully on and at the top of the hill he stopped. Before him lay Jerusalem, not the once beautiful city with its hundreds of domes and minarets that caught the first rays of the sun each morning, but a vast heap of ruins and charred buildings. Onias threw himself on the ground and wept bitterly. No human being could he see, and the sun was setting over what looked like a city of the dead.

“Woe, woe,” he cried. “Zion, my beautiful Zion, is no more. Can it ever rise again? Not in a hundred years can its glory be renewed.”

The sun sank lower as he continued to gaze upon the ruined city, and darkness gathered over the scene. Utterly exhausted, Onias, laying his head upon his camel on the ground, fell into a deep sleep.

The silver moon shone serenely through the night and paled with the dawn, and the sun cast its bright rays on the sleeping rabbi. Darkness spread its mantle of night once more, and again the sun rose, and still Onias slept. Days passed into weeks, the weeks merged into months, and the months rolled on until years went by; but Rabbi Onias did not waken.

Seeds, blown by the winds and brought by the birds, dropped around him, took root and grew into shrubs, and soon a thick hedge surrounded him and screened him from all who passed. A date that had fallen from his basket, took root also, and in time there rose a beautiful palm tree which cast a shade over the sleeping figure.

And thus a hundred years rolled by.

Suddenly, Onias moved, stretched himself and yawned. He was awake again. He looked around confused.

“Strange,” he muttered. “Did I not fall asleep on a hill overlooking Jerusalem last night? How comes it now that I am hemmed in by a thicket and am lying in the shade of this noble date palm?”

With great difficulty he rose to his feet.

“Oh, how my bones do ache!” he cried. “I must have overslept myself. And where is my camel?”

Puzzled, he put his hand to his beard. Then he gave a cry of anguish.

“What is this? My beard is snow-white and so long that it almost reaches to the ground.”

He sank down again, but the mound on which he sat was but a heap of rubbish and collapsed under his weight. Beneath it were bones. Hastily clearing away the rubbish, he saw the skeleton of a camel.

“This surely must be my camel,” he said. “Can I have slept so long? The saddle-bags have rotted, too. But what is this?” and he picked up the basket of dates and the water-bottle. The dates and the water were quite fresh.

“This must be some miracle,” he said. “This must be a sign for me to continue my journey. But, alas, that Jerusalem should be destroyed!”

He looked around and was more puzzled than ever. When he had fallen asleep the hill had been bare of vegetation. Now it was covered with carob trees.

“I think I remember a man planting a carob tree yesterday,” he said. “But was it yesterday?”

He turned in the other direction and gave a cry of astonishment. The sun was shining on a noble city of glittering pinnacles and minarets, and around it were smiling fields and vineyards.

“Jerusalem still lives,” he exclaimed. “Of a truth I have been dreaming–dreaming that it was destroyed. Praise be to God that it was but a dream.”

With all speed he made his way across the plain to the city. People looked at him strangely and pointed him out to one another, and the children ran after him and called him names he did not understand. But he took no notice. Near the outskirts of the city he paused.

“Canst thou tell me, father,” he said to an old man, “which is the house of Onias, the rabbi?”

“‘Tis thy wit, or thy lack of it, that makes thee call me father,” replied the man. “I must be but a child compared with thee.”

Others gathered around and stared hard at Onias.

“Didst thou speak of Rabbi Onias?” asked one. “I know of one who says that was the name of his grandfather. I will bring him.”

He hastened away and soon returned with an aged man of about eighty.

“Who art thou?” Onias asked.

“Onias is my name,” was the reply. “I am called so in honor of my sainted grandfather, Rabbi Onias, who disappeared mysteriously one hundred years ago, after the destruction of the First Temple.”

“A hundred years,” murmured Onias. “Can I have slept so long?”

“By thy appearance, it would seem so,” replied the other Onias. “The Temple has been rebuilt since then.”

“Then it was not a dream,” said the old man.

They led him gently indoors, but everything was strange to him. The customs, the manners, the habits of the people, their dress, their talk, was all different, and every time he spoke they laughed.

“Thou seemest like a creature from another world,” they said. “Thou speakest only of the things that have long passed away.”

One day he called his grandson.

“Lead me,” he said, “to the place of my long sleep. Perchance I will sleep again. I am not of this world, my child. I am alone, a stranger here, and would fain leave ye.”

Taking the dates and the bottle of water which still remained fresh, he made his way to where he had slept for a hundred years, and there his prayer for peace was answered. He slept again, but not in this world will he awaken.