Thorne-Thomsen - Bruin and Reynard Partners - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

I've been telling a lot lately about Harvest time. (It's popular with groups wanting to avoid Halloween.) That earlier post about Harvest includes some of the stories told. There's a story I call "Tops and Bottoms" but pioneer storyteller, Gudrun Thorne-Thomsen links to that traditional trickster, Reynard, the fox.  There are many versions of this story, but she boils down to its essential elements in her wonderful little book, East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon . While she was born in Norway and takes their traditional stories and presents them, as her Foreword says to "retain the conversational style of the teller of tales. .  . translated into the atmosphere of the old-time story-hour." That's spoken as the storytelling pioneer and Chicago librarian she definitely was. 

 

(No illustrations were found, so this is AI)

Bruin and Reynard Partners

Once on a time Bruin and Reynard owned a field in common. They had a little clearing up in the wood, and the first year they sowed rye.

"Now we must share the crop as is fair and right," said Reynard. "If you like to have the root, I'll take the top."

Yes, Bruin was ready to do that; but when they had threshed out the crop, Reynard got all the corn, but Bruin got nothing but roots and rubbish. He did not like that at all; but Reynard said that was how they had agreed to share it.

"This year I have the gain," said Reynard, "next year it will be your turn. Then you shall have the top, and I shall have to put up with the root."

But when spring came, and it was time to sow, Reynard asked Bruin what he thought of turnips.

"Aye, aye!" said Bruin, "that's better food than rye," and so Reynard thought also. But when harvest time came Reynard got the roots, while Bruin got the turnip-tops. And then Bruin was so angry with Reynard that he put an end at once to his partnership with him. 

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Be sure to look at that other Harvest post here. 

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Schoolcraft - Strong Desire and the Red Sorcerer - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

This coming Monday is a holiday with two names: Columbus Day celebrating the discovery of America by Christopher Columbus or Indigenous Peoples' Day as an alternative in many states including here in Michigan. At the same time Halloween is starting to appear everywhere! Surely a combination of both the spooky and Native American folklore should be found.

Under the name of Henry Rowe Schoolcraft comes a story that is both spooky and, in his 1856 The Myth of Hiawatha, and Other Oral Legends, Mythologic and Allegoric, of the North American Indians, he attributes to the "Dacotah."

(Storyteller's note, this was an oral story and re-telling as needed is assumed.)

Image created using Artificial Intelligence from story details

 

PAH-HAH-UNDOOTAH,

THE RED HEAD.

A DACOTAH LEGEND.

As spring approaches, the Indians return from their wintering grounds to their villages, engage in feasting, soon exhaust their stock of provisions, and begin to suffer for the want of food. Such of the hunters as are of an active and enterprising cast of character, take the occasion to separate from the mass of the population, and remove to some neighboring locality in the forest, which promises the means of subsistence during this season of general lassitude and enjoyment.

Among the families who thus separated themselves, on a certain occasion, there was a man called Odshedoph Waucheentongah, or the Child of Strong Desires, who had a wife and one son. After a day's travel he reached an ample wood with his family, which was thought to be a suitable place to encamp. The wife fixed the lodge, while the husband went out to hunt. Early in the evening he returned with a deer. Being tired and thirsty he asked his son to go to the river for some water. The son replied that it was dark and he was afraid. He urged him to go, saying that his mother, as well as himself, was tired, and the distance to the water was very short. But no persuasion was of any avail. He refused to go. "Ah, my son," said the father, at last, "if you are afraid to go to the river, you will never kill the Red Head."

The boy was deeply mortified by this observation. It seemed to call up all his latent energies. He mused in silence. He refused to eat, and made no reply when spoken to.

