THE WREN.
In the Fables relating to animals the fox readily takes a lead, and is characterised as an unscrupulous and unprincipled rascal. Next to him the wren, which is the smallest (or at least has the name of being so) of British birds figures, and has got the name not only of being small, but also of being forward and pert. The first or most prominent of these fables is that in which the wren appears as contesting with the eagle the supremacy among birds, and this story may be said to be as widely extended over the Highlands as the birds themselves. There was to be a contest which bird should fly highest, and the wren jumped upon the eagle’s back. When the eagle had soared as high as it could, it said, “Where are you now, brown wren?” (C’ àite bheil thu, dhreathan donn?). The wren jumped up a little higher and said, “Far, far, above you” (Fada fada fos do chionn). In consequence of this extraordinary feat the wren has twelve eggs while the eagle has only two.
Natural historians assert that the number of wren’s eggs in one nest seldom exceed eight, but others have stated that the most number is twelve or even fourteen. In these tales which have been got together in the West Highlands, the number is uniformly said to be twelve, but whether this is actually the case or merely an assumption, there is no call here for enquiring.
The wren and his twelve sons were threshing corn in a barn, when a fox entered and claimed one of the workers for his prize. It was agreed, since he must get some one, that it should be the old wren, if he himself could point him out from the rest. The thirteen wrens were so much alike that the fox was puzzled. At last he said, “It is easy to distinguish the stroke of the old hero himself” (’S fhurasda buille an t-sean laoich aithneachadh). On hearing this, the old wren gave himself ajauntier air, and said, “there was a day when such was the case” (Bha latha dha sin). After this the fox had no difficulty, for boasting was always illfated (bha tubaist air a’ bhòsd riamh) and he took his victim without any dispute.
On another occasion the wren and his twelve sons were going to the peatmoss, when they fell in with a plant of great virtue and high esteem. The old wren caught hold of the plant by the ears, and was jerking it this way and that way, hard-binding it, and pulling it, as if peat-slicing; white was his face and red his cheek, but he failed to pull the plant from the bare surface of the earth: the plant of virtues and blessings—(Bha e ’ga dhudadh null ’s ’ga dhudadh nall, ’ga chruaidh-cheangal ’s ’ga bhuain-mòine; bu gheal a shnuadh ’s bu dhearg a ghruaidh, ’s cha tugadh e Meacain o chraicionn loma na talmhain; Meacan nam buadh ’s nam beannachd).
The wren called for the assistance of one of his sons, saying, “Over here one of my sons to help me” (An so aon eallach mo mhac nall), and they caught the plant in the same way, jerking it this way and that way, hard-binding and peat-slicing with it; white were their faces and red their cheeks, but they could not with all their ardour, and their utmost strength pull the plant from the bare surface of the earth: the plant of virtues and blessings (’S bha iad ’ga dhudadh null ’s ’ga dhudadh nall, ’ga chruaidh-cheangal ’s ’ga bhuain-mòine; bu gheal an snuadh ’s bu dearg an gruaidh ach le ’n uile dhichioll ’s le ’n cruaidh-neart cha tugadh iad am Meacan o chraicionn loma na talmhain: Meacan nam buadh ’s nam beannachd).
“Over here with two of my sons to help me” (An so dà eallach mo mhac nall), and the same operation was again performed unsuccessfully, and in the same way one after another, until the whole twelve sons came to the assistance of the old wren. Then they grasped it altogether, and under the severe strain the plant at last yielded, and all the wrens fell backwards into a peat pond and were drowned.
The old man from whom this story was heard said, that in winter time, when knitting straw ropes for thatching, he could get all the boys of the village to come to assist him, and keep him company, and this they did with cheerfulness on the understanding that the story of “The wren and his twelve sons” would be illustrated at the end. One after another of the boys sat on the floor behind him, and he having a hold of the straw rope was able easily to resist the strain till he choose to let go, then all the boys fell back and the laughter that ensured was ample reward for their labour.
The fame of the wren for its forwardness and impudence is also illustrated by a story current in the south of Scotland, about Robin Redbreast having fallen sick, and the wren paying him a visit, and expressing great condolence when, after making his will, Robin dismissed her, saying, “Gae pack oot at my chamber door, ye cuttie quean.” In Gaelic the wren is also known by the name ofDreòllan, andDreathan-donn, and the name as applied to human beings means a weakly, imbecile, trifling person, in whatever he takes in hand to do.
All the other birds in the same manner have their own share of actions ascribed to them, and the manner in which several of them made a brag of their own young is amusing—particularly in Gaelic, in which the call ascribed to them is more capable of imitation, and particularly in the light of the manner in which the young of those who make the boast are looked upon.
“Gleeful, gleeful,” said the Gull, “my young is the supreme beauty.”
“Sorry, sorry,” said the Hooded Crow, “but my son is the little Blue Chick.”
“Croak, croak,” said the Raven, “it is my son that can pick the lambs.”
“Click, click,” said the Eagle, “it is my son that is lord over you.”
(“Glìtheag, glitheag,” ors an Fhaoilean, “’se mo mhac-sa an Daogheal Donn.”
“Gurra, gurra,” thuirt an Fheannag, “’se mo mo mhac-sa an Garrach Gorm.”
“Gnog, gnog,” ors am Fitheach, “’s e mo mhac-sa ’chriomas na h-uain.”
“Glig, glig,” thuirt an Iolaire, “’s e mo mhac-sa ’s tighearna oirbh.”)
In the Highlands the young gull is calledSgliùrachwhich is the regular name for a slatternly young woman. It is seen in the midst of a storm alighting in the hollows, and restfully gliding to the highest summits of the waves.
