A year later she gave birth to a pretty little girl. When she saw how pretty the girl was, she locked her up in a room at the far end of the house, with only a nurse to attend to her. The girl became more beautiful with each passing day. The nurse never allowed her to leave her room, or even to look out the window.
One day, while the old woman who was her nurse was sweeping the floor, she left the door open, and the young girl saw a large bird.
“Nurse,” she said, “what is the name of that beautiful bird?”
The woman replied, “That is a peacock.”
“If I ever marry,” the girl said, “I want to marry King Peacock.”
“May God hear you, my child.”
That very day the mother appeared and went into a corner with the nurse. She drew a long knife from under her skirt and said, “I want you to kill my child. She has become prettier than I am.”
The nurse began to cry and begged the lady to spare the poor child but it was no use. That evil heart could not be softened. When night fell, the nurse said to the girl, “My poor child. Your mother wants you to die, and I am supposed to kill you.”
The girl was so good that she replied, “Well, kill me, nurse, if that’s what my mother wants.”
But the nurse said, “No, I don’t have the heart to do any such thing. Here, take these three seeds and jump down into the well as if you were going to drown yourself. But before jumping in the well, swallow one of these seeds, and nothing will be able to harm you.”
The girl thanked the nurse and walked down to the well to throw herself into it. But before touching the water she took one of the seeds and put it in her mouth. The seed fell into the water, and all at once the well became dry. The young lady was very sad to see that there was no water left in the well. She climbed out and walked into the woods, where she found a small house. She knocked at the door, and an old woman appeared. When she saw the pretty young girl, she said, “Oh! my child, why have you come here? Don’t you know that my husband is an ogre? He will eat you up!”
The girl replied, “That’s what I’m hoping for. My mother wants me to die.”
The woman replied, “If that is the case, come in. But what a pity.”
The girl sat down in a corner and began crying while she was waiting for the ogre. All at once they heard loud footsteps, and as soon as he opened the door, the ogre said, “Wife, I smell fresh meat in here.” And he ran towards the girl. She looked at him with her big eyes, and he stopped himself, saying to his wife: “How can I possibly have a pretty girl like that for supper? She is so beautiful that all I want to do is look at her.”
The girl said she was tired, and so the ogre took her to a beautiful room and ordered his wife to fan her with peacock feathers while she was sleeping.
The girl thought to herself: “It would be better for me to die now, since the ogre might change his mind by tomorrow and decide to have me for dinner.” She put one of the seeds in her mouth and fell into a deep sleep. She slept and slept, and the ogre’s wife continued fanning her the whole time. When three days had gone by and she was still not awake, the ogre looked at her and said: “What a pity, but I believe that she must be dead.”
The ogre went to the town and brought home a coffin made of gold. He put the girl in it and set it on the river. Very far away, King Peacock was standing on the levee with his retinue, enjoying the cool breeze. He saw something bright and shiny floating on the river. He ordered his courtiers to see what it was. They took a skiff and could not believe their eyes. It was a coffin, and they brought it to the king. When he saw the pretty girl who seemed to be sleeping, he said, “Take her to my chambers.” He was hoping that he would be able to wake her up. He moved her to a bed and rubbed her hands and face with cologne water, but to no avail. Then he opened her mouth to see what pretty teeth she had. He saw something red in her front teeth and tried to remove it with a golden pin. It was the seed, which fell on the floor. The girl awoke and said, “I am so glad to see you.”
The king replied: “I am King Peacock and I want to marry you.” The girl said, “Yes,” and there was such a wedding that they sent me to tell the story everywhere, everywhere.
SOURCE: Alcée Fortier, Louisiana Folk-Tales, 57–61.
King Peacock has many of the motifs and tropes of “Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs”—a cruel mother, a benevolent servant, and a heroine revived by an adoring person of royal blood. The tale shifts into a female version of “Jack and the Beanstalk,” in an unusual twist, with an ogress who uses brilliantly beautiful peacock feathers to fan the girl—with the feathers anticipating the name of the rescuer.
