October 16. Story of the Day: Death of the Little Hen

This story is from Household Tales by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, translated by Margaret Hunt.

This is classified as ATU 2022 The Death of the Little Hen.

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE DEATH OF THE LITTLE HEN

(illustration by Otto Ubbelohde)

Once upon a time the little hen went with the little cock to the nut-hill, and they agreed together that whichsoever of them found a kernel of a nut should share it with the other. Then the hen found a large, large nut, but said nothing about it, intending to eat the kernel herself. The kernel, however, was so large that she could not swallow it, and it remained sticking in her throat, so that she was alarmed lest she should be choked. Then she cried, "Cock, I entreat thee to run as fast thou canst, and fetch me some water, or I shall choke."

The little cock did run as fast as he could to the spring, and said, "Stream, thou art to give me some water; the little hen is lying on the nut-hill, and she has swallowed a large nut, and is choking."

The well answered, "First run to the bride, and get her to give thee some red silk."

The little cock ran to the bride and said, "Bride, you are to give me some red silk; I want to give red silk to the well, the well is to give me some water, I am to take the water to the little hen who is lying on the nut-hill and has swallowed a great nut-kernel, and is choking with it."

The bride answered, "First run and bring me my little wreath which is hanging to a willow."

So the little cock ran to the willow, and drew the wreath from the branch and took it to the bride, and the bride gave him some water for it. Then the little cock took the water to the hen, but when he got there the hen had choked in the meantime, and lay there dead and motionless.

Then the cock was so distressed that he cried aloud, and every animal came to lament the little hen, and six mice built a little carriage to carry her to her grave, and when the carriage was ready they harnessed themselves to it, and the cock drove.

On the way, however, they met the fox, who said, "Where art thou going, little cock?"

"I am going to bury my little hen."

"May I drive with thee?"

"Yes, but seat thyself at the back of the carriage, for in the front my little horses could not drag thee." Then the fox seated himself at the back, and after that the wolf, the bear, the stag, the lion, and all the beasts of the forest did the same.

Then the procession went onwards, and they reached the stream. "How are we to get over?" said the little cock.

A straw was lying by the stream, and it said, "I will lay myself across, and you shall drive over me." But when the six mice came to the bridge, the straw slipped and fell into the water, and the six mice all fell in and were drowned.

Then they were again in difficulty, and a coal came and said, "I am large enough, I will lay myself across and you shall drive over me." So the coal also laid itself across the water, but unhappily just touched it, on which the coal hissed, was extinguished and died.

When a stone saw that, it took pity on the little cock, wished to help him, and laid itself over the water. Then the cock drew the carriage himself, but when he got it over and reached the other shore with the dead hen, and was about to draw over the others who were sitting behind as well, there were too many of them, the carriage ran back, and they all fell into the water together, and were drowned.

Then the little cock was left alone with the dead hen, and dug a grave for her and laid her in it, and made a mound above it, on which he sat down and fretted until he died too, and then every one was dead.

October 3. Story of the Day: Story of the Ant

This story comes from Folktales from India by M. N. Venkataswami; I have only included the English here (original here).

This is classified as ATU 2022 The Death of the Little Hen.

The author provides a note about arsailu (arisela), but no help for Paidarallu Peddamma at the end of the story. I know that Peddamma is a name for the Goddess in south India, but I do not know what to make of Paidarallu Peddamma.

(paramparamithai.com)

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE STORY OF THE ANT

Once upon a time a peahen reared an ant, which became so attached to her that every day she would precede here foster-mother from the fields, whither the peahen had gone to fetch the ant her daily food.

One day said the ant, "Mother dear, I am going to make some arsailu for you tomorrow morning."

"Don't make it, don't make it, darling," said the peahen. "You will fall into the pan."

But the ant paid no attention and made the arsailu, and began drawing them out of the pan: one, two, three, four, but at the fifth draw there was an accident and she fell into the pan of boiling oil.

In due time, the peahen returned as usual, but for a long while she searched in vain in every nook and corner for the ant. At least she found the poor litlte ant quite dead in the burning oil and set up a great lamentation. In her sorrow she sat down under a banyan-tree lamenting, and this made the tree say, "O peahen, peahen, you have always been joyous; what is the matter today?"

"O banyan-tree, banyan-tree, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps."

The banyan-tree began at once to weep at every pore, and a crow that always used to perch on one of its branches began to enquire, "O banyan-tree, O banyan-tree, you were always hearty; what is the matter today?"

"O crow, crow, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg."

Immediately one of the crow's legs fell off and it began hopping on one leg miserably. An elephant saw it and said, "O crow, crow, you were always perky; what is the matter today?"

"O elephant, elephant, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all."

Immediately all power went out of the elephant's legs and he began to crawl cumbrously here and there. In this plight a deer saw him and said, "O elephant, elephant, you were always strong; what is the matter today?"

"O deer, deer, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees."

Instantly the deer fell on its knees by the river-side in great pain. Said the river, "O deer, deer, you were always blithe; what is the matter today?"

"O river, river, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees,
The river bubbles."

When the river began bubbling, said the millet-field alongside, "O river, river, you were always smooth; what is the matter today?"

"O millet-field, millet-field, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees,
The river bubbles,
The millet-field is blighted."

A great blight at once settled on the millet-field and the king who was there said, "O millet-field, O millet-field, you were always full of corn; what is the matter today?"

"O king, king, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees,
The river bubbles,
The millet-field is blighted,
The king has gone lame."

The king began at once to go dot-and-go-one and when the queen saw him, she said, "O king, king, you were always sturdy; what is the matter today?"

"O queen, queen, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees,
The river bubbles,
The millet-field is blighted,
The king has gone lame,
The queen stuck to her seat."

And sure enough the queen had at once to carry her seat about with her, and Paidarellu Peddamma seeing her in such a plight said, "O queen, queen, you were always sprightly, what is the matter today?"

"O Paidarellu Peddamma, don't you know?
The ant died,
The peahen grieves,
The banyan-tree weeps,
The crow has lost a leg,
The elephant has lost all,
The deer broke her knees,
The river bubbles,
The millet-field is blighted,
The king has gone lame,
The queen stuck to her seat,
And the basket has stuck to Paidarallu Peddamma."


NOTES

To make arsailu. Pound some rice to a coarse powder, mix into a cake with boiled molasses while still liquid place the cake in a pan of boiling oil, when cooked fish up with an iron ladle and serve the cake as arsailu. Arsailus are used on commercial occasions, such as betrothals, marriages, and so on.

August 8. Story of the Day: The Hen

This is one of Afanasjev's Russian folktales; I have translated it from the Russian, and since Afanasjev did not record the fully cumulative chain of grief, I have also provided a retelling with the full statements by all the characters down at the bottom of the post.

This is classified as ATU 2022B The Broken Egg, and you can see that it has a lot in common with other stories that feature a series of mourners.

