Boab

Tomorrow: more on Montreal; Birbal commentary; and a new fairy tale.

Reading

This morning, I was asked what contemporary authors I’ve read. At first, I couldn’t think of any. For someone who loves to read, it was a frightening feeling. Why couldn’t I recall anything sitting on the shelf by my desk? Am I reading and not retaining? Am I untouched by contemporary literature?

I don’t think so. At least, I hope not.

I think part of the answer lies in what I read, and why. Children’s fiction makes up a large part of my reading list—I’m working toward publishing children’s stories, so I’m reading children’s stories. Then there are the craft books, the fairy tale books, and the general studies books I use for my posts, my curiosity, and improving my work. Then come the pleasure books.

The last book I read simply for the joy of reading was Cat’s Cradle. This is not to say that I haven’t enjoyed many of the work-related books: Scott Westerfeld’s Uglies, Pretties, Specials trilogy has stayed with me, as have Shannon Hale’s Book of a Thousand Days and Lois Lowry’s Number the Stars. William Sleator’s The Boy Who Couldn’t Die sends icy breaths sliding down my neck whenever I think of it (and, by association, Kochkehi the Deathless). Ursula Le Guin’s Steering the Craft and Betsy Lerner’s The Forest For The Trees regularly whisper advice in my ear and Richard Bach’s Ferret Chronicles: Writer Ferrets Following The Muse is my go-to book when the rejection letter arrives and I need a little solace.

So what do I actually read when I’m not working? Even now, it’s a hard question to answer. Somewhat surprisingly, Facebook has come to the rescue with its Visual Bookshelf[1] Application. Linked to several databases, Visual Bookshelf allows readers to search, locate, and record the books they’ve read. For someone as forgetful as me, such a gadget is a beautiful tool. So, once I was back at my computer, I loaded up Facebook and started skimming my virtual shelf.

What contemporary authors (where contemporary is defined as published within the past few years) have I read of late? Am I locking myself into a specific genre? What do you think?

Well, there’s William Gibson’s Pattern Recognition and Spook Country, a pair of science-fiction-come cyber-punk novels; Terry Pratchett’s fantasy-comedy about the Ankh Morpork mint, Making Money; Maria Tatar’s Annotated Hans Christian Andersen and Annotated Brothers Grimm compilations (okay, so maybe as re-reads and notes on old tales, they don’t count); Martin Page’s marvellous How I Became Stupid; Ursula LeGuin’s Gifts (I’m in love with the simple yet emotional style of her story-telling); Seamus Heaney’s Beowulf (I read the Norton Anthology version back in 2000, then a good friend recommended the Heaney edition); Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (crossover); Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code (I know, I’m ashamed, but it came highly recommended); I’m still reading (and enjoying) A Thousand Splendid Suns, by Khaled Hosseini; Neil Gaiman’s Smoke and Mirrors (re-read, but full of exquisitely unusual stories); Sue Monk Kidd’s often gentle, occasionally harsh Secret Life of Bees; Tim Winton’s spare but somehow scenic Dirt Music (he has a fair bit of shelf space); The Botany of Desire, Michael Pollan’s in-depth look at the history of four of the world’s most interesting plants; Piero Ferrucci’s The Power of Kindness (this is my favourite book at present—I’ll review it soon); Alan Alda’s Never Have Your Dog Stuffed (he’s a long time favourite actor of mine); Jaclyn Moriarty’s disturbingly believable yet occasionally darkly amusing I Have A Bed Made Of Buttermilk Pancakes; Irshad Manji’s The Trouble With Islam, a sometimes articulate, sometimes ill-reasoned look at Islam in the Western World; Melina Marchetta’s On The Jellicoe Road which, although technically YA, I found on my twenty-something sister-in-law’s bookshelf and read as a would-be adult novel while visiting home; and, of course, Stephen Colbert’s ridiculous and depressingly amusing I Am America And So Can You.

So why, when asked, can I not remember any of these books? It’s not that I didn’t like them. True, I found Making Money disappointing and The DaVinci Code a bit painful, but many of the above—particularly The Power of Kindness, Smoke and Mirrors, Gifts, Dirt Music, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, and On The Jellicoe Road—still chase one another about the corners of my mind. Each book has, in some way, affected me, moved me, challenged me and I often find myself returning to review a dog-eared page. But I think, as my focus on building a portfolio and improving my writing continues to grow, these books have set up shop in a private crook of my mind, a spot just for me where I can ruminate, revisit, and savour.

Or, I could just be even more forgetful than usual when put on the spot. But the first option certainly sounds better.

Footnotes:

[1]Another great widget is LibraryThing, which allows users to create widgets for their websites and chat to other, similarly inclined readers.

Montreal

It’s cold. Tres frais, as they say en francais.

I’m in Montreal just now, for a mixture of work and pleasure. We’re doing all the touristy things around Montreal in winter—shopping in the underground city, visiting museums, and drinking a lot of rather nice coffee. I hadn’t realised just how much I missed drinking macchiatos until I arrived here.

This is my first trip to a non-English speaking place—it’s interesting, but difficult. Joe and I have been practising our French together and in restaurants. We seem to be making ourselves understood well enough. All the people are friendly and they are very kind—helping us with the language, and keeping their amusement to themselves.

I’ve been making notes to post some impressions of the city, along with our adventures and photographs—I hope to get to that in the next few days. Visiting a city, learning a language, and keeping up with work is quite exhausting! And so to bed, to bed, to bed…

Fairy Tale Fridays: Birbal and the Faithful Gardener

Raja Birbal

Discussing legends in the Maiden of Brakel commentary reminded me of this one.

*

When the wise man Birbal had made a name for himself, people came from far and wide to consult him.

This day, Birbal arrived home to find a pretty woman resting on his doorstep. “Come, come, sister,” he said, helping her to her feet. “I have some good mangoes here. Let us go inside, and we’ll share sorrows, eh?”

Seated on the floor of Birbal’s hut, the woman toyed restlessly with her fruit. “Ah, I don’t know what you can do, bhaia,” she sighed, “but the Emperor has arrested my husband! He has always been a faithful subject and devoted servant, and he works hard as a gardener for the Emperor but…Please help us. Please come," she wept, “I know my husband will want to see you.”

