THE ROBIN AND THE WREN

ONE side of the subject remains to be discussed. It is the relation of the robin to the wren. Many custom rhymes, legends, and nursery pieces name the birds together, and they sometimes enlarge on the jealousy of the birds, and on the fact that their presence was reckoned mutually exclusive. Perhaps the birds, looked at from one point of view, were accounted the representatives of the seasons, and, as such, came and went by turns.

The robin and the wren are mentioned together in several custom rhymes, some of which mention other birds also:—

In Warwickshire they say:—

In Lancashire this takes the form:—

This association of the sparrow with the bow and arrow reappears in some nursery pieces, as we shall see later.

The robin and the wren are coupled together also in the following rhyme from Scotland, which has found its way into some modern English nursery collections:—

The Robin's Testament already quoted concludes with anger on the part of the robin at the entrance of the wren, whose appearance heralds his death. Other pieces describe the inverse case, when the wren dies in spite of the robin's efforts to keep her alive. This conception forms the subject of a Scottish ballad called The Birds' Lamentation, which is included in the collection of David Herd of the year 1776. It contains the following lines:—

The same incidents are related of real birds in the toy-book called The Life and Death of Jenny Wren, which was published by Evans in 1813 "for the use of young ladies and gentlemen:—

The story begins:—

The wren recovered for a time, but her behaviour was such as to rouse the robin's jealousy. She finally died, and the book concludes with the lines:—

It was an ancient superstition that the robin took charge of the dead, especially of those who died by inadvertence.

The proposed union of the robin and the wren forms the subject also of a story that was taken down from the recitation of Mrs. Begg, the sister of the poet Burns. She was under the impression that her brother invented it. It describes how the robin started on Yule morning to sing before the king, and of the dangers, in the form of Poussie Baudrons, of the grey greedy gled, of Tod Lowrie, and of others, he encountered by the way. He sang before the king and queen, who gave him the wee wren to wed. Then he flew away and sat on a briar (1870, p. 60). There is no sequel.

In all these stories the wren is described not as a cock-bird, but as a hen-bird, which is incompatible with the idea of kingship that is expressed by the bird-chants. Perhaps the idea of the kingship is the older one. For in the legend told in the Isle of Man as an explanation of the custom of killing the wren, this bird is described as a fairy, that is, of the female sex, and legends that are intended to account for a custom are necessarily of a more recent date than the custom which they explain. The wren in Normandy also is sometimes spoken of as a hen-bird, La poulette du bon Dieu, God Almighty's hen. One custom-rhyme current in Scotland directly associates the bird with the Lady of Heaven:—

There is another toy-book relating the proposed union of the robin and the wren, which leads up to the death of the robin. It is called The Courtship, Marriage, and Picnic Dinner of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren, and was first issued by Harris in 1810. In this book other animals took part in the ceremony. The cock blew the horn, the parson rook carried Mother Hubbard's book, the lark sang, the linnet, the bullfinch, and the blackbird all officiated. A picnic dinner followed, to which the raven brought walnuts, the dog Tray brought a bone, the owl brought a sack of wheat, the pigeon brought tares, and so forth. The enjoyment was at its height—

The cuckoo, it will be remembered, was the bird of the god Thor, and the enemy of matrimonial bliss.

This story of a bird-wedding does not stand alone. From France and Spain come a number of pieces which similarly describe the proposed wedding of birds and end in disaster. In Languedoc one is called Lou mariage de l'alouseta, "the wedding of the lark." It begins:—

"The spink (or finch) and the lark intended to marry. On the first day of the wedding they had nothing to eat."

A gadfly on his neck brought a loaf, a gnat brought a cask, a butterfly a joint, and a sparrow brought grapes. The flea jumped out of the bed and began to dance, and the louse came forth from the rags and seized the flea by the arm. Then the rat came out of his hole and acted as drummer, when in rushed the cat and devoured him.

Exactly the same story is told in much the same form in Catalan of La golondrina y el pinzon, "The goldfinch and the swallow," but the verses on the gay rat and the destructive cat are wanting (Mi., p. 398). Other versions have been recorded in the centre and in the North of France, one of which was printed in 1780 (Ro., II, 180, 212; D. B., p. 106). From thence the song was probably carried to Canada, where it reappears as Pinson et Cendrouille, "The finch and the nuthatch" (G., p. 275). Here the ending is that the rat played the fiddle, and the cat rushed in and spoilt the fun.

These stories of bird-weddings should be compared with one which describes how the flea and the louse combined to set up house together and came to grief. It is told in Catalan of La purga y er piejo (Ma., p. 74). In Languedoc the same story is told of La fourmiho e le pouzouil, "the ant and the flea" (M. L., p. 508). In form these pieces closely correspond with our bird-wedding. There is the same communal feast to which the various guests bring contributions, and the same revelry which ends in disaster.

This Spanish piece on the housekeeping of the louse and the flea has a further parallel in the story called LaÜschen und FlÖhchen, "The louse and the flea," which is included in the fairy tales of Grimm (No. 30). But the German story is told in the cumulative form of recitation, and its contents are yet one stage more primitive. There is nothing on a wedding celebration. The louse and the flea set up house together, and began by brewing beer in an eggshell. The flea fell in by inadvertence and was drowned. Then the louse set up the wail. In this the door joined by jarring, the broom by sweeping, the cart by running, the dungheap by reeking, the tree by shaking, till they were all carried away by the brook.