The next day he asked his mother to dress the skin of the deer, and make it into moccasins for him, while he busied himself in preparing a bow and arrows. As soon as these things were done, he left the lodge one morning at sunrise, without saying a word to his father or mother. He fired one of his arrows into the air, which fell westward. He took that course, and at night coming to the spot where the arrow had fallen, was rejoiced to find it piercing the heart of a deer. He refreshed himself with a meal of the venison, and the next morning fired another arrow. After travelling all day, he found it also in another deer. In this manner he fired four arrows, and every evening found that he had killed a deer. What was very singular, however, was, that he left the arrows sticking in the carcasses, and passed on without withdrawing them. In consequence of this, he had no arrow for the fifth day, and was in great distress at night for the want of food. At last he threw himself upon the ground in despair, concluding that he might as well perish there as go further. But he had not lain long before he heard a hollow, rumbling noise, in the ground beneath him. He sprang up, and discovered at a distance the figure of a human being, walking with a stick. He looked attentively and saw that the figure was walking in a wide beaten path, in a prairie, leading from a lodge to a lake. To his surprise, this lodge was at no great distance. He approached a little nearer and concealed himself. He soon discovered that the figure was no other than that of the terrible witch, Wok-on-kahtohn-zooeyah-pee-kah-haitchee, or the little old woman who makes war. Her path to the lake was perfectly smooth and solid, and the noise our adventurer had heard, was caused by the striking of her walking staff upon the ground. The top of this staff was decorated with a string of the toes and bills of birds of every kind, who at every stroke of the stick, fluttered and sung their various notes in concert.

She entered her lodge and laid off her mantle, which was entirely composed of the scalps of women. Before folding it, she shook it several times, and at every shake the scalps uttered loud shouts of laughter, in which the old hag joined. Nothing could have frightened him more than this horrific exhibition. After laying by the cloak she came directly to him. She informed him that she had known him from the time he left his father's lodge, and watched his movements. She told him not to fear or despair, for she would be his friend and protector. She invited him into her lodge, and gave him a supper. During the repast, she inquired of him his motives for visiting her. He related his history, stated the manner in which he had been disgraced, and the difficulties he labored under. She cheered him with the assurance of her friendship, and told him he would be a brave man yet.

She then commenced the exercise of her power upon him. His hair being very short, she took a large leaden comb, and after drawing it through his hair several times, it became of a handsome feminine length. She then proceeded to dress him as a female, furnishing him with the necessary garments, and decorated his face with paints of the most beautiful dye. She gave him a bowl of shining metal. She directed him to put in his girdle a blade of scented sword-grass, and to proceed the next morning to the banks of the lake, which was no other than that over which the Red Head reigned. Now Pah-hah-undootah, or the Red Head, was a most powerful sorcerer and the terror of all the country, living upon an island in the centre of the lake.

She informed him that there would be many Indians on the island, who, as soon as they saw him use the shining bowl to drink with, would come and solicit him to be their wife, and to take him over to the island. These offers he was to refuse, and say that he had come a great distance to be the wife of the Red Head, and that if the chief could not come for her in his own canoe, she should return to her village. She said that as soon as the Red Head heard of this, he would come for her in his own canoe, in which she must embark. On reaching the island he must consent to be his wife, and in the evening induce him to take a walk out of the village, when he was to take the first opportunity to cut off his head with the blade of grass. She also gave him general advice how he was to conduct himself to sustain his assumed character of a woman. His fear would scarcely permit him to accede to this plan, but the recollection of his father's words and looks decided him.

Early in the morning, he left the witch's lodge, and took the hard beaten path to the banks of the lake. He reached the water at a point directly opposite the Red Head's village. It was a beautiful day. The heavens were clear, and the sun shone out in the greatest effulgence. He had not been long there, having sauntered along the beach, when he displayed the glittering bowl, by dipping water from the lake. Very soon a number of canoes came off from the island. The men admired his dress, and were charmed with his beauty, and a great number made proposals of marriage. These he promptly declined, agreeably to the concerted plan. When the facts were reported to the Red Head, he ordered his canoe to be put in the water by his chosen men, and crossed over to see this wonderful girl. As he came near the shore, he saw that the ribs of the sorcerer's canoe were formed of living rattlesnakes, whose heads pointed outward to guard him from enemies. Our adventurer had no sooner stepped into the canoe than they began to hiss and rattle, which put him in a great fright. But the magician spoke to them, after which they became pacified and quiet, and all at once they were at the landing upon the island. The marriage immediately took place, and the bride made presents of various valuables which had been furnished by the old witch.