Soon after, Birbal presented himself at the palace gaol, and requested an interview with the new prisoner. The guards, recognising the wise man, led him to the gardener's cell.

Seated in a corner, the gardener stared at the wall. His fingers twisted about in his lap, and his eyes were red with weeping. When the cell door clanged open, he closed his eyes. “I am not hungry,” he said. “You are welcome to my food.”

“Ah,” laughed Birbal’s escort, said the kind-hearted guard. “I would not take your khichiri! Now, come forward and smile, for I bring a guest.” Turning his head, the unfortunate gardener opened his eyes—then rushed forward to greet the wise man. “Birbal!” he cried. “How is my wife? Was she well when you saw her?”

“Ah yes, bhaia, she was, she was in her body. But her heart …” he shrugged. “She is worried for you.” Shaking his head, the other man sank to the ground, then pulled his knees into his chest. “All for a stone,” he murmured. “I am jailed because of a stone!” Slow and creaking, Birbal sat down. “Come bhaia,” he said gently, “tell me all about it.”

The gardener sighed. “I suppose…you did come to see me, after all. But Birbal! Even you cannot help me now!” Birbal leaned forward, silent and patient.

“Yesterday, the Emperor walked in the royal garden, and he was in a very poor mood, shouting and cursing. The other gardeners and some of the courtiers ran off and hid, but I was planting in the herb beds, near the kitchen, and so I didn’t hear His Majesty’s steps.

"Just as he reached my herb beds, the Emperor stumbled, tripping on a small stone lying on the path. He cursed even louder now and his face grew red with rage. And, and then, seeing me nearby, he shouted that I had neglected my work and demanded the guards place me under arrest!” Dipping his head, the gardener stared at the ground. “I am being executed tomorrow. And all because of a silly stone!”

Birbal laid a hand on the gardener’s shoulder. “Ah, bhaia,” he said. “We shall see. We shall see.”

The next morning, the gardener was brought before the Emperor, as was the custom. “Well?” grunted the Emperor. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Glancing at Birbal—who made the tiniest of nods—the gardener strode toward the throne, then spat at the Emperor’s feet!

Quickly, Birbal stepped forward. “Your Majesty,” he said, “Please excuse this gardener. He is as faithful to you as your most loyal servant, and obedient as the best-behaved children.”

The Emperor raised his eyebrows. “Birbal!” he shouted. “What nonsense is this? Why do you defend this man, when he has just insulted me?”

Birbal shrugged. “Since you are going to execute my good friend for something as silly as a stone in the path, he thought he may as well earn his hanging.”

Sighing, the Emperor waved toward his guards. “Release the gardener, and see that he is compensated,” he said. He looked at the wise man. “And we, Birbal, shall go for a walk in the garden.”

Commentary: The Maiden of Brakel

The Virgin and Child with St. Anne, by Leonardo Da Vinci

A short and somewhat simple tale collected by the von Haxthausen family, The Maiden of Brakel gives us a feisty heroine who not only knows what she wants, but is willing to do something to get it. When she is put down, by a voice she thinks is the Virgin Mary no less, the maiden is not afraid to stand up and claim her place.

The patron saint of Brakel, Saint Anne is, in Christian tradition, the mother of the Virgin Mary. Gospel tells us that she and her husband, Joachim, were childless for many years when, one day, an angel appeared and informed the couple that they would soon conceive—and so Mary[1] was born. Unsurprisingly, Saint Anne is also the patron saint of women in labour, pregnant women, housewives, mothers, and childless women[2].

There are several ways to depict Saint Anne, but one of the most recognisable images is of her holding Mary, who in turn holds Christ. The triple depiction, usually reserved for persons of the same gender, is particularly interesting.

Now, let us return to the story: with her knowledge of Christianity, the maiden of Brakel makes a pilgrimage to ask help from Saint Anne, a woman whom she knows has been through the marriage, sex, and childbirth, all of which the maiden clearly wants.

"Oh, holy Saint Anne!
Help me soon to a man.
Thou know'st him right well,
By Suttmer gate does he dwell,
His hair it is golden,
Thou know'st him right well."

The tone is saucy, almost knowing; in describing the man she wants to the Saint, the maiden also describes what she is attracted to; in asking for help to a man, we see the maiden presenting herself as ready to move on to the next stage of her life.

The clerk, however, was standing behind the altar and heard that, so he cried in a very gruff voice, "Thou shalt not have him! Thou shalt not have him!"

I have also read of the clerk’s voice being high-pitched and shrill, which is perhaps more fitting. The gruffness of the voice described here gives it a masculine tone which, although appropriate from the clerk, does not fit with the idea of the cry coming from the child Mary. The maiden of Brakel is no fool—if the voice were recgonisably male, she would know it was not from a supernatural source.

Why is this cry important? Hearing the maiden so clearly state her desire is too much for the clerk, and in shouting out thusly he is deriding her sexuality, her ability to raise herself out of poverty[3], and her self-worth. The maiden, however, is prepared to ---, returning, “Fiddle de dee, conceited thing, hold your tongue, and let your mother speak!"

Sometimes “fiddle de dee” is replaced with “tra la la”, but this is most likely a regional and/or translation issue. But the important thing to note here is the maiden’s response—unlike the more traditional female protagonists, the maiden of Brakel is not afraid of sex, not afraid of change, not afraid of her consciousness. She is no Sleeping Beauty, snoozing through sex and childbirth, only to awake to motherhood and infants’ suckling, missing the change, being thrust into a new life. No, the maiden of Brakel is actively seeking her destiny.

Finally: although the Maiden of Brakel was first published in a fairy tale anthology, it was later published as a legend in the aptly named German Legends. What’s the difference? The OED defines a legend as “a traditional story sometimes popularly regarded as historical but unauthenticated[4]”, while Wikipedia suggests that a legend is “a meme that propagates through a culture[5]”. In contrast, a fairy tale is “a children's story about magical and imaginary beings and lands[6]” while Katharine Briggs has defined fairy tales as “narratives containing or hinging upon supernatural happenings[7]”. Re-reading the Maiden of Brakel, it becomes immediately apparent that the story is a cleaner fit in the first category than the second, and, as Valerie Paradiz points out, we can almost imagine the story—an easily believable story, moreover—eliciting “rebellious peals of laughter from young women of the age who saw the dark humour of it”.