PREFACES TO COLLECTIONS AND MANIFESTOS ABOUT COLLECTING AFRICAN AMERICAN LORE
William Owens, “Folklore of the Southern Negroes”
Lippincott’s Magazine 20 (1877), 748–55
William Owens prefaced the nine examples of folktales he collected with observations about the importance of the tales as an index of “negro character,” about which he deemed himself an “expert.” Emphasizing the African origins of the tales, he also had much to say about belief systems (superstitious and religious).
1877
FOLKLORE OF THE SOUTHERN NEGROES
by William Owens
All tribes and peoples have their folk-lore, whether embodied in tales of daring adventure, as in our own doughty Jack the Giant-killer, or in stories of genii and magic, as in the Arabian Nights, or in legends of wraiths, witches, bogles and apparitions, as among the Scotch peasantry; and these fables are so strongly tinged with the peculiarities—or rather the idiosyncrasies—of the race among whom they originate as to furnish a fair index of its mental and moral characteristics, not only at the time of their origin, but so long as the people continue to narrate them or listen to them.
The folk-lore of Africo-Americans, as appearing in our Southern States, is a medley of fables, songs, sayings, incantations, charms and superstitious traditions brought from various tribes along the West African coast, and so far condensed into one mass in their American homes that often part of a story or tradition belonging to one tribe is grafted, without much regard to consistency, upon a part belonging to another people, while they are still further complicated by the frequent infusion into them of ideas evidently derived from communication with the white race.
Any one who will take the trouble to analyze the predominant traits of negro character, and to collate them with the predominant traits of African folk-lore, will discern the fitness of each to each. On every side he will discover evidences of a passion for music and dancing, for visiting and chatting, for fishing and snaring, indeed for any pleasure requiring little exertion of either mind or body; evidences also of a gentle, pliable and easy temper—of a quick and sincere sympathy with suffering wheresoever seen—of a very low standard of morals, combined with remarkable dexterity in satisfying themselves that it is right to do as they wish. Another trait, strong enough and universal enough to atone for many a dark one, is that, as a rule, there is nothing of the fierce and cruel in their nature, and it is scarcely possible for anything of this kind to be grafted permanently upon them.
Of their American-born superstitions, by far the greater part are interwoven with so-called religious beliefs, and go far to show their native faith in dreams and visions, which they are not slow to narrate, to embellish, and even to fabricate extemporaneously, to suit the ears of a credulous listener; also showing their natural tendency to rely upon outward observances, as if possessed of some fetish-like virtue, and in certain cases a horrible debasement of some of the highest and noblest doctrines of the Christian faith. These superstitions must of course be considered apart from the real character of those who are sincerely pious, and upon which they are so many blemishes. They are, in fact, the rank and morbid outgrowth of the peculiarities of religious denominations grafted upon the prolific soil of their native character.
Of the few which may be mentioned without fear of offence, since they belong to the negro rather
than to his denomination, the following are examples: Tools to be used in digging a grave must never be carried through a house which any one inhabits, else they will soon be used for digging the grave of the dweller. Tools already used for such a purpose must not be carried directly home. This would bring the family too closely for safety into contact with the dead. They must be laid reverently beside the grave, and allowed to remain there all night. A superstition in respect to posture is by some very rigorously observed. It is, that religious people must never sit with their legs crossed. The only reason given—though we cannot help suspecting that there must be another kept in concealment—is, that crossing the legs is the same as dancing, and dancing is a sin.
These are fair samples of Americanized superstitions—puerile, it is true, but harmless. It is only when we come into contact with negroes of pure African descent that we discover evidences of a once prevalent and not wholly discarded demonolatry. The native religion of the West African, except where elevated by the influence of Mohammedanism, was not—and, travelers tell us, is not yet—a worship of God as such, nor even an attempt to know and honor Him, but a constant effort at self-protection. The true God, they say, calls for no worship; for, being good in and of himself, He will do all the good He can without being asked. But there are multitudes of malignant spirits whose delight is to mislead and to destroy. These must be propitiated by gifts and acts of worship, or rendered powerless by charms and incantations.