As they were sitting in the lodge surrounded by friends and relatives, the mother of the Red Head regarded the face of her new daughter-in-law for a long time with fixed attention. From this scrutiny she was convinced that this singular and hasty marriage augured no good to her son. She drew her husband aside and disclosed to him her suspicions: "This can be no female," said she; "the figure and manners, the countenance, and more especially the expression of the eyes, are, beyond a doubt, those of a man." Her husband immediately rejected her suspicions, and rebuked her severely for the indignity offered to her daughter-in-law. He became so angry, that seizing the first thing that came to hand, which happened to be his pipe stem, he beat her unmercifully. This act requiring to be explained to the spectators, the mock bride immediately rose up, and assuming an air of offended dignity, told the Red Head that after receiving so gross an insult from his relatives he could not think of remaining with him as his wife, but should forthwith return to his village and friends. He left the lodge followed by the Red Head, and walked until he came upon the beach of the island, near the spot where they had first landed. Red Head entreated him to remain. He pressed him by every motive which he thought might have weight, but they were all rejected. During this conference they had seated themselves upon the ground, and Red Head, in great affliction, reclined his head upon his fancied wife's lap. This was the opportunity ardently sought for, and it was improved to the best advantage. Every means was taken to lull him to sleep, and partly by a soothing manner, and partly by a seeming compliance with his request, the object was at last attained. Red Head fell into a sound sleep. Our aspirant for the glory of a brave man then drew his blade of grass, and drawing it once across the neck of the Red Head completely severed the head from the body.

He immediately stripped off his dress, seized the bleeding head, and plunging into the lake, swam safely over to the main shore. He had scarcely reached it, when, looking back, he saw amid the darkness the torches of persons come out in search of the new-married couple. He listened till they had found the headless body, and he heard their piercing shrieks of sorrow, as he took his way to the lodge of his kind adviser.

She received him with rejoicing. She admired his prudence, and told him his bravery could never be questioned again. Lifting up the head, she said he need only have brought the scalp. She cut off a small piece for herself, and told him he might now return with the head, which would be evidence of an achievement that would cause the Indians to respect him. In your way home, she said, you will meet with but one difficulty. Maunkah Keesh Woccaung, or the spirit of the Earth, requires an offering from those who perform extraordinary achievements. As you walk along in a prairie, there will be an earthquake. The earth will open and divide the prairie in the middle. Take this partridge and throw it into the opening, and instantly spring over it. All this happened precisely as it had been foretold. He cast the partridge into the crevice and leapt over it. He then proceeded without obstruction to a place near his village, where he secreted his trophy. On entering the village he found his parents had returned from the place of their spring encampment, and were in great sorrow for their son, whom they supposed to be lost. One and another of the young men had presented themselves to the disconsolate parents, and said, "Look up, I am your son." Having been often deceived in this manner, when their own son actually presented himself, they sat with their heads down, and with their eyes nearly blinded with weeping. It was some time before they could be prevailed upon to bestow a glance upon him. It was still longer before they recognized him for their son; when he recounted his adventures they believed him mad. The young men laughed at him. He left the lodge and soon returned with his trophy. It was soon recognized. All doubts of the reality of his adventures now vanished. He was greeted with joy and placed among the first warriors of the nation. He finally became a chief, and his family were ever after respected and esteemed.

Schoolcraft repeated the story in his 1916 The Indian Fairy Book.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Skinner - True Friendship - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Insects know winter is coming and are hunting for homes to survive it. Probably you hope your own home isn't chosen. While coping with them, here's a story that looks into the kingdom of the ants, but includes the spider, bee, grasshopper, and cricket. The idea of friendship among insects comes from those storytelling sisters, Eleanor  and Ada Skinner in their book aptly named Merry Tales.

The tale takes place on a threshing floor (here called a "thrashing" floor), but telling the story you could easily move it. Feel free also to create your own bit of melody to bring the story to a conclusion.

The book's Foreword also gives an excellent reason for telling such Merry Tales.

From a knowledge and love of children both extending through many years, I wish to speak of the pleasure and profit they will derive from reading and possessing Merry Tales.

To keep children sane and sweet they must be given bright and cheery stories to read. They will find them in Merry Tales. Early in life they should learn something of myths and folklore. These tales are founded on these old treasures, but are charmingly adapted to the understanding of present-day children. I have read few books for children possessing such literary value and yet using words that children can master without difficulty, thereby being able to enjoy their own reading.

I hope that Merry Tales will find a place not only in the schoolroom for that time of delight in a well-taught school,—“the period for supplementary reading,”—but that parents may find the book out to place it in the child’s own library, a thing that a child must have if it is ever to have in later life the joys of a genuine booklover.

MARGARET W. SUTHERLAND,

Principal of the Columbus Normal School.