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE HEN

(coloring book page)

There lived an old man with an old woman, and they had a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf.

A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke.

The old man weeps, the old woman cries, the stove is blazing, the roof of the hut is shaking, the granddaughter is choked with grief.

The baker woman comes, she asks why they are crying like that.

The old couple explain, "How can we not weep? We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, the stove is blazing, the roof of the hut is shaking, the granddaughter is choked with grief."

The baker woman listened -- she broke all the communion loaves and threw them away.

The sexton comes up to the baker woman and asks why she threw the communion loaves away.

She explained to him all the sorrow; the sexton ran to the bell-tower and rang all the bells.

The priest comes and asks the sexton why he rang the bells.

The sexton explained all the sorrow to the priest, and the priest ran and ripped up all the books.

(rumvi.com)

Here is the Russian:

Курочка No 70 (online) Жил-был старик со старушкою, у них была курочка-татарушка, снесла яичко в куте под окошком: пестро, востро, костяно, мудрено! Положила на полочку; мышка шла, хвостиком тряхнула, полочка упала, яичко разбилось. Старик плачет, старуха возрыдает, в печи пылает, верх на избе шатается, девочка-внучка с горя удавилась. Идет просвирня, спрашивает: что они так плачут? Старики начали пересказывать: "Как нам не плакать? Есть у нас курочка-татарушка, снесла яичко в куте под окошком: пестро, востро, костяно, мудрено! Положила на полочку; мышка шла, хвостиком тряхнула, полочка упала, яичко и разбилось! Я, старик, плачу, старуха возрыдает, в печи пылает, верх на избе шатается, девочка-внучка с горя удавилась". Просвирня как услыхала -- все просвиры изломала и побросала. Подходит дьячок и спрашивает у просвирни: зачем она просвиры побросала? Она пересказала ему все горе; дьячок побежал на колокольню и перебил все колокола. Идет поп, спрашивает у дьячка: зачем колокола перебил? Дьячок пересказал все горе попу, а поп побежал, все книги изорвал.

~ ~ ~

Here is my amplified version:

There lived an old man with an old woman, and they had a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf.

A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke.

When the old man saw the broken egg, he began to weep.

When the old woman saw that the old man was weeping, she asked what was wrong.

"How can I not weep?" he replied.  "We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping."

And then the old woman began to cry.

When the stove saw that the old man and the old woman were weeping and crying, it asked what was wrong.

The old man replied, "How can we not weep? We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, and the old woman is crying."

And then the stove began to blaze.

When the roof of the hut saw that the stove was blazing, it asked what was wrong.

The old man exclaimed, "We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, and the stove is blazing."

And then the roof of the hut started to shake.

When the granddaughter saw the roof of the hut shaking, she asked what was wrong.

The old man replied, "We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, the stove is blazing, and the roof of the hut is shaking."

And then the granddaughter was choked with grief.

The baker woman came to the hut and saw all the weeping and grieving, so she asked the old man and the old woman what was wrong.

The old couple explained, "How can we not weep? We have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, the stove is blazing, the roof of the hut is shaking, and the granddaughter is choked with grief."

The baker woman listened, and then she broke all the communion loaves and threw them away.

The sexton came up to the baker woman and asked why she threw the communion loaves away.

The baker woman explained, "The old man and old woman have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, the stove is blazing, the roof of the hut is shaking, the granddaughter is choked with grief, and I threw the communion loaves away."

And then the sexton ran to the bell-tower and rang all the bells.

The priest came and asked the sexton why he rang the bells.

The sexton explained, "The old man and old woman have a Tatar hen. She laid an egg in a corner under the window: light, bright, sharp, smart! She placed it on the shelf. A mouse walked by, shook her tail, the shelf fell down, the egg broke. I, the old man, am weeping, the old woman is crying, the stove is blazing, the roof of the hut is shaking, the granddaughter is choked with grief, the baker woman threw the communion loaves away, and I am ringing the bells."

Then the priest ran and ripped up all the books.

And that is the end of the story.

July 14. Story of the Day: Susku and Mushu

This is another story from Persian Tales by D.L.R. Lorimer and E.O. Lorimer with illustrations by Hilda Roberts, and you will see the same story opening formulas and closing formulas here as in the other stories I've taken from this book: The Fox's Pilgrimage to Mecca and The Mouse's Tail.

Watch out for the two uses of "ash" in this story: there is the usual English word ashes, but also Persian ash, which is a type of stew. You can find out more about ash at Wikipedia.

This type of story is classified as ATU 2023. Little Ant Marries, but it also shares the story motif of the chain of mourners with the related type: ATU 2022 The Death of the Little Hen. Storytellers are very adept at the mixing-and-matching of motifs. That makes a muddle of the folktale classifications schemes, but it also leads to all kinds of new stories!

And for yet more stories, you can click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

SUSKU AND MUSHU

Once upon a time there was a time when there was no one but God.

There was a Mouse who was called Mushu, and a little Beetle whose name was Susku. Susku was going along one day dressed up in her very best clothes when Master Mousie came out of his hole just in front of her, and said: "Whither away, with your cotton chader and your silken vest and your golden heels?"

"I'm going off to get married, and to get married, and to eat only the finest white bread," answered she, "and to ask no favour of any man."

Then Mushu asked: "Would you marry me?"

"Well," said Susku, "if I marry you, what will you put me to sleep on?"

"On a basket of dates."

"Oh," cried she, "now, just look, how could any one sleep on anything so sticky-wicky?"

"Then I'll put you to sleep on a skin of clarified butter."

"But now, how could any one sleep on anything so greasy-weasy?"

"All right, then, I'll put you to sleep on a sack of walnuts."

"But how could any one sleep on anything so nobbly-wobbly?"

"Well, then," said Master Mousie, "I'll put you to sleep in my own little arms."

And Susku said: "Right you are."

Then she asked: "And when we quarrel what will you beat me with?"

"With the pole of the weighing-machine."

"I'll die," said Susku.

"Then," said Mushu, "I'll beat you with my own little tail."

And Susku said: "Right you are."

When they had agreed about this Susku went off to the bath. As she was coming out and was just crossing a little stream, she fell in. There was a farmer-man there who was managing the irrigation and watching the flow of the water.

Susku called out to him: "Hullo, brother, run to Master Mousie and tell him that his lover and his sweetheart is in the water, and say: 'Bring a little ladder of gold and take your sweetheart out of the water.'"

So off went the farmer and told Mushu. Master Mousie ran to the door of the greengrocer's shop and stole two carrots, and with his little teeth he cut them up and carved them out and made a little ladder of gold and carried it to the stream. And he pulled Susku up out of the water, and they got married, and he was her husband and she was his wife. And Master Mousie carried her off to his home.

One day he said: "Wife, I want some nice ash. Go and cook me a little." As soon as he had gone out Susku made the broth and put the pot on the fire and cut up some fine strips of dough and went to put them in it, but the wind came and lifted her up in the air and threw her down into the pot of ash. When poor Mushu came home he saw that Susku had fallen into the pot of broth and been drowned. And so full of sorrow was he that he went to the fireplace and began to throw ashes on his head.

