Mourning the Death of a Spouse
chain tales of Aarne-Thompson type 2022
edited by
D. L. Ashliman
© 2002-2006
chain tales of Aarne-Thompson type 2022
edited by
D. L. Ashliman
© 2002-2006
A little louse and a little flea kept house together. They were brewing beer in an eggshell when the little louse fell in and burned herself to death. At this the little flea began to cry loudly.
Then the little parlor door said, "Why are you crying, little flea?"
"Because little louse has burned herself to death."
Then the little door began to creak.
Then a little broom in the corner said, "Why are you creaking, little door?"
"Why should I not be creaking?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying."
Then the little broom began to sweep furiously.
Then a little cart came by and said, "Why are you sweeping, little broom?"
"Why should I not be sweeping?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying.
Little door is creaking."
Then the little cart said, "Then I will run," and it began to run furiously.
It ran by a little manure pile, which said, "Why are you running, little cart?"
"Why should I not be running?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying.
Little door is creaking.
Little broom is sweeping."
Then the little manure pile said, "Then I will burn furiously," and it began to burn in bright flames.
A little tree that stood near the little manure pile said, "Little manure pile, why are you burning?"
"Why should I not be burning?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying.
Little door is creaking.
Little broom is sweeping.
Little cart is running."
Then the little tree said, "Then I will shake myself," and it began to shake itself until all its leaves fell off.
A girl who came up with her water pitcher saw that, and said, "Little tree, why are you shaking?"
"Why should I not be shaking?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying.
Little door is creaking.
Little broom is sweeping.
Little cart is running.
Little manure pile is burning."
Then the girl said, "Then I will break my little water pitcher." And she broke her little water pitcher.
Then the little spring from which the water was flowing said, "Girl, why did you break your little water pitcher?"
"Why should I not break my little water pitcher?
Little louse has burned herself to death.
Little flea is crying.
Little door is creaking.
Little broom is sweeping.
Little cart is running.
Little manure pile is burning.
Little tree is shaking."
"Oh," said the spring, "then I will begin to flow," and it began to flow furiously. And everything drowned in the water: the girl, the little tree, the little manure pile, the little cart, the little broom, the little door, the little flea, and the little louse, all together.
Titty Mouse leased an ear of corn, and Tatty Mouse leased an ear of corn, so they both leased an ear of corn.
Titty Mouse made a pudding, and Tatty Mouse made a pudding, so they both made a pudding.
And Tatty Mouse put her pudding into the pot to boil, but when Titty went to put hers in, the pot tumbled over, and scalded her to death.
Then Tatty sat down and wept. Then a three-legged stool said, "Tatty, why do you weep?"
"Titty's dead," said Tatty, "and so I weep."
"Then," said the stool, "I'll hop," so the stool hopped.
Then a broom in the corner of the room said, "Stool, why do you hop?"
"Oh!" said the stool, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and so I hop."
"Then," said the broom, "I'll sweep," so the broom began to sweep.
"Then," said the door, "Broom, why do you sweep?"
"Oh!" said the broom, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and so I sweep."
"Then," said the door, "I'll jar," so the door jarred.
Then said the window, "Door, why do you jar?"
"Oh!" said the door, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, and so I jar."
"Then," said the window, "I'll creak," so the window creaked.
Now there was an old form outside the house, and when the window creaked, the form said, "Window, why do you creak?"
"Oh!" said the window, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and so I creak."
"Then," said the old form, "I'll run round the house." Then the old form ran round the house.
Now there was a fine large walnut tree growing by the cottage, and the tree said to the form, "Form, why do you run round the house?"
"Oh!" said the form, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, and the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, and so I run round the house."
"Then," said the walnut tree, "I'll shed my leaves," so the walnut tree shed all its beautiful green leaves.
Now there was a little bird perched on one of the boughs of the tree, and when all the leaves fell, it said, "Walnut tree, why do you shed your leaves?"
