Fiddleeebod

The Reverend Dodgson’s introduction to his Hiawatha satire, with the matching of the metre used by Henry in his poem, in his long Longfellow poem:

In an age of imitation, I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised writer, with the slightest ear for rhythm, could compose, for hours together, in the easy running metre of ‘The Song of Hiawatha’. Having, then, distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject.

Then there follows Dodgson’s effort, Hiawatha’s Photographing. Google if you long to read it.

The Squirrels of Horn chitter away

through half of the night and all of the day.

Don’t ask them why.

They’ll only reply,

‘Chittery chit chit chit chittery chay.’

Often there is more than one version of a folk tale or a fairy tale. Let’s have a look at Little Red Riding-Hood, for instance. In the version found in Andrew Lang’s Blue Fairy Book, bottom row up there, third from the right, the final sentence of the story, coming directly on the heels of Red’s list of questions concerning the large size of Grandmamma’s various body parts, goes like this:

‘And, saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red Riding-Hood, and ate her all up.’

The end. It’s over. Wolf wins.

However, in my Arthur Rackham illustrated volume of Grimm’s Fairy Tales, blue book in the top row there next to the painting of the lavender witch’s cottage, the Red Riding Hood story sentence corresponding to the Andrew Lang one says:

‘Hardly had the wolf said this, than he made a spring out of bed and devoured poor little Red Riding Hood.’

No big difference. Right? But wait a minute. That is not the last sentence in my Rackham Grimm. Not by the hair on your chinny chin chin. Here comes the huntsman strolling by. There goes the huntsman slicing open the wolf and freeing Red and her grandmother. Now come the final sentences:

‘They were all quite happy now. The huntsman skinned the wolf, and took the skin home. The grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine which Red Riding Hood had brought, and she soon felt quite strong. Red Riding Hood thought: ‘I’ll never again wander off into the forest as long as I live, if my mother forbids it.’

Two versions. Two different outcomes. Wolf wins. Wolf loses. I guess which one is told depends on the mood of the storyteller and how the child/children attached to the listening ears had behaved that day.

The mysterious windwhirl is oh so pink.

To strange dimensions it’s a link.

Knowledge it brings

as it whissssper sings

to questing witches on adventure’s brink.

Conical cottages are shaped like cones

and painted in colors of brightest tones.

In oat fields they stand

looking just grand

while their kind hutter owners toil as if drones.

Oh, the sinister wicked wand

Of mischievous tricks it was heartily fond

Transform you to tar

or an old mustard jar

or drop you kersplash in a big muddy pond

This edition of Andrew Lang’s Violet Fairy Tale Book is illustrated by Robert Venables. The cover illustration is for the Serbian folk tale, ‘The Finest Liar in the World’. Why is the lad riding the giant chicken chasing the giant bee the finest liar in the world? Because he states, among other things:

1. ‘In my youth, when I was an old man, we had a quantity of beehives.’

2. ‘At length I reached home, where I was told that my father had just been born, and that I must go at once to fetch some holy water to sprinkle him with.’

3. ‘In despair I threw myself on the ground, and instantly sank in it as far as my waist. I struggled to get out, but only fell in further; so I ran to the house, seized a spade, dug myself out, and took some holy water.’

4. ‘When I got to the well everything was frozen hard, so in order to draw some water I had to take off my head and break the ice with it.’

That’s some pretty fine lying indeed.

This is the Blossom Castle Crump.

Jesterbeasts say he’s an awful grump.

Front face or back,

of smiles there’s a lack.

No wonder those jesters call him The Lump.

Here is Shaaaa the Beddysnake

in the Evermist of the marshy lake.

4 tongues green

in her mouth are seen,

and her black heart eyes will make you quake.

Several oddments and lots of thrills

meet Bekka of Thorns in the strange blue hills.

The world is frozen.

Is she chosen?

The answer’s revealed when the mind vessel fills.