The Faithful Wife
Who Rescued Her Husband
from Slavery
folktales of Aarne-Thompson type 888
translated and/or edited by
D. L. Ashliman
© 1999-2000
folktales of Aarne-Thompson type 888
translated and/or edited by
At Metz in Lorraine there lived a noble knight by the name of Alexander with his beautiful and virtuous wife Florentina. This knight vowed to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Grave. Unable to dissuade him from this journey, his sorrowful wife made for him a white shirt with a red cross and asked him to wear it.
The knight then journeyed abroad and was captured by the infidels. He and his unfortunate companions were hitched to a plow and under the blows of a whip were forced to till the fields until blood ran from their bodies. Miraculously, only the shirt that Alexander had received from his wife and which he always wore remained clean and unstained. Rain, sweat, and blood did it no harm, nor did it tear.
The Sultan himself learned of this rare circumstance, and he asked the slave precisely about his name, where he was from, and who had given him the shirt. The knight told him everything, adding, "I have the shirt from my virtuous wife. That it remains so white proves to me her continuing faithfulness and chastity."
The pagan, his curiosity aroused by this news, resolved to secretly send one of his people to Metz who should spare neither money nor property in order to seduce the knight's wife, and thus determine if the shirt's color would change.
The foreigner journeyed to Lorraine, scouted out the wife, then reported to her how miserable her husband was in the pagan land. This greatly saddened her, but she remained steadfastly virtuous. The emissary spent all his money in his unsuccessful attempts to seduce her, then returned to Turkey.
Soon afterward Florentina dressed herself as a pilgrim, took up her harp, which she played very well, and set forth following foreign pagan. She caught up with him in Venice, then traveled with him to the land of the pagans, without his recognizing her in her disguise.
Arriving at the pagan king's court, the pilgrim so captured him with singing and playing that great presents were offered to her. Rejecting them all, the pilgrim requested one of the captured Christians who were plowing. The request was granted, and Florentina, unrecognized, went to the prisoners, coming finally to the plow where her husband was hitched. Then she requested and received this prisoner, and together they journeyed safely across the sea until they arrived home in Germany. While still a two days' journey from Metz, the pilgrim said to Alexander, "Brother, our paths part here. As a remembrance give me a little piece from your shirt, whose miracle I have heard so much about, so that I can tell and convince others about it."
The knight agreed to this, cut a piece from the shirt and gave it to the pilgrim. Then they parted. However, Florentina took a shorter way and arrived in Metz one whole day earlier than he did. She put on her accustomed women's clothes and awaited her husband's arrival. Alexander greeted his wife most tenderly, but soon afterward his friends and relatives began whispering to him that Florentina had traveled about the world for twelve months, leading an immoral life and letting no one hear from her.
Alexander, burning with anger, ordered a feast where he publicly accused his wife of unbecoming behavior. Saying nothing, she left the room, went to her chamber, put on the pilgrim's garb that she had worn at that time, took up her harp, and then reappeared. Holding the piece cut from his shirt in her hand, she proved that she had been the pilgrim who had redeemed him from the plow. Then all her accusers fell silently at her feet, and her husband tearfully begged her for forgiveness.
Ages ago there lived in Tannenberg Castle on the mountain road a knight whose name was Conrad. He had a wife named Ann-Els who was as beautiful as she was pious. One time she became seriously ill, and he vowed that if she should recover he would make a pilgrimage to the Holy Grave and there battle against the infidels. And lo, Ann-Els recovered soon thereafter, and when her health had fully returned, the knight made himself ready to depart on a pilgrimage. With many tears he took leave of his wife and journeyed to the sea, where together with companions he had met underway he boarded a ship.
At sea the ship was attacked by pirates. He and his companions were taken prisoner and sold as slaves to an eminent Turk.
Year upon year passed, and his wife received no news from him. Because she was wealthy, she received many marriage proposals from neighboring knights, but she was interested in none of them and rejected them all, which caused a great deal of hate and animosity toward her.
Then one day she heard from another pilgrim who was returning home from the promised land that her husband was languishing as a prisoner among the Turks, and she resolved to rescue him, cost it what it may. Dressing herself in men's clothes, she took her harp, which she could play very well, and journeyed across the sea to Turkey. Arriving there safely, she sought and inquired after her husband until finally she discovered where he was. Then one day she approached the Turk who was his master and played such beautiful melodies on her harp, and sang with such charm, that the Turk said she should name her own reward, that he would give her anything she requested.
Then she said, "I ask only for a slave to serve me," and from among the slaves she selected one -- her dear husband. However, she did not identify herself to him, but kept him away from her. After the sea voyage was successfully completed and they found themselves again on Christian soil, she left a sum of money for him, then secretly slipped away and hurried home as fast as possible.
Not long afterward Conrad too arrived at Tannenberg Castle and was joyfully and festively received by his wife. All the knights from the surrounding area came to the castle to wish him well. While they were eating Knight Conrad told them of his adventures, how he had been captured, mistreated, and so miraculously rescued.
Then several of the knights whose marriage proposals Ann-Els had rejected whispered into his ear that in the meantime his wife had been traveling about the land dressed in men's clothes and leading an indecent life.
Upon hearing this Conrad jumped up angrily, drew his sword, and attempted to kill Ann-Els, but she fled into her room and barred the door so that he could not harm her. Not long afterward she returned to the hall carrying her harp and wearing the clothes in which she had freed Conrad, and she played a melody. Then Knight Conrad jumped up and fell into the singer's arms. She threw off the clothes and stood there as the faithful Ann-Els.