Just then a crow happened to pass that way and said to Master Mousie: "What's the matter with you?" and he said: "Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot
And Mushu poured ashes on his head."

And the crow said: "Oh, I am so sorry," and gave himself a shake and shook all his feathers out and went and sat on a tree.

And the tree asked: "Crow, why have you shaken your feathers out?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
And the crow shook his feathers out."

The tree said: "Oh, I am so sorry," and gave herself a shake and shed all her leaves.

The waters came to the foot of the tree to water her. They asked: "Tree, why have you shed your leaves?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
The crow shook his feathers out,
And the tree shed her leaves."

The waters said: "Oh, we are so sorry," and they turned all muddy, and went out into the desert to water the corn. The corn asked: "Waters, why are you all muddy?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
The crow shook his feathers out,
The tree shed her leaves,
And the waters turned muddy."

Then the stalks of corn said: "Oh, we are so sorry," and they put their heads on the ground and their feet in the air.

The farmer happened to pass that way; he asked: "O stalks of corn, what are you all doing, standing on your heads?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
The crow shook his feathers out,
The tree shed her leaves,
The waters turned muddy,
And the stalks of corn stood on their heads."

Then the farmer said: "Oh, I am so sorry," and he fixed his spade in the ground and ran the handle of it right through his body.

The farmer's daughter was bringing his dinner out to him, and she said: "Daddy, how did you get like this?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
The crow shook his feathers out,
The tree shed her leaves,
The waters turned muddy,
The stalks of corn stood on their heads,
And the farmer drove a spade through his body."

Then the farmer's daughter, who had a dish of curds in her hand, said: "Oh, I am so sorry," and threw the curds all over herself and ran to her mother.

Her mother was sitting beside the griddle cooking griddle-cakes, and she said: "Darling, what have you done?"

"Haven't you heard?
Susku fell into the pot,
Mushu poured ashes on his head,
The crow shook his feathers out,
The tree shed her leaves,
The waters turned muddy,
The stalks of corn stood on their heads,
The farmer drove a spade through his body,
And your daughter was covered with curds."

Then her mother said: "Oh, I am so sorry," and cut off her two thumbs and threw them on the griddle, and they became griddle-cakes.

And now my story has come to an end, but the sparrow never got home.

July 13. Story of the Day: Old Woman and Old Man

Yesterday, I shared a Greek story, Pepper-Corn, that belongs to the folktale type ATU 2022 The Death of the Little Hen, and I wanted to share another example of this story type today. This one comes from Roumanian Fairy Tales by Mite Kremnitz.

As you will see, the story starts out with the typical fairy-tale motif of a couple who want a child... but after they get their fairy-tale child, things do not go as hoped. This is a chain-tale type of story (chain of mourners), but unlike yesterday's story, it is not told in accumulative style.

Looking for more stories? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE OLD WOMAN AND THE OLD MAN

(wikimedia)

Once upon a time there was an old man and an old woman who had not a single child in their old age, and it was very hard for them because they had no help, not even to light the fire; when they came home from working in the fields, they were obliged to begin with lighting the fire and then prepare their food.

One day, when they were fretting and consulting each other, they determined to look for children whatever might happen. The old man went one way, the old woman another, to find a child somewhere. The old man met a dog, the old woman a mouse.

When they met again the old woman asked, "Husband, what have you found?"

"A little dog. And you, wife?"

"A little mouse."

They now agreed to adopt the mouse for a child and drive the dog away, so the couple returned with the mouse, greatly delighted because they had found what they sought, that is, a child.

On reaching home the old woman began to make a fire; then she set the pot of sour buttermilk on to boil, and left the mouse to watch that it did not fall over, while she went to work with the old man in the fields.

After she had gone, the porridge boiled and splashed over the top of the pot; the mouse, which was sitting on the hearth, said, "Porridge, don't jump on me or I'll jump on you." But the buttermilk did not stop and still splashed over the brim. When the mouse saw this, it grew angry and leaped straight into the pot.

When the old people returned from hoeing and called their child, there was no child to be found. After searching for it a long time without success, they sat sadly down to eat their dinner. Yet they ate the porridge with great relish until, when the old woman emptied the dish she found at the bottom—what? The little mouse, their child, dead!

She began, "Husband, husband, here it is, our child is drowned in the buttermilk."

"How is that possible, wife!" replied the bearded old fellow.

When they saw this terrible accident, they began to weep and lament bitterly; the old man in his grief tore his beard, and the old woman pulled the hair out of her head.

The old man left the house with tearful eyes and touzled beard; on the bough of a tree, in front of the hut, perched a magpie, which seeing him asked, "Why have you pulled out your beard, old man?"

"Oh, my dear bird, how can I help tearing my beard, when my little child has drowned itself in the pot of porridge and is dead?"

When the magpie heard this, it tore out all its feathers, leaving nothing but the tail.

The old woman set off with her bald head to the well, to get a jug of water to wash the dead body of her child. By the well stood a girl with a pitcher, who had come to draw water; when she saw the old woman she asked, "My, old woman, why have you torn the hair out of your head till you are perfectly bald?"

"Alas, my darling, how can I help tearing my hair and making myself bald, when my little mouse is dead?"

The girl, in her grief, smashed her pitcher in two, then she hurried to the empress to tell her the story; the royal lady, as soon as she heard it, fell down from the balcony, broke her ankle, and died, while the emperor, out of love for his wife, went away and became a monk in the monastery of Lies, beyond the Country of Truth. . . while I . . .

Acquaintance made with grandsires old,
To whom this simple tale I told;
It seemed to them such perfect chaff
That its bare memory raised a laugh.

CHAIN: father - magpie / mother - girl - empress - emperor

July 12. Story of the Day: Pepper-Corn

I found this story in Italian Popular Tales by Thomas Frederick Crane, but it is a Greek story from Smyrna, not an Italian story; Professor Crane included it in the book because this same folktale type, ATU 2022 The Death of the Little Hen, is also found in Italy.

As you can see, the story does not develop the full chain step by step, but there is a final formula, so I have written out a more complete version of the story at the bottom based on that final formula.

And if you are looking for more stories, you can click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

PEPPER-CORN

(photo by Clint Budd)

Once upon a time there was an old man and an old woman who had no children; and one day the old woman went into the fields and picked a basket of beans.

When she had finished, she looked into the basket and said: "I wish all the beans were little children."

Scarcely had she uttered these words when a whole crowd of little children sprang out of the basket and danced about her. Such a family seemed too large for the old woman, so she said: "I wish you would all become beans again."

Immediately the children climbed back into the basket and became beans again, all except one little boy, whom the old woman took home with her.

He was so small that everybody called him little Pepper-Corn, and so good and charming that everybody loved him.

