A TALE OF ONE-OX (Part One)

A Tale of One-Ox (Part One)
Word of Mouth

Translation by Sandra Dermark

 0. INTRODUCTION

A Tale of One-Ox, or Verses of One-Ox (Versus de Unibove), recorded and performed for rulers in the Middle Ages, but also well-known amongst the peasantry, was first told and recorded in Latin and in verse. It is a trickster tale where a weak and poor but clever underdog triumphs, time after time, over three wealthy and powerful but stupid top dogs (the Mayor, the Priest, and the Sheriff).

One-Ox is the oldest version of tale type 1535. In the Renaissance, Straparola (in his Facetious Nights, 1555) told the story but starring Father Shoe-Fig, a trickster priest (a poor priest, and thus seen as a sympathetic trickster, unlike the powerful antagonist in One-Ox). In the days of Romanticism, in the Golden Age of fairytale, Andersen (1835) retold the story as Little Klaus and Big Klaus, and the Grimms (1819) as The Little Farmer (Das Bürle). The name (or rather nickname) of One-Ox hints at his poverty, just like the trickster heroes of these two last stories (Little Klaus and the Little Farmer), since he has only got one single head of cattle (plus a single mare, a wife, and a single child). His tricks are very reminiscent of Carnivalesque tricksters like Don Carnal, Harlequin, Reynard the Fox, and especially Panurge.

The medieval version is given the frame of being told at a feast, "at the table of a great ruler," hinting that it was told at royal courts and castles of nobility: 

"At the table of a great ruler,

the story of One-Ox

is presented as a fable

told by minstrels.

.....

"Feasts are made of dishes,

wordplay out of words.

In a show with characters

let us sing of One-Ox!"

This "show with characters" was most surely staged by the minstrels at a small theatre before the feasting table, either with actors or with puppets. There are numerous similarities to commedia dell'arte, with humble but witty trickster One-Ox as Harlequin, his wife as Columbine, and the three top dogs as the Elders or Vecchi (the Mayor as the Pantaloon, the Sheriff as the Capitano, and the Priest as Balanzone). The story could have been staged by commedia dell'arte troupes, and in the Gundam Wing fic Karma Commedia (by StrixAlluka) the commedia dell'arte troupe who star in the fic (set during the Thirty Years' War) stage One-Ox (starring Quatre Winner) at a victory feast.

ON CURRENCY, MEASURES, ETC. The source material uses the currency and measures used in most regions in the Middle Ages, which have become obsolete. My translation uses pounds and pence, and for example bushels (and other such Imperial measures) in order to give the story a more old-world, country-esque feel. The original "provincia" was translated as "county" to achieve the same effect.

I. THE HIDES

The remarkable sights of this world

never satisfy people's ears.

Their ears are always eager

to hear novelties.

At the table of a great ruler,

the story of One-Ox

is presented as a fable

told by minstrels.

"Feasts are made of dishes,

wordplay out of words.

In a show with characters

let us sing of One-Ox!

Born of ridiculous parents,

he's a rustic, son of rustics.

Nature made him a fool,

but Fortune made him a prodigy."

This poor fellow bought an ox,

he could only afford a single one;

following other farmers' example,

he tries to till the earth.

But the worst of luck prohibits him

from having two oxen.

No matter how hard he tries,

he can't yoke two of them.

The other villagers, mocking him,

give him the nickname One-Ox.

Then bitter destiny deprives him

of his single head of cattle.

Now things stand far worse

than his nickname indicates.

With his good reputation gone,

he plans to sell the hide

once the carcass has been flayed.

He has the carcass flayed,

leaves the carcass on the crossroads,

takes the hide and places it,

his only hope for survival,

on his only mare's saddle.

He brings the hide of his dead ox

to a market beyond the county border.

Narrow paths don't slow him down

as he hurries to market.

As he enters the marketplace,

he offers the hide for sale,

thinking it most valuable,

like a velvet cloak.

