One day the jilted woman plucked a red rose from her garden, and hid herself in the bushes near her rival’s cabin. Very soon an old woman came by, who was accosted by the woman in hiding, and requested to hand the red rose to the woman of the house. The old woman, suspecting no evil, took the rose and approached the house, the other woman following her closely, but keeping herself always out of sight.
When the old woman, having reached the door and called out the mistress of the house, delivered the rose as requested, the recipient thanked the giver in a loud voice, knowing the old woman to be somewhat deaf. At the moment she spoke, the woman in hiding reached up and caught her rival’s voice, and clasping it tightly in her right hand, escaped unseen, to her own cabin.
At the same instant the afflicted woman missed her voice, and felt a sharp pain shoot through her left arm, just below the elbow. She at first suspected the old woman of having tricked her through the medium of the red rose, but was subsequently informed by a conjure doctor that her voice had been stolen, and that the old woman was innocent. For the pain he gave her a bottle of medicine, of which nine drops were to be applied three times a day, and rubbed in with the first two fingers of the right hand, care being taken not to let any other part of the hand touch the arm, as this would render the medicine useless.
By the aid of a mirror, in which he called up her image, the conjure doctor ascertained who was the guilty person. He sought her out and charged her with the crime, which she promptly denied. Being pressed, however, she admitted her guilt. The doctor insisted upon immediate restitution. She expressed her willingness, and at the same time her inability to comply—she had taken the voice, but did not possess the power to restore it. The conjure doctor was obdurate and at once placed a spell upon her which is to remain until the lost voice is restored. The case is still pending, I understand; I shall sometime take steps to find out how it terminates.
How far a story like this is original, and how far a mere reflection of familiar wonder stories, is purely a matter of speculation. When the old mammies would tell the tales of Br’er Rabbit and Br’er Fox to the master’s children, these in turn would no doubt repeat the fairy tales which they had read in books or heard from their parents’ lips. The magic mirror is as old as literature. The inability to restore the stolen voice is foreshadowed in the Arabian Nights, when the “Open Sesame” is forgotten. The act of catching the voice has a simplicity which stamps it as original, the only analogy of which I can at present think being the story of later date, of the words which were frozen silent during the extreme cold of an Arctic winter, and became audible again the following summer when they had thawed out.
SOURCE: Charles W. Chesnutt, “Superstitions and Folk-Lore of the South,” 159–60.
Charles Chesnutt (1858–1932) was a prominent and highly influential author whose short stories were widely read in the United States. Moving from North Carolina to New York City and finally to Cleveland, he took work as a legal stenographer and began publishing short stories in the Atlantic Monthly. In 1899, he published The Conjure Woman, a collection of stories inspired by hoodoo beliefs and practices. The story above has a realistic setting but draws on a number of folkloric motifs, most notably stolen voices and magic mirrors. Chesnutt gives us in this story his characteristic blend of realism and fantasy, with a folkloristic commentary that reveals something about the social context of the tale.
THE MERMAID
Before they had any steam, ships were sailing by sails, you know, across the Atlantic. The Atlantic was fifteen miles deep, and there were mermaids in those days. And if you called anybody’s name on the ship, the mermaids would ask for it, say, “Give it to me.” And if you didn’t give it to them they would capsize the ship.
So the captain had to change the men’s names to different objects—hatchet, ax, hammer, furniture. Whenever he wanted a man to do something, he had to call him, “Hammer, go on deck and look out.” The mermaid would holler, “Give me hammer.” So they throwed the hammer overboard to her, and the vessel would proceed on. The captain might say, “Ax, you go on down in the kindling room and start a fire in the boiler; it’s going dead.” Then the mermaid says, “Give me ax.” So they have to throw her an iron ax. Next day he says, “Suit of furniture, go down in the stateroom and make up those beds.” And the mermaid yells, “Give me suit of furniture.” So they had to throw a whole suit of furniture overboard.