One day the old woman was cooking her soup and little Pepper-Corn climbed up on the kettle and looked in to see what was cooking, but he slipped and fell into the boiling broth and was scalded to death. The old woman did not notice until meal-time that he was missing, and looked in vain for him everywhere to call him to dinner.

At last they sat down to the table without little Pepper-Corn, and when they poured the soup out of the kettle into the dish the body of little Pepper-Corn floated on top.

Then the old man and the old woman began to mourn and cry: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, dear Pepper-Corn is dead."

When the dove heard it she tore out her feathers, and cried: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead. The old man and the old woman are mourning."

When the apple-tree saw that the dove tore out her feathers it asked her why she did so, and when it learned the reason it shook off all its apples.

In like manner, the well near by poured out all its water, the queen's maid broke her pitcher, the queen broke her arm, and the king threw his crown on the ground so that it broke into a thousand pieces; and when his people asked him what the matter was, he answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, the well has poured out all its water, the maid has broken her pitcher, the queen has broken her arm, and I, the king, have lost my crown; dear Pepper-Corn is dead."


NOTES

From Hahn's Griechische und Albanesische Märchen, Leipzig, 1864, No. 56, "Pepper-Corn." The story is from Smyrna.

~ ~ ~

I have filled out the chain based on the final formula:

Then the old man and the old woman began to mourn and cry.

When the dove asked them what the matter was, they said: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, dear Pepper-Corn is dead, and we mourn."

Then the dove tore out her feathers.

When the apple-tree asked the dove what the matter was, she said: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, and I have torn out my feathers."

Then the apple-tree shook off all its apples.

When the well asked the apple-tree what the matter was, it answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, and I have shaken off all my apples."

Then the well poured out all its water.

When the maid asked the well what the matter was, it answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, and I have poured out all my water."

Then the queen's maid broke her pitcher.

When the queen asked the maid what the matter was, she answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, the well has poured out all its water, and I have broken my pitcher."

Then the queen broke her arm.

When the king asked the queen what the matter was, she answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, the well has poured out all its water, the maid has broken her pitcher, and I have broken my arm."

Then the king threw his crown on the ground so that it broke into a thousand pieces.

When his people asked him what the matter was, he answered: "Dear Pepper-Corn is dead, the old man and the old woman mourn, the dove has torn out her feathers, the apple-tree has shaken off all its apples, the well has poured out all its water, the maid has broken her pitcher, the queen has broken her arm, and I, the king, have lost my crown; dear Pepper-Corn is dead."

May 29. Story of the Day: The Louse and the Rat

This story comes from "Folklore in Salsette by George F. D'Penha" in the Indian Antiquary, November 1898 (online at Hathi; I have transcribed only the English here).

This story is best classified as ATU 2023. Little Ant Marries.

Salsette (Salsete) is the island where the city of Mumbai is located. Find out more at Wikipedia.

I hope that people can help me with the food reference in the story: attolam, or áṭṭolaṁ as the author transliterates it. Is there another, more common name for this food that sounds like "attolam" somehow? None of the names for kheer, payasam, etc. seem to sound right, although the author describes it as a gruel made out of "new rice" and jaggery, flavored with cardamon, which sure sounds like kheer. Then he remarks, "Almost every Bombay East Indian family makes attolam on All Souls' Day." The reference to All Souls' Day made me think he might be referring to the Parsi holiday of Frawardigan, but that is just a guess; he might also be referring to Pitru Paksha. Any suggestions?

Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

THE LOUSE AND THE RAT

A louse was once going to seek, as she said, a bellyful of food and clothes to cover her body.

As she was trudging on slowly she was met by a dog, who said, "Sister louse, sister louse, where are you going?"

The louse answered, "I am going where I can get a bellyful of food and clothes to cover my body."

Upon this the dog said, "Come with me."

But the louse said, "Who will come with you? Should anyone beat you, you will cry "bow bow wow wow" and run away; where shall I go to then?"

So saying the louse resumed her slow walk, and as she walked and walked and walked, she came across a cat who said to her, "Sister louse, sister louse, where are you going?"

(Mumbai fish market cat)

And the louse answered, "I am going where I can get a bellyful of food and clothes to cover my body."

Hearing this the cat said, "Come with me."

Whereupon the louse replied, "Who will come with you? Should anyone beat you, you will cry "mew mew" and run away, where shall I go to then?"

Having thus spoken she went her way, and again she walked and walked and walked. On her way she met many animals who all asked her where she was going, and who, on being told of her errand, asked her to go with them, but she refused every offer.

At last, as she was still walking and walking, she came upon a rat, who asked her, "Sister louse, sister louse, where are you going?"

The louse answered, "I am going where I can get a bellyful of food and clothes to cover my body."

The rat hearing this said, "Come with me."

Now the louse knew that a rat must be living comfortably, with plenty of food to eat and clothes to wear. So she accepted the rat's offer and went into a hole in which the rat dwelt. There, as she had anticipated, the louse found plenty of all things — food as well as clothes — and lived happily for some time.

One day the louse said she would make attolam if the rat would fetch some rice and spices and jaggery. The rat went about and soon brought what was necessary from shops and elsewhere, and handed it to the louse, who set about making the attolam.

As the attolam was cooking, the rat smelt a fine savour, which made him restless as to when it would be ready, so that he might eat it. The louse, who observed the restlessness of the rat, and knew well the greedy propensities of that animal, warned him not to peep into the pot, as he might possibly fall inside.

Having thus warned the rat, the louse went to fetch water.

As the attolam became more and more savoury in the course of the cooking, the rat became more and more restless, so restless that he could restrain himself no longer, and, disregarding the warning of the louse, got up on the oven to have a look at the attolam, but down he fell in the pot and died.

When the louse returned with water she missed the rat, and easily guessed that he had not heeded to her warning: and right enough, on looking, she found him dead in the pot in which the attolam was being cooked.

But what was to be done now? She threw away the attolam, dug a hole near a hedge, and buried the rat.

In digging the hole, some of the roots of the trees that formed the hedge were cut up, and consequently the trees became somewhat shaky.

Now it happened that a bagla (a crane) was in the habit of every day coming and taking his stand on one of the trees. For many a day the crane had found the tree steady, and was, therefore, surprised when it shook as he alighted on it, and thought to himself, "Yesterday when I sat upon this tree it did not shake, but today as I sat down it shook." So he asked the tree for the reason of it.

The tree replied, "Uncle rat died and was buried at the side of the hedge, so the hedge became rootless, and the crane became featherless."

Upon hearing this, "gal gal gal gal" the crane dropped all his feathers and flew away and alighted upon a banyan tree.

The banyan tree which had often seen the crane before with his feathers on, now began to wonder at seeing him featherless, and began to think within itself, "Yesterday when this crane came he had feathers; today he has come, but he has no feathers" — and the tree asked the crane for the reason of it.

