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Saturday, December 26, 2015

Hale - Peterkins' Christmas-Tree - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Never think the Victorian era was humorless!  Now that the chaos of Christmas is winding down, it's time to see how silly it could be.  Once before, I posted a Noodlehead tale, and Lucretia Hale's Peterkin stories are prime examples of people doing the silliest things due to flawed thinking, proving common sense isn't.

As one reviewer of The Peterkin Papers said, "Before Amelia Bedelia and the Stupids there were the Peterkins."  Even a relatively simple thing like a Christmas tree shows their incredible lack of sense sure to be the "masterpiece" praised by the New York Times and why Harper's Bazaar said, "The years pass them along to every new generation, with the hint that human nature is about the same everywhere and all the time."

The Peterkin stories began in 1867 and appeared in magazines for nearly a decade, breaking ground by providing amusement for the young rather than the usual uplifting or instructional writing.  The subtitle, The Return of the Lady from Philadelphia, mentions a recurring character throughout the stories.  The book's title sometimes is given as The Complete Peterkin Papers, but The Last of the Peterkins, offers further tales and has a subtitle of With Others of Their Kin showing how they manage without their Philadelphia friend.


YouTube even has a LibriVox recording of The Peterkin Papers.

It was all I could do to keep information about Lucretia Peabody Hale and her family until after giving the story.  Her father, Nathan Hale, was named after his uncle, yes, the Revolutionary hero who reportedly said, "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country" before being hanged by the British.  Lucretia was one of eleven children in a literary family that continued to be important.  Her father was a lawyer and editor/owner of the Boston Daily Advertiser, while her mother, also an author, was a sister of Edward Everett, a Unitarian minister and politician. That uncle was both a United States senator and later a president of Harvard.  Lucretia's brother, Edward Everett Hale, was yet another Unitarian minister as well as a prominent abolitionist, and prolific author in his own right.  She was able to support herself with her own writing and additionally was active in charity and politics.  To be elected as the first woman member of the Boston School Committee Lucretia overcame fierce opposition from many including her brother, Charles, yet another literary Hale, who was a journalist and author. As the article in Encyclopaedia Britannica (the first hotlink in this paragraph) notes, she also produced a great many books, but her major reputation was gained from the Peterkin stories.

from http://susanpowersbourne.net/2015/09/02/born-02-sep-1820/02-sep-1820-lucretia-peabody-hale/
May the rest of 2015 be filled with fun and with your own family.  Come back in 2016 for more storytelling research and stories that help with Keeping the Public in Public Domain.
******************
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 20th 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 new stories.  


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.  
 


There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I recommended it earlier and want to continue to do so.  He has just loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so one can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression he likes by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

He also loaded to his server the doctorate thesis of Prof. Dov Noy (Neunan) "Motif-index of Talmudic-Midrahic literature" Indiana University, 1954, as a PDF file.
in the hope that some of you would make use of it.

You can see why that is a site I recommend to you.

Have fun discovering even more stories!

Thursday, December 24, 2015

Christmas wishes and Saint Joseph

by Ana LaRouche - 2015
This is a "special edition" of  Storytelling + Research = LoiS

Saint Joseph tends to be the "bit player" in the Christmas story although his role was far more vital than just leading a donkey to Bethlehem (his ancestral town required by the Roman census) and asking for room at an inn.

I thought about this when our local storytelling group, North Oakland County Storytellers regained a member, Ana LaRouche.  The card with St. Joseph and the infant Jesus on the left was her Christmas greeting card to me.  She's been living away from Michigan for a few years, so it was great to learn she's back.   She's Brazilian, so her stories always have the bonus of that delightful sound.  She's also found, with all the moving the past few years required, it was time to really get back into her art work.