One day he made a mistake and forgot and said, “Sam, go in the kitchen and cook supper.” The mermaid right away calls, “Give me Sam.” They didn’t have anything on the ship that was named Sam; so they had to throw Sam overboard. Soon as Sam hit the water she grabbed him. Her hair was so long she could wrap him up—he didn’t even get wet. And she’s swimming so fast he could catch breath under the water. When she get him she goes in, unwraps Sam out of her hair, says, “Oooh, you sure do look nice. Do you like fish?” Sam says, “No, I won’t even cook a fish.”
“Well, we’ll get married.” So they were married. After a while Sam begin to step out with other mermaids. His girlfriend became jealous of him and his wife, and they had a fight over Sam. The wife whipped her, and told her, “You can’t see Sam never again.” She says, “I’ll get even with you.”
So one day Sam’s girlfriend asked him, didn’t he want to go back to his native home. He says yes. So she grabs him, wraps him in her hair, and swum the same fastness as his wife did when she was carrying him, so he could catch breath. When she come to land she put him onto the ground, on the bank. “Now if he can’t do me no good he sure won’t do her none.” That was Sam’s experience in the mermaid’s home in the bottom of the sea.
Sam told the people the mermaid’s house was built like the alligator’s. He digs in the bank at water level; then he goes up—nature teaches him how high to go—then he digs down to water level again, and there he makes his home, in rooms ten to twenty feet long. The mermaid builds in the wall of the sea like the alligator. Sam stayed down there six years. If he hadn’t got to courting he’d a been there yet, I guess.
SOURCE: Richard Dorson, Negro Folktales in Michigan, 147–48. Told by James Douglas Suggs.
Stories about seductive creatures, half animal, half human, are told the world over, and figure prominently in Celtic, Russian, and Scandinavian cultures. The mermaids in this story lure humans to their underwater homes, unlike Hans Christian Andersen’s Little Mermaid, who strives to acquire a human soul through the love of a mortal.
“The Mermaid,” from Negro Folktales in Michigan, collected and edited by Richard M. Dorson. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Copyright © 1956 by the President and Fellows of Harvard College.
THE BIG WORM 1
“Once it was a time, a very good time
Monkey chewed tobacco, and he spit white lime.
It wasn’t my time, it wasn’t your time,
Was old folks time.”
There was a man with two sons. They had no fire in the house. All they had to eat were raw potatoes. The man sent one of his sons to go fetch fire. The boy walked, and walked, and walked until finally he saw some smoke. When he found the fire, he discovered that it was coming from a worm. The boy said, “Give me some fire.” The worm said, “I can’t give you any. It’s all mine.” The worm said, “Come a little closer.” Good! As soon as the boy had moved closer and was about to reach for the fire, the worm swallowed him up. The boy went down, way down, down inside the worm until he stopped. There he met all sorts of people that the worm had swallowed.
The man said to his other son, “I wonder where my boy has gone.” The other son said, “Pa, I’m going to go look for him.” He walked, and he walked, and he walked until he saw the big worm with fire in its mouth. The boy went over to it and said “Give me some fire!” The worm said, “Come and get it.” The boy said, “Do i en e,2 give me some fire.” The worm said, “Come a little closer.” Then it said, “Time to go home. Come and get the fire.” When the boy went to get it, pow, the worm swallowed him
down. The boy went down, down, so far down that he met his brother.
The boys’ father said, “Now that my sons are gone, I may as well leave too.” The man took a lance; it fairly glistened, it was so sharp. When he arrived at the place where the worm with fire in its mouth lived, the man said, “Give me some fire.” The worm said, “You’re too much for me.” Then he said, “Come and get it.” When the man went to get the fire, pow, the worm swallowed him up. The man took his lance, and, while he was falling down down down, he cut the worm’s stomach until it was so wide open that all the people in there could climb out, and there were enough there to fill a big city.
SOURCE: Adapted from Charles L. Edwards, Bahama Songs and Stories, 72–73.
The father’s rescue of the two sons from the belly of the worm is unusual in that, in fairy tales, most fathers leave their sons to their own devices, with the expectation that they will make their way through the world and survive its snares. Fetching fire has great symbolic importance and invites comparisons with myths about stealing fire or securing a flame in order to engage in activities ranging from the domestic to the inventive and creative.