"Oh!" said the tree, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, and so I shed my leaves."
"Then," said the little bird, "I'll molt all my feathers," so he molted all his pretty feathers.
Now there was a little girl walking below, carrying a jug of milk for her brothers' and sisters' supper, and when she saw the poor little bird molt all its feathers, she said, "Little bird, why do you molt all your feathers?"
"Oh!" said the little bird, "Titty's dead, and Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut tree sheds its leaves, and so I molt all my feathers."
"Then," said the little girl, "I'll spill the milk," so she dropped the pitcher and spilled the milk.
Now there was an old man just by on the top of a ladder thatching a rick, and when he saw the little girl spill the milk, he said, "Little girl, what do you mean by spilling the milk? Your little brothers and sisters must go without their supper."
Then said the little girl, "Titty's dead, Tatty weeps, the stool hops, and the broom sweeps, the door jars, and the window creaks, the old form runs round the house, the walnut tree sheds all its leaves, the little bird molts all its feathers, and so I spill the milk."
"Oh!" said the old man, "then I'll tumble off the ladder and break my neck," so he tumbled off the ladder and broke his neck. And when the old man broke his neck, the great walnut tree fell down with a crash, and upset the old form and house, and the house falling knocked the window out, and the window knocked the door down, and the door upset the broom, and the broom upset the stool, and poor little Tatty Mouse was buried beneath the ruins.
All at once the hen found a barleycorn, and the cock found a bur of hops, and so they made up their minds they would make some malt and brew beer for Christmas.
"I plucked the barley and I malted the corn and brewed the beer, and the beer is good," cackled the hen.
"Is the wort strong enough?" said the cock, and flew up to the edge of the vat to taste it; but when he stooped down to take a sip he began flapping with his wings and fell on his head into the vat and was drowned.
When the hen saw this she was quite beside herself. She flew onto the hearth and began to scream and cry, "Got, got, got, drowned! Got, got, got, drowned!" And this she went on crying all the time and would not stop.
"What is the matter with you, Mother Tup, since you are crying and grieving so?" asked the hand-quern.
"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned and there he lies dead!" said the hen. "That's the reason I cry and grieve."
"Well, if I can't do anything else I will grind and groan," said the hand-quern, and began grinding as fast as it could.
When the stool heard this it said, "What's the matter with you, quern, since you groan and grind so fast?"
"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth, crying and grieving; therefore I grind and groan," said the hand-quern.
"Well, if I can't do anything else I shall creak," said the stool, and began creaking and cracking.
This the door heard, so it said, "What's the matter with you? Why are you creaking, stool?"
"Oh, Father Tup has fallen into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving and the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; therefore I creak and crack and crackle," said the stool.
"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll bang and slam and whine and whistle" said the door, and began opening and shutting and slamming and banging till it went through one's bones and marrow to hear it.
This the dustbin heard.
"Why are you slamming and banging like that, door?" said the bin.
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; therefore I keep slamming and banging," said the door.
"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll fume and smoke," said the dustbin, and began fuming and smoking and sending the dust up in clouds all over the room.
This the hay-rake saw, as it stood peeping in through the window.
"Why are you raising the dust like that, dustbin?" asked the rake.
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; therefore I keep fuming and smoking," said the dustbin.
"Well, if I can't do anything else I'll rake and rend," said the rake, and began rending and raking.
This the aspen tree saw as it looked on.
"Why do you rend and rake like that, rake? said the tree.
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; therefore I keep rending and raking," said the rake.
"Well, if I can't do anything else," said the aspen, "I will quiver and quake."
This the birds noticed. "Why do you quiver and quake like that?" said the birds to the tree.
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; therefore I quiver and quake," said the aspen.
"Well, if we can't do anything else we will pluck off our feathers," said the birds, and began pecking and plucking till the feathers flew about the farm like snow.
The farmer stood looking on, and when he saw the feathers flying about he asked the birds, "Why are you plucking off your feathers like that, birds?"