As a result I went searching for Christmas stories where St. Joseph had more than a fairly unimportant walk on.  It's almost nonexistent!  Almost, but not quite thanks to friend and storytelling colleague, Marilyn Kinsella.  (Be sure if you go looking for her website you either use that hotlink or put her name in with a ".org" as there's yet another visual artist with the same name using the ".com" for her web address.)  Marilyn's story can be found along with other Christmas tales worth telling on the wonderful Story Lovers World site created by Jackie Baldwin.  That site remains available even though it can no longer accept additions.  The Roman census I mentioned earlier happens a bit further in this story.  Joseph doesn't appear right away, but is more important than in most stories of the first Christmas.  With Marilyn's kind permission I give you this Christmas present of a St. Joseph story.
A Bed Fit For a King
[By Marilyn Kinsella.]

Story:

Benjamin was a young orphan who lived on the dirt roads of his village. He never had much but somehow he always had just enough. You see, even as a young boy, he discovered that he had a special talent. He could carve. He could take any piece of plain wood and carve it into something other needed or wanted. “Benjamin, can you carve me a bowl for my mother?” “Benjamin, can you carve me a boat so I can play?” Benjamin could carve beautifully. So, the people would give him just enough silver. With the money he bought some food or clothes, but always kept enough to buy more wood.

Well, as Benjamin grew, so did his talent. As a young man he started to build furniture. Most people in his village could only afford a table or a chair. But whatever his job, he always did his best. The people were very happy and paid Benjamin well for his work. Word spread and soon he had orders for his carved furniture from many different towns.

Yes, it’s true. Benjamin did well in his business, but he never seemed to have enough money to set aside for his dream. And his dream was this. He wanted to carve a bed, a bed fit for a king. He wanted to order the finest mahogany wood and inlay it with ebony and ivory. Such a beautiful bed! He could see that bed in his mind’s eye. But everytime he put some money aside something always happened to take it away.

Benjamin was what nowadays we call…an easy touch. Whenever anyone needed anything they came to Benjamin. “Oh Benjamin, did you hear? There was a terrible fire and the family across town lost their home. Can you help?” Oh Benjamin, my child is so ill. She needs special medicine, can you help?” And if Benjamin saw children homeless and cold, he gave them enough money to buy some food. Benjamin was so generous he never had any money left over.

And so it went for many, many years. Benjamin working…but never saving any money for his dream. Years passed and Benjamin was becoming an old man. He was beginning to believe that his dream would never come true. Then, one year, miracles upon miracles, Benjamin did have enough money to purchase everything he needed. Unfortunately, Benjamin did not live by the sea. It would be a 3-day journey by foot to the nearest seaport. But, now Benjamin, more than ever, wanted to fulfill his dream. So, he prepared for his journey. He got himself a donkey and built a fine, strong cart. He would need that cart so he’d have a place to put the precious wood he bought. He put his silver pieces in a bag hidden under his cloak and headed out towards the sea.

Benjamin walked on and on. It was even longer than he thought because the cart and donkey slowed him down. He was almost to the gates of the seaport village when some Roman soldiers stopped him. “Where are you going?” they demanded.“Well, I’m on my way to the seaport to buy some wood,” said Benjamin.
“Where are you from and where was your family from?” they asked.Benjamin thought these questions were rather odd, but he knew he should answer their questions or they would probably throw him in prison.

“Well, now I live in a little town 30 miles to the east. But I was orphaned at an early age. My father was originally from Bethlehem.”
“Then you must go to Bethlehem immediately!”
“Why, why do you say that I must go to Bethlehem?”
“Because the emperor has declared that there be a census taken. Every Jew must return to the home of his ancestors.”
“But I have come such a long way. Bethlehem is in a totally different direction. Couldn’t you please let me settle my business here and then I will go.”

But the soldiers would hear none of it. “Oh, you people are all alike. Always coming up with some kind of excuse. You must go and you must go now!”

Benjamin knew there was no use in arguing. Besides he’d heard terrible stories about men being thrown in prison and never being heard from again.  So, he turned himself and his cart in the direction of Bethlehem and continued his journey.

As he walked along he noticed many others were also traveling to the homes of their fathers. It seemed, at times, that the whole world was traveling. He knew that his hardship was nothing compared to others.

Once he met a small family. They were traveling with nothing to eat and no money. So, he dug out a few of his silver coins and purchased some food for them. Then someone needed to buy medicine more silver coins. He even gave away his donkey and cart to a woman who could no longer walk. Bit by bit his silver pieces dwindled and his dream of building that bed became dimmer and dimmer.