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1 worm: The term most likely refers to a reptilian creature, possibly a fire-breathing dragon.
2 Do i en e: possibly remnants of an African chant or phrase
THE TALKING EGGS
There was once a lady who had two daughters. They were called Rose and Blanche. Rose was bad, and Blanche was good. But the mother liked Rose better, even though she was bad, because she was her very picture. She would compel Blanche to do all the work, while Rose was seated in her rocking chair. One day she sent Blanche to the well to get some water in a bucket. When Blanche arrived at the well, she saw an old woman who said to her: “Pray, my little one, give me some water. I am very thirsty.” “Yes, aunt,” said Blanche, “here is some water.” And Blanche rinsed her bucket and gave her good fresh water to drink. “Thank you, my child. You are a good girl. God will bless you.”
A few days later, the mother was so bad to Blanche that she ran away into the woods. She cried and did not know where to go because she was afraid to return home. She saw the same old woman who was now walking in front of her. “Ah! My child, why are you crying? What is hurting you?” “Ah, aunt, mamma has beaten me, and I am afraid to return to the cabin.” “Well, my child, come with me. I will give you supper and a bed. But you must promise me not to laugh at anything that you will see.”
The old woman took Blanche’s hand, and they began to walk into the woods. As they traveled, the bushes of thorns opened before them, and closed behind their backs. A little farther on, Blanche saw two axes that were fighting. She found that very strange, but said nothing. They walked farther and behold! Two arms were fighting. A little farther, two legs, and finally she saw two heads fighting with each other, and they said: “Blanche, good morning, my child. God will help you.”
Finally they arrived at the old woman’s cabin, and she said to Blanche: “Make some fire, my child, to cook supper.” And she sat down near the fireplace and took off her head. She put it on her knees and began to louse herself. Blanche found that very strange. She was afraid, but she said nothing. The old woman put her head back in its place and gave Blanche a large bone to put on the fire for their supper. Blanche put the bone in the pot. Lo! In a moment the pot was full of good meat.
The old woman gave Blanche a grain of rice to pound with the pestle, and the mortar was soon full of rice. After they had eaten their supper, the old woman said to Blanche: “Pray, my child, scratch my back.” Blanche scratched her back, but her hand soon had cuts on it, for the old woman’s back was covered with broken glass. When the old woman saw that Blanche’s hand was bleeding, she blew on it, and the cuts healed at once.
When Blanche got up the next morning, the old woman said to her: “You have to go home now, but since you are a good girl I want to make you a present of the talking eggs. Go over to the chicken-house. You must take all the eggs that say ‘Take me.’ You must not take the ones that say ‘Do not take me.’ Once you are on the road, throw the eggs behind you to break them.”
While Blanche was walking home, she broke the eggs behind her. Many pretty things came out of those eggs—first diamonds, then gold, and finally a beautiful carriage and beautiful dresses. When she arrived at her mother’s, she had so many fine things that the house could hold no more. And so her mother was very glad to see her. The next day she said to Rose: “You must go into the woods to look for the same woman. You must have fine dresses like Blanche.”
Rose went into the woods, and she met the old woman, who told her to come into her cabin. But when Rose saw the axes, the arms, the legs, and the heads all fighting and then the old woman taking off her head to louse herself, she began to laugh and to ridicule everything she saw. The old woman said: “Ah! My child, you are not a good girl. God will punish you.” The next day she said to Rose: “I don’t want to send you back home with nothing. Go over to the chicken-house and take the eggs that say ‘Take me.’ ”
Rose went to the chicken-house. All the eggs began to say: “Take me.” “Don’t take me.” “Take me.” “Don’t take me.” Rose was so bad that she said: “Ah, yes, you say ‘Don’t take me,’ but you are precisely the ones I want.” She took all the eggs that said “Don’t take me,” and she went off with them.
While she was walking, she broke the eggs, and out came a quantity of snakes, toads, and frogs. They began to run after her. There were even whips, and they whipped her. Rose shrieked and ran away. She reached her mother’s so tired that she could not speak. When her mother saw all the beasts and the whips that were chasing after her, she was so angry that she sent her away like a dog and told her to go live in the woods.
