Creole Stories in the Oral Tradition
We took a mini-break to Lafayette, Louisiana, last weekend. I’ve wanted to explore Louisiana for a while, but the pandemic has limited travel. We decided on a weekend trip to outdoor museums in LaFayette, and LaFayette did not let us down. We visited the Acadian Village on Saturday and then spent Sunday at Vermillionville, both were excellent and filled with history.
My favourite, though, was Vermillionville. It focused on the Attakapas region sharing housing and stories through the end of the 1800s, focusing on Native American, Acadian, Creole, and people of African descent’s lives. We read our way through the exhibits, each focused on a different timeframe and building style. We spent the morning there and stayed for lunch and a live band. With my husband’s belly filled at the buffet, we finally made our way to the gift shop. I love gift shops. It provides justifiable book purchasing opportunities. And this time, I picked up Louisiana Folktales: Lapin, Bouki, and Other Creole Stories in French Dialect and English Translation.
My favourite of the tales are the stories with Compair Bouki and Compair Lapin. They remind me of Raven and Coyote stories I shared previously. Lapin is always hungry and does his best to trick his friends and steal their food. Fortunately for him, his friends, even when they die, they are resurrected for another tale.
One day, Compair Bouki, who was dying of hunger, went to see his old friend, Compair Lapin. He found him thinking of nothing, and occupied in cleaning some fish. Bouki asked where he had taken that. His old friend related his story to him. He told him: “You see, daddy, I went to watch for the fish cart on the road. I saw it coming; I lay down in the road, as if I was dead. The master of the cart came down right off to pick me off. He shook me up a little; and after that, he threw me in his cart, on a pile of fish. I did not move my feet, like Mr. Fox.
I watched well the old master, until I saw he had forgotten me. I began quietly to through all the fish in the road until we had nearly gone a mile further; then, when I thought I had enough, I jumped down and picked up all the fish which I had thrown in the road. There were one hundred or a thousand—I did not count; I was in such a hurry. I put them all by myself on my back, faster than I could; and I came straight here to eat them.”
Compair Bouki reflected a long while; he was a little afraid that if he tried to do the same thing, he would put himself again in trouble. Compair Lapin, who was looking at him with his good eyes, saw that his friend was reflecting too long. He told him:
“Old friend, you are dying of hunger; do like me; go and watch for the cart on the road, steal as much as you can, and we shall have a grand festival.”
Old Bouki, who was greedy, could not resist; he started, he lay down on the road as if he was dead for true, he lifted his feet in the air to deceive people better. When the master of the cart came very near, he saw old Bouki, who was playing his tricks to catch him. He came down with a big plantation whip, and gave him a whipping which had red pepper, black pepper, and salt, it burned so much.
Compair Bouki remained one month in his bed after that. He did not have a single feather left, and had colics to his very beak. They gave him a great deal of tafia to give him strength; they put him in a large bath made with gumbo, and they made him drink some laurel tea all the time after that. When Compair Bouki was cured, he swore, but too late, that Compair Lapin would never deceive him again.
Collected and Edited by Alcée Fortier, Louisiana Folktales
Compair Lapin, whose tales we know as the Tales of Brer Rabbit, were tales shared by the French-speaking African-Creole emancipated Bambara people who arrived in Louisiana between 1719 and 1749. Interestingly, in Senegal, the tale “Leuk le Lievre,” was almost word-for-word the same tale as “The Elephant & The Whale,” also found in Louisiana Folktales. It is a wonderful example of how important oral tales are in culture to have not changed after separation for possibly hundreds of years.
They have used animals in tales throughout much of folklore. Each animal is an archetype for character traits, lazy, weak, naïve, or cunning. In the Creole tales, Lapin, the rabbit is cunning and thinks with his stomach. He is looking for a free meal or a way to outwit the other creatures. They connect the animal species to a character trait; a metaphor for human behaviour. Whether a conflict of values or competition between opposing sides. The ending could be a death of a character, but it was okay as storytellers remade them for the next adventure. In the next tale, the other character might lose. There was no assured winner, such as in life, and friends do not always get along, but sometimes play tricks on one another.
Compair Lapin, Brother Rabbit, is a cunning character, but he makes friendship look hard. While part 1 of the book was about animal tales, they filled part 2 with folktales. Tales mostly involving the vain, the jealous, the foolish, and magical stories passed down through the generations.
The one that stole my heart is “The Little Finger” a story retold from a girl enslaved in Africa who was later sold and sent to Louisiana. It is a sorrowful tale of life and the magic of the singing bones. I have included excerpts below, beware they wrote the original document in 1895, so the spelling, punctuation, and grammar is from that period.
Before we came here, poor devils, we were all free, we were not obliged to work for any master. It is the whites who came into our country, Africa, to get us. They stole some of us; they bought some of us from our fathers for a red handkerchief, for a bottle of tafia, or an old gun. When we went to war those who were caught were sold to the whites who came to trade on the seacoast. We were led away, tied together, tied tow by two; and when we reached the seacoast like a herd of cattle, men, women, and children, we were exchanged, not for money, but for any kind of merchandise, and the whites put us into ships and brought us here. This is how we became slaves in America.