Said the crane, "Uncle rat died and was buried at the side of the hedge, so the hedge became rootless, the crane became featherless, and the banyan tree became leafless." Upon this "khal khal khal khal" fell off all the leaves of the banyan tree.

Now a horse, that was in the habit of grazing in that part of the forest, often took protection from the rays of the sun under that tree, and was quite surprised to see the tree leafless. The horse began to think over the matter, and thought within itself, "Yesterday when I came I saw that the tree had leaves; today when I came I see that there are no leaves upon it." So he asked the tree for the reason of it.

The tree replied, "Uncle rat died and was buried at the side of the hedge, so the hedge became rootless, the crane became featherless, the banyan tree became leafless, and the horse became earless."

As soon as the horse heard this, he dropped his ears! Having done this, the horse went, as was his wont, to a tank close by to drink water.

When the tank saw the horse without his ears, it began to wonder, and to think thus, "Yesterday when this horse came he had ears; today he has come but he has no ears" — and the tank asked the horse for the reason of it.

And the horse replied, "Uncle rat died and was buried at the side of the hedge, so the hedge became rootless, the crane became featherless, the banyan tree became leafless, the horse became earless, and the tank became waterless." Scarcely had the horse finished his tale when the water in the tank dried up.

An old groom, who drew his daily water-supply from the tank, came to fetch water, and was surprised to see all the water dried up. Thought he to himself, "Yesterday when I came the tank was full, and today I see that it has dried up" — and the groom asked the tank for the reason of it.

The tank replied, "Uncle rat died and was buried at the side of the hedge, so the hedge became rootless, the crane became featherless, the banyan tree became leafless, the horse became earless, the tank dried up, and the groom must remain without quenching his thirst."

When the old groom heard this story, he was so overcome with grief that he dashed his head against a stone on the edge of the tank, and then — wonder of wonders! — the tank immediately filled with water, the horse got back his ears, the banyan tree its leaves, the crane his feathers, and the hedge its roots!

NOTES

A New Cumulative Rhyme

attolam: This is a sort of gruel, prepared out of new rice, with the addition of jaggree and some ingredients such as cardamoms to sweeten and lend flavour to it. Almost every Bombay East Indian family makes attolam on All Souls' Day.


CHAIN: hedge - crane - banyan - horse - tank - groom

The Cat and the Mouse

From Journal of American Folklore, vol. 13 (1900; online at Hathi).   

The story is classified ATU 2034. The Mouse Regains its Tail.

THE CAT AND THE MOUSE

(Public Domain Pictures)

The cat and the mouse went into the oven together. The cat bit off the mouse's tail, and the mouse bit off the cat's thread.

The mouse said, Aye gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go the cow and get me some milk.

Titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the cow I come. Do cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go to the barn and get me some hay.

Do titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the barn I come. Do barn gi' me hay, I give cow hay, cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go to the blacksmith and get me a lock and key.

Titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the blacksmith I come. Do blacksmith gi' me lock and key, I give barn lock and key, barn gi' me hay, I give cow hay, cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go to the sea and get me some coal.

Titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the sea I come. Do sea gi' me coal, I give blacksmith coal, blacksmith gi' me lock and key, I give barn lock and key, barn gi' me hay, I give cow hay, cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go to the cock and get me a feather.

Titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the cock I come. Do cock gi' me feather, I give sea feather, sea gi' me coal, I give black- smith coal, blacksmith gi' me lock and key, I give barn lock and key, barn gi' me hay, I give cow hay, cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

I woont without you go to the miller and get me some corn.

Titty mouse hop, and titty mouse run, to the miller I come. Do miller gi' me corn, I give cock corn, cock gi' me feather, I give sea feather, sea gi' me coal, I give blacksmith coal, blacksmith gi' me lock and key, I give barn lock and key, barn gi' me hay, I give cow hay, cow gi' me milk, I give cat milk, cat gi' me my own taiil again.

The miller gave him some corn, and he gave it to the cock, the cock gave him a feather, and he gave it to the sea, the sea gave him some coal, and he gave it to the blacksmith, the blacksmith gave him a lock and key, and he gave it to the barn, the barn gave him some hay, and he gave it to the cow, the cow gave him some milk, and he gave it to the cat, and the cat gave him his own taiil again.

But after all his trouble, the tail was of no use to the poor mouse.


NOTES

An Old English Nursery Tale. The following version of a familiar nusery tale was obtained by the editor of this Journal many years ago from Miss Lydia R. Nichols, of Salem, Mass. (now deceased), and represents the story as current in New England at the time of the earliest memory of the reciter, about 1800.

May 20. Story of the Day: Titty Mouse And Tatty Mouse

Today's story is included in English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs, and for information about his source, see his notes below.

The story is classified as TMI Z32.2 The death of the little hen = ATU 2022.

I really like the way this involves animals and humans and inanimate objects in the (long!) chain.

Want more? Click here for previous Stories-of-the-Day.

(Willard Bonte)

TITTY MOUSE AND TATTY MOUSE

TITTY MOUSE and Tatty Mouse
both lived in a house;
Titty Mouse went a leasing
and Tatty Mouse went a leasing,
So they both went a leasing.

Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn,
and Tatty Mouse leased an ear of corn.
So they both leased an ear of corn.

Titty Mouse made a pudding
and Tatty Mouse made a pudding,
So they both made a pudding.

And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil, but when Titty went to put hers in, the pot tumbled over, and scalded her to death.

Then Tatty sat down and wept; then a three-legged stool said, "Tatty, why do you weep?"

"Titty's dead," said Tatty, "and so I weep."

"Then," said the stool, "I"ll hop," so the stool hopped.

Then a broom in the corner of the room said, "Stool, why do you hop?"

"Oh!" said the stool,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
and so I hop.

"Then," said the broom, "I"ll sweep," so the broom began to sweep.

Then said the door, "Broom, why do you sweep?"

"Oh!" said the broom,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and so I sweep.

"Then," said the door, "I"ll jar," so the door jarred.

Then said the window, "Door, why do you jar?"

"Oh!" said the door,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
and so I jar.

Then said the window, "I"ll creak," so the window creaked.

Now there was an old form outside the house, and when the window creaked, the form said, "Window, why do you creak?"

"Oh!" said the window,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, 
and so I creak.

"Then," said the old form, "I"ll run round the house," then the old form ran round the house.

Now there was a fine large walnut-tree growing by the cottage, and the tree said to the form: "Form, why do you run round the house?"

"Oh!" said the form,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, 
and the window creaks, 
and so I run round the house.

"Then," said the walnut-tree, "I"ll shed my leaves," so the walnut-tree shed all its beautiful green leaves.

Now there was a little bird perched on one of the boughs of the tree, and when all the leaves fell, it said, "Walnut-tree, why do you shed your leaves?"

"Oh!" said the tree,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, 
and the window creaks, 
the old form runs round the house, 
and so I shed my leaves.

"Then," said the little bird, "I"ll moult all my feathers," so he moulted all his pretty feathers.

