Covid Journal, Day 204: Pears--Folklore, Stories and More

A rainy weekend, and cloudy today with showers expected tonight. Warmer, with a high near 80 today.

No one ever died for a bite

of one, or came back from the dead

for a single taste: the cool flesh

cellular or stony, white

--from Pear, by Paisley Rekdal

My post last week about pears got me wondering if there are superstitions, folklore or stories connected with this fruit. And, of course, there is. I also wondered about the origin of pears. Are they originally from Asia--thinking of Asian pears--or some other place?

I found only a few superstitions connected to pears. For example, did you know that in China, you should never give someone a pear, or share a pear with someone, because that could be bad news for your relationship. According to what I found online, this is because the Chinese word for pear is very similar to the word for leaving, or parting. This does make me wonder if this is just a way to keep all the pears to oneself.

As to where pears come from, I found the following information on the Purdue Horticulture site: "The origin and early history of pear is well described in The Pears of New York by Hedrick (1921) and this review draws heavily on this great compilation. The genus Pyrus, native to the Northern Hemisphere of the Old World, consists of about 20 species of which half are found in Europe, North Africa, and Asia minor; and half in Asia. These have given rise to two groups of domesticated pears, the soft-fleshed European Pyrus communis and the crisp-fleshed Asiatic pears, principally P. pyrifolia (P. serotina). The pear has continually been a common fruit in the West as well and is considered part of the cultural heritage of Europe. In fact, in present day Spain there is a juvenile expression, Esto es “La Pera” (this is the pear), when referring to a particularly wonderful or enjoyable situation or experience. The precise origin of the European pear is still unknown but it has been with us since prehistoric times and dried slices have been unearthed in Swiss cave dwellings of the Ice Age. In Asia, the culture of pear goes back 2500–3000 years and has been chronicled in Chinese writings (Shi Jing) from at least 1200 years ago."  https://www.hort.purdue.edu/newcrop/janick-papers/pearinhistory.pdf

Painting by Paul Cezanne

And from the same source: "In Egyptian antiquity the pear was sacred to Isis. In Christian symbolism the pear frequently appears in connection with Christ’s love for mankind (Jakes 1961). In China, the pear is symbolic of justice, longevity, purity, wisdom, and benevolent administration. In Korea, the pear typifies grace, nobility, and purity, and the pear tree, comfort. There are a number of Korean legends which involve the pear as endowing fertility to women, good fortune in exams, wisdom, and health, while the pear flower, by its whiteness, is symbolic of the face of beautiful women and the transience of petals is a metaphor for the sadness and coldness of departure. In the Western “language of flowers” the pear blossom is the birthday flower for August 17 symbolizing affection (Ferguson, 1954). In many parts of the world the pear symbolizes the human heart which it resembles."

So to answer my own question, yes indeed, there are quite a few superstitions connected to the sweet pear. Fertility, wisdom, purity, grace, beauty. All good things, surely.

But then there is Lizzie Borden, who claimed she could not have killed her parents because she was outside eating a pear when they were murdered. Allrighty then. Seems a weak defense to me. A rather grisly connection to the pear, I'm afraid. But apparently enough to get her acquitted.

I found two folktales in which pears play a prominent role. 

The Golden Pears

Painting by Paul Cezanne

There was once a poor farmer in Bürs  (Austria). He had only three sons and a pear-tree that grew in front of his cottage. But these pears were very fine and the king delighted in them. One day the farmer said to his sons that he would send a basket of them to the king for a present.

He lined a basket with fresh leaves, laid the pears on them and sent his oldest son to offer them to the king. 

"Do not eat any of the pears, mind," the farmer said. "These are for the King alone.And don't let anyone rob you on the way." 

The boy answered: "I know how to take care of what I have."

The farmer covered the top of the basket with fresh leaves and the oldest son set off.

It was autumn, and the sun was still quite warm. When he came at last to a roadside fountain, he sat down to drink and rest.

A bent, wrinkled old woman was washing some rags at the same fountain and singing out of tune.

"A fair day, my lad!" said the little old wife; "but you have to carry a heavy burden. What are you carrying?"

"Only a load of sweepings off the road," answered the boy.

"Road-sweepings?" repeated the woman. "Well, if you mean it, no doubt it is so," and she went on washing and singing out of tune.

The boy soon continued on his way to the castle, where the King welcomed him at once.