The hooded crow’s fancy for its own young has passed into a proverb, “The hooded crow thinks its own impertinent blue progeny pretty” (’S bòidheach leis an fheannaig a garrach gorm fhein”).
Of the Raven it is commonly said, that it is so fond of its victim’s eyes that it will not even give them to its own young. Its supernatural knowledge of where carrion is to be found amounts almost to instinct, and is among the vices (Dubhailcean) ascribed to the bard.
The eagle can only fly from an elevated situation, from the difficulty of getting wind under its wings, and in this respect forms a great contrast to the little wren.
Of other tales in which the lower animals figure, the three following are noticeable.
I.—The Two Deer.The young, confident of its own speed and strength, remarked:—
“Sleek and yellow is my skin,And no beast ever planted footOn hillside that could catch me.”
“Sleek and yellow is my skin,And no beast ever planted footOn hillside that could catch me.”
“Sleek and yellow is my skin,And no beast ever planted footOn hillside that could catch me.”
“Sleek and yellow is my skin,
And no beast ever planted foot
On hillside that could catch me.”
The old deer, who knew better, answered,
“The young dog black-mouthedAnd yellow: the first dogOf the first litter. Born in March,And fed on quern meal and goat’s milk,There never planted foot on hillsideBeast it could not catch.”(Sleamhuinn ’s buidhe mo bhian,’S cha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh ’bheireadh orm.”“An cuilean bus-dubh buidhe,Ceud chù na saigheRugadh anns a’ Mhàrt’S a bheathaichte air gairbhean’S air bainne ghabhairCha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh nach beireadh e air).
“The young dog black-mouthedAnd yellow: the first dogOf the first litter. Born in March,And fed on quern meal and goat’s milk,There never planted foot on hillsideBeast it could not catch.”(Sleamhuinn ’s buidhe mo bhian,’S cha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh ’bheireadh orm.”“An cuilean bus-dubh buidhe,Ceud chù na saigheRugadh anns a’ Mhàrt’S a bheathaichte air gairbhean’S air bainne ghabhairCha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh nach beireadh e air).
“The young dog black-mouthedAnd yellow: the first dogOf the first litter. Born in March,And fed on quern meal and goat’s milk,There never planted foot on hillsideBeast it could not catch.”
“The young dog black-mouthed
And yellow: the first dog
Of the first litter. Born in March,
And fed on quern meal and goat’s milk,
There never planted foot on hillside
Beast it could not catch.”
(Sleamhuinn ’s buidhe mo bhian,’S cha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh ’bheireadh orm.”
(Sleamhuinn ’s buidhe mo bhian,
’S cha do chuir e eang air sliabh
Beathach riamh ’bheireadh orm.”
“An cuilean bus-dubh buidhe,Ceud chù na saigheRugadh anns a’ Mhàrt’S a bheathaichte air gairbhean’S air bainne ghabhairCha do chuir e eang air sliabhBeathach riamh nach beireadh e air).
“An cuilean bus-dubh buidhe,
Ceud chù na saighe
Rugadh anns a’ Mhàrt
’S a bheathaichte air gairbhean
’S air bainne ghabhair
Cha do chuir e eang air sliabh
Beathach riamh nach beireadh e air).
Regarding this description of the deer-hound it deserves notice that the wordMàrt, translated March, denotes any busy time of the year, there being a màrt, or busy season in harvest as well as in spring,Màrt Fogharaidhas well as inMàrt Earraich, and that in the islands meal made with the Quern (Bràthuin), and from brown oats, which are the kind of oats most common in these islands, is stronger and more nourishing food than common meal. The merits of goat’s milk are well known. This description of the best kind of deer-hound is striking, and was taken down from a reciter in Skye.
II.—The Two Horses.Two horses were standing side by side, ready yoked and ready to commence ploughing, when the youngest, who was but newly broken, and a stranger to field work, said, “We will plough this ridge and then that other ridge and after that the next one, and once we have commenced we will do every ridge in sight, and once we have fairly commenced we will not be long in doing the whole field.” The old horse, who had experience of the work, said, “We will plough this furrow itself first.”
III.—The Two Dogs.There was a big, sleek, honest-looking dog, and a little yelping cur of “low degree” was always annoying him, and barking at him. One day he caughtthe little cur, and gave him a squeeze and sent it off yelping. When the cur recovered itself it said, “I will not hurt you or touch you, but I will raise an ill report (droch-alla) about you.” In pursuance of his threat the cur went among his acquaintances, and such as he himself was. There are many dogs to be found in every town.
“Both mongrel puppy whelp and houndAnd curs of low degree.”
“Both mongrel puppy whelp and houndAnd curs of low degree.”
“Both mongrel puppy whelp and houndAnd curs of low degree.”
“Both mongrel puppy whelp and hound
And curs of low degree.”
and to such the cur related how the big dog for all his smooth appearance and apparent good nature was in reality a cruel, deceitful dog and under all his apparent or seeming good manners, he was ready to fall upon those weaker than himself, whether they gave him cause or not, and if he could do it without being observed give them a bad shaking. He was a dangerous dog and ought to be watched and no wise dog should put himself in his way.
This calumny made its way, found many believers and at last produced its natural fruit. The big honest dog found his company avoided and every body looking upon him with suspicion.
At first the depression, and gloom which haunted him disappeared under a hearty run, and the patting of its master, but it preyed so much on him that he came to avoid society, and to be apparently indifferent to any company. This happens in the experiences of life, and that causeless and evil reports are most dangerous in their consequences. Some time afterwards the cur was similarly dealt with by another cur, who like himself had not very high principles.