While shoemakers look on,

leather merchants measure the hide

from the tip of one hoof to another.

None of the offers satisfy One-Ox;

he alone values the hide highly.

Yet only for eight pence

he sells the shabby hide.

After this bargain,

One-Ox fills his belly,

climbs his mare,

and heads back home.

Luck smiles upon him

as he enters the thick forest;

while relieving himself,

he discovers a silver treasure.

As he seeks to wipe his bottom,

tearing fistfuls of grass,

under a tuffet, he finds

what greedy people love the most.

He uncovers three bags full

of silver coins, hidden in the grass,

and soon his saddle-bag

is brimming with wealth.

Using all of his strength,

he places the heavy saddle-bag

on top of his mare's back,

then heads back home.

At home, One-Ox unloads his bags

and calls for his little son,

whom he sends to the Sheriff

to get a bushel to measure the silver.

The boy goes in search of the bushel.

The Sheriff asks about its purpose,

and the little simpleton,

with all the innocence of childhood,

reveals the story about the silver.

The Sheriff takes out the bushel

and gives it to the swift little lad.

He is amazed that the boy's dirt-poor father

has become rich beyond measure.

Hurrying behind One-Ox's son,

carrying the scales in hand,

the Sheriff beholds a silver mass

brightening the thatched cottage.

Upon seeing mountains of silver,

the Sheriff, clapping his hands,

exclaims: "One Ox's wealth and joy

come from theft, not from hard work!

Neither the King's vaults

nor the Pope's coffers

conceal as much silver

as this humble thatched cottage!"

Furious, One-Ox replies

to the envious Sheriff:

"This didn't come from nighttime robbery,

but from the sale of my ox's hide.

Beyond the border of this county,

there is a weekly market.

When someone offers a cattle-hide,

merchants offer them plenty of silver.

There is no business

like selling the hides of cattle.

If you wish to earn as much

as me, follow my example!"

After this, the three authorities,

the Mayor, the Sheriff,

and the distinguished Parish Priest,

gather in the village square.

The stunned Sheriff, who is also

the treasurer of the parish church,

informs his two pals of the recent sale

and of the enormous profits

that can be earned from a single hide.

Filled with happy tidings,

sighing with elation,

the Sheriff pompously

hails his two good friends:

"I'll tell you two now

about a wonder, a miracle.

I'll give you the most useful of advice,

but you must keep it secret.

If you wish to become wealthier,

dear friends of mine,

please follow my instructions,

what I say and what I do.

All evil fortune

will depart from our homes

thanks to a great business deal,

the deal to end all deals.

Heaven brings us the opportunity

of selling the skins

of all our cows and our bulls,

and also of all our calves.

Poor old One-Ox

has so much sterling silver

that he can't measure it

without using a bushel!

He became rich overnight

by selling a single hide,

which, by happy chance nearby,

he sold at the market.

If you, like me, likewise

agree to become rich overnight,

we needn't any longer 

plough in the rain!

But let's keep this business secret

for these three days:

if they found out at the Mint,

they would never strike a coin!

I have described this business idea to you.

Let us three now decide

what we shall do."

The Priest, sighing deeply,

responds first.

He is full of so much elation

that he can hardly express it:

"If my house-keeper

could be turned into a fine cow,

she would soon lack her little hide

in the hope for so much gain."

Then, after that, the Mayor,

whose possessions can't be measured,

having heard the Sheriff's tale,

spews out the following words:

"I swear by this baton,

by my body, by my heart, by my soul,

that my bulls won't be chewing cud

at the stable tomorrow at dawn."

The three eagerly shake hands

in order to seal their contract;

to behead and flay all their cattle

and sell their hides at the market.

Confirmed in their stupidity,

they rush into insanity;

they savagely slay all their cattle

and have them stripped of their hides.

They hang the carcasses on beams

and stack the hides in their wagons.

In the dead of night, the three go to market,

like traitors to an enemy camp.