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; the aspen is quivering and quaking; therefore we keep pecking and plucking," said the birds.
"Well, if I can't do anything else I will pull the besoms to pieces," said the farmer, and began tugging and pulling the besoms to pieces, so that the twigs flew about, both east and west.
His wife was boiling the porridge for supper when she saw this. "Why are you pulling the besoms to pieces, husband?" said she.
"Oh, Father Tup fell into the brewing vat and got drowned; Mother Tup is sitting on the hearth crying and grieving; the hand-quern is grinding and groaning; the stool is creaking and cracking; the door is slamming and banging; the dustbin is fuming and smoking; the rake is rending and raking; the aspen is quivering and quaking; the birds are pecking and plucking off their feathers; therefore I am pulling the besom to pieces," said the man.
"Well, then I'll daub the walls all over with porridge," she said. And she set about it there and then, and took one ladleful after another and smeared the porridge all over the walls, so that no one could see what they were made of.
Then they kept the burial feast of the cock who fell into the brewing vat. And if you don't believe it, you had better go there and taste both the beer and the porridge.
Once upon a time there was a cat that wanted to get married. So she stood on a corner, and every one who passed by said, "Little Cat, what's the matter?"
"What's the matter? I want to marry."
A dog passed by and said, "Do you want me?"
"When I see how you can sing."
The dog said, "Bow, wow!"
"Fy! What horrid singing! I don't want you."
A pig passed. "Do you want me, Little Cat?"
"When I see how you sing."
"Uh! uh!"
"Fy! You are horrid! Go away! I don't want you."
A calf passed and said, "Little Cat, will you take me?"
"When I see how you sing."
"Uhm!"
"Go away, for you are horrid! What do you want of me?"
A mouse passed by: "Little Cat, what are you doing ?"
"I am going to get married."
"Will you take me?"
"And how can you sing?"
"Ziu, ziu!"
The cat accepted him, and said, "Let us go and be married, for you please me." So they were married.
One day the cat went to buy some pastry, and left the mouse at home.
"Don't stir out, for I am going to buy some pastry."
The mouse went into the kitchen, saw the pot on the fire, and crept into it, for he wanted to eat the beans. But he did not; for the pot began to boil, and the mouse stayed there. The cat came back and began to cry; but the mouse did not appear. So the cat put the pastry in the pot for dinner. When it was ready the cat ate, and put some on a plate for the mouse also. When she took out the pastry she saw the mouse stuck fast in it.
"Ah! my little mouse! Ah! my little mouse!" So she went and sat behind the door, lamenting the mouse.
"What is the matter," said the door, "that you are scratching yourself so and tearing out your hair?"
The cat said, "What is the matter? My mouse is dead, and so I tear my hair."
The door answered, "And I, as door, will slam."
In the door was a window, which said, "What's the matter, door, that you are slamming?"
"The mouse died, the cat is tearing her hair, and I am slamming."
The window answered, "And I, as window, will open and shut."
In the window was a tree, that said, "Window, why do you open and shut?"
The window answered, "The mouse died, the cat tears her hair, the door slams, and I open and shut."
The tree answered and said, "And I, as tree, will throw myself down."
A bird happened to alight in this tree, and said: "Tree, why did you throw yourself down?"
The tree replied, "The mouse died, the cat tears her hair, the door slams, the window opens and shuts, and I, as tree, threw myself down."
"And I, as bird, will pull out my feathers."
The bird went and alighted on a fountain, which said, "Bird, why are you plucking out your feathers so?"
The bird answered as the others had done, and the fountain said, "And I, as fountain, will dry up."
A cuckoo went to drink at the fountain, and asked, "Fountain, why have you dried up?" And the fountain told him all that had happened.
"And I, as cuckoo, will put my tail in the fire."
A monk of St. Nicholas passed by, and said, "Cuckoo, why is your tail in the fire?"
When the monk heard the answer he said, "And I, as monk of St. Nicholas, will go and say mass without my robes."