[1]In the mid seventeenth century, the Church rejected the belief that Anne was married three times, and had a daughter, Mary, by each husband.
[2] Paradiz, p. 135
[3] Paradiz, p. 136
[4] Oxford English Dictionary, p. 517
[5] Wikipedia Entry: Legend, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend
[6] Oxford English Dictionary, p. 321
[7] Briggs, p. 1
[8] Paradiz, p. 136

References:
The Patron Saints Index, http://saints.sqpn.com/sainta03.htm
Paradiz, Valerie, Clever Maids: The Secret History of The Grimm Fairy Tales, Basic Books, 2005.
Wikipedia Entry: Legend, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Legend
Briggs, Katherine. A Dictionary of British Folk-tales in the English Language, Indiana University Press, 1970.

Liberal Shmarts

Just a short note--my friend, Cat Mooney, has an article in the Weekly Dig this week. I think this is her first freelance article, and it's fantastic. You can check it out in the soapbox column of the paper, or here.

Tulip in the rain

Cinderella: The White Cat (Part II of II), by Madame d'Aulnoy

White Cat II, MC Escher

This time she was expecting him, the path was strewn with flowers, and a thousand braziers were burning scented woods which perfumed the air. Seated in a gallery from which she could see his arrival, the White Cat waited for him. "Well, King's son," she said, "here you are once more, without a crown." "Madam," said he, "thanks to your generosity I have earned one twice over; but the fact is that my father is so loth to part with it that it would be no pleasure to me to take it."

"Never mind," she answered, "it's just as well to try and deserve it. As you must take back a lovely princess with you next time I will be on the look-out for one for you. In the meantime let us enjoy ourselves; to-night I have ordered a battle between my cats and the river rats on purpose to amuse you." So this year slipped away even more pleasantly than the preceding ones. Sometimes the Prince could not help asking the White Cat how it was she could talk. "Perhaps you are a fairy," he said. "Or has some enchanter changed you into a cat?" But she only gave him answers that told him nothing.

Days go by so quickly when one is very happy that it is certain the Prince would never have thought of its being time to go back, when one evening as they sat together
the White Cat said to him that if he wanted to take a lovely princess home with him the next day he must be prepared to do what she told him.
"Take this sword," she said, "and cut off my head!"
"I!" cried the Prince, "I cut off your head! Blanchette darling, how could I do it?"
"I entreat you to do as I tell you, King's son," she replied.

The tears came into the Prince's eyes as he begged her to ask him anything but that--to set him any task she pleased as a proof of his devotion, but to spare him the grief of killing his dear Pussy. But nothing he could say altered her determination, and at last he drew his sword, and desperately, with a trembling hand, cut off the little white head. But imagine his astonishment and delight when suddenly a lovely princess stood before him, and, while he was still speechless with amazement, the door opened and a goodly company of knights and ladies entered, each carrying a cat's skin! They hastened with every sign of joy to the Princess, kissing her hand and
congratulating her on being once more restored to her natural shape. She received them graciously, but after a few minutes begged that they would leave her alone with the Prince, to whom she said:

"You see, Prince, that you were right in supposing me to be no ordinary cat. My father reigned over six kingdoms. The Queen, my mother, whom he loved dearly, had a passion for traveling and exploring, and when I was only a few weeks old she obtained his permission to visit a certain mountain of which she had heard many marvelous tales, and set out, taking with her a number of her attendants. On the way they had to pass near an old castle belonging to the fairies. Nobody had ever been
into it, but it was reported to be full of the most wonderful things, and my mother remembered to have heard that the fairies had in their garden such fruits as were to be seen and tasted nowhere else. She began to wish to try them for herself, and turned her steps in the direction of the garden. On arriving at the door, which blazed with gold and jewels, she ordered her servants to knock loudly, but it was useless; it seemed as if all the inhabitants of the castle must be asleep or dead. Now the more difficult it became to obtain the fruit, the more the Queen was determined that have it she would. So she ordered that they should bring ladders, and get over the wall into the garden; but though the wall did not look very high, and they tied ladders together to make them very long, it was quite impossible to get to the top.

"The Queen was in despair, but as night was coming on she ordered that they should encamp just where they were, and went to bed herself, feeling quite ill, she was so
disappointed. In the middle of the night she was suddenly awakened, and saw to her surprise a tiny, ugly old woman seated by her bedside, who said to her:

"'I must say that we consider it somewhat troublesome of your Majesty to insist upon tasting our fruit; but to save you annoyance, my sisters and I will consent to give
you as much as you can carry away, on one condition—that is, that you shall give us your little daughter to bring up as our own.'

"'Ah! my dear madam,' cried the Queen, 'is there nothing else that you will take for the fruit? I will give you my kingdoms willingly.'

"'No,' replied the old fairy, 'we will have nothing but your little daughter. She shall be as happy as the day is long, and we will give her everything that is worth having in fairy-land, but you must not see her again until she is married.'

"'Though it is a hard condition,' said the Queen, 'I consent, for I shall certainly die if I do not taste the fruit, and so I should lose my little daughter either way.'

"So the old fairy led her into the castle, and, though it was still the middle of the night, the Queen could see plainly that it was far more beautiful than she had been
told, which you can easily believe, Prince," said the White Cat, "when I tell you that it was this castle that we are now in. 'Will you gather the fruit yourself, Queen?' said the old fairy, 'or shall I call it to come to you?'

"'I beg you to let me see it come when it is called,' cried the Queen; 'that will be something quite new.' The old fairy whistled twice, then she cried:

"'Apricots, peaches, nectarines, cherries, plums, pears,
melons, grapes, apples, oranges, lemons, gooseberries,
strawberries, raspberries, come!'

"And in an instant they came tumbling in one over another, and yet they were neither dusty nor spoilt, and the Queen found them quite as good as she had fancied
them. You see they grew upon fairy trees.