Haughty and full of foolish dreams,

they place their wagons full of hides

at the edge of the marketplace.

They glance quickly and silently

all around the marketplace;

they expect to do big business

with an entreating multitude.

People come and people go,

but no one is interested in the hides;

no one inquires eagerly.

After a while, the Mayor,

brandishing his baton,

cries in a hoarse voice:

"Who wants to buy our hides?"

Lowly shoemakers, of those

who have just seven pence, approach.

They are interested in buying

a single intact hide.

One of them asks: "How much

do you have to pay for this cowhide?"

The Mayor responds quickly:

"Three pounds sterling, at once!"

The shoemaker then replies:

"You must be mad as a March hare!"

"Maybe I am, but I will never

budge a penny under three pounds!"

Then the surly shoemaker says:

"You must be joking!" and, in reply,

the Mayor still says sleepily:

"Three pounds, that's the way it is."

Filled with surprise, all the people

in the crowded marketplace

leave their stalls and their shopping´

in order to watch the show.

The Priest, moved by anger,

says sternly to the Mayor:

"You nincompoop!

You don't know how to strike a bargain

by offering them this merchandise!

I swear by my crucifix

that this cowhide is worth three pounds.

Open your purse, shoemaker --

you have heard the entire sum."

The Priest is so business-savvy

that the shoemaker replies:

"There is no stupider salesperson

in the whole face on the Earth!

Let these three nincompoops,

who think hides are the greatest riches,

let them tell us, right here, right now,

what county they come from.

They value seven-penny cowhides

at the highest price.

The people in that county

must always walk barefoot!"

Each side exchanges insults;

it soon becomes a battle.

The group of shoemakers

grow increasingly irritated.

The three fools are seized by the police

and brought before the judge;

they are rebuked according to the law.

As a fine, the trio must

give up all their hides,

which they put to sell at the market

with One-Ox's advice.

They pay off the fine

and wend their way home,

with empty purses

and with empty wagons.

Stripped of that opportunity

but full of resentment,

they decide to kill One-Ox

that day at high noon.

II. THE FLUTE

Never has there been seen

such a deed on this planet

like the one which shrewd One-Ox performed

to soothe the three nincompoops.

Trembling with fear,

thinking he is about to die,

he devises a cunning plan;

he paints his wife red with pig's blood,

and tells her to play dead.

The wife of crafty One-Ox

lies fast asleep in her bed,

all drenched with blood,

in the cottage they share;

as if One-Ox had committed

an uxoricide.

Mrs. One-Ox's body

is like a corpse, caked with blood;

seeing this cruel deed,

the trio forget their fury.

Those who came to kill the husband

lament the murdered wife,

and, as they lament her slaughter,

they loudly reproach One-Ox:

"Why, oh why, you heartless man,

why did you commit

such a dastardly crime?!

Wicked sower of chaos,

you wickedly seduced us;

as we agreed upon your unfortunate business idea,

we have agreed upon your death!

And because of your wife, fool,

you shall receive the cruelest punishment;

uxoricide is not precisely a venial sin."

Confident, One-Ox speaks,

and tricks the trio even more:

"This crime I committed with my sword

is, in fact, curable.

If you three make peace with me,

if you quell the anger in your hearts,

this wife, whom you presume dead,

will in fact resurrect."

"Mote it be so! Mote it be so!"

the three, equally deceived,

exclaim gladly.

"We shall remove

all our hatred from our hearts."

After sizing up

his three chattering enemies,

One-Ox storms to a chest

and takes out a willow flute.

While the fools observe him,

he circles his wife widdershins,

twice, as he foretells

the moment of her resurrection.

With great necromantic powers,

upon completing his third round,

his wife awakes

right as One-Ox says her name.

Standing up, Mrs. One-Ox,

all horrible, caked with blood,

stands before her husband and the trio;

her husband tells her to wash off the blood.

Once her face has been washed

and she has changed into clean clothes,

she seems far more beautiful,

comelier of face and limbs.