Finally, he arrived at Bethlehem. He had just a couple pieces of silver left. He wasn’t worried, because he brought his tools with him. And if necessary, he would work for food and a place to stay. He went to an inn to see if there was any room. The innkeeper said, “All the rooms are filled. I have a closet where you could put down a pallet, but that is all.” He said he could stay, but he would have to do some odd jobs to earn his keep. “The animals out in the back are all over the place. The goats are with the cows and cows are scaring the sheep. I need someone to build stalls and feeding troughs for them. Can you do this?” Benjamin readily agreed.

Benjamin began his work with his usual vigor. He even talked to the animals while he worked. “Yes, this new stall is for you. Now, you can leave those poor sheep alone.” “Look, what I made for you. This is much better than eating off the ground.”

Finally he was down to his last pieces of wood and decided to do something extra special. He put the pieces together and even carved little animals on it. “I hope you appreciate all the work I do for you,” Benjamin laughed.

He was just putting away his tools when the innkeeper appeared at the stable door followed by a man and a young woman. “Benjamin, let me introduce you to Joseph and his wife Mary. I had no room at the inn, but I told them they could stay here, if they liked. At least it should be warm enough with all these animals.”

Benjamin nodded his head and said, “I see you too have come a great way. I hope you are comfortable here.” Joseph looked around at Benjamin’s handiwork. “Benjamin, I see that you too are a carpenter. You have the hands of a carpenter and it shows in your work. I think Mary and I will be quite comfortable. Thank you.”

But, when Benjamin helped Mary down from her donkey, he noticed she was great with child and that they didn’t have any blankets with them. He quickly excused himself and made his way to the plaza on the other side of town where he found a woman selling blankets. She was in no mood to bargain and made him pay his last silver piece. It was dark now, but strangely enough he had no trouble seeing for there was a strange star overhead. It lit his way as he made his way back across town to the inn.

By the time he got back to the stable, he noticed that there were some shady looking men lurking about. He was sure they were going to hurt the young couple. But when he got close, he saw that they were shepherds and that were standing in awe and on bended knee. Then he saw what they saw – a beautiful baby boy was lying in the manger that he had just finished. He was wrapped only in swaddling clothes. He went over and placed the blanket on top of the child.

As he did Joseph placed his hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and said, “Benjamin, you have truly made…a bed fit for a king.”
•••••
Contributed by
Marilyn A. Kinsella, Taleypo the Storyteller
Fairview Heights, IL
Storyteller, Writer, Puppeteer, and Workshop Presenter
http://www.marilynkinsella.org


Go to Google Images for St. Joseph and you will find many traditional images of Saint Joseph with the elements of the infant Jesus and the staff of lily blossoms which inspired Ana's own version.

My usual Saturday posting with the final promised public domain Christmas story will appear on the 26th, but before then I wanted to share with all of you my own wishes for you to have a merry and blessed Christmas, belated wishes for my friends who've cleaned up the last of the latkes from Hanukkah, and, looking off slightly into the distance with appreciation for the principles expressed in the celebration of Kwanzaa.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

Howells - Christmas Every Day - Keeping the Public in Public Domain


William Dean Howells, who wrote today's story for Victorian readers, was a most unlikely candidate to write a fantasy about what would happen if a child's wish for Christmas Every Day came true.  I'll say more about him and why his works are important, but only after giving you this story.  Today's tale was written as a story within a story.  If you want that "story frame" also, go to http://public.wsu.edu/~campbelld/wdh/xmaseday.html, but for actually telling it I prefer to stick with just the story itself, so I removed the comments back and forth between the child and her father telling the story.  I think it stands quite well on its own.  While the presents may have changed, the idea behind what might happen if we had Christmas Every Day can be re-told even today. 