It is not necessary to say how happy Conrad was, nor that the gossipers disappeared as soon as they possibly could, not letting themselves be seen again, and that the festival ended even more joyfully than it had begun.
Once upon a time there was a king and queen who lived happily and comfortably together. They were very fond of each other and had nothing to worry them, but at last the king grew restless. He longed to go out into the world, to try his strength in battle against some enemy and to win all kinds of honor and glory.
So he called his army together and gave orders to start for a distant country where a heathen king ruled who ill treated or tormented everyone he could lay his hands on. The king then gave his parting orders and wise advice to his ministers, took a tender leave of his wife, and set off with his army across the seas.
I cannot say whether the voyage was short or long; but at last he reached the country of the heathen king and marched on, defeating all who came in his way. But this did not last long, for in time he came to a mountain pass, where a large army was waiting for him, who put his soldiers to flight, and took the king himself prisoner.
He was carried off to the prison where the heathen king kept his captives, and now our poor friend had a very bad time indeed. All night long the prisoners were chained up, and in the morning they were yoked together like oxen and had to plow the land till it grew dark.
This state of things went on for three years before the king found any means of sending news of himself to his dear queen, but at last he contrived to send this letter: "Sell all our castles and palaces, and put all our treasures in pawn and come and deliver me out of this horrible prison."
The queen received the letter, read it, and wept bitterly as she said to herself, "How can I deliver my dearest husband? If I go myself and the heathen king sees me he will just take me to be one of his wives. If I were to send one of the ministers! -- but I hardly know if I can depend on them."
She thought, and thought, and at last an idea came into her head. She cut off all her beautiful long brown hair and dressed herself in boy's clothes. Then she took her lute and, without saying anything to anyone, she went forth into the wide world.
She traveled through many lands and saw many cities, and went through many hardships before she got to the town where the heathen king lived. When she got there she walked all round the palace and at the back she saw the prison. Then she went into the great court in front of the palace, and taking her lute in her hand, she began to play so beautifully that one felt as though one could never hear enough.
After she had played for some time she began to sing, and her voice was sweeter than the lark's:
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I come from my own country far |
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Oh! who will thank me for my song. |
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I sing of blooming flowers |
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Of the sad captive's longing |
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My song begs for your pity, |
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And if you hear my singing |
No sooner had the heathen king heard this touching song sung by such a lovely voice, than he had the singer brought before him. "Welcome, O lute player," said he. "Where do you come from?"
"My country, sire, is far away across many seas. For years I have been wandering about the world and gaining my living by my music."
"Stay here then a few days, and when you wish to leave I will give you what you ask for in your song -- your heart's desire."
So the lute player stayed on in the palace and sang and played almost all day long to the king, who could never tire of listening and almost forgot to eat or drink or to torment people. He cared for nothing but the music, and nodded his head as he declared, "There's nothing like your playing and singing. It makes me feel as if some gentle hand had lifted every care and sorrow from me."
After three days the lute player came to take leave of the king.
"Well," said the king, "what do you desire as your reward?"
"Sire, give me one of your prisoners. You have so many in your prison, and I should be glad of a companion on my journeys. When I hear his happy voice as I travel along I shall think of you and thank you."
"Come along then," said the king, "choose whom you will." And he took the lute player through the prison himself.
The queen walked about amongst the prisoners, and at length she picked out her husband and took him with her on her journey. They were long on their way, but he never found out who she was, and she led him nearer and nearer to his own country.
When they reached the frontier the prisoner said, "Let me go now, kind lad; I am no common prisoner, but the king of this country. Let me go free and ask what you will as your reward."
"Do not speak of reward," answered the lute player. "Go in peace."
"Then come with me, dear boy, and be my guest."
"When the proper time comes I shall be at your palace," was the reply, and so they parted.
The queen took a short way home, got there before the king and changed her dress.
An hour later all the people in the palace were running to and fro and crying out, "Our king has come back! Our king has returned to us."
The king greeted every one very kindly, but he would not so much as look at the queen.
Then he called all his council and ministers together and said to them, "See what sort of a wife I have. Here she is falling on my neck, but when I was pining in prison and sent her word of it she did nothing to help me."
And his council answered with one voice, "Sire, when news was brought from you, the queen disappeared and no one knew where she went. She only returned today."
Then the king was very angry and cried, "Judge my faithless wife! Never would you have seen your king again, if a young lute player had not delivered him. I shall remember him with love and gratitude as long as I live."
Whilst the king was sitting with his council, the queen found time to disguise herself. She took her lute, and slipping into the court in front of the palace she sang, clear and sweet:
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I sing the captive's longing |
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My song begs for your pity, |
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And if you hear my singing |
As soon as the king heard this song he ran out to meet the lute player, took him by the hand and led him into the palace.
"Here," he cried, "is the boy who released me from my prison. And now, my true friend, I will indeed give you your heart's desire."
"I am sure you will not be less generous than the heathen king was, sire. I ask of you what I asked and obtained from him. But this time I don't mean to give up what I get. I want you -- yourself!"
And as she spoke she threw off her long cloak and everyone saw it was the queen.
Who can tell how happy the king was? In the joy of his heart he gave a great feast to the whole world, and the whole world came and rejoiced with him for a whole week.
I was there too, and ate and drank many good things. I shan't forget that feast as long as I live.