Much the same story, told in cumulative form also and equally primitive, is current among ourselves. It seems to be old (1890, p. 454), and is called Tittymouse and Tattymouse. We read how Tittymouse and Tattymouse went a-leasing (gleaning), and set about boiling a pudding. Titty fell in and was scalded to death. Then Tatty set up the wail. It was joined by the stool that hopped, the besom that swept, the window that creaked, the tree that shed its leaves, the bird that moulted its feathers, and the girl that spilt the milk. Finally an old man fell from a ladder, and all were buried beneath the ruins. Tittymouse and Tattymouse are usually represented as mice, but the word tittymouse is also allied to titmouse, a bird. Titty and Tatty are among the many rhyming compounds of which the meaning is no longer clear.

The conceptions on which these pieces are based all recall primitive customs. The wedding is a communal feast to which contributions of different kinds are brought by the several guests. Again the death of one individual draws that of a number of others in its wake. On comparing these various pieces, we find that those which are set in cumulative form, judging from their contents, are the more primitive. This supports the view that the cumulative form of recitation represents an earlier development in literature than rhymed verse.

The toy-book on The Courtship of Cock Robin and Jenny Wren attributes the robin's death to the carelessness of the sparrow. The sparrow is also described as causing the death of the robin in the knell of the robin, which is one of our oldest and most finished nursery pieces. The death of the robin is a calamity, his blood is treasured, he is buried with solemnity. In the collections of 1744 and 1771 the knell stands as follows:—

The Death and Burial of Cock Robin formed the contents of a toy-book that was printed by Marshall in London, by Rusher in Banbury, and others. One of the early toy-books belonging to Pearson, which are exhibited at South Kensington Museum, contain verses of this knell with quaint illustrations. The toy-book published by Marshall which contains the knell, is described as "a pretty gilded toy, for either girl or boy." It leads up to the knell by the following verse, which occurs already as a separate rhyme in the nursery collection of 1744:—

This is followed by the picture of a dead robin with the words:—

We then read the four verses of the knell already cited, and further verses on the owl so brave that dug the grave; the parson rook who read the book; the lark who said amen like a clerk; the kite who came in the night; the wren, both cock and hen; the thrush sitting in a bush; the bull who the bell did pull.

In another toy-book the magpie takes the place of the fly, and from the illustration in a third one we gather that not a bull but a bullfinch originally pulled the bell.

The toy-book published by Marshall concludes:—

The antiquity of this knell of the robin is apparent when we come to compare it with its foreign parallels, which are current in France, Italy, and Spain. In these rhymes also, those who undertake the office of burial are usually birds, but the nature of him whose death is deplored remains obscure.

In Germany he is sometimes Sporbrod, sometimes Ohnebrod, that is "breadless" (Sim., p. 70), a term which may indicate a pauper. The piece current in Mecklenburg is simpler in form than ours.

"Who is dead?—Breadless. When will he be buried?—On the eve of the day after to-morrow, with spades and with shovels. The Cuckoo is the gravedigger, the Stork is the bell-ringer, the Pee-wit acts as scholar, with all his sisters and brothers."

The knell that is recited in Languedoc is called Las Campanas, the bells. One version begins:—

"Ding[Pg 213] dong, the bell of St. John.—Who tolls it and who says (mass)?—The priest of St. Denis.—Who sounds the knell?—The four ravens.—Who bears the coffin?—The cat in its maw.—Who wears mourning?—The partridge."

Another version preserves the trait that the individual's possessions took part in the mourning:

"Balanli, balanlau, the bells near Yssingeaux are all tolled through April. Who is dead?—Jan of the Gardens (dos Ort). Who carries him to his grave?—His great coat. Who follows him?—His hat. Who mourns for him?—The frog. Who sings for him?—The toad. Who forsakes him?—His sabots. Who says so?—Jan the less. What shall we give him?—The legs of a dog. Where shall we find them?—Near ChalenÇons there are plenty." (M. L., p. 232.)

Jan dos Ort in other versions of the knell is called Jean le Porc, also le pÈre du jardin; and in the latter case, le pÈre petit, the little father, pronounces him dead, and receives dogflesh (M. L., pp. 226, 230).

The Italian knell is quite short:—

The Spanish knell is not much longer:—

"Who is dead?—Crooked Juan. Who mourns for him?—The swallow. Who sings for him?—His coat. Who calls for him?—The quail."

Victor Smith, with reference to these chants, enlarged on the possible nature of Jan, or Juan, of the French and Spanish versions, who is called also "the father of the gardens," and who was given dogflesh to eat. In illustration he adduced the legend of the god Pan, who was looked upon as the father of gardens, and who was supposed to eat dogflesh (M. L., p. 227). Dogs were sacrificed at the Lupercalia which were kept in April, and the month of April is actually mentioned in one of the French chants. If this interpretation is correct, the knells on Jan current in France and Spain preserve the remembrance, not of a bird sacrifice, but of a dog sacrifice. But the Italian name Beccatorto is probably crossbill (R., II, 160), and birds appear as the chief mourners in most of the foreign chants, as they do in ours.

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