Now there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers' and sisters' supper, and when she saw the poor little bird moult all its feathers, she said, "Little bird, why do you moult all your feathers?"

"Oh!" said the little bird,
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, 
and the window creaks, 
the old form runs round the house, 
the walnut-tree sheds all its leaves, 
and so I moult all my feathers.

"Then," said the little girl, "I"ll spill the milk," so she dropt the pitcher and spilt the milk.

Now there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder thatching a rick, and when he saw the little girl spill the milk, he said, "Little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? -- your little brothers and sisters must go without their supper."

Then said the little girl:
Titty's dead, 
Tatty weeps, 
the stool hops, 
and the broom sweeps, 
the door jars, 
and the window creaks, 
the old form runs round the house, 
the walnut-tree sheds all its leaves, 
the little bird moults all its feathers, 
and so I spill the milk.

"Oh!" said the old man, "then I"ll tumble off the ladder and break my neck," so he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck.

And when the old man broke his neck, the great walnut-tree fell down with a crash, and upset the old form and house, and the house falling knocked the window out, and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried beneath the ruins.


NOTES

SOURCE Halliwell, p. 115.

PARALLELS This curious droll is extremely widespread; references are given in Cosquin, i, 204 seq.: and Crane, Italian Popular Tales, 375-6. As a specimen I may indicate what is implied by such bibliographical references throughout these notes by drawing up a list of the variants of this tale noticed by these two authorities, adding one or two lately printed. Various versions have been discovered in

ENGLAND: Halliwell, Nursery Rhymes, p. 115.

SCOTLAND: K. Blind, in Arch. Rev., iii ('Fleakin and Louisikin', in the Shetlands).

FRANCE: Mélusine, 1877, col. 424; Sebillot, Contes pop. de la Haute Bretagne, No. 55; Littérature orale, p. 232; Magasin pittoresque, 1869, p. 82; Cosquin, Contes pop. de Lorraine, Nos. 18 and 74.

ITALY: Pitrè, Novelline popolari siciliane, No. 134 (translated in Crane, Ital. Pop. Tales, p. 257); Imbriani, La novellaja Fiorentina, p. 244; Bernoni, Tradizione popolari veneziane, punt. iii, p. 81; Gianandrea, Biblioteca delle tradizioni popolari marchigiane, p. 11; Papanti, Novelline popolari livornesi, p. 19 ('Vezzino e Madonna Salciccia'); Finamore, Trad. pop. abruzzesi, p. 244; Morosi, Studi sui Dialetti Greci della Terra d'Otranto, p. 75; Giamb. Basile, 1884, p. 37.

GERMANY: Grimm, Kinder-und-Haus-Märchen, No. 30; Kuhn und Schwarz, Nord-deutsche Sagen, No. 16.

NORWAY: Asbjörnsen, No. 103, translated in Fairy Tales from the far North (H. L. Braekstad), p. 183 ('The Cock who Fell into the Brewing Vat').

SPAIN: Maspons, Cuentos populars catalans, p. 12; Fernan Caballero, Cuentos y refrañes populares, p. 3 ('La Hormiguita').

PORTUGAL: Coelho, Contos popolares portuguezes, No. 1.

ROUMANIA: Kremnitz, Rumänische Mährchen, No. 15.

ASIA MINOR: Vohn Hahn, Griechische und Albanesisehe Mürchen, No. 56.

INDIA: Steele and Temple, Wide Awake Stories, p. 157 ('The Death and Burial of Poor Hen-Sparrow').

REMARKS These twenty-five variants of the same jingle scattered over the world from India to Spain present the problem of the diffusion of folk-tales in its simplest form. No one is likely to contend, with Prof. Muller and Sir George Cox, that we have here the detritus of archaic Aryan mythology, a parody of a sun-myth. There is little that is savage and archaic to attract the school of Dr Tylor, beyond the speaking powers of animals and inanimates. Yet even Mr Lang is not likely to hold that these variants arose by coincidence and independently in the different parts of the world where they have been found. The only solution is that the curious succession of incidents was invented once for all at some definite place and time by some definite entertainer for children, and spread thence through all the Old World. In a few instances we can actually trace the passage--e.g. the Shetland version was certainly brought over from Hamburg. Whether the centre of dispersion was India or not, it is impossible to say, as it might have spread east from Smyrna (Hahn, No. 56). Benfey (Einleitung zu Pantschatantra, i, 190-1) suggests that this class of accumulative story may be a sort of parody on the Indian stories, illustrating the moral, 'what great events from small occasions rise !' Thus a drop of honey falls on the ground, a fly goes after it, a bird snaps at the fly, a dog goes for the bird, another dog goes for the first, the masters of the two dogs--who happen to be kings--quarrel and go to war, whole provinces are devastated, and all for a drop of honey ! 'Titty Mouse and Tatty Mouse' also ends in a universal calamity which seems to arise from a cause of no great importance. Benfey's suggestion is certainly ingenious, but perhaps too ingenious to be true.

~ ~ ~

CHAIN: mouse weeps - stool hops - broom sweeps - door jars - window creaks - form runs - tree sheds leaves- bird moults feathers - girls spills milk - man breaks neck

Grimm. Louse and Flea

From Household Tales by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm, translated by Margaret Hunt.

This is TMI Z32.2 The death of the little hen = ATU 2022.

THE LOUSE AND THE FLEA

A louse and a flea kept house together and were brewing beer in an egg-shell. Then the little louse fell in and burnt herself. On this the little flea began to scream loudly.

Then said the little room-door, "Little flea, why art thou screaming?"

"Because the louse has burnt herself."

Then the little door began to creak. On this a little broom in the corner said, "Why art thou creaking, little door?"

"Have I not reason to creak?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping."

So the little broom began to sweep frantically.

Then a little cart passed by and said, "Why art thou sweeping, little broom?"

"Have I not reason to sweep?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking."

So the little cart said, "Then I will run," and began to run wildly.

Then said the ash-heap by which it ran, "Why art thou running so, little cart?"

"Have I not reason to run?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping."

The ash-heap said, "Then I will burn furiously," and began to burn in clear flames.

A little tree stood near the ash-heap and said, "Ash-heap, why art thou burning?"

"Have I not reason to burn?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running."

The little tree said, "Then I will shake myself," and began to shake herself so that all her leaves fell off.

A girl who came up with her water-pitcher saw that, and said, "Little tree, why art thou shaking thyself?"

"Have I not reason to shake myself?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running,
The little ash-heap is burning."

On this the girl said, "Then I will break my little water-pitcher," and she broke her little water-pitcher.

Then said the little spring from which ran the water, "Girl, why art thou breaking thy water-jug?"

"Have I not reason to break my water-jug?
The little louse has burnt herself,
The little flea is weeping,
The little door is creaking,
The little broom is sweeping,
The little cart is running,
The little ash-heap is burning,
The little tree is shaking itself."

