No. 154 Old Witch
A.—Ten girls, a mother, a witch, and eight children—namely, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and the eldest daughter Sue. The mother, preparing to go out, addresses her children:
Now all you children stay at home, And be good girls while I am gone; Let no one in138 ⁂ Especially you, my daughter Sue, Or else I’ll beat you black and blue.139
The witch knocks at the door, and is refused entrance by the children. She beguiles them by promises to admit her, which they finally do. She then holds out her pipe (a bit of stick), which she carries between her teeth, saying to Sue, “Light my pipe!” Sue refusing, she makes the same demand to each child, in the order of the days of the week, in which they are ranged. All refuse till she reaches the last, who consents and touches her pipe, whereupon the witch seizes her hand, and drags her out of the house to her “den.”
The mother then returns, counts the children, and Sue is questioned and punished. This is played over until each child is taken, Sue last.
When the mother has lost all her children, the witch calls, and invites her to dinner. Upon going to the witch’s door, she finds a table set for the meal, and the witch asks her to order a dish to suit her taste. She does so, whereupon the witch produces Sunday, and lays her upon the table, with considerable assistance from Sunday.
A very amusing dialogue now ensues between the witch and the mother. The former urges the mother to eat, with many blandishments, and the mother (recognizing her child) declines, with such excuses as any ingenious child can devise.
The mother, upon pretence of inability to eat the food, calls for another dish, and, when the witch leaves the room, hurries the child from the table and places her behind the chair. When the witch returns, she says that she found the dish so good that she ate it all, and calls for another.
Each child is produced in turn, with the same result. When all are arranged behind their mother, she calls for another dish, and when the witch leaves the room to get it, runs home with all her children.
Hartford, Conn.
Our second version (B) is from the lips of a little girl in New York city. The persons represented are the same, except that a servant instead of one of the daughters is left to take care of the children. Scene, the doorsteps, or “stoop,” of a New York dwelling-house.
Mother [sings]. Chickany, chickany, crany, crow.
Went to the well to wash her great toe,
And when she came back her chicken was dead.140
[To Servant]. I am going out, and let nobody come in.
[Exit. Enter presently, Witch.
Witch [to Servant]. Give me a match to light my pipe.
Servant. I haven’t any.
Witch. Your kettle’s boiling over.
Servant. No.
Witch. Your kettle is boiling over.
Servant [goes to look]. Witch seizes a child and carries her off. [Re-enter Mother.
Mother [to servant]. Where’s my Monday?
Servant. Under the table.
Mother [calls]. Monday!
Servant. Up in the band-box!141
Mother. How to get up?
Servant. Put two broken chairs on a broken table.
Mother. Suppose I should fall and break my neck?
Servant. Good enough for you.
Mother beats servant, but recovering from her loss, goes out again. Witch enters as before, and carries off successively all the children, and at last the servant. Witch then puts the children in a row, cooks them, and makes them into pies, naming them apple-pie, peach-pie, etc. Mother goes out to buy pies.
Mother [to Witch]. Have you any pies?
Witch. Yes, some very nice apple-pies, which you will like.
Mother [tastes]. This tastes like my Monday. [Re-animates Monday.] Monday,
who brought you here? [Beats her, and sends her home.]
The mother proceeds in the same manner, and brings to life the other children.
C.—The name of the witch in this variation is “Old Mother Cripsy-crops,” and the game begins by playing No. 89. When the mother goes out, the children call after her, “Old mother, the kettle boils.” She answers, “Take a spoon and stir it.” “We haven’t got any.” “Buy one.” “We have no money.” “Borrow,” says the mother. “People won’t lend,” reply the children.
The witch comes in, and entices Sunday away by fine promises. When the mother comes back, she inquires, “Where’s my Sunday?” The children make some excuse, as, “Perhaps he has gone down cellar,” etc. She tells Tuesday to take care of Monday, as she had previously placed Monday in charge of Sunday, and goes out again, when the same scene is repeated, until all the children have been carried off.
The mother now calls at the witch’s house, and asks to be let in. The witch refuses, saying, “No, your shoes are too dirty.” “But I will take off my shoes.” “Your stockings are too dirty.” “Then I will take off my stockings.” “Your feet are too dirty.” “I will cut off my feet.” “That would make the carpet all bloody.” “But I must see my children, and you have got them.” “What should I know about your children? But if you like you may call to-morrow at twelve.”
The mother departs, and as soon as she is gone the witch goes to the children and renames them all. One she calls Mustard, another Pepper, another Salt, another Vinegar, etc. Then she turns their faces to the wall, and tells them to give these names if they are asked who they are. The mother calls again at the house of the witch, and this time is admitted. She asks the children what their names are, and they all answer as they were instructed by the witch. She then asks the first child to let her feel his toe. He puts up his foot, and when the mother feels it she says, “This is my Sunday! let your big toe carry you home;” whereupon he runs off. The same process is gone through with all the other children.