Then came the queen, who, when she heard what the matter was, said, "And I, as queen, will go and sift the meal."
At last the king came by, and asked, " 0h Queen! Why are you sifting the meal?"
When the queen had told him everything, he said: "And I, as king, am going to take my coffee."
The wedding was a mighty grand affair, and everybody as jolly and merry as could be, except of course the poor old wife, who crept away from all the noise and fun to sit disconsolately on a quiet branch just under a crow's nest, where she could be as melancholy as she liked without anybody poking fun at her.
Now while she sat there it began to rain, and after a while the drops, soaking through the crow's nest, came drip-dripping onto her feathers. She, however, was far too miserable to care, and sat there all huddled up and peepy till the shower was over. Now it so happened that the crow had used some scraps of dyed cloth in lining its nest, and as these became wet the colors ran, and dripping down on to the poor old hen-sparrow beneath, dyed her feathers until she was as gay as a peacock.
Fine feathers make fine birds, we all know, and she really looked quite spruce; so much so, that when she flew home, the new wife nearly burst with envy, and asked her at once where she had found such a lovely dress.
"Easily enough," replied the old wife; "I just went into the dyer's vat."
The bride instantly determined to go there also. She could not endure the notion of the old thing being better dressed than she was, so she flew off at once to the dyer's, and being in a great hurry, went pop into the middle of the vat, without waiting to see if it was hot or cold. It turned out to be just scalding. Consequently the poor thing was half boiled before she managed to scramble out.
Meanwhile, the gay old cock, not finding his bride at home, flew about distractedly in search of her, and you may imagine what bitter tears he wept when he found her, half drowned and half boiled, with her feathers all awry, lying by the dyer's vat.
"What has happened?" quoth he.
But the poor bedraggled thing could only gasp out feebly:
The old wife was dyed --
The nasty old cat!
And I, the gay bride,
Fell into the vat!
Whereupon the cock-sparrow took her up tenderly in his bill and flew away home with his precious burden. Now, just as he was crossing the big river in front of his house, the old hen-sparrow, in her gay dress, looked out of the window, and when she saw her old husband bringing home his young bride in such a sorry plight, she burst out laughing shrilly, and called aloud, "That is right! That is right! Remember what the song says:
Old wives must scramble through water and mud,This allusion so enraged her husband that he could not contain himself, but cried out, "Hold your tongue, you shameless old cat!"
But young wives are carried dry-shod o'er the flood."
Of course, when he opened his mouth to speak, the poor draggled bride fell out, and, going plump into the river, was drowned. Whereupon the cock-sparrow was so distracted with grief that he picked off all his feathers until he was as bare as a plowed field. Then, going to a pipal tree, he sat all naked and forlorn on the branches, sobbing and sighing.
"What has happened?" cried the pipal tree, aghast at the sight.
"Don't ask me!" wailed the cock-sparrow. "It isn't manners to ask questions when a body is in deep mourning."
But the pipal would not be satisfied without an answer, so at last poor bereaved cock-sparrow replied:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair!
On hearing this sad tale, the pipal became overwhelmed with grief and, declaring it must mourn also, shed all its leaves on the spot.
By and by a buffalo, coming in the heat of the day to rest in the shade of the pipal tree, was astonished to find nothing but bare twigs.
"What has happened?" cried the buffalo. "You were as green as possible yesterday!"
"Don't ask me!" whimpered the pipal. "Where are your manners? Don't you know it isn't decent to ask questions when people are in mourning?"
But the buffalo insisted on having an answer, so at last, with many sobs and sighs, the pipal replied:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Bewailing his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves!"
"Oh dear me!" cried the buffalo. "How very sad! I really must mourn too!"
So she immediately cast her horns, and began to weep and wail. After a while, becoming thirsty, she went to drink at the riverside.
"Goodness gracious!" cried the river, "What is the matter? And what have you done with your horns?"
"How rude you are!" wept the buffalo. "Can't you see I am in deep mourning? And it isn't polite to ask questions."