No one knows, or has the means of ascertaining, to what extent real devil-worship is practised in America, because it is always conducted in secret; but we have reason to believe that it has almost entirely ceased, being shamed out of existence by the loveliness of a purer and better faith, and a belief in the agency of evil spirits, and consequent dread of their malign powers, although still more or less dominant with the negroes, has also greatly declined.1 To give a sample of this last: The time was—but it has nearly passed away, or else the writer has not been for many years in the way of hearing of it, as in the days of childhood—when one of the objects of greatest dread among our seaboard negroes was the “Jack-muh-lantern.” This terrible creature—who on dark, damp nights would wander with his lantern through woods and marshes, seeking to mislead people to their destruction—was described by a negro who seemed perfectly familiar with his subject as a hideous little being, somewhat human in form, though covered with hair like a dog. It had great goggle eyes, and thick, sausage-like lips that opened from ear to ear. In height it seldom exceeded four or five feet, and it was quite slender in form, but such was its power of locomotion that no one on the swiftest horse could overtake it or escape from it, for it could leap like a grasshopper to almost any distance, and its strength was beyond all human resistance. No one ever heard of its victims being bitten or torn: they were only compelled to go with it into bogs and swamps and marshes, and there left to sink and die. There was only one mode of escape for those who were so unfortunate as to be met by one of these mischievous night-walkers, and that was by a charm; but that charm was easy and within everybody’s reach. Whether met by marsh or roadside, the person had only to take off his coat or outer garment and put it on again inside out, and the foul fiend was instantly deprived of all power to harm.
Multifarious, however, as are the forms and aspects of folk-lore among this remarkable and in some respects highly interesting people, the chief bulk of it lies stored away among their fables, which are as purely African as are their faces or their own plaintive melodies. Travellers and missionaries tell us that the same sweet airs which are so often heard in religious meetings in America, set to Christian hymns, are to be recognized in the boats and palm-roofed houses of Africa, set to heathen words, and that the same wild stories of Buh Rabbit, Buh Wolf, and other Buhs that are so charming to the ears of American children, are to be heard to this day in Africa, differing only in the drapery necessary to the change of scene.
Almost without exception the actors in these fables are brute animals endowed with speech and reason, in whom mingle strangely, and with ludicrous incongruity, the human and brute characteristics. The dramatis personae are always honored with the title of Buh, which is generally supposed to be an abbreviation of the word “brother” (the br being sounded without the whir of the r), but it probably is a title of respect equivalent to our Mr. The animals which figure in the stories are chiefly Buh Rabbit, Buh Lion, Buh Wolf and Buh Deer, though sometimes we hear of Buh Elephant, Buh Fox, Buh Cooter and Buh Goose. As a rule each Buh sustains in every fable the same general character. Buh Deer is always a simpleton; Buh Wolf always rapacious and tricky; Buh Rabbit foppish, vain, quick-witted, though at times a great fool; Buh Elephant quiet, sensible and dignified.
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1 Of the terrible forms of superstition prevalent under the names of Obi, Voodooism, Evil-eye or Tricking, in which a trick-doctor or witch-doctor works against another person’s life or health or plans, or seeks to neutralize the influence of another doctor, our subject leads us to say nothing.
JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, INTRODUCTION TO NIGHTS WITH UNCLE REMUS (1883)
The volume containing an installment of thirty-four negro legends, which was given to the public three years ago, was accompanied by an apology for both the matter and the manner. Perhaps such an apology is more necessary now than it was then; but the warm reception given to the book on all sides—by literary critics, as well as by ethnologists and students of folk-lore, in this country and in Europe—has led the author to believe that a volume embodying everything, or nearly everything, of importance in the oral literature of the negroes of the Southern States, would be as heartily welcomed.