D.—To the mother (this time present), in the midst of her children, approaches the witch, who comes limping, leaning on a cane. The dialogue is between mother and witch.
“There’s old mother Hippletyhop; I wonder what she wants to-day?”
“I want one of your children.”
“Which one do you want?”
The witch names any child of the row.
“What will you give her to eat?”
“Plum-cake” (a different delicacy for each child).
The witch carries off the child, and observes: “Walk as I do, or else I’ll kill you.” She takes the child home and kills her, then returns for another. When all are gone the mother goes out to look for her children. She goes to the witch’s house, and finds all the children (presumed to be dead) against the wall, making the most horrible faces. She points to a child, and asks, “What did [Mary] die of?” “She died of sucking her thumbs” (naming the child’s gesture). Suddenly all the children come to themselves, and cry out, “Oh, mother, we are not dead!”
Portsmouth, N. H.
E.—In a fifth version, which we have failed to obtain in full, the witch changed the children into birds; and the mother, in order to recover them, must guess the name of the bird. Colors, instead of birds, were also used to represent the children.
F.—We have already spoken of the old English game of “Honey-pots” as an imitation of “Weighing.” This trait, however, as might be supposed from its insignificant character, is a mere fragment of the original. In London (as we learn from an informant of the laboring class, who remembers taking part in the amusement), a child as market-woman arranges the rest in a row to indicate honey-pots, each with its specific flavor. While she is busy at one end of the row, a thief comes in and steals a pot from the other end. This process is repeated, until all the pots are taken. The dealer then goes out to buy honey-pots, and recognizes her own by the flavor, so recovering the stolen goods.
This game without doubt is the most curious of our collection, both on account of its own quaintness, and because of the extraordinary relation in which it stands to the child’s lore of Europe. We have, in a note, endeavored to show that our American versions give the most ancient and adequate representation now existing of a childish drama which has diverged into numerous branches, and of which almost every trait has set up for itself as an independent game. Several of these offshoots are centuries old, and exist in many European tongues; while, so far as appears, their original has best maintained itself in the childish tradition of the New World.
Among a great number of German forms, only one (from Suabia) nearly corresponds to ours, with the exception of a corrupted ending.
In this childish drama a mother has many children, who sleep. In her absence comes “Old Urschel” with her two daughters, the “Night-maidens” (a sort of fairies), who steal three children, and carry them off to their cave (hiding them behind their extended dresses). The mother visits Urschel’s abode to complain of the theft, but the “Night-maidens,” with deprecating gestures, deny any knowledge of the lost. The action is then repeated, the eldest daughter (who plays the same part as in our first version) being taken last.
When the mother’s complaints are useless, she becomes a witch. The next day Urschel takes her stolen family for a walk. The mother comes up and pulls the dress of a child; by her magic art all feel it at the same time, and cry to Urschel, “Oh, mother, somebody is pulling my gown!” The latter replies, “It must be a dog.” The mother then asks and obtains leave to join the party, but endeavors to bewitch (or disenchant) her children, who cry, “The Witch of London!” and scatter, but are captured by the latter and turned into witches.142
In Sweden the mother is called “Lady Sun.” An old woman enters, propped on a cane, goes to Lady Sun’s house and knocks. “Who is that knocking at my door?” “An old woman, halt and blind, asks the way to Lady Sun; is she at home?” “Yes.” The old woman points out a child, and asks, “Dear Lady Sun, may I have a chicken?” She is refused at first, but by piteous entreaties obtains her wish, and returns, until all the “chickens” are carried off. “She was not so lame as she made believe,” says Lady Sun, looking after her.
The antiquity of our game is sufficiently attested by the wide diffusion of many of its comparatively recent variations. We remark, further, that the idea of the child-eating demon, so prominently brought forward in our American versions, is a world-old nursery conception. The ancients were well acquainted with such feminine supernatural beings. “More fond of children than Gello,” says Sappho, referring to an imaginary creature of the sort. The most ancient view of this passion for stealing children was, that it was prompted by the appetite. Tales of ogres and ogresses, who carried off and devoured young children, must have been as familiar in the Roman nursery as in our own.
The trait of limping, characteristic of “witches” in games, is equally ancient. That such demons are defective in one foot is expressed by the ancient Greek name “Empusa” (literally One-foot), to whom was attributed an ass’s hoof, a representation which contributed to the mediæval idea of the devil. A child’s game, in which a boy, armed with a knotted handkerchief, pursues his comrades, hopping on one foot, is known in France as “The Limping Devil.”143 This game existed also in ancient Greece.
The reanimation and recovery of the children, with which the American performance closes, is a familiar trait of ancient nursery tales.