"Oh, ho!" said the spring, "then I will begin to flow," and began to flow violently.

And in the water everything was drowned, the girl, the little tree, the little ash-heap, the little cart, the broom, the little door, the little flea, the little louse, all together.

(illustration by Otto Ubbelohde)

Asbjørnsen. Cock Who Fell into the Brewing Vat

From Fairy Tales from the Far North by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen with illustrations by E. Werenskold, T. Kittelsen, and O. Sinding.

This is TMI Z32.2 The death of the little hen = ATU 2022.

THE COCK WHO FELL INTO THE BREWING VAT

Once upon a time there was a cook and a hen, who were out in a field scratching and scraping and pecking. All at once the hen found a barleycorn, and the cock found a bur of hops, and so they made up their minds they would make some malt and brew beer for Christmas.

"I plucked the barley and I malted the corn and brewed the beer, and the beer is good," cackled the hen.

"Is the wort strong enough?" said the cock, and flew up to the edge of the vat to taste it; but when he stooped down to take a sip he began flapping with his wings and fell on his head into the vat and was drowned.

When the hen saw this she was quite beside herself. She flew onto the hearth and began to scream and cry, "Got, got, got, drowned! Got, got, got, drowned!" And this she went on crying all the time and would not stop.

"What is the matter with you, Mother Tup, since you are crying and grieving so?" asked the hand-quern.

"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned and there he lies dead!" said the hen. "That's the reason I cry and grieve."

"Well, if I can't do anything else I will grind and groan," said the hand-quern, and began grinding as fast as it could.

When the stool heard this it said, "What's the matter with you, quern, since you groan and grind so fast?"

"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth, crying and grieving; therefore I grind and groan," said the hand-quern.

"Well, if I can't do anything else I shall creak," said the stool, and began creaking and cracking.

This the door heard, so it said, "What's the matter with you? Why are you creaking, stool?"

"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving and the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; therefore I creak and crack and crackle," said the stool.

"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll bang and slam and whine and whistle" said the door, and began opening and shutting and slamming and banging till it went through one's bones and marrow to hear it.

This the dustbin heard. "Why are you slamming and banging like that, door?" said the bin.

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; therefore I keep slamming and banging," said the door.

"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll fume and smoke," said the dustbin, and began fuming and smoking and sending the dust up in clouds all over the room.

This the hay-rake saw, as it stood peeping in through the window. "Why are you raising the dust like that, dustbin?" asked the rake.

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; therefore I keep fuming and smoking," said the dustbin.

"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll rake and rend," said the rake, and began rending and raking.

This the aspen tree saw as it looked on. "Why do you rend and rake like that, rake? said the tree.

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; therefore I keep rending and raking," said the rake.

"Well, if I can't do anything else," said the aspen, "I will quiver and quake."

This the birds noticed. "Why do you quiver and quake like that?" said the birds to the tree.

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; therefore I quiver and quake," said the aspen.

"Well, if we can't do anything else we will pluck off our feathers," said the birds, and began pecking and plucking till the feathers flew about the farm like snow.

The farmer stood looking on, and when he saw the feathers flying about he asked the birds, "Why are you plucking off your feathers like that, birds?"

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; the aspen is quivering and quaking; therefore we keep pecking and plucking," said the birds.

"Well, if I can't do anything else I will pull the besoms to pieces," said the farmer, and began tugging and pulling the besoms to pieces, so that the twigs flew about, both east and west.

His wife was boiling the porridge for supper when she saw this. "Why are you pulling the besoms to pieces, husband?" said she.

"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; the aspen is quivering and quaking; the birds are pecking and plucking off their feathers; therefore I am pulling the besom to pieces," said the man.

"Well, then I'll daub the walls all over with porridge," she said. And she set about it there and then, and took one ladleful after another and smeared the porridge all over the walls, so that no one could see what they were made of.

Then they kept the burial feast of the cock who fell into the brewing vat. And if you don't believe it, you had better go there and taste both the beer and the porridge.

Steel. Poor Hen-Sparrow

From Tales of the Punjab by Flora Annie Steel, with illustrations J. Lockwood Kipling.

TMI Z32.2 The death of the little hen = ATU 2022

THE DEATH AND BURIAL OF POOR HEN-SPARROW

Once upon a time there lived a cock-sparrow and his wife, who were both growing old. But despite his years the cock-sparrow was a gay, festive old bird, who plumed himself upon his appearance, and was quite a ladies' man. So he cast his eyes on a lively young hen, and determined to marry her, for he was tired of his sober old wife. The wedding was a mighty grand affair, and everybody as jolly and merry as could be, except of course the poor old wife, who crept away from all the noise and fun to sit disconsolately on a quiet branch just under a crow's nest, where she could be as melancholy as she liked without anybody poking fun at her.

Now while she sat there it began to rain, and after a while the drops, soaking through the crow's nest, came drip-dripping on to her feathers; she, however, was far too miserable to care, and sat there all huddled up and peepy till the shower was over. Now it so happened that the crow had used some scraps of dyed cloth in lining its nest, and as these became wet the colours ran, and dripping down on to the poor old hen-sparrow beneath, dyed her feathers until she was as gay as a peacock.

Fine feathers make fine birds, we all know, and she really looked quite spruce; so much so, that when she flew home, the new wife nearly burst with envy, and asked her at once where she had found such a lovely dress.

'Easily enough,' replied the old wife; 'I just went into the dyer's vat.'

The bride instantly determined to go there also. She could not endure the notion of the old thing being better dressed than she was, so she flew off at once to the dyer's, and being in a great hurry, went pop into the middle of the vat, without waiting to see if it was hot or cold. It turned out to be just scalding; consequently the poor thing was half boiled before she managed to scramble out. Meanwhile, the gay old cock, not finding his bride at home, flew about distractedly in search of her, and you may imagine what bitter tears he wept when he found her, half drowned and half boiled, with her feathers all awry, lying by the dyer's vat.

'What has happened?' quoth he.

But the poor bedraggled thing could only gasp out feebly—

  'The old wife was dyed—
  The nasty old cat!
  And I, the gay bride,
  Fell into the vat!'

Whereupon the cock-sparrow took her up tenderly in his bill, and flew away home with his precious burden. Now, just as he was crossing the big river in front of his house, the old hen-sparrow, in her gay dress, looked out of the window, and when she saw her old husband bringing home his young bride in such a sorry plight, she burst out laughing shrilly, and called aloud, 'That is right! that is right! Remember what the song says—

  'Old wives must scramble through water and mud,
  But young wives are carried dry-shod o'er the flood.'

This allusion so enraged her husband that he could not contain himself, but cried out,' Hold your tongue, you shameless old cat!'

Of course, when he opened his mouth to speak, the poor draggled bride fell out, and going plump into the river, was drowned. Whereupon the cock-sparrow was so distracted with grief that he picked off all his feathers until he was as bare as a ploughed field. Then, going to a pîpal tree, he sat all naked and forlorn on the branches, sobbing and sighing.