SOURCE: Alcée Fortier, “Louisiana Nursery-Tales,” 142–45.
A Creole variant of “The Kind and the Unkind Girls,” this tale includes protagonists whose names point to French origins. The strong moral message about hard work and kindness is found in many nineteenth-century tales of virtue rewarded and vice punished.
RAMSTAMPELDAM
She was to marry to a king. An’ de king said he would marry to her if she would spin a large room full of gold. An’ while she was settin’ down cryin’,—she knew she couldn’ do it,—a dwarf came an’ put in an appearance, an’ ask her what she would give him to do de tas’ for her. She had a gol’ ring, an’ gi’ him a gol’ ring. An’ jus’ as soon dat room was full o’ gol’. An’ in de mornin’, when de king come, fin’ de room full o’ gold. An’ he was a greedy ol’ feller, so he kyarry her in a large room, an’ she mus’ full dat too. Jus’ as soon as she was lef’ alone, her ol’ friend come in again. So she tol’ him, “I have the same task to do again.”—“What will you gi’ me now?”—“I ain’t got but a gol’ necklace.” So she gave him dat necklace. Den in de mornin’ de king came in again, an’ foun’ dat room full o’ gol’. But he such a greedy feller, he gave her another task. She was settin’ down cryin’, but she didn’ have nothin’ to give dat ol’ man again. Then he said to her, “I want you to promise me dat you will give me your first child.” An’ she said, “Yes, I’ll do it. I’ll give you my first child.” An’ when de king come in an’ found de room all right again, den he married her. Den, after marriage a good little while, she had a beautiful child. But she forgot all her promise dat she made to de ol’ man. She was too happy too. An’ den on de birthday of de chil’, de ol’ man came up. He was in de crowd when dey had de birthday-party. Den she remembered her promise, an’ she was awfully sorry den, because she had to part from her child.
Den de ol’ man tell her, “I give you t’ree days to guess my name; an’ if you guess my name in t’ree days, I won’t take de chil’, de chil’ is yours.” An’ she commence to guess.
Every day he came, she guessed John, Jack, Peter; but de ol’ man said, “No, none of dose are my name.” ’Til dey arrive to de second day. After d
at, de maid of de queen was walkin’ along de road, an’ came to a little hut. An’ de ol’ man didn’ see her; an’ he was stewin’ an’ jumpin’ aroun’ de pot, an’ singin’, “To-morrow I’ll be de happiest man in de worl’, because I’ll have company. I’ll have a little baby wid me. Nobody knows my name, dat I name Ramstampeldam.” So de maid took de name to de queen, an’ said she saw a funny little man, an’ dat his name was Ramstampeldam. So de queen judge dat was de name she was tryin’ to arrive at. So when de man came in dat day before de crowd an’ deman’ de chil’, de queen said, “Ain’t your name John? Ain’t your name Peter? Ain’t it Ramstampeldam?” Den de ol’ man got so mad, he stamped his foot, went t’rough de floor, pop his laig off, ran off wid one laig.
SOURCE: Elsie Clews Parsons, Folk-Lore of the Sea Islands, South Carolina, 23–24.
Parsons recorded the story from an informant named James Miller, who was born in South Carolina and had worked as a slave on a plantation. According to her, the tale has “obviously a literary source,” although she fails to mention explicitly “Rumpelstiltskin,” a tale that may have moved from the written page in the Grimms’ nineteenth-century German collection into oral storytelling cultures in the South.
KING PEACOCK
There was once a lady who was so pretty—so pretty that she never wanted to marry. She found something to criticize in all the suitors who presented themselves, saying of them: “Oh, you are too ugly.” “You are too short.” “Your mouth is too large.”
One day a man arrived in a golden carriage drawn by eight horses. He asked the lady to marry him, but she refused. He threw a fit and then told her that in a year she would have a daughter that would be much prettier that she was. The lady felt nothing but contempt for him and sent him away.
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