 

 

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Red_Ant_-_March_2025.jpg
 

TRUE FRIENDSHIP

Down yonder by the thrashing floors, where the husbandmen thrash out their corn, some large black ants once established themselves and built their nests. They settled themselves in that place in order to be near good and wholesome food, such as wheat, barley, and maize, which they carried off whether the farmers liked it or not.

These ants prospered and became so numerous that they formed themselves into a kingdom, and had their own king.

The king, who was an old ant, was very wise and courageous. As he was a real king, he wore a golden crown upon his head and held a golden scepter in his hand.

His crown was a small piece of round gold wire, which fitted his head splendidly. His soldiers in one of their raids had found it in a country maiden’s casket. They took possession of it, and presented it to their sovereign. In the same way they had come across the scepter, which they saw one day on the thrashing floor, and appropriated in like manner. It was nothing more than a little gold watch key which had dropped off the chain of the village steward, but that was of no consequence, because as soon as the royal hand grasped it, it derived value from that circumstance alone.

The king had his own carriage. It was made out of a nutshell, and was drawn by two swift and well-harnessed beetles, who, like all royal horses, were well trained. The king generally drove out, because his majesty was now so aged that he had become quite white and feeble.

So you see that he had every blessing, and his people loved him very much. But he was not happy for he was weary and no longer found pleasure in anything. Perhaps this was because he had so much.

One day there was a great tumult in the ant kingdom. A regiment of soldiers, which had gone out upon an excursion, returned after a brilliant victory, and brought back great spoils, and also four prisoners.

The king, from the balcony of his palace, with his crown on his head and his scepter in his hand, greeted his army as it marched before him in great order, saluting him with, “Long live the King!” Then he ordered that the four prisoners should be brought before him, that he might try them.

The first captive was a spider.

“What is your name?” asked the king.

“Spider,” she answered humbly, and did homage with her two forelegs.

“Where were you born?” said the king.

“I was born in the mill’s dark cellar.”

After many other questions the king again said, “What art do you know?”

“I know how to weave,” said the spider. “No one can surpass me in weaving. I am the very, very best weaver in the whole wide world.”

“Good!” said the king. “You shall weave some cloth for my palace, and if your work is satisfactory, I will set you free; if not, I shall hand you over to my soldiers to be cut to pieces. Shut her up in prison and let her begin at once.”

As the king decreed this, he lowered his scepter and struck it on the ground, when immediately soldiers dragged off the spider by her feet, and put her in a cell.

The second prisoner, which was a bee, was then brought forward. The king in like manner questioned her. She said her name was “Bee,” and did him obeisance. Upon his inquiring where she was born, she replied, “In a hive, which was a house built for a number of bees to live in.”

“Do you know any trade or profession?” inquired the king.

“Certainly, your majesty, I know how to make a most delicious food. No one can excel me.”

“Good!” said the king. “You shall make all the sweetmeats that are required at the forthcoming festival, when the peasants spread their thrashing floors. If I am pleased with them, I shall release you; but if not, I shall order my soldiers to cut off your head. Shut her up in prison, and let her begin at once.”

Again he knocked with his scepter, and the detachment of soldiers led the bee off to prison. Then the king said: “Bring in the two other prisoners together, that we may finish with them; for I have other business of the kingdom on hand.”

The third and fourth captives were brought in together. One was a grasshopper, and the other a cricket.

When they were asked the customary questions as to their places of birth, the first replied, “At the roots of a bush of thyme.” And the other, “In the air!”

Then the king proceeded with: “And what arts do you know?”

“I know how to sing,” cried the cricket.

“And I, how to dance,” said the grasshopper.

“Splendid arts, truly, both the one and the other,” called out the king in a rage, and he knocked with his scepter so loudly that all his courtiers and soldiers, as well as the two prisoners, were frightened. “Since you know nothing, you are plainly of no use. I shall have you cut up, the pair of you.”

“Please, your majesty,” said the cricket boldly, while the grasshopper trembled with fear, “can we do nothing? Do we know nothing? Because this lady and myself cannot weave like the spider or make sweetmeats like the bee? We are worthy people, and the whole world loves us. We amuse all the insects on both hill and plain; we make life in the long summer days when the sun is hot a little less wearisome; then I sing, and she dances, and for those who see and hear us time soon passes. Allow us the same privilege before your majesty, and you can then judge if we be deserving of freedom or death.”