The thirty-four legends in the first volume were merely selections from the large body of plantation folk-lore familiar to the author from his childhood, and these selections were made less with an eye to their ethnological importance than with a view to presenting certain quaint and curious race characteristics, of which the world at large had had either vague or greatly exaggerated notions.
The first book, therefore, must be the excuse and apology for the present volume. Indeed, the first book made the second a necessity; for, immediately upon its appearance, letters and correspondence began to pour in upon the author from all parts of the South. Much of this correspondence was very valuable, for it embodied legends that had escaped the author’s memory, and contained hints and suggestions that led to some very interesting discoveries. The result is, that the present volume is about as complete as it could be made under the circumstances, though there is no doubt of the existence of legends and myths, especially upon the rice plantations, and Sea Islands of the Georgia and Carolina seacoast, which, owing to the difficulties that stand in the way of those who attempt to gather them, are not included in this collection.
It is safe to say, however, that the best and most characteristic of the legends current on the rice plantations and Sea Islands, are also current on the cotton plantations. Indeed, this has been abundantly verified in the correspondence of those who kindly consented to aid the author in his efforts to secure stories told by the negroes on the seacoast. The great majority of legends and stories collected and forwarded by these generous collaborators had already been collected among the negroes on the cotton plantations and uplands of Georgia and other Southern States. This will account for the comparatively meagre contribution which Daddy Jack, the old African of the rice plantations, makes towards the entertainment of the little boy.
In the introduction to the first volume of “Uncle Remus” occurs this statement: “Curiously enough, I have found few negroes who will acknowledge to a stranger that they know anything of these legends; and yet to relate one is the surest road to their confidence and esteem.”
This statement was scarcely emphatic enough. The thirty-four legends in the first volume were comparatively easy to verify, for the reason that they were the most popular among the negroes, and were easily remembered. This is also tr
ue of many stories in the present volume; but some of them appear to be known only to the negroes who have the gift of story-telling,—a gift that is as rare among the blacks as among the whites. There is good reason to suppose, too, that many of the negroes born near the close of the war or since, are unfamiliar with the great body of their own folk-lore. They have heard such legends as the “Tar-Baby” story and “The Moon in the Mill-Pond,” and some others equally as graphic; but, in the tumult and confusion incident to their changed condition, they have had few opportunities to become acquainted with that wonderful collection of tales which their ancestors told in the kitchens and cabins of the Old Plantation. The older negroes are as fond of the legends as ever, but the occasion, or the excuse, for telling them becomes less frequent year by year.
With a fair knowledge of the negro character, and long familiarity with the manifold peculiarities of the negro mind and temperament, the writer has, nevertheless, found it a difficult task to verify such legends as he had not already heard in some shape or other. But, as their importance depended upon such verification, he has spared neither pains nor patience to make it complete. The difficulties in the way of this verification would undoubtedly have been fewer if the writer could have had an opportunity to pursue his investigations in the plantation districts of Middle Georgia; but circumstances prevented, and he has been compelled to depend upon such opportunities as casually or unexpectedly presented themselves.
One of these opportunities occurred in the summer of 1882, at Norcross, a little railroad station, twenty miles northeast of Atlanta. The writer was waiting to take the train to Atlanta, and this train, as it fortunately happened, was delayed. At the station were a number of negroes, who had been engaged in working on the railroad. It was night, and, with nothing better to do, they were waiting to see the train go by. Some were sitting in little groups up and down the platform of the station, and some were perched upon a pile of cross-ties. They seemed to be in great good-humor, and cracked jokes at each other’s expense in the midst of boisterous shouts of laughter. The writer sat next to one of the liveliest talkers in the party; and, after listening and laughing awhile, told the “Tar Baby” story by way of a feeler; the excuse being that some one in the crowd mentioned “Ole Molly Har’.” The story was told in a low tone, as if to avoid attracting attention, but the comments of the negro, who was a little past middle age, were loud and frequent “Dar now!” he would exclaim, or, “He’s a honey, mon!” or, “Gentermens! git out de way, an’ gin ’im room!”
The Annotated African American Folktales Page 64