"You have brought me some of your father's pears, my boy?" asked the King as he licked his lips.

"Yes, sire, I have them in this basket."

The King was delighted to hear this, but what do you think? Under the leaves was nothing but sweepings off the road! The poor oldest son was thrown into jail for disappointing the King, and lying on top of it.

The first and second day in jail the boy blamed the old wife, but as he thought more closely, he saw he had brought it on himself by lying to her.

A year later, the farmer said to his other two sons, "Your elder brother has perhaps pleased the King so much that he has got a great office near him and has become a rich man."

The second brother said, "May I give the King a basket of pears too? If the King makes me rich, I will send for you and make you rich too."

"Well said, son," answered the father; "for I have worked hard for you all my life and it is fit that in my old age you should share your wealth with me."

As the season for pears had just come round again, the second son made another basket, lined it with fresh leaves and laid several beautiful pears in it.

The following day, he walked a long way carrying the pears. But the sun was as hot as it had been last year. When he came to the fountain by the wayside on the third day, he was glad to sit down to rest and refresh himself.

Who do you think was at the fountain? Why, the same old doubled-up woman. She stood washing her rags at the fountain and singing out of tune. When she saw the boy with his basket, she said, "I see you carry a heavy burden. What are you carrying?"

"A load of sweepings off the road," answered the boy, for he and his elder brother had come up with that answer together last year, when they were considering how to keep from being robbed.

"Road-sweepings?" repeated the woman. "Well, if you mean it, no doubt it is so." And she went on washing and singing out of tune.

The boy went on to the King's castle. When he brought his basket to the King it was once again filled with street-sweepings, not his father's luscious pears. The King's guard hurried him off to jail for offending the king like that, and put him in the next cell to his brother.

Another year passed. The father got very uneasy. The third son was thought to be a dull boy and had often been laughed at by the others for it.

"If I dared trust you, I would gladly send you to see what has happened to your brothers," said his father.

"I can go, Father," he said. "I'll find my brothers, I promise."

"Do you really think you can keep yourself out of harm's way?" said his father. "Well, I will not let you go empty-handed." The pears were just ripe again, so he laid the choicest of the year's stock in another basket and sent him on his way.

The boy walked along. All went smoothly, except that he got rather scorched by the sun. So when he reached the fountain by the wayside, he was glad to sit down to rest and refresh himself.

The old wife was washing her rags in the water and singing out of tune. "Here comes a third boy with a basket of pears - as if I didn't know the scent of ripe golden pears from road-sweepings!"

"Good morning, little mother!" said the boy, in his countryman way, before he sat down.

"He is better mannered than the other two," thought the wife as she stopped singing to return his greeting.

"And what are you carrying, my boy?" she went on. "It ought to be a precious burden to be worth carrying so far as you seem to have come. What is in your basket?"

"I carry golden pears and my father often says there are no finer grown in the whole kingdom. I am taking them to the King because he is very fond of them."

"Only ripe pears and yet so heavy?" wondered the old wife.

The boy assured her they were nothing but pears and went on his journey after the rest.

When the servants saw another peasant boy from Bürs come to the palace with the story that he had pears for the King, they said, "No, no! We have had enough of that! Go back!"

But the boy was so disappointed at the idea of not doing as his father had asked him to, that he sank down on the door-step and sobbed bitterly. There he remained sobbing till the king came out.

The king had his daughter with him. When she saw the boy sobbing, she asked what was the matter, and learnt it was another boy from Bürs who had come to insult the King with a basket of road-sweepings. The guards asked if they should take him off to prison at once.

The boy sobbed: "My father says there are no finer pears in the whole kingdom."

"Yes, yes, that is exactly what the others said!" answered the servants, and made ready to drag him away.

"But won't you look at my pears first, lady? I have brought them all this way for the King. My father will be so sad if I do not give them to him!"

He seemed so earnest that the princess wanted to see what was in his basket. She removed the covering of leaves and discovered that what he had brought were golden pears - each was of solid shining metal! "Let us show these to my father," she said.

The King was pleased to see his favourite fruit in gold, and said to the boy, "Whatever you ask shall be given."

"All I want is to find my two brothers, who may hold some great office at court," said the boy.

"Your brothers are in jail if they are the ones I suspect," said the King and commanded that they should be brought. The boys at once ran to embrace each other, and the King made them each recount all their adventures.