The king was not hard-hearted, and after hearing this plea of the cricket, he said, “I grant your request. I have a little time in which to divert myself, and if you can succeed in giving me pleasure in a short space of time, I will give you both your liberty, and grant you each any favor that you may ask.”

He gave orders to release them. The cricket then began to sing with all the skill that she possessed, and the grasshopper danced at the same time. Neither the king nor any of his courtiers or soldiers had ever heard so sweet a voice, or seen so artistic a dance. His majesty was delighted; his old face beamed all over, and he struck merrily with his scepter, and shouted: “Well done! Bravo! I’ll free you—I’ll free you. I only request that whenever you have the time or the inclination, you will come and amuse me and my subjects a little. Labor is good, but life wants some few pleasures also. I told you that I would grant you any favor that you asked for. Ask now what you will.” Then the cricket said pleadingly, “Your majesty, I ask this favor—that the poor spider may be released.”

“You have a good heart,” answered the king; “be it so.” And he turned to the grasshopper. “And what favor do you ask, madam dancer?”

“May it please your majesty to release the bee?”

“And you, too, have a good heart; your wish is granted.” And the king ordered the release of the prisoners.

They were immediately set free, and all the ants conducted them out of the ant hills, while the cricket, full of joy, sang along the road:

“Zi zi zi and zi zi zi,

May our lord the king live joyfully,

And all his people as well as he.”

Merry have we met,

And merry have we been;

Merry let us part,

And merry meet again.

Old Rime.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Skinner - The Alligator Tree - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Wikipedia tells us Juniperus deppeana (alligator juniper or checkerbark juniper) is a small to medium-sized tree reaching 10–15 metres (33–49 feet) in height. It is native to central and northern Mexico and the southwestern United States.

That's the factual information, but Myths and Legends Beyond Our Borders By Charles M. Skinner gives a delightful Mexican "Pourquois" tale of misbehaving alligators.

 

That light-hearted bit for Hispanic Heritage Month is probably more popular in our southwestern states where that tree can be found. Here in Michigan it would be mainly useful if a story about alligators is needed.

 *************

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

Seton - How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

If you take a walk in the woods with your dog, expect to remove burrs or other prickly bits intended to cling to your clothes and that dog's fur. It's nature's way of planting more of the plants that made them. The chestnut tree has some that are large enough to contain an edible nut. 

Ernest Thompson Seton, in his Woodland Tales gives an interesting legend about how they came to be. He also mentions a fish, the Shad. (I confess to needing to look it up as they aren't common around here.) 

https://www.summitpost.org/american-chestnut-burr/349354

The online site where I found the picture to accompany Seton's tale says that Chestnut trees once were so numerous there were 4 billion of them, but a blight nearly wiped them out. According to Wikipedia "In the 1970s, geneticist Charles Burnham began back-breeding Asian chestnut into American chestnut populations to confer blight resistance with the minimum difference in genes.^" It goes on to say today demand outstrips supply. 

I say the tree and maybe the nut are worth the supply, but hate removing the burr and others of the sort clinging to fur and clothes.

How the Shad Came and How the Chestnut Got Its Burrs

In the woods of Poconic there once roamed a very discontented Porcupine. She was forever fretting. She complained that everything was wrong, till it was perfectly scandalous, and Wahkonda, the Great Spirit, getting tired of her grumbling, said:

"You and the world I have made don't seem to fit; one or the other must be wrong. It is easier to change you. You don't like the trees, you are unhappy on the ground, and think everything is upside down, therefore I'll turn you inside out, and put you in the water." And so the Porcupine was turned into a new creature, a fish, called the Shad. That is why he is so full of little sharp bones.

Then after the old Porcupine had been turned into a Shad, the young ones missed their mother, and crawled up into a high Chestnut tree to look for her coming. Wahkonda happened to pass that way, and they all chattered their teeth at him, thinking themselves safe. They were not wicked, but at heart quite good, only badly brought up; oh, so ill-trained, and some of them chattered and groaned as Wahkonda came nearer. Then Wahkonda was sorry for them, remembering that he had taken their mother from them, and said: "You look very well up there, you little Porkys, so you had better stay there for always, and be part of the Chestnut tree." And he touched each one with his magic wand and turned it into a burr that grew tight to the tree. That is how it came about. There they hang like a lot of little Porcupines on the twigs of the tree. They are spiney and dangerous, utterly without manners, and yet most of them have a good little heart inside.