"The old fairy gave her golden baskets in which to take the fruit away, and it was as much as four hundred mules could carry. Then she reminded the Queen of her agreement, and led her back to the camp, and next morning she went back to her kingdom, but before she had gone very far she began to repent of her bargain, and when the King came out to meet her she looked so sad that he guessed that something had happened, and asked what was the matter. At first the Queen was afraid to tell him, but when, as soon as they reached the palace, five frightful
little dwarfs were sent by the fairies to fetch me, she was obliged to confess what she had promised. The King was very angry, and had the Queen and myself shut up in a great tower and safely guarded, and drove the little dwarfs out of his kingdom; but the fairies sent a great dragon who ate up all the people he met, and whose breath burnt up everything as he passed through the country; and at last, after trying in vain to rid himself of this monster, the King, to save his subjects, was obliged to consent that I should be given up to the fairies. This time they came themselves to fetch me, in a chariot of pearl drawn by sea-horses, followed by the dragon, who was led with chains of diamonds. My cradle was placed between the old fairies, who loaded me with caresses, and away we whirled through the air to a tower which they had built on purpose for me. There I grew up surrounded with everything that was beautiful and rare, and learning everything that is ever taught to a princess, but without any companions but a parrot and a little dog, who could both talk; and receiving every day a visit from one of the old fairies, who came mounted upon the dragon. One
day, however, as I sat at my window I saw a handsome young prince, who seemed to have been hunting in the forest which surrounded my prison, and who was standing and looking up at me. When he saw that I observed him he saluted me with great deference. You can imagine that I was delighted to have some one new to talk to, and in spite of the height of my window our conversation was prolonged till night fell, then my prince reluctantly bade me farewell. But after that he came again many times and at last I consented to marry him, but the question was how was I to escape from my tower. The fairies always supplied me with flax for my spinning, and by great diligence I made enough cord for a ladder that would reach to the foot of the tower; but, alas! just as my prince was helping me to descend it, the crossest and ugliest of the old fairies flew in. Before he had time to defend himself my unhappy lover was swallowed up by the dragon. As for me, the fairies, furious at having their plans defeated, for they intended me to marry the king of the dwarfs, and I utterly refused, changed me into a white cat. When they brought me here I found all the lords and ladies of my father's court awaiting me under the same enchantment, while the people of lesser rank had been made invisible, all but their hands.

"As they laid me under the enchantment the fairies told me all my history, for until then I had quite believed that I was their child, and warned me that my only
chance of regaining my natural form was to win the love of a prince who resembled in every way my unfortunate lover.

"And you have won it, lovely Princess," interrupted the Prince.

"You are indeed wonderfully like him," resumed the Princess--"in voice, in features, and everything; and if you really love me all my troubles will be at an end."

"And mine too," cried the Prince, throwing himself at her feet, "if you will consent to marry me."

"I love you already better than anyone in the world," she said; "but now it is time to go back to your father, and we shall hear what he says about it."

So the Prince gave her his hand and led her out, and they mounted the chariot together; it was even more splendid than before, and so was the whole company. Even the horses' shoes were of rubies with diamond nails, and I suppose that is the first time such a thing was ever seen.

As the Princess was as kind and clever as she was beautiful, you may imagine what a delightful journey the Prince found it, for everything the Princess said seemed to him quite charming.

When they came near the castle where the brothers were to meet, the Princess got into a chair carried by four of the guards; it was hewn out of one splendid crystal, and had silken curtains, which she drew round her that she might not be seen.

The Prince saw his brothers walking upon the terrace, each with a lovely princess, and they came to meet him, asking if he had also found a wife. He said that he had
found something much rarer--a white cat! At which they laughed very much, and asked him if he was afraid of being eaten up by mice in the palace. And then they set out together for the town. Each prince and princess rode in a splendid carriage; the horses were decked with plumes of feathers, and glittered with gold. After them came the youngest prince, and last of all the crystal chair, at which everybody looked with admiration and curiosity. When the courtiers saw them coming they hastened to tell the King.

"Are the ladies beautiful?" he asked anxiously.

And when they answered that nobody had ever before seen such lovely princesses he seemed quite annoyed.

However, he received them graciously, but found it impossible to choose between them.

Then turning to his youngest son he said: "Have you come back alone, after all?"

"Your Majesty," replied the Prince, "will find in that crystal chair a little white cat, which has such soft paws, and mews so prettily, that I am sure you will be charmed
with it."

The King smiled, and went to draw back the curtains himself, but at a touch from the Princess the crystal shivered into a thousand splinters, and there she stood in all her beauty; her fair hair floated over her shoulders and was crowned with flowers, and her softly falling robe was of the purest white. She saluted the King gracefully, while a murmur of admiration rose from all around.

"Sire," she said, "I am not come to deprive you of the throne you fill so worthily. I have already six kingdoms, permit me to bestow one upon you, and upon each of your sons. I ask nothing but your friendship, and your consent to my marriage with your youngest son; we shall still have three kingdoms left for ourselves."

The King and all the courtiers could not conceal their joy and astonishment, and the marriage of the three Princes was celebrated at once. The festivities lasted several months, and then each king and queen departed to their own kingdom and lived happily ever after.

Dictionaries

The Oxford English Dictionary is my go to guide for all things etymological. It’s the most loved book in my collection, and I often fantasise about having the full twenty-six volumes at my disposal, any time of the day or night. (I find the dictionary soothing during my occasional bouts of insomnia.)

But, as I connect with other writers—American writers, moreover—I’m meeting with mixed reactions. Some think I’m wrong. Some think I’m just plain Jane Strange. And others think I’m a snob.

A bit hurt, I asked my other half, Joe, what he thought: “Absolutely. Of course you are.” He didn’t even pause to think about it.
Thing is, I’ve come to realise he and above-mentioned writers are correct. I am a dictionary snob. I won’t tolerate a Merriam-Webster in my house; even the homey Macquarie I used at school is relegated to a back cupboard in another country. So what makes the OED so special?

English.

Really. Presently, the OED is the most English of all English dictionaries. It maintains older spellings, specially typesetting the ae with pride, using s instead of z, flaunting the beautiful hard Greek k. Why does this matter? Isn’t it easier to learn the language if we stick to certain phonetic rules a la American English?

Maybe. But it’s not half so interesting.