Christmas Every Day
 Once there was a little girl who liked Christmas so much that she wanted it to be Christmas every day in the year, and as soon as Thanksgiving was over she began to send postcards to the old Christmas Fairy to ask if she mightn't have it.  But the old Fairy never answered, and after a while the little girl found out that the Fairy wouldn't notice anything but real letters sealed outside with a monogram -- or your initial, anyway.  So, then, she began to send letters, and just the day before Christmas, she got a letter from the Fairy, saying she might have it Christmas every day for a year, and then they would see about having it longer.

The little girl was excited already, preparing for the old-fashioned, once-a-year Christmas that was coming the next day.  So she resolved to keep the Fairy's promise to herself and surprise everybody with it as it kept coming true, but then it slipped out of her mind altogether.

She had a splendid Christmas.  She went to bed early, so as to let Santa Claus fill the stockings, and in the morning she was up the first of anybody and found hers all lumpy with packages of candy, and oranges and grapes, and rubber balls, and all kinds of small presents.  Then she waited until the rest of the family was up, and she burst into the library to look at the large presents laid out on the library table -- books, and boxes of stationery, and dolls, and little stoves, and dozens of handkerchiefs, and inkstands, and skates, and photograph frames, and boxes of watercolors, and dolls' houses -- and the big Christmas tree, lighted and standing in the middle.

She had a splendid Christmas all day.  She ate so much candy that she did not want any breakfast, and the whole forenoon the presents kept pouring in that had not been delivered the night before, and she went round giving the presents she had got for other people, and came home and ate turkey and cranberry for dinner, and plum pudding and nuts and raisins and oranges, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomachache crying, and her papa said he would see if his house was turned into that sort of fool's paradise another year, and they had a light supper, and pretty early everybody went to bed cross.

The little girl slept very heavily and very late, but she was awakened at last by the other children dancing around her bed with their stockings full of presents in their hands.  "Christmas!  Christmas!  Christmas!" they all shouted.

"Nonsense!  It was Christmas yesterday," said the little girl, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

Her brothers and sisters just laughed.  "We don't know about that.  It's Christmas today, anyway.  You come into the library and see."

Then all at once it flashed on the little girl that the Fairy was keeping her promise, and her year of Christmases was beginning.  She was dreadfully sleepy, but she sprang up and darted into the library.  There it was again!  Books, and boxes of stationary, and dolls, and so on.

There was the Christmas tree blazing away, and the family picking out their presents, and her father looking perfectly puzzled, and her mother ready to cry.  "I'm sure I don't see how I'm to dispose of all these things," said her mother, and her father said it seemed to him they had had something just like it the day before, but he supposed he must have dreamed it.  This struck the little girl as the best kind of joke, and so she ate so much candy she didn't want any breakfast, and went round carrying presents, and had turkey and cranberry for dinner, and then went out and coasted, and came in with a stomachache crying.

Now, the next day, it was the same thing over again, but everybody getting crosser, and at the end of a week's time so many people had lost their tempers that you could pick up lost tempers anywhere, they perfectly strewed the ground.  Even when people tried to recover their tempers they usually got somebody else's, and it made the most dreadful mix.

The little girl began to get frightened, keeping the secret all to herself, she wanted to tell her mother, but she didn't dare to, and she was ashamed to ask the Fairy to take back her gift, it seemed ungrateful and ill-bred.  So it went on and on, and it was Christmas on St. Valentine's Day and Washington's Birthday, just the same as any day, and it didn't even skip the First of April, though everything was counterfeit that day, and that was some relief.

After a while turkeys got to be awfully scarce, selling for about a thousand dollars apiece.  They got to passing off almost anything for turkeys -- even half-grown hummingbirds.  And cranberries -- well they asked a diamond apiece for cranberries.  All the woods and orchards were cut down for Christmas trees.  After a while they had to make Christmas trees out of rags, because people got so poor, buying presents for one another, that they couldn't get any new clothes, and they just wore their old ones to tatters.  They got so poor that everybody had to go to the poorhouse, except the confectioners, and the storekeepers, and the book-sellers, and they all got so rich and proud that they would hardly wait upon a person when he came to buy.  It was perfectly shameful!

After it had gone on about three or four months, the little girl, whenever she came into the room in the morning and saw those great ugly, lumpy stockings dangling at the fireplace, and the disgusting presents around everywhere, used to sit down and burst out crying.  In six months she was perfectly exhausted, she couldn't even cry anymore.