But the river persisted until the buffalo, with many groans, replied:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns!
"Dreadful!" cried the river, and wept so fast that its water became quite salt [salty].
By and by a cuckoo, coming to bathe in the stream, called out, "Why, river! What has happened? You are as salt as tears!"
"Don't ask me!" mourned the stream. "It is too dreadful for words!" Nevertheless, when the cuckoo would take no denial, the river replied:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last!
"Oh dear! Oh dear me!" cried the cuckoo. "How very, very sad! I must mourn too!" So it plucked out an eye, and going to a corn [grain] merchant's shop, sat on the doorstep and wept.
"Why, little cuckoo! what's the matter?" cried Bhagtu the shopkeeper. "You are generally the pertest of birds, and today you are as dull as ditchwater!"
"Don't ask me!" sniveled the cuckoo. "It is such terrible grief! Such dreadful sorrow! Such-such horrible pain!"
However, when Bhagtu persisted, the cuckoo, wiping its one eye on its wing, replied:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes!
"Bless my heart!" cried Bhagtu, "But that is simply the most heartrending tale I ever heard in my life! I must really mourn likewise!" Whereupon he wept, and wailed, and beat his breast, until he went completely out of his mind. And when the queen's maidservant came to buy of him, he gave her pepper instead of turmeric, onion instead of garlic, and wheat instead of pulse.
"Dear me, friend Bhagtu!" quoth the maidservant. "Your wits are wool-gathering! What's the matter?"
"Don't! please don't!" cried Bhagtu. "I wish you wouldn't ask me, for I am trying to forget all about it. It is too dreadful -- too, too terrible!"
At last, however, yielding to the maid's entreaties, he replied, with many sobs and tears:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses!
"How very sad!" exclaimed the maidservant. "I don't wonder at your distress. But it is always so in this miserable world! Everything goes wrong!"
Whereupon she fell to railing at everybody and everything in the world, until the queen said to her, "What is the matter, my child? What distresses you?"
"Oh!" replied the maidservant, "The old story! Everyone is miserable, and I most of all! Such dreadful news! --
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses;
The maidservant wailing
Has taken to railing!
"Too true!" wept the queen, "Too true! The world is a vale of tears! There is nothing for it but to try and forget!" Whereupon she set to work dancing away as hard as she could.
By and by in came the prince, who, seeing her twirling about, said, "Why, mother! what is the matter?"
The queen, without stopping, gasped out:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses;
The maidservant wailing
Has taken to railing;
The queen, joy enhancing,
Takes refuge in dancing!
"If that is your mourning, I'll mourn too!" cried the prince, and seizing his tambourine, he began to thump on it with a will. Hearing the noise, the king came in, and asked what was the matter.
"This is the matter!" cried the prince, drumming away with all his might:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Lamenting his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses;
The maidservant wailing
Has taken to railing;
The queen, joy enhancing,
Takes refuge in dancing;
To aid the mirth coming,
The prince begins drumming!
"Capital! capital!" cried the king, "That's the way to do it!" So, seizing his zither, he began to thrum away like one possessed.
And as they danced, the queen, the king, the prince, and the maidservant sang:
The ugly hen painted.
By jealousy tainted,
The pretty hen dyed.
Bewailing his bride,
The cock, bald and bare,
Sobs loud in despair;
The pipal tree grieves
By shedding its leaves;
The buffalo mourns
By casting her horns;
The stream, weeping fast,
Grows briny at last;
The cuckoo with sighs
Blinds one of its eyes;
Bhagtu's grief so intense is,
He loses his senses;
The maidservant wailing
Has taken to railing;
The queen, joy enhancing,
Takes refuge in dancing;
To aid the mirth coming,
The prince begins drumming;
To join in it with her
The king strums the zither!
So they danced and sang till they were tired, and that was how everyone mourned poor cock-sparrow's pretty bride.
Revised April 29, 2009.