A couple of years ago, I watched part of a spelling bee on ESPN (I have no idea what it was doing there, either). Fidgeting at the microphone, kids stalled for time. “Origin?” they asked. “Derivation?” An obliging judge would read out the requested information, while the child ignored it, intent only on visualising the list they’d left out the back.

Now, if I’m using an American dictionary and I want to know the origin of a word, I have to skim to the relevant part of the entry, and then only if it’s a desk edition. If I’m using English or Australian English, it’s possible for me to simply consider the word. For instance, anaesthesia. Even with my limited knowledge of Greek and Latin, the ae suggests this is modern Latin. Digging a little deeper, I can also see that this ae mostly likely comes from the Greek ai, as in anaisthesia. I can then parse this into an (without) and aesthesis (sensation). True, this doesn’t necessarily tell me the exact origins of the word if I’m not up on my Greek, but even at a glance, I can form a pretty good idea.

So, back to our spelling bee. In an American contest, with an American dictionary, the stalling-for-time kid learns nothing. The origin of the word is meaningless. But taking the word from the OED, the kid can infer at least part of the word’s structure—she knows that a modern Latin word with a certain sound will have an ae (anaesthesia, in contrast to the American form, anesthesia).

I know this holds little interest for most people. It’s another boring old fact. But to me, it’s a beautiful, wonderful fact, yet another joy of the English language. Words give us power over the world around us. Words give us understanding, share understanding. One word can change a life, for good or ill. If we standardise our spellings, we lose our history. Words tell us who we are.

Cinderella: The White Cat (Part I of II), by Madame d'Aulnoy

White Cat I, MC Escher

As promised, the first of our Cinderella series. The story is quite long, having three attempts and a second story within, so I have broken it into two parts. I will post the following two tomorrow.

*

Once upon a time there was a king who had three sons, who were all so clever and brave that he began to be afraid that they would want to reign over the kingdom before he was dead. Now the King, though he felt that he was growing old, did not at all wish to give up the government of his kingdom while he could still manage it very well, so he thought the best way to live in peace would be to divert the minds of his sons by promises which he could always get out of when the time came for keeping them.

So he sent for them all, and, after speaking to them kindly, he added: "You will quite agree with me, my dear children, that my great age makes it impossible for me to look after my affairs of state as carefully as I once did. I begin to fear that this may affect the welfare of my subjects, therefore I wish that one of you should succeed to my crown; but in return for such a gift as this it is only right that you should do something for me. Now, as I think of retiring into the country, it seems to me that a pretty, lively, faithful little dog would be very good company for me; so, without any regard for your ages, I promise that the one who brings me the most beautiful little dog shall succeed me at once."

The three Princes were greatly surprised by their father's sudden fancy for a little dog, but as it gave the two younger ones a chance they would not otherwise have had of being king, and as the eldest was too polite to make any objection, they accepted the commission with pleasure. They bade farewell to the King, who gave them presents of silver and precious stones, and appointed to meet them at the same hour, in the same place, after a year had passed, to see the little dogs they had brought for him.

Then they went together to a castle which was about a league from the city, accompanied by all their particular friends, to whom they gave a grand banquet, and the three brothers promised to be friends always, to share whatever good fortune befell them, and not to be parted by any envy or jealousy; and so they set out, agreeing to meet at the same castle at the appointed time, to present themselves before the King together. Each one took a different road, and the two eldest met with many adventures; but it is about the youngest that you are going to hear. He was young, and gay, and handsome, and knew everything that a prince ought to know; and as for his courage, there was simply no end to it.

Hardly a day passed without his buying several dogs—big and little, greyhounds, mastiffs, spaniels, and lapdogs. As soon as he had bought a pretty one he was sure to see a still prettier, and then he had to get rid of all the others and buy that one, as, being alone, he found it impossible to take thirty or forty thousand dogs about with him. He journeyed from day to day, not knowing where he was going, until at last, just at nightfall, he reached a great, gloomy forest. He did not know his way, and, to make matters worse, it began to thunder, and the rain poured down. He took the first path he could find, and after walking for a long time he fancied he saw a faint light, and began to hope that he was coming to some cottage where he might find shelter for the night. At length, guided by the light, he reached the door of the most splendid castle he could have imagined. This door was of gold covered with carbuncles, and it was the pure red light which shone from them that had shown him the way through the forest. The walls were of the finest porcelain in all the most delicate colors, and the Prince saw that all the stories he had ever read were pictured upon them; but as he was terribly wet, and the rain still fell in torrents, he could not stay to look about any more, but came back to the golden door. There he saw a deer's foot hanging by a chain of diamonds, and he began to wonder who could live in this magnificent castle.

"They must feel very secure against robbers," he said to himself. "What is to hinder anyone from cutting off that chain and digging out those carbuncles, and making himself rich for life?"

He pulled the deer's foot, and immediately a silver bell sounded and the door flew open, but the Prince could see nothing but numbers of hands in the air, each holding a torch. He was so much surprised that he stood quite still, until he felt himself pushed forward by other hands, so that, though he was somewhat uneasy, he could not help going on. With his hand on his sword, to be prepared for whatever might happen, he entered a hall paved with lapis-lazuli, while two lovely voices sang:

"The hands you see floating above
Will swiftly your bidding obey;
If your heart dreads not conquering Love,
In this place you may fearlessly stay."

The Prince could not believe that any danger threatened him when he was welcomed in this way, so, guided by the mysterious hands, he went toward a door of coral, which opened of its own accord, and he found himself in a vast hall of mother-of-pearl, out of which opened a number of other rooms, glittering with thousands of lights, and full of such beautiful pictures and precious things that the Prince felt quite bewildered. After passing through sixty rooms the hands that conducted him stopped, and the Prince saw a most comfortable-looking arm-chair drawn up close to the chimney-corner; at the same moment the fire lighted itself, and the pretty, soft, clever hands took off the Prince's wet, muddy clothes, and presented him with fresh ones made of the richest stuffs, all embroidered with gold and emeralds. He could not help admiring everything he saw, and the deft way in which the hands waited on him, though they sometimes appeared so suddenly that they made him jump.