And how it was on the Fourth of July!  On the Fourth of July, the first boy in the United State woke up and found out his firecrackers and toy pistol and two-dollar collection of fireworks were nothing but sugar and candy painted up to look like fireworks.  Before ten o'clock every boy in the United States discovered that his July Fourth things had turned into Christmas things and was so mad.  The Fourth of July orations all turned into Christmas carols, and when anybody tried to read the Declaration of Independence, instead of saying, "When in the course of human events it becomes necessary," he was sure to sing, "God rest you merry gentlemen."  It was perfectly awful.

About the beginning of October the little girl took to sitting down on dolls wherever she found them -- she hated the sight of them so, and by Thanksgiving she just slammed her presents across the room.  By that time people didn't carry presents around nicely anymore.  They flung them over the fence or through the window, and, instead of taking great pains to write "For dear Papa," or "Mama" or "Brother" or "Sister," they used to write, "Take it, you horrid old thing!" and then go and bang it against the front door.

Nearly everybody had built barns to hold their presents, but pretty soon the barns overflowed, and then they used to to let them lie out in the rain, or anywhere.  Sometimes the police used to come and tell them to shovel their presents off the sidewalk or they would arrest them.

Before Thanksgiving came it had leaked out who had caused all these Christmases.  The little girl had suffered so much that she had talked about it in her sleep, and after that hardly anybody would play with her, because if it had not been for her greediness it wouldn't have happened.  And now, when it came Thanksgiving and she wanted them to go to church, and have turkey, and show their gratitude, they said that all the turkeys had been eaten for her old Christmas dinners and if she would stop the Christmases they would see about the gratitude.  And the very next day the little girl began sending letters to the Christmas Fairy, and then telegrams, to stop it.  But it didn't do any good, and then she got to calling at the Fairy's house, but the girl that came to the door always said, "Not at home," or "Engaged," or something like that, and so it went on till it came to the old once-a-year Christmas Eve.  The little girl fell asleep, and when she woke up in the morning -- it wasn't Christmas at last, and wasn't going to be, anymore.

Well, with no Christmas ever again, there was the greatest rejoicing all over the country.  People met together everywhere and kissed and cried for joy.  Carts went around and gathered up all the candy and raisins and nuts, and dumped them into the river, and it made the fish perfectly sick.  And the whole United States, as far out as Alaska, was one blaze of bonfires, where the children were burning up their presents of all kinds.  They had the greatest time!

The little girl went to thank the old Fairy because she had stopped its being Christmas, and she said she hoped the Fairy would keep her promise and see that Christmas never, never came again.  Then the Fairy frowned, and said that now the little girl was behaving just as greedily as ever, and she'd better look out.  This made the little girl think it all over carefully again, and she said she would be willing to have it Christmas about once in a thousand years, and then she said a hundred, and then she said ten, and at last she got down to one.  Then the Fairy said that was the good old way that had pleased people ever since Christmas began, and she was agreed.  Then the little girl said, "What're your shoes made of?"  And the Fairy said, "Leather."  And the little girl said, "Bargain's done forever," and skipped off, and hippity-hopped the whole way home, she was so glad.
Now about why I called William Dean Howells "a most unlikely candidate to write (today's) fantasy." 

Google his name and you will find this author of seventy books described as: an American realist author, literary critic, and playwright. Nicknamed "The Dean of American Letters", he was particularly known for his tenure as editor of the Atlantic Monthly; The most influential American novelist, editor, and critic of his generation;  a champion of French and Russian realistic writers and a brilliant advocate of the most controversial American writers of his own time; career spanned a period of radical change in American literature; as novelist, critic, and editor, he contributed greatly to those changes.

That's just the first page!

I particularly appreciate the comments of John W. Crowley, in his Georgetown University syllabus saying:
Students are usually unfamiliar with Howells and his central position in nineteenth-century American literature. If they have heard of him at all, they are likely to have picked up the (still) prevailing stereotype: that Howells was a genteel prude whose realism could not possibly be of any interest to contemporary readers. Another problem is that students are not often sensitive to quiet irony in what they read; they are not prepared to hear the subtle nuances in Howells's narrative voice--or to read between the lines in his treatment of sexuality, which he handled with Victorian decorum but did not avoid as a subject.