'What has happened?' cried the pîpal tree, aghast at the sight.

'Don't ask me!' wailed the cock-sparrow; 'it isn't manners to ask questions when a body is in deep mourning.'

But the pîpal would not be satisfied without an answer, so at last poor bereaved cock-sparrow replied—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair!'

On hearing this sad tale, the pîpal became overwhelmed with grief, and declaring it must mourn also, shed all its leaves on the spot.

By and by a buffalo, coming in the heat of the day to rest in the shade of the pîpal tree, was astonished to find nothing but bare twigs.

'What has happened?' cried the buffalo; 'you were as green as possible yesterday!'

'Don't ask me!' whimpered the pîpal. 'Where are your manners? Don't you know it isn't decent to ask questions when people are in mourning?'

But the buffalo insisted on having an answer, so at last, with many sobs and sighs, the pîpal replied—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Bewailing his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves!'

'Oh dear me!' cried the buffalo, 'how very sad! I really must mourn too!' So she immediately cast her horns, and began to weep and wail. After a while, becoming thirsty, she went to drink at the river-side.

'Goodness gracious!' cried the river, 'what is the matter? and what have you done with your horns?'

'How rude you are!' wept the buffalo. 'Can't you see I am in deep mourning? and it isn't polite to ask questions.'

But the river persisted, until the buffalo, with many groans, replied—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns!'

'Dreadful!' cried the river, and wept so fast that its water became quite salt.

By and by a cuckoo, coming to bathe in the stream, called out, 'Why, river! what has happened? You are as salt as tears!'

'Don't ask me!' mourned the stream; 'it is too dreadful for words!'

Nevertheless, when the cuckoo would take no denial, the river replied—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last!'

'Oh dear! oh dear me!' cried the cuckoo, 'how very very sad! I must mourn too!' So it plucked out an eye, and going to a corn-merchant's shop, sat on the doorstep and wept.

'Why, little cuckoo! what's the matter?' cried Bhagtu the shopkeeper. 'You are generally the pertest of birds, and to-day you are as dull as ditchwater!'

'Don't ask me!' snivelled the cuckoo; 'it is such terrible grief! such dreadful sorrow! such—such horrible pain!'

However, when Bhagtu persisted, the cuckoo, wiping its one eye on its wing, replied—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes!'

'Bless my heart!' cried Bhagtu,'but that is simply the most heartrending tale I ever heard in my life! I must really mourn likewise!' Whereupon he wept, and wailed, and beat his breast, until he went completely out of his mind; and when the Queen's maidservant came to buy of him, he gave her pepper instead of turmeric, onion instead of garlic, and wheat instead of pulse.

'Dear me, friend Bhagtu!' quoth the maid-* servant, 'your wits are wool-gathering! What's the matter?'

'Don't! please don't!' cried Bhagtu; 'I wish you wouldn't ask me, for I am trying to forget all about it. It is too dreadful—too too terrible!'

At last, however, yielding to the maid's entreaties, he replied, with many sobs and tears—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes;
  Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
  He loses his senses!'

'How very sad!' exclaimed the maidservant. 'I don't wonder at your distress; but it is always so in this miserable world!—everything goes wrong!'

Whereupon she fell to railing at everybody and everything in the world, until the Queen said to her, 'What is the matter, my child? What distresses you?'

'Oh!' replied the maidservant, 'the old story! every one is miserable, and I most of all! Such dreadful news!—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes;
  Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
  He loses his senses;
  The maidservant wailing
  Has taken to railing!'

'Too true!' wept the Queen, 'too true! The world is a vale of tears! There is nothing for it but to try and forget!' Whereupon she set to work dancing away as hard as she could.

By and by in came the Prince, who, seeing her twirling about, said,
'Why, mother! what is the matter?'

The Queen, without stopping, gasped out—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes;
  Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
  He loses his senses;
  The maidservant wailing
  Has taken to railing;
  The Queen, joy enhancing,
  Takes refuge in dancing!'

'If that is your mourning, I'll mourn too!' cried the Prince, and seizing his tambourine, he began to thump on it with a will. Hearing the noise, the King came in, and asked what was the matter.

'This is the matter!' cried the Prince, drumming away with all his might—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Lamenting his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes;
  Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
  He loses his senses;
  The maidservant wailing
  Has taken to railing;
  The Queen, joy enhancing,
  Takes refuge in dancing;
  To aid the mirth coming,
  The Prince begins drumming!'

'Capital! capital!' cried the King, 'that's the way to do it!' so, seizing his zither, he began to thrum away like one possessed.

And as they danced, the Queen, the King, the Prince, and the maidservant sang—

  'The ugly hen painted.
  By jealousy tainted,
  The pretty hen dyed.
  Bewailing his bride,
  The cock, bald and bare,
  Sobs loud in despair;
  The pîpal tree grieves
  By shedding its leaves;
  The buffalo mourns
  By casting her horns;
  The stream, weeping fast,
  Grows briny at last;
  The cuckoo with sighs
  Blinds one of its eyes;
  Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
  He loses his senses;
  The maidservant wailing
  Has taken to railing;
  The Queen, joy enhancing,
  Takes refuge in dancing;
  To aid the mirth coming,
  The Prince begins drumming;
  To join in it with her
  The King strums the zither!'

So they danced and sang till they were tired, and that was how every one mourned poor cock-sparrow's pretty bride.

NOTES

Verses.—In the original these are—

  Saukan rangan men charhî,
  Main bhî rangan men parî,

  My co-wife got dyed,
  I too fell into the vat.

Verses.—In the original—

  Ik sarî, ik balî;
  Ik hinak mode charhî,

  One is vexed and one grieved;
  And one is carried laughing on the shoulder.

The allusion here is to a common tale. The story goes that a man who had two wives wanted to cross a river. Both wives wanted to go across first with him, so in the end, leaving the elder to walk, he took the younger on his shoulder, who mocked the elder with the words—

  Ik sarî, dûî balî;
  Dûî jâî mûnde charhî.

  First she was vexed, next she grieved;
  While the other went across on the shoulder.

Hence the sting of the old sparrow's taunt.

Verses.—In the original—

  Ik chamkhat hûî;
  Chirî rangan charhî;
  Chirâ bedan karî;
  Pîpal patte jharî;
  Mahîn sing jharî;
  Naîn bahí khârî;
  Koïl hûî kânî;
  Bhagtû diwanî;
  Bandî padnî;
  Rânî nâchnî;
  Putr dholkî bajânî;
  Râjâ sargî bajânî;

  One hen painted,
  And the other was dyed,
  And the cock loved her,
  So the pîpal shed its leaves,
  And the buffalo her horns,
  So the river became salt,
  And the cuckoo lost an eye,
  So Bhagtû went mad,
  And the maid took to swearing,
  So the Queen took to dancing,
  And the Prince took to drumming,

  And the King took to thrumming.