When he was quite ready--and I can assure you that he looked very different from the wet and weary Prince who had stood outside in the rain, and pulled the deer's foot--the hands led him to a splendid room, upon the walls of which were painted the histories of Puss in Boots and a number of other famous cats. The table was laid for supper with two golden plates, and golden spoons and forks, and the sideboard was covered with dishes and glasses of crystal set with precious stones. The Prince was wondering who the second place could be for, when suddenly in came about a dozen cats carrying guitars and rolls of music, who took their places at one end of the room, and under the direction of a cat who beat time with a roll of paper began to mew in every imaginable key, and to draw their claws across the strings of the guitars, making the strangest kind of music that could be heard. The Prince hastily stopped up his ears, but even then the sight of these comical musicians sent him into fits of laughter.

"What funny thing shall I see next?" he said to himself, and instantly the door opened, and in came a tiny figure covered by a long black veil. It was conducted by two cats wearing black mantles and carrying swords, and a large party of cats followed, who brought in cages full of rats and mice.

The Prince was so much astonished that he thought he must be dreaming, but the little figure came up to him and threw back its veil, and he saw that it was the loveliest little white cat it is possible to imagine. She looked very young and very sad, and in a sweet little voice that went straight to his heart she said to the Prince:

"King's son, you are welcome; the Queen of the Cats is glad to see you."

"Lady Cat," replied the Prince, "I thank you for receiving me so kindly, but surely you are no ordinary pussy-cat? Indeed, the way you speak and the magnificence of your castle prove it plainly."

"King's son," said the White Cat, "I beg you to spare me these compliments, for I am not used to them. But now," she added, "let supper be served, and let the musicians be silent, as the Prince does not understand what they are saying."

So the mysterious hands began to bring in the supper, and first they put on the table two dishes, one containing stewed pigeons and the other a fricassee of fat mice. The sight of the latter made the Prince feel as if he could not enjoy his supper at all; but the White Cat, seeing this, assured him that the dishes intended for him were prepared in a separate kitchen, and he might be quite certain that they contained neither rats nor mice; and the Prince felt so sure that she would not deceive him that he had no more hesitation in beginning. Presently he noticed that on the little paw that was next him the White Cat wore a bracelet containing a portrait, and he begged to be allowed to look at it. To his great surprise he found it represented an extremely handsome young man, who was so like himself that it might have been his own portrait! The White Cat sighed as he looked at it, and seemed sadder than ever, and the Prince dared not ask any questions for fear of displeasing her; so he began to talk about other things, and found that she was interested in all the subjects he cared for himself, and seemed to know quite well what was going on in the world. After supper they went into another room, which was fitted up as a theatre, and the cats acted and danced for their amusement, and then the White Cat said good-night to him, and the hands conducted him into a room he had not seen before, hung with tapestry worked with butterflies' wings of every color; there were mirrors that reached from the ceiling to the floor, and a little white bed with curtains of gauze tied up with ribbons. The Prince went to bed in silence, as he did not quite know how to begin a conversation with the hands that waited on him, and in the morning he was awakened by a noise and confusion outside of his window, and the hands came and quickly dressed him in hunting costume. When he looked out all the cats were assembled in the courtyard, some leading greyhounds, some blowing horns, for the White Cat was going out hunting. The hands led a wooden horse up to the Prince, and seemed to expect him to mount it, at which he was very indignant; but it was no use for him to object, for he speedily found himself upon its back, and it pranced gaily off with him.

The White Cat herself was riding a monkey, which climbed even up to the eagles' nests when she had a fancy for the young eaglets. Never was there a pleasanter hunting party, and when they returned to the castle the Prince and the White Cat supped together as before, but when they had finished she offered him a crystal goblet, which must have contained a magic draught, for, as soon as he had swallowed its contents, he forgot everything, even the little dog that he was seeking for the King, and only thought how happy he was to be with the White Cat! And so the days passed, in every kind of amusement, until the year was nearly gone. The Prince had forgotten all about meeting his brothers: he did not even know what country he belonged to; but the White Cat knew when he ought to go back, and one day she said to him: "Do you know that you have only three days left to look for the little dog for your father, and your brothers have found lovely ones?"

Then the Prince suddenly recovered his memory, and cried: "What can have made me forget such an important thing? My whole fortune depends upon it; and even if I could in such a short time find a dog pretty enough to gain me a kingdom, where should I find a horse who would carry me all that way in three days?" And he began to be very vexed. But the White Cat said to him: "King's son, do not trouble yourself; I am your friend, and will make everything easy for you. You can still stay here for
a day, as the good wooden horse can take you to your country in twelve hours."

"I thank you, beautiful Cat," said the Prince; "but what good will it do me to get back if I have not a dog to take to my father?"

"See here," answered the White Cat, holding up an acorn; "there is a prettier one in this than in the Dogstar!"

"Oh! White Cat dear," said the Prince, "how unkind you are to laugh at me now!"

"Only listen," she said, holding the acorn to his ear. And inside it he distinctly heard a tiny voice say: "Bow-wow!"

The Prince was delighted, for a dog that can be shut up in an acorn must be very small indeed. He wanted to take it out and look at it, but the White Cat said it would be better not to open the acorn till he was before the King, in case the tiny dog should be cold on the journey. He thanked her a thousand times, and said good-by quite sadly when the time came for him to set out. "The days have passed so quickly with you," he said, "I only wish I could take you with me now." But the White Cat shook her head and sighed deeply in answer.

After all the Prince was the first to arrive at the castle where he had agreed to meet his brothers, but they came soon after, and stared in amazement when they saw the wooden horse in the courtyard jumping like a hunter.

