The Conjure Woman by Charles W. Chesnutt (7 ebook reader .TXT) 📕
Description
The Conjure Woman is a collection of fantastical stories narrated by Julius, a former slave, about life on the nearby plantations prior to the Civil War. Each involves an element of magic, be it a vine that dooms those who eat from it or a man transformed into a tree to avoid being separated from his wife. Julius’s audience, a married couple who have just moved to the South to cultivate grapes, listen on with mixed sympathy and disbelief. They disagree on whether Julius is telling the truth and whether there is some deeper significance to the tales. At turns humorous and unsettling, these stories provide a surprising lens into the realities of slavery.
The text is notable for spelling out Julius’s spoken accent. Although Julius has some stereotypical features of a simple-minded old slave, he is often regarded as a more clever and complicated figure. He seems to tell his tales not only to entertain his listeners, but to trick them to his advantage.
Many of these stories first appeared in national magazines, where they received popular acclaim, before being assembled as their own volume in 1899. Charles W. Chesnutt’s race was not mentioned by the publisher, nor could many guess his African heritage based on his appearance. However, Chesnutt embraced his African-American identity and was a prominent activist for black rights. The Conjure Woman, his first book, is considered an important early work of African-American fiction.
This edition includes four additional Julius tales that appeared in magazines but were not collected during Chesnutt’s lifetime.
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- Author: Charles W. Chesnutt
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“Now, dis yer jay-bird de cunjuh man had wuz a monst’us sma’t creeter—fac’, de niggers ’lowed he wuz de ole Debbil hisse’f, des settin’ roun’ waitin’ ter kyar dis ole man erway w’en he’d retch’ de een’ er his rope. De cunjuh man sont dis jay-bird fer ter watch Dan en fin’ out whar he kep’ his cha’m. De jay-bird hung roun’ Dan fer a week er so, en one day he seed Dan go down by de ribber en look at a live-oak tree; en den de jay-bird went back ter his marster, en tol’ ’im he ’spec’ de nigger kep’ his life-cha’m under dat tree.
“De cunjuh man lafft en lafft, en he put on his bigges’ pot, en fill’ it wid his stronges’ roots, en b’iled it en b’iled it, ’tel bimeby de win’ blowed en blowed, ’tel it blowed down de live-oak tree. Den he stirred some more roots in de pot, en it rained en rained ’tel de water run down de ribber bank en wash’ Dan’s life-cha’m inter de ribber, en de bottle went bobbin’ down de current des ez onconsarned ez ef it wa’n’t takin’ po’ Dan’s chances all ’long wid it. En den de cunjuh man lafft some mo’, en ’lowed ter hisse’f dat he wuz gwine ter fix Dan now, sho’ ’nuff; he wa’n’t gwine ter kill ’im des yet, fer he could do sump’n ter ’im w’at would hu’t wusser ’n killin’.
“So dis cunjuh man ’mence’ by gwine up ter Dan’s cabin eve’y night, en takin’ Dan out in his sleep en ridin’ ’im roun’ de roads en fiel’s ober de rough groun’. In de mawnin’ Dan would be ez ti’ed ez ef he hadn’ be’n ter sleep. Dis kin’ er thing kep’ up fer a week er so, en Dan had des ’bout made up his min’ fer ter go en see Aun’ Peggy ag’in, w’en who sh’d he come across, gwine ’long de road one day, to’ds sundown, but dis yer cunjuh man. Dan felt kinder skeered at fus’; but den he ’membered ’bout his life-cha’m, w’ich he hadn’ be’n ter see fer a week er so, en ’lowed wuz safe en soun’ unner de live-oak tree, en so he hilt up ’is head en walk’ ’long, des lack he didn’ keer nuffin ’bout dis man no mo’ d’n any yuther nigger. W’en he got close ter de cunjuh man, dis cunjuh man sez, sezee:—
“ ‘Hoddy, Brer Dan? I hopes you er well?’
“W’en Dan seed de cunjuh man wuz in a good humor en didn’ ’pear ter bear no malice, Dan ’lowed mebbe de cunjuh man hadn’ foun’ out who killt his son, en so he ’termine’ fer ter let on lack he didn’ know nuffin, en so sezee:—
“ ‘Hoddy, Unk’ Jube?’—dis ole cunjuh man’s name wuz Jube. ‘I’s p’utty well, I thank you. How is you feelin’ dis mawnin’?’
“ ‘I’s feelin’ ez well ez a’ ole nigger could feel w’at had los’ his only son, en his main ’pen’ence in ’is ole age.
“ ‘But den my son wuz a bad boy,’ sezee, ‘en I couldn’ ’spec’ nuffin e’se. I tried ter l’arn him de arrer er his ways en make him go ter chu’ch en pra’r-meetin’; but it wa’n’t no use. I dunno who killt ’im, en I doan wanter know, fer I’d be mos’ sho’ ter fin’ out dat my boy had sta’ted de fuss. Ef I’d ’a’ had a son lack you, Brer Dan, I’d ’a’ be’n a proud nigger; oh, yas, I would, sho’s you bawn. But you ain’ lookin’ ez well ez you oughter, Brer Dan. Dey’s sump’n de matter wid you, en w’at’s mo’, I ’spec’ you dunno w’at it is.’
“Now, dis yer kin’ er talk nach’ly th’owed Dan off’n his gya’d, en fus’ thing he knowed he wuz talkin’ ter dis ole cunjuh man des lack he wuz one er his bes’ frien’s. He tol’ ’im all ’bout not feelin’ well in de mawnin’, en ax’ ’im ef he could tell w’at wuz de matter wid ’im.
“ ‘Yas,’ sez de cunjuh man. ‘Dey is a witch be’n ridin’ you right ’long. I kin see de marks er de bridle on yo’ mouf. En I’ll des bet yo’ back is raw whar she’s be’n beatin’ you.’
“ ‘Yas,’ ’spon’ Dan, ‘so it is.’ He hadn’ notice it befo’, but now he felt des lack de hide had be’n tuk off’n ’im.
“ ‘En yo’ thighs is des raw whar de spurrers has be’n driv’ in you,’ sez de cunjuh man. ‘You can’t see de raw spots, but you kin feel ’em.’
“ ‘Oh, yas,’ ’lows Dan, ‘dey does hu’t pow’ful bad.’
“ ‘En w’at’s mo’,’ sez de cunjuh man, comin’ up close ter Dan en whusp’in’ in his yeah, ‘I knows who it is be’n ridin’ you.’
“ ‘Who is it?’ ax’ Dan. ‘Tell me who it is.’
“ ‘It’s a’ ole nigger ’oman down by Rockfish Crick. She had a pet rabbit, en you cotch’ ’im one day, en she’s been squarin’ up wid you eber sence. But you better stop her, er e’se you’ll be rid ter def in a mont’ er so.’
“ ‘No,’ sez Dan, ‘she can’t kill me, sho’.’
“ ‘I dunno how dat is,’ said de cunjuh man, ‘but she kin make yo’ life mighty mis’able. Ef I wuz in yo’ place, I’d stop her right off.’
“ ‘But how is I gwine ter stop her?’ ax’ Dan. ‘I dunno nuffin ’bout stoppin’ witches.’
“ ‘Look a heah, Dan,’ sez de yuther; ‘you is a good young man. I lacks you monst’us well. Fac’, I feels lack some er dese days I mought buy you fum yo’ marster, ef I could eber make money ernuff at my bizness dese hard times, en ’dop’ you fer my son. I lacks you so well dat I’m gwine ter he’p you git rid er dis yer witch fer good en all; fer des
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