Lois: irony and subtle nuances, yes, but this story omits sexuality. I also appreciate Crowley pointing out:
Howells was acutely aware of the female dominance of the audience for fiction in the period. He clearly imagined that he was writing for women primarily and believed further that he had a moral responsibility not to offend the sensibilities of young women readers. Insofar as the current audience for literature has been "masculinized" by modernism, Howells's work may sound out of key in the same way that much women's fiction from the period does. In this sense, Howells is best understood as a "woman's" writer.

My own resources on Howells have been limited to the internet.   None of his many online biographies explain it: http://public.wsu.edu/~campbelld/howells/hbio.htmlhttp://www.online-literature.com/william-dean-howells/http://www.bartleby.com/187/9.htmlhttp://college.cengage.com/english/lauter/heath/4e/students/author_pages/late_nineteenth/howells_wi.htmlhttp://www.encyclopedia.com/topic/William_Dean_Howells.aspx; not even the Howells Society!  I wish the schedule for this blog, unlike when putting together a program, would allow me to borrow and check the books about him.  In wondering how he came to write it, I noticed he wrote it in 1892 as the title story for Christmas Every Day and Other Stories Told for Children and by then his youngest of three children was already twenty -- possibly written for grandchildren?  Howells was definitely prolific and this story, unlike his most famous novel, The Rise of Silas Lapham, seems at odds with the man "known to be the father of American realism, and a denouncer of the sentimental novel."

Whatever his inspiration, the story is deservedly well-known.  Whether told as he wrote it or if you chose to modernize it, it still has a sly lesson looking at holiday excess.

If you want a picture book version of the story, Meredith Johnson created one.

Next week is Christmas, but I want to close on the 26th with a classic Christmas "noodlehead" story of a family guaranteed to show they know how to screw up Christmas and yet they still manage to have everything work out. . . with the help of a "lady from Philadelphia."  (See if you can guess what I might be planning.)




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 20th 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 new stories.  


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.  
 

There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I recommended it earlier and want to continue to do so.  He has just loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so one can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression he likes by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

Saturday, December 12, 2015

Thomas Haynes Bayly - The Mistletoe Bough - Keeping the Public in Public Domain

Today's story fits the Victorian, and even earlier, tradition of telling spooky stories.  Charles Dickens was far from the only author bring goosebumps to the holiday.  Back on October 17, 2013 here I devoted an entire article to Scary Ghost Stories for October, December, or Whenever.  At the time I mentioned on the My Merry Christmas network I posted this spooky ballad from 1830, The Mistletoe Bough, based on various traditional legends.

I don't recite the ballad as it is written, instead I tell the story, getting the audience to repeat the refrain.  It starts out a happy and merry chorus, changing as the tale evolves.  Because the link above takes you to where I posted it on MyMerryChristmas.com, I will give it here as I originally did it.

This is actually a ballad with lyrics by Thomas Haynes Bayly. I’ve never been able to find the music by Sir Henry Bishop, but I use the refrain for my own re-telling as it’s said to be based on a traditional legend.

The mistletoe hung in the castle hall,
The holly branch shone on the old oak wall;
And the baron’s retainers were blithe and gay,
And keeping their Christmas holiday.
The baron beheld with a father’s pride
His beautiful child, young Lovell’s bride;
While she with her bright eyes seemed to be
The star of the goodly company.
Oh, the mistletoe bough.
Oh, the mistletoe bough.

“I’m weary of dancing now,” she cried;
“Here, tarry a moment — I’ll hide, I’ll hide!
And, Lovell, be sure thou’rt first to trace
The clew to my secret lurking-place.”
Away she ran — and her friends began
Each tower to search, and each nook to scan;
And young Lovell cried, “O, where dost thou hide?
I’m lonesome without thee, my own dear bride.”
Oh, the mistletoe bough.
Oh, the mistletoe bough.