The Prince met them joyfully, and they began to tell him all their adventures; but he managed to hide from them what he had been doing, and even led them to think that a turnspit dog which he had with him was the one he was bringing for the King. Fond as they all were of one another, the two eldest could not help being glad to think that their dogs certainly had a better chance. The next morning they started in the same chariot. The elder brothers carried in baskets two such tiny, fragile dogs
that they hardly dared to touch them. As for the turnspit, he ran after the chariot, and got so covered with mud that one could hardly see what he was like at all. When they reached the palace everyone crowded round to welcome them as they went into the King's great hall; and when the two brothers presented their little dogs nobody could decide which was the prettier. They were already arranging between themselves to share the kingdom equally, when the youngest stepped forward, drawing from his pocket the acorn the White Cat had given him. He opened it quickly, and there upon a white cushion they saw a dog so small that it could easily have been put through a ring. The Prince laid it upon the ground, and it got up at once and began to dance. The King did not know what to say, for it was impossible that anything could be prettier than this little creature. Nevertheless, as he was in no hurry to part with his crown, he told his sons that, as they had been so successful the first time, he would ask them to go once again, and seek by land and sea for a piece of muslin so fine that it could be drawn through the eye of a needle. The brothers were not very willing to set out again, but the two eldest consented because it gave them another chance, and they started as before. The youngest again mounted the wooden horse, and rode back at full speed to his beloved White Cat. Every door of the castle stood wide open, and every window and turret was illuminated, so it looked more wonderful than before. The hands hastened to meet him, and led the wooden horse off to the stable, while he hurried in to find the White Cat. She was asleep in a little basket on a white satin cushion, but she very soon started up when she heard the Prince, and was overjoyed at seeing him once more.

"How could I hope that you would come back to me King's son?" she said. And then he stroked and petted her, and told her of his successful journey, and how he had come back to ask her help, as he believed that it was impossible to find what the King demanded. The White Cat looked serious, and said she must think what was to be done, but that, luckily, there were some cats in the castle who could spin very well, and if anybody could manage it they could, and she would set them the task herself.

And then the hands appeared carrying torches, and conducted the Prince and the White Cat to a long gallery which overlooked the river, from the windows of which they saw a magnificent display of fireworks of all sorts; after which they had supper, which the Prince liked even better than the fireworks, for it was very late, and he was hungry after his long ride. And so the days passed quickly as before; it was impossible to feel dull with the White Cat, and she had quite a talent for inventing new amusements--indeed, she was cleverer than a cat has any right to be. But when the Prince asked her how it was that she was so wise, she only said: "King's son, do not ask me; guess what you please. I may not tell you anything."

The Prince was so happy that he did not trouble himself at all about the time, but presently the White Cat told him that the year was gone, and that he need not be at all anxious about the piece of muslin, as they had made it very well.

"This time," she added, "I can give you a suitable escort"; and on looking out into the courtyard the Prince saw a superb chariot of burnished gold, enameled in flame color with a thousand different devices. It was drawn by twelve snow-white horses, harnessed four abreast; their trappings were flame-colored velvet, embroidered with diamonds. A hundred chariots followed, each drawn by eight horses, and filled with officers in splendid uniforms, and a thousand guards surrounded the procession. "Go!" said the White Cat, "and when you appear before the King in such state he surely will not refuse you the crown which you deserve. Take this walnut, but do not open it until you are before him, then you will find in it the piece of stuff you asked me for."

"Lovely Blanchette," said the Prince, "how can I thank you properly for all your kindness to me? Only tell me that you wish it, and I will give up for ever all thought of being king, and will stay here with you always."

"King's son," she replied, "it shows the goodness of your heart that you should care so much for a little white cat, who is good for nothing but to catch mice; but you must not stay."

So the Prince kissed her little paw and set out. You can imagine how fast he traveled when I tell you that they reached the King's palace in just half the time it had taken the wooden horse to get there. This time the Prince was so late that he did not try to meet his brothers at their castle, so they thought he could not be coming, and were rather glad of it, and displayed their pieces of muslin to the King proudly, feeling sure of success. And indeed the stuff was very fine, and would go through the eye of a very large needle; but the King, who was only too glad to make a difficulty, sent for a particular needle, which was kept among the Crown jewels, and had such a small eye that everybody saw at once that it was impossible that the muslin should pass through it. The Princes were angry, and were beginning to complain that it was a trick, when suddenly the trumpets sounded and the youngest Prince came in. His father and brothers were quite astonished at his magnificence, and after he had greeted them he took the walnut from his pocket and opened it, fully expecting to find the piece of muslin, but instead there was only a hazel-nut. He cracked it, and there lay a cherry-stone. Everybody was looking on, and the King was chuckling to himself at the idea of finding the piece of muslin in a nutshell.

However, the Prince cracked the cherry-stone, but everyone laughed when he saw it contained only its own kernel. He opened that and found a grain of wheat, and in that was a millet seed. Then he himself began to wonder, and muttered softly:
"White Cat, White Cat, are you making fun of me?" In an instant he felt a cat's claw give his hand quite a sharp scratch, and hoping that it was meant as an encouragement he opened the millet seed, and drew out of it a piece of muslin four hundred ells long, woven with the loveliest colors and most wonderful patterns; and when the needle was brought it went through the eye six times with the greatest ease! The King turned pale, and the other Princes stood silent and sorrowful, for nobody could deny that this was the most marvelous piece of muslin that was to be found in the world.

Presently the King turned to his sons, and said, with a deep sigh: "Nothing could console me more in my old age than to realize your willingness to gratify my wishes. Go then once more, and whoever at the end of a year can bring back the loveliest princess shall be married to her, and shall, without further delay, receive the crown, for my successor must certainly be married." The Prince considered that he had earned the kingdom fairly twice over but still he was too well bred to argue about it, so he just went back to his gorgeous chariot, and, surrounded by his escort, returned to the White Cat faster than he had come.

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Maiden of Brakel

Head of Saint Anne, by Leonardo da Vinci.

The following tale is excerpted from Valerie Paradiz's Clever Maids: The Secret History of the Grimm Fairy Tales. It is so wonderful in its original simplicity that I wanted to present it as is.

*

A girl from Brakel once went to St. Anne's Chapel at the foot of the Hinnenberg, and as she wanted to have a husband, and thought there was no one else in the chapel, she sang,

"Oh, holy Saint Anne!
Help me soon to a man.
Thou know'st him right well,
By Suttmer gate does he dwell,
His hair it is golden,
Thou know'st him right well."

The clerk, however, was standing behind the altar and heard that, so he cried in a very gruff voice, "Thou shalt not have him! Thou shalt not have him!" The maiden thought that the child Mary who stood by her mother Anne had called out that to her, and was angry, and cried, "Fiddle de dee, conceited thing, hold your tongue, and let your mother speak!"

