You know that the wren is a vile bird - worse, much worse even than a bat - that he is simply a notorious deceiver, and therefore there is nothing to be surprised that we hunt for him and catch him. Despite being only the size of your finger, the wren is considered the king of birds, a title it acquired through low cunning.
In the days of the great Colm Kill, saint and prophet, birds from all over the world flocked to choose a king for themselves. But since everyone aimed at this high post, the birds could not come to an agreement, and very soon a real war broke out between them - a bloody battle that raged for three years in all the forests of the world.
Finally, the wise old crow suggested that everyone give the choice to Saint Colm Kill.
Everyone agreed, and from all corners of the earth, darkness and darkness of birds flew in, so that they even blackened the sky over Donegal, where this saint lived. The saint came out to them from his small hut and asked what they wanted. The birds told him everything and promised to obey his decision.
Then Colm ordered them to go down and sit on the ground. And they descended and covered all the hills and valleys, and streams, and even lakes - after all, there were tons of them. And, turning to them, the saint said:
- The best and strongest bird is the one among you that can fly the highest. She should be considered the king of birds!
Everyone agreed that such a decision would be wise and fair. And then the saint said that he would give them a sign when to take off, and the bird that rose the highest would be called the King of Birds upon its return.
As soon as the saint gave the sign, all the birds flew up, and the people who were watching them saw how first one of the birds got tired and fell down; then the other, poor thing, got tired and fell down; then the third got tired and fell down, and so everyone, one after another, got tired and fell down, until finally there was only one bird left, which was still soaring in the heights.
It was an eagle.
But out of vanity, it seemed to the eagle that it was not enough to rise just a little higher than the other birds in order to descend to the ground as a king. In his vanity, he continued to soar higher and higher, until finally he could not rise another inch and was unable to flap his wings even once more.
And as he froze in the air, proud of his flight and confident that he would land on the ground as the King of the Birds, suddenly a small wren flew up from his back - he had been sitting there all the time - rose up another foot, and then landed on the ground as the King of the Birds!
The saint had to keep his word and bestow the royal title on this pathetic scoundrel. But he was so angry with him for this base trick that he cursed him never again to fly higher above the earth than he rose that day over the eagle’s wing.
And from that very day to this day we can see for ourselves how the wren flies from bush to bush, from one hedge to another, never flying above the ground above our knee - it is pinned to the ground by the weight of the holy curse.
In the old days they said: “We often pay for our language with a broken nose.”
Translated from Russian · original on wisdomlib.ru