***

Hearing about how chestnut trees nearly disappeared makes the use of the word "chestnut" to describe something old and common seem a bit in conflict with reality.

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This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

 

Skinner - The King's Candles - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

As autumn begins, the Skinner sisters, Ada and Eleanor, have a book for the season worth checking, The Topaz Story Book. It starts with the season changing the leaves on through pumpkins, Halloween and Thanksgiving. Wildflowers seem to color the fields in purple and gold. One of those, mullein, takes two years to become golden. Herbal medicine also values those plants, but a story offers an unusual use.

https://www.gardeningknowhow.com/ornamental/flowers/mullein/mullein-uses-and-disadvantages.htm 

THE KING’S CANDLES

Once upon a time there lived a good king who was driven from his throne by an enemy. A few faithful knights and servants fled with his majesty to a forest where they found shelter in deep, rocky caves.

The flight from the king’s palace had been so hasty that the knights and servants could bring only a few things for their king’s comfort. It was in the early autumn and his majesty feared it would be necessary to live in secret during the coming winter. You may be sure the king was well pleased to find his knights had brought a few warm blankets and robes. After he had praised his followers for their thoughtfulness in providing for the winter, a young page stepped forward and said, “Your Majesty, I did not bring clothing, but I brought as many candles as I could carry.”

“Candles,” laughed the king, “now pray tell me, lad, why you brought candles. You served me well in the palace by seeing that my throne was properly lighted, but in our forest exile we shall have little use for candles, I fear.”

“Sire,” replied the page, “I thought that your majesty would wish to hold council in the evenings, and that I could light your throne seat with candles as was the custom in the palace.”

“I fear my throne seat, as you call it, will be nothing more than a rocky ledge for some time,” said the king. “See, there is one in the inner cave which will serve. So long as the candles last, my faithful lad, your king will not be obliged to hold council in darkness.”

“So long as the candles last,” repeated the king’s page to himself. “I hope our king’s soldiers, who are seeking help, will be able to drive the usurper away before winter comes.”

The king and his followers soon adapted themselves to life in exile. During the daytime they hunted game which lurked in the thickets; in the evening they gathered together in the deep cave and held council. Then it was that the king sat on his rude throne lit by two candles.

The king’s page with sinking heart saw the candles grow fewer and fewer until there were but two left. Then at last came an evening when the lights were missing from the king’s throne. In a dark corner of the cave the little page sat grieving because he could not see his king’s face.

It happened one morning that the lad wandered to the edge of the woodland where the highway separated the richly coloured forest trees from a stretch of meadowland where the white mist was slowly lifting. On the roadside was an old woman carrying a large sack on her bent shoulders. When she reached the place where the king’s page was standing she set her sack on the ground and looked wistfully at the meadow, then at the deep ditch which separated the field from the highway.

“Shall I help you across the ditch?” asked the king’s page.

“Thank you, my lad,” said the old woman. “Perhaps I’d better not go across. It would be hard for me to reach the highway again. But I should like a few of those tall mullein spikes. I’ve none in my bag so fine as those growing in the meadow.”

“I’ll gather some for you” said the king’s page.

He leaped across the ditch, and soon filled his hands with the tall mullein spikes.

The old woman was delighted. She tucked them into her bag and said, “They make such fine winter candles. Thank you, my lad.”

“Winter candles!” exclaimed the king’s page.

“Aye,” nodded the old woman. “Dip them in tallow, a thin coat will do—and you have candles fit for a king. Thank you kindly.”

“We are in sore need of candles where I live, but——” the page stopped.

“Use mullein spikes. They make candles fit for a king, I say,” and the old woman picked up her sack.

“But we have no tallow,” said the lad.

“I can spare you a lump of tallow, my boy. Come along with me to my cottage,” said the old woman.

So the king’s page carried the sack of mullein spikes to the old woman’s cottage and she gave him a large lump of tallow. On his way back he leaped across the ditch again and filled his arms with tall mullein spikes. He hurried back to the cave, melted the tallow, and dipped the weeds into the liquid fat.

When the king and his party returned that evening to the cave, two tall candles were standing on the rude throne.

“See,” cried the king’s page, “we have a fresh supply of candles.”

“Tell us where you got them,” said the surprised king.

“They are made from spikes of the mullein weed,” explained the king’s page. Then he told his majesty about the afternoon’s adventure.