They sought her that night, and they sought her next day,
And they sought her in vain while a week passed away;
In the highest, the lowest, the loneliest spot,
Young Lovell sought wildly — but found her not.
And years flew by, and their grief at last
Was told as a sorrowful tale long past;
And when Lovell appeared the children cried,
“See! the old man weeps for his fairy bride.”
Oh, the mistletoe bough.
Oh, the mistletoe bough.

At length an oak chest, that had long lain hid,
Was found in the castle — they raised the lid,
And a skeleton form lay mouldering there
In the bridal wreath of that lady fair!
O, sad was her fate! — in sportive jest
She hid from her lord in the old oak chest.
It closed with a spring! — and, dreadful doom,
The bride lay clasped in her living tomb!
Oh, the mistletoe bough.
Oh, the mistletoe bough
.

I hope you got a bit of a shiver from that tale and enjoy telling it your own way.

Next week we'll choose something a bit livelier from Victorian Christmas tales.
******************
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 20th 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 new stories.  


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.  
 


There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I recommended it earlier and want to continue to do so.  He has just loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so one can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression he likes by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

He also loaded to his server the doctorate thesis of Prof. Dov Noy (Neunan) "Motif-index of Talmudic-Midrahic literature" Indiana University, 1954, as a PDF file.
in the hope that some of you would make use of it.

You can see why that is a site I recommend to you.

Have fun discovering even more stories!

Saturday, December 5, 2015

Jackson - Christmas Tree for Cats - Keeping the Public in Public Domain



While I do regular Christmas programs, too, I love doing Victorian Christmas programs as The Hired Girl.  The end of the 19th and start of the 20th century gave us lovely Christmas traditions.  Adult parties enjoy stepping back in time to a gentler age.  Even then people were starting to buy their presents a bit, but so much was family-centered and originated at home.  

In readying myself, I searched my past articles here with the label Victorian Christmas and started clicking on links. I found myself hating the way blogs start with the latest on a topic, working through posts until eventually you reach the earliest material.  Some of those links are no longer correct.  Of all of them, the one about the Christmas network, My Merry Christmas, was my biggest disappointment.  I had spent time typing up some of my favorite Public Domain material (not even scanning it!).  That site has always been a bit quirky for finding stories and many of the links I posted earlier don't work.  Unfortunately I mentioned starting with my much-loved Helen Hunt Jackson's unusual memory of "A Christmas Tree for Cats", but it's gone!  As a result, and because this month, too, will find me on the road a lot, I plan to keep those wonderful Victorian stories right here, starting with that very tale.

By the way, the author, Helen Hunt Jackson, was best known for the novel, Ramona, which drew attention to the mistreatment of California's Native Americans.  "Christmas Tree for Cats" was published (and recommended) in many ways, but you will find an expanded version was published in 1876 in her Bits of Talk, in Verse and Prose, for Young Folks .  (That's a Google scan of the book and insists on going to page 25.  Above the page, go to the tab that says Page 25 and click the down arrow; that brings up the Table of Contents; click on "A Christmas Tree for Cats", Page 18 to read a longer version of the story from the beginning.)

A Christmas Tree for Cats

 
  
  
 
I hope that story leaves you purring for more.  I can't wait, I'll be telling some, including this story, this coming Sunday for a private party.  At least this took you to a very special party in your imagination.  Next week will bring another.
******************
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 20th 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 new stories.  


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.  
 


There are many online resources for Public Domain stories, none for folklore is as ambitious as fellow storyteller, Yoel Perez's database, Yashpeh, the International Folktales Collection.  I recommended it earlier and want to continue to do so.  He has just loaded Stith Thompson's Motif Index into his server as a database so one can search the whole 6 volumes for whatever word or expression he likes by pressing one key. http://folkmasa.org/motiv/motif.htm

He also loaded to his server the doctorate thesis of Prof. Dov Noy (Neunan) "Motif-index of Talmudic-Midrahic literature" Indiana University, 1954, as a PDF file.
in the hope that some of you would make use of it.

You can see why that is a site I recommend to you.

Have fun discovering even more stories!