“How few of the tales we listen to can lay any claim to originality!”

Art, Books, Literature, Writers

How many brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, and cousins of all degrees a little story has! And how few of the tales we listen to can lay any claim to originality! There is scarcely a story which I hear which I cannot connect with some family of myths, and whose pedigree I cannot ascertain with more or less precision.

Shakespeare drew the plots of his plays from Boccaccio or Straparola; but these Italians did not invent the tales they lent to the English dramatist. King Lear does not originate with Geofry of Monmouth, but comes from early Indian stores of fable, whence also are derived the Merchant of Venice and the pound of flesh, ay, and the very incident of the three caskets. But who would credit it, were it not proved by conclusive facts, that Johnny Sands is the inheritance of the whole Aryan family of nations, and that Peeping Tom of Coventry peeped in India and on the Tartar steppes ages before Lady Godiva was born?

If you listen to Traviata at the opera, you have set before you a tale which has lasted for centuries, and which was perhaps born in India. If you read in classic fable of Orpheus charming woods and meadows, beasts and birds, with his magic lyre, you remember to have seen the same fable related in the Kalewala of the Finnish Wainomainen, and in the Kaleopoeg of the Esthonian Kalewa. If you take up English history, and read of William the Conqueror slipping as he landed on British soil, and kissing the earth, saying he had come to greet and claim his own, you remember that the same story is told of Napoleon in Egypt, of King Olaf Harold’s son in Norway, and in classic history of Junius Brutus on his return from the oracle . . .

From Sabine Baring-Gould’s indispensable work Curious Myths of the Middle Ages (1866).
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4 thoughts on ““How few of the tales we listen to can lay any claim to originality!”

  1. It’s fabulous, isn’t it, that we feel the need to retell these stories? There is obviously some inner truth within them that is important for our psyche. As a writer, I find it comforting, too, to realize the bones of stories are often the same – the differences are in the fleshing out.
    I am so enjoying the serendipitous joy of this blog.

  2. Reblogged this on DA's Ephemera and Etceteras and commented:
    stories repeat, and repeat, and repeat. They have the comfort of an old song. And yet, the tunes are different, the instruments vary. Isn’t is marvelous! This blog is filled with serendipitous loveliness. Pictures, excerpts from old books, titles of books long forgotten. Subscribe and be surprised every day.

  3. Reblogged this on Attempts and Endeavours and commented:
    Maybe, it’s because the wants of our hearts never change, they may take different semblances, and some of them could be so queer as to cloak the never changing essence of these wants and give the illusion of originality…

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