“The mullein weed shall have a new name,” declared the king. “It shall be called the King’s Candles.”

A few days later the king called his followers around his throne seat and said, “A message has come to me declaring that the usurper has been driven out of my country. Tomorrow we’ll hold a feast in the palace, and the table shall be lighted by ‘King’s Candles. ’”

Every year since that far-off time when the reigning king holds an autumn festival, the banquet table is lighted with mullein spikes dipped in tallow, and they are called the “King’s Candles.”

“The mullein’s yellow candles burn Over the heads of dry, sweet fern.”

********

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."

Jacobs - Keep Cool - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

 

I must confess I love telling stories collected by Joseph Jacobs, but there's one book I've barely opened: Europa's Fairy Tales. It's every bit as good as his other work. Once again the illustrations are by John D. Batten. Jacobs says "It must, of course, be understood that the tales I now give are only those found practically identical in all European countries." 

As this weekend is the long Labor Day weekend, I went looking for a story about "laboring" or work. "Keep Cool" offers an unusual look at it.  At the end of the book Jacobs gives notes about the various stories. While he waits until the book's end, I think it's worth knowing how it is handled around the world. For this story he provides this information:

XV. KEEP COOL

There is no doubt about the European character of this tale, which is found in Brittany, Picardy, Lorraine, among the Basques, in Spain, Corsica, Italy, Tyrol, Germany (though not in Grimm), among Lithuanians, Moravians, Roumanians, Greeks, Irish, Scotch, Danes, Norwegians (Cosquin, ii., 50). The central idea of the Rage-Wager is retained throughout, and in many places the punishment is the same—the loss of a strip of skin. In all but three instances the story is told of three brothers, which practically proves its identity. I have given the Irish version in More Celtic Fairy Tales.

The "sells" however change considerably, though in most of them the final dénoument comes with the death or wounding of the wife. The pigs' tails incident is also very common and is indeed found in another set of tales, more of the Master Thief type. Campbell's No. 45 had an entirely different set, some of them very amusing. Mac-A-Rusgaich has all three meals at once and lies down. He holds the plough and does nothing else; he sees after themountain; literally casts ox-eyes at the master, and makes a sheep foot-path out of sheep's feet. I have taken from Campbell the direction to wash horses and stable within and without, though it does not occur elsewhere. Yet Mac-A-Rusgaich has a bout with a giant, in which he slits an artificial stomach, like Jack the Giant Killer; and this incident occurs in four other of the European tales, again showing identity. "Keep cool" is thus an interesting example of identity of framework, with variation of incident.

Hmmm. I knew I recognized this story even if it seemed a bit different. Now I need to check More Celtic Fairy Tales. 

But Labor Day is a time to relax from our labors, so for now I will tell myself to "Keep Cool."

---

KEEP COOL

There was once a man and he had three sons, and when he died they all had to go out to seek a living. So the eldest went out first, leaving his two brothers at home, and went to a neighbouring farmer to try and get work from him.

"Well, well, my man," said the farmer, "I can give you work but on only one condition."

"What is that?"

"I cannot abear any high talk on my farm. You must keep cool and not lose your temper."

"Oh, never bother about that," said the youngster, "I never lose my temper, or scarcely ever."

"Ah, but if you do," said the farmer, "I make it a condition that I shall tear a strip of your skin from your nape to your waist; that will make a pretty ribbon to tie around the throat of my dog there."

"That doesn't suit me," was the reply. "So fare thee well, master, I must try another place."

"Keep cool, keep cool," said the farmer. "I am a just man; what's good for the man I consider good for the master. So if I should lose my temper I am quite willing that you should take the ribbon of flesh from my back."

"Oh, if that's so," said the youngster, "I'll agree to stay. But we must have it in black and white."

So they sent for the notary and wrote it all down that if either lost his temper he should also lose a strip of skin from his back. But the eldest son had not been in the house a week when the master gave him so hard a task that he lost his temper and had to give up a strip of skin from his back. So he went home and told his brothers about it.

Well, the brothers were savage at hearing what he had suffered. And the second son went to the same man in the hope of getting revenge for his brother. But the same thing happened to him, and he had to come with a strip of skin from his back like his elder brother.

Now the third son, whose name was Jack, made up his mind he wouldn't be done like the other two. And he went to the man and he engaged himself to serve him for the same wage but on the same conditions that his two brothers had done.