"You see how dangerous it is to depart from the truth!" the King said to the two eldest when they had done. "You might have remained in prison to the end of your days but for your straightforward brother that you thought was less than yourselves."

Then he ordered that the tree that brought forth golden, but eatable pears should be transplanted to his palace, and made the father and his three sons places among his gardeners. And so they lived in plenty and were well content.

Here is yet one more pear story, and I rather like this one. Aunty Misery, below, is believed to be from Puerto Rico. The story of Soldier Jack, also known as The Man Who Caught Death in a Sack, has a similar theme--it is told as an Appalachian tale, but probably has roots in England. The folklorist Arthur Ransome has a version from Russia, and I am sure there are many others.  It is also very like Godfather Death, from The Brothers Grimm. I do love the way stories, or parts of them travel from culture to culture. I found this story on several sites online.

Aunty Misery 

This is a story about an old, very old woman who lived alone in her little hut with no other company than a beautiful pear tree that grew at her door. 

She spent all her time taking care of her pear tree. But the neighborhood children drove the old woman crazy by stealing her fruit. They would climb her tree, shake its delicate limbs, and run away with armloads of golden pears, yelling insults at “Aunty Misery,” as they called her. 

One day, a pilgrim stopped at the old woman’s hut and asked her permission to spend the night under her roof. Aunty Misery saw that he had an honest face and bade the traveler come in. She fed him and made a bed for him in front of her hearth. 

In the morning while he was getting ready to leave, the stranger told her that he would show his gratitude for her hospitality by granting her one wish. 

“There is only one thing that I desire,” said Aunty Misery. 

“Ask, and it shall be yours,” replied the stranger, who was a sorcerer in disguise. 

“I wish that anyone who climbs up my pear tree should not be able to come back down until I permit it.” 

“Your wish is granted,” said the stranger, touching the pear tree as he left Aunty Misery’s house. 

And so it happened that when the children came back to taunt the old woman and to steal her fruit, she stood at her window watching them. Several of them shimmied up the trunk of the pear tree and immediately got stuck to it as if with glue. She let them cry and beg her for a long time before she gave the tree permission to let them go, on the condition that they never again steal her fruit or bother her. 

 Time passed and both Aunty Misery and her tree grew bent and gnarled with age. One day another traveler stopped at her door. This one looked exhausted, so the old woman asked him what he wanted in her village. 

He answered her in a voice that was dry and hoarse, as if he had swallowed a desert: “I am Death, and I have come to take you with me.” 

Thinking fast, Aunty Misery said, “All right, but before I go I would like to pluck some pears from my beloved pear tree to remember how much pleasure it brought me in this life. But I am a very old woman and cannot climb to the tallest branches where the best fruit is; will you be so kind as to do it for me?” 

With a heavy sigh like wind through a catacomb, Death climbed the pear tree. Immediately he became stuck to it as if with glue. And no matter how much he cursed and threatened, Aunty Misery would not give the tree permission to release Death. 

Many years passed and there were no deaths in the world. The people who made their living from death began to protest loudly. The doctors claimed no one bothered to come in for examinations or treatments anymore, because they did not fear dying; the pharmacists’ business suffered too because medicines are, like magic potions, bought to prevent or postpone the inevitable; the priests and undertakers were unhappy with the situation also, for obvious reasons. There were also many old folks tired of life who wanted to pass on to the next world to rest from the miseries of this one. 

Aunty Misery realized all this, and not wishing to be unfair, she made a deal with her prisoner, Death: if he promised not ever to come for her again, she would give him his freedom. He agreed. 

And that is why so long as the world is the world, Aunty Misery will always live. 

Closing this very long post with this poem by Ruth Stone:

The Pear

There hangs this bellied pear, let no rake doubt,

Meat for the tongue and febrile to the skin,

Wasting for the mildew and the rot,

A tallow rump slow rounded, a pelt thin

And for the quickest bite; so, orchard bred,

Heaviest downward from the shaking stem.

Whose fingers curve around the ripened head

Lust to split so fine a diadem.

There is the picker, stretches for the knife,

There are the ravening who claw the fruit,

More, those adjuring wax that lasts a life,

And foxes, freak for cunning, after loot.

For that sweet suck the hornet whines his wits,

But husbandman will dry her for the pits.

December 1951

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.