Yeh-Hsien: Commentary Part II

It has been suggested that Yeh-Hsien is set in what is now modern day Nan-ning, approximately 100 miles north of the frontiers of Annam. Much of this comes from anecdotal evidence; Waley points out that many of the elements in the tale, particularly the existence of a cave-master Wu[1] and a great festival around springtime are both historically recorded facts about the region. But here we must be wary of euhemerism, i.e. a method of rationalising interpretation such that accounts (particularly mythological accounts) are seen as a reflection of true historical events shaped through retelling and societal values. So, although Waley provides an interesting argument, I suggest retaining a healthy amount of scepticism with regard to his notes on this story.

Before we continue, I’d like to take a moment to talk about how fairy tales circulated within China during this time. As we know, Tuan Ch’eng Shih collected Yeh-Hsien from a family servant; folk and fairy stories often reached the upper classes in this way, travelling through the tongues of wet nurses, singing girls, and personal valets. If someone in a higher class was taken with such a story, they would then write it down, possibly refining and tweaking it. Eventually, such writings were adapted into plays and performances, many of which were attended by commoners.

Fish

One of the defining elements of a Cinderella story is a magical, wish-granting thing. In many cases, the wish-granter is associated with the heroine’s dead mother[2], and may take a variety of forms, including but not limited to a cow, a set of bones, a fish, and a tree. The cow and tree appear to be the most common, though Yeh-Hsien shares the distinction of using a fish with a Portuguese version of the story [3].

In some versions of the story, it is the spirit of Yeh-Hsien’s dead mother that speaks to her; in some the wizened old man tells her the fish was the spirit of her dead mother; and in others no mention of Yeh-Hsien’s dead mother is made. The story usually makes note of the fish’s luminous golden eyes or golden colour along with its length and fatness. The practice of keeping carp (koi) is not a new one, and it is likely this is the type of fish to which the story refers.

The fish, especially the carp is associated with prosperity (the Chinese character for ‘fish’ may also be translated as ‘abundance’). But the carp is especially known for its strength and bravery also, so perceived because it swims against the current. Together, these traits make the role of the fish and its bones in the story—bringing comfort and solace, encouraging strength and bravery, and supplying Yeh-Hsien with necessary riches and the ever present footwear—particularly fitting.

About Cinderella

Finally, a brief note on Cinderella, arguably the world’s most famous fairy tale. Cinderella stories appeal to almost everyone. But why the ongoing appeal? Why are there literally hundreds of versions of the fairy tale from a plethora of countries? Why has it spawned books, plays, films, and poetry?

Some scholars say that in the modern world, Cinderella has been reduced to something between a rags-to-riches story and a makeover show, with the heroine becoming nothing more than an object, a girl who waits for the prince to show up, then, without thought, rides away into the happily ever after. The 1950s Disney version of the story certainly supports this, as Cinderella’s work is accomplished by birds and mice; her personality is thin and wanting, with the film’s character provided by two mice and the ugly stepsistsers; and her transformation is effected by the fairy godmother. In short, the Disney Cinderella has little to do except wish and look pretty. But real women know this already, and know, moreover, that life is not simply wishing and hoping and singing, yet they still return to the myriad Cinderella stories of the modern world. Why? Is it some form of escapism?

When we strip the fairy tale of its outer elements, with what are we left? An unhappy, sometimes motherless, sometimes orphaned girl. A life of drudgery. Change. A happy ending. Seen this way, the story no longer appears superficial but rather as a real life, a true life to which most people can relate—except that in real life, we’re told, there are no happy endings.

But what if there were? And how do I get one?

These are the questions which Cinderella forces us to ask. She digs deep into our consciousness, reminding us that we, too, are marking time[4], planning and working toward our own happy ending—a raise, a family, a nicer house, a batch of picture-perfect Julia Child style scones. And while she reminds us of this, she shows us that such an ending is possible, despite the ugly stepsisters, the cruel mother/step-mother, despite even the unknown future with its choice between marriage and independence. Cinderella tells us that we are not alone, that others have walked before us and succeeded, and that we, too, will succeed.

Let us consider an earlier point here: there are literally hundreds of Cinderella stories from all over the world. Why? If the earliest recorded version of the story is Yeh-Hsien[5], then how did it travel forth into the world? Was it carried upon the backs of traders? There is no clear answer, but I think not. Tales are spread about by people, true, but Cinderella stories are so far flung that it seems unlikely they can all be traced back to one or two early sources.

Carl Jung described the theory of the collective unconscious, a part of the psyche which does not “owe its existence to personal experience and consequently is not a personal acquisition…[6]”. It is derived from ancestral memory and experience—i.e., experiences all humanity shares. Humans recognise story patterns; tales seem so familiar to us because we remember them as part of this collective unconscious. It is not unreasonable then, to suggest that certain stories and explanations will be ubiquitous amongst humans, and Cinderella is an excellent example of this.

Finally, a note on Bruno Bettleheim and his book, The Uses of Enchantment. A Freudian, Bettelheim described fairy tales as a ‘soul journey’ in which children learn about themselves. Through tales, children are able to identify and talk through certain emotions and fears. According to Maria Tatar, “Fairy tales connect with all kinds of adult secrets…They tell children about death, which is something that adults talk about in hushed tones. They tell them about romance and marriage and in some cases, they'll tell them about sex and violence.[7]" When children are deprived of such a fantasy world, they create their own—massively multiplayer online games are a good example of this.

Returning to Cinderella—it is the original underdog story, the fairy tale that speaks to our fears, hopes, and dreams. We recognise it from variant to variant, we identify with it, and we learn through it.

Notes: Everyone knows the story of little cinder-girl, as Ashenputtel, as Yeh-Hsien, as Cendrillion, as Rhodopsis, as Anne de Fernandez. In the following weeks, I’ll be posting several versions of the story, along with a little history about the authors associated with each. Note that the tale of Rhodopsis is particularly interesting—from around the 6th century B.C. it is the other noted ‘origin story’ of Cinderella.

I have made no notes on Cinderella’s slippers in this commentary. As much of the scholarship regarding the importance of her footwear references Perrault, I will write about it after I have posted Cendrillion.

Footnotes:

[1]Wu was the name of a rebellion leader in the extreme south, around the area of modern day Nan-ning, Kwangsi province.
[2] Heidi Anne Heiner, Tales Similar to Cinderella.
[3]ibid.
[4]