The very first morning that Jack had to go out to work his master gave him a piece of dry bread and told him to mind the sheep.

"Is this all I'm to get to eat?" said Jack.

"Why, yes," said the master; "there'll be supper when you come home."

Jack was going to complain when his master called out to him, "Keep cool, Jack, keep cool," and pointed to his back.

So Jack swallowed his rage and went out into the field. But on his way he met a man, to whom he sold one of the sheep for five shillings, and went and bought enough to eat and drink for a whole week.

When he got home that evening his master began to count the sheep, and when he found one was missing, he said to Jack:

"You've let one of the sheep run away."

"No, no, sir," said Jack, "I sold him to a man passing along."

"You shouldn't have done that without my telling you; but where's the money?"

"Oh, with the money," said Jack, "I went and bought me some eats." And he showed him what he had bought.

The master was going to fly in a rage, but Jack said to him: "Keep cool, master, keep cool," and pointed to his back. So he remembered and said nothing more.

The next day Jack was ordered to take the pigs to market to sell them, and after he had cut off all their tails he sold them and pocketed the money; and then he went to a marsh near the farm and planted all the tails in the marsh.

When he got home the master asked him if he had sold the pigs.

He said: "No, they all rushed into the marsh at the foot of the valley."

"I don't believe you," said the master, and was going to get into a rage when Jack said to him:

"Keep cool, master, keep cool."

So he went with Jack to the marsh, and when he saw the pigs' tails all peeping out the marsh he went and plucked one of them out of the ground, and Jack said:

"There, you've torn the tail from the poor pig's back."

Then the master was going to get into a rage again but Jack said: "Keep cool, master, keep cool," and pointed to his back.

Next day the master didn't like sending Jack out with the animals or else he might sell them to get some dinner. So he said to him:

"Jack, I want you today to clean the horses and the stable within and without."

"Very well, master," said Jack, and went to the stable; and he whitewashed it within and he whitewashed it without. Then he went to the horses and killed them and took out their insides and cleaned them within; and then he washed their skins.

In the evening the master came to see how Jack had got on with his work and was delighted to find the stable looking so clean.

"But where are the horses?" he said; and Jack pointed to them lying dead on their backs.

"Why, what have you done?" said the master.

"You told me to clean them within and without and how could I clean them within without killing them?" said Jack.

Then the master was just going to fly into a rage, when Jack said to him: "Keep cool, master, keep cool," and pointed to his back.

So next day the master had sent Jack out with the sheep, but so that he should not sell any of them to get money for his lunch he sent his wife with them telling her to watch Jack from behind a bush, and if he tried to sell any of the sheep to stop him. But Jack saw her and didn't say anything or try and sell any of the sheep.

But next day, when he went out with them, he took with him his gun, and when the farmer's wife got behind the bush to watch him, he called out: "Ah, wolf, I see you," and fired his gun at her and hit her in the leg. She screamed out, and the master came running up and said:

"What's this, Jack, what's this?"

Then Jack said: "Why, master, I thought that was a wolf and I shot my gun at it and it turned out to be the missus."

"How dare you, you scoundrel, shoot my wife!" cried out the master.

"Don't be in a rage, master, don't be in a rage," said Jack.

"Anybody would be in a rage if his wife was shot," said the master.

"Well, then," said Jack, "I'll have that strip off your back." And as there were witnesses present the master had to let Jack take a strip of skin from his back.

And with that he went home to his brothers.

 

******************** 

This is part of a series of postings of stories under the category, “Keeping the Public in Public Domain.” The idea behind Public Domain was to preserve our cultural heritage after the authors and their immediate heirs were compensated. I feel strongly current copyright law delays this intent on works of the 20^th century. My own library of folklore includes so many books within the Public Domain I decided to share stories from them. I hope you enjoy discovering them.

At the same time, my own involvement in storytelling regularly creates projects requiring research as part of my sharing stories with an audience.  Whenever that research needs to be shown here, the publishing of Public Domain stories will not occur that week.  This is a return to my regular posting of a research project here.  (Don't worry, this isn't dry research, my research is always geared towards future storytelling to an audience.)  Response has convinced me that "Keeping the Public in Public Domain" should continue along with my other postings as often as I can manage it.

See the sidebar for other Public Domain story resources I recommend on the page “Public Domain Story Resources."