The three fools marvel at

the beauty of the resurrected one.

Astonished, they nonetheless

voice their approval.

In whispers they say:

"We have never seen this woman,

who has just been resurrected,

appear so beautiful.

Ere she died she was hideous,

she has come back far comelier.

Blessed be Death for purifying

and beautifying the unsightly!

How sweet the tune of the flute

which resurrects and rejuvenates!

Our wives (Mayor and Sheriff) and house-keeper (Priest)

have been decrepit for ages!

If this flute would bestow

its miraculous powers upon us,

we could kill our wives and house-keeper

and remove all their signs of age!

Let's ask One-Ox to lend it

to each one of us;

or perhaps he may sell us

this wonderful instrument.

Let's try purchasing this flute

so that we may kill our women,

and then bring back them from the dead,

far more adorned with beauty!

When we play this flute,

cruel Death will fly away,

just as he did with Mrs. One-Ox,

whose resurrection we just witnessed.

With rejuvenated wives,

we (Mayor and Sheriff) will remarry them!

Let's offer One-Ox some money

so that we may purchase this flute!"

For having offered great sums,

they have managed to buy the flute;

after the purchase,

they turn their minds to insanity.

The Priest says to his two pals:

"I pray, I solemnly beg of you

to be the first of us three

to try it on my house-keeper.

C'mon! This resurrection flute

should bring me great happiness.

First I will end my house-keeper's

old age by slitting her throat.

After me, both of you,

having slaughtered your wives like cows,

will play this miracle flute for them."

The other two, who adore the Priest,

agree to his request

that he should try the flute first.

Excited by such foolishness,

the Priest, with his flute in tow,

takes off towards home.

He kisses his house-keeper farewell,

and he strokes her hair lightly.

When the Priest shows her the kitchen knife,

she says to her smiling master:

"What are you planning, dear?

Please don't do anything wicked!"

The murderous Priest replies:

"Now I will gently slit your throat,

and you'll return in a youthful body

when I play this flute."

The house-keeper just says "Alas!"

right before her throat is slit.

And the foolish Priest

cries out his thanks to the LORD.

He puts the flute to his lips

and plays the tune One-Ox played

quite presumptuously,

circling the corpse thrice, widdershins,

and, after that,

he begins to curse as vulgarly as he can:

"Wake up, you sly faker!

Wake up, you dirty ape!

Stubborn as a mule,

raise your head at these tunes!"

At this time, the Sheriff, passing by,

hears the Priest yell out curses,

he is about to kill his (the Sheriff's) wife,

about to try the flute's powers.

And, right after the murder,

he visits the Priest, who is in mourning,

to receive the flute,

in order to resurrect his wife.

When the flute is finally

in the Sheriff's hands,

he asks the Priest:

"Did she rise as a young girl?"

"You will not see my house-keeper

until she arrives

at the church-door,

by your wife's side."

The uxoricidal Sheriff,

taking leave of his senses,

returns home to his mansion

with the flute in hand.

Never, ever did a cleric,

his horn mooing like a cow,

play more clearly and more deeply

than that nimrod of a Sheriff.

His playing, however, is as profitable

as empty air inside the flute.

Just as the Priest's house-keeper,

so did the Sheriff's wife resurrect.

The Mayor is not the least,

but the last in committing murder.

He slays his wife and plays the flute,

but she doesn't return either.

The three slain women,

now corpses, mere clay,

each one in her casket,

arrive at church as the dawn

lights up the mournful funeral.

After all this insanity,

the three corpses are buried,

lowered into the graves

to the tune of mournful dirges.

Leaving the triple funeral,

the three lunatics, sighing deeply,

whisper to each other:

"Let's kill One-Ox 

the sooner, the better!

Who took all our cattle

and then swindled us again,

when he said his magic flute

resurrected and rejuvenated women?

We should destroy the author

of all such shenanigans!

Let a cruel, violent death

fall upon his peasant head!"

TO BE CONTINUED...