[…]A white man came to [Manga] and bought her from her master. He took her to his house and told her in her own language: “I bought you to take care of my little boy.” He had a pretty house with a store in it, and a pretty garden. Behind the house was an orange grove, and the trees were so large that there was a fine shade underneath. To show you how my grandmother’s country was a good one, I will tell you that the orange-trees were in bloom the whole year; there were flowers and little oranges and ripe oranges all the time. The house was near the sea, and every morning Manga took little Florimond to take a bath. The little boy was so pretty, and his father and mother were so good, that Manga would not have left them for anything in the world. She loved little Florimond so much; his hair was curly, his eyes were blue, his skin was white and rosy.
[…]Florimond’s father used to trade with the negroes that lived far in the woods, so one day he started to get gold dust and elephants’ teeth. On leaving he said to Manga: “Take good care of my wife and my little boy. You know I gave you already a pair of shoes; I will give you, on my return, a fine dress and a necklace.”
[…]Well, the master went into the big woods, and three days afterwards the lady said to Manga to take Florimond to the sea and give him a bath. While the little boy was playing with the shells and the white sand, they saw a skiff with several persons come ashore. A white man disembarked, and passed by Manga, and she felt a peculiar sensation, as if some misfortune was to happen. The eyes of the man shone like those of a cat in the dark. As he passed, he said: “Good morning, Florimond,” but the little boy did not reply anything. When they arrived home the lady sent them to play in the yard, and every time the master was away the strange man would come to the house. Florimond did not want to see him, and he said one day he would tell his father about the stranger. The latter said the Manga: “You little black imp, if ever you open your mouth about what you see here, I will cut your tongue with my big knife; then I will carry you to my ship, sew you up in a sack, and throw you into the sea for the fish to eat you.” Manga was so frightened that she would not have said a word even if they had whipped her for a whole day. In the evening Florimond cried so much that it was with great difficulty that Manga succeeded in putting him to sleep. Her cot was near the bed of the little boy, and during the night she saw the pirate enter the room with a big stick. He struck the little boy on the head and said: “He is head. I will put him in the hole which I dug in the yard. Now I must attend to the black girl.”
Manga, however, had already run away into the yard; but the man, thinking that she was in the road, ran out to catch her. Florimand’s mother came into the room, took the little boy’s body in her arms, and buried him in a hole near the place where Manga was. She was not quite through with the ugly work when she heard a noise and ran away. She met the man, who said: “I believe the girl had gone to the woods; we need not trouble about her any more; the lions and tigers will soon eat her up. Now I must go on board my ship, and when I come back I will take you with me.”
The lady went into the house, and Manga came out of her hiding place. She felt so weak that she could hardly stand, but before she left she kissed the ground where her dear little master was buried. She said: “Farewell, little angel,” and ran into the woods. She preferred to stay with the wild animals than with the cruel mother.
After walking for some time as fast as she could, she stopped by a bayou in the wood, drank some water, and sat down to rest. She fell asleep, but soon she awakened by loud talking. She saw some men standing around her, and among them was her master, who seemed to be very angry: “What are you doing here so far from my house? I left you to take care of my little boy. I suppose you did something wrong and ran away.” Manga did not reply anything, because she remembered the threats of the pirate. The master ordered his men to bring her back to his house, and he hastened to go home. He found his wife, who was weeping bitterly, and she said to him: “Oh! What a dreadful misfortune! Manga let Florimond fall on his head, and our poor little boy is dead. I wanted to kill the negress, but she ran away, and I don’t know where she is. If ever I catch her I will strangle her with my own hands.”
When the poor man heard that his dear boy was dead, he fell in a swoon. They put him in bed, and he remained fifteen days delirious. During that time the lady said to Manga that she would kill her if she opened her mouth. She shut the girl in a cabin, and gave her nothing but bread and water.
At last Florimond’s father go out of bed, but he would not be consoled, and he wept all day for his little boy. As Manga was still in her prison, her master did not see her, and did not think of her. One day as he was walking about in the yard, he looked from time to time at his dear boy’s grave, and tears flowed from his eyes. In the mean time the Nita was singing on a tree near by, and its song was so sad that the poor man felt more sad than ever. It seemed to him it was his Florimond who was singing, and he came to the grave and looked at it a long time. All at once the poor father thought he was dreaming. He saw something that was so strange that many people will not believe it; but so many people told me the same story, that I believe it is as sure as the sun is shining. When the lady had buried the little boy, she had not had time to cover the body completely, and one little hand was out of the grave, and it was the pretty little finger which was moving as if it was making a sign to call some one. The little finger moved on one side and then on the other, and never stopped beckoning, so to say. The poor father dug up the earth with his hand and uncovered the body. He found it as fresh as if it hadn just been buried, and he took it in his arms and carried it to the house. He put the boy on a bed rubbed him so long that the child came back to consciousness. The father sent for the surgeon, who began to attend to the boy, and said that he would revive. There was no danger for his life, as the skull was not broken; the child was only in a state of lethargy, and would soon be well again. Indeed, in a few days Florimond was running about as if nothing had happened, but he never said anything about his mother and the stranger, and the lady at last allowed Manga to leave her prison. Remorse had taken hold of Florimond’s mother; she grew thinner every day, and one evening, in spite of the most tender care, she died. Her last words were, “Oh! My God, forgive me!” She was buried in the grave where her little boy had been; and as to the pirate, he never came back. They say that he was hanged.
After his wife’s death Florimond’s father left Africa, and sold poor Manga. She was put upon a ship, and this is how she became a slave in Louisiana, and related to me the story of the little finger.
Louisiana FOlktales, Doris Aguillard
References:
Anthology of Louisiana Literature for more stories here
New Orleans African American Museum found here
Response: The Journal of Popular and American Culture found here
Vermilllionville found here
