THE WOLF AND THE FOX.
This story, like many others in which the lower animals figure as characters, is very popular in the Highlands, in fact, Mr. Campbell of Islay, by whom it is mentioned, could not help falling in with it. But the version published by him is destitute of several interesting incidents which form a part of the story. The narration depends always upon the knowledge and skill of the person who tells it, and this edition is given because there is to be found in it incidents of much interest and amusement, not to be found in any other version, such as the Fox’s oath and standing in front of the fire. The Gaelic is not given except in the essential expressions, and it is not deemed of much consequence to give more, as their fluency and number depend upon the reciter’s knowledge and tact. In these fables the lower animals appear with the same characteristics as are always assigned to them, and in this tale the fox appears as not only wily and cunning, but also as the most unprincipled scoundrel, indifferent to the interests of others, and also to what is usually of weight with men, the restraint of an unseen power.
The Fox and Wolf were keeping house together near the shore, and as might naturally be expected, were very poor and at times hard up for food. At first the fox kept himself in good condition, and was not so voracious as the wolf. After a heavy storm in winter time the two went along the shore to see what the sea had cast up. This is still done by poor people in the islands, and in those places where wood does not grow. They are often fortunate enough to find logs and planks of wood. On the occasion of the wolf and the fox’s journeythey were fortunate enough to find a keg of butter. Probably it had come from Ireland and been swept or thrown overboard in the storm. It was particularly welcome to the poor finders, and the rascally fox at once coveted it for himself. He said to the wolf that, as this was the winter time, they had not so much need of it, but when the hungry summer (samhradh gortach) would come, it would be doubly welcome; they had better bury it, and no one would know of its existence but themselves. They dug a deep hole, buried the keg of butter, and went home with their other provisions. Some days after that the fox came in, and wearily throwing himself on a settle, or seat, which formed part of the furniture, he heaved a deep sigh and said, “Alas! Alas! Woe is me (Och! Och! fhéin thall).”
“Alas! Alas!” said the sympathising wolf, “what is it that troubles you?”
“Dear me,” said the fox, “they are wanting me out to a christening (Och! Och! tha iad ’gam iarraidh mach gu goisteachd),” still pretending a weary indifference, and the Gaelic expression is here noticeable, as, being asked out to a baptism means literally being asked to be god-father, or gossip at the baptism, a practise observed in the Highlands, even where the Roman Catholic and Episcopal systems have disappeared.
“Alas! Alas!” said the wolf, “are you going?”
“Alas! Alas!” said the fox, “I am.” When he came home, the wolf asked what name they had given the child. “A queer enough name,” said the fox, “Blaiseam,” (let me taste).
Some days after that again the same manœuvre was gone through, and when the fox returned and the wolf asked him the child’s name, he said it was as queer a name as the former one,—“Bi ’na mheadhon,” (be in its middle). A third time the manœuvre was gone through and the child’s name was said to be the queerest of all, “Sgrìob an clàr,” (scrape the stave).
At last the “hungry summer” came; and it was such as is well known even in eastern countries when the stores of the preceding harvest are exhausted, and the stores of the year’s harvest are not yet ready. The fox and the wolf went for the keg of butter, but it had disappeared. The fox being prepared for this emergency began at once to accuse the wolf of having taken it, “No one knew it was there but our two selves, and I see the colour of it on your fur.”
The two went away home, the wolf very much cast down, and the fox persisting in his accusation that the wolf had stolen it. The wolf solemnly protested that he had never touched it.
“Will you swear then?” the fox said.
According to a Highland proverb, protestations may be loud till they are solemn oaths (’S mòr facal gu lùghadh). The wolf then held up its paw, and with great solemnity emitted this oath, “If it be that I stole the butter, and it be, and it be, may disease lie heavy on my grey belly in the dust, in the dust,” (Ma ’s mise ghoid an t-ìm, ’s gur mi, ’s gur mi, Galar trom-ghlas air mo bhronnghlas anns an ùir, anns an ùir).
“Swear now yourself,” but the fox was so impressed by the dignity and reverence of the oath, that he tried every means in his power to evade so solemn an ordeal; but the wolf would take no refusal, and at last the fox emitted this oath, “If it be I that stole the butter, and it be, and it be, Whirm, Wheeckam, Whirram, Whycam Whirrim Whew, Whirrim Whew,” (Ma’s mise ’ghoid an t-ìm ’s gur a mi, ’s gur a mi, ciream, cìceam ciream cuaigeam, ciream ciu, ciream ciu). The student of language will observe how the Gaelic C corresponds to the English Wh. This is particularly noticeable here as the difference renders the oath as ludicrous in the translation as in the original, if not more so. The wolf said nothing, but the fox, with that persistence which often accompanies evil-doing, suggested that they should both stand in front of the fire and whoever began to sweat first would be the guilty party, as the butter would be oozing outthrough him. The wolf thinking no evil, consented, and the fox thought he would get him to stand nearer to the fire than himself. It so turned out however, that the fox, who had kept himself in good condition by repeated visits to the keg of butter, (and they must have been more frequent than the baptisms to which he said he had been called), was getting uncomfortably warm, and said, “We are long enough at this work, we had better go out and take a walk.” When out thus cooling themselves, they passed a smithy door, at which an old white horse was standing with the point of its hind shoe resting on the ground. The wolf having gone over to it, but at a safe distance, and looking intently at the door, said to the fox, “I wish, as your eyesight is better than mine and you can read better than I can, that you would come over and read the name written on the horse shoe.”
The fox came over but could see no writing on the shoe, but flattered by the wolf’s words, and not liking to confess that his eyesight was failing, it went closer and the horse lifting its foot knocked its brains out.
“I see,” said the wolf, “the greatest scholars are not always the wisest clerks,” (Cha ’n i an ro-sgoilearachd a ’s fhearr.—Lit.—Excessive scholarship is not always the best).
THE FOX AND THE WOLF.
THE FOX AND THE WOLF.
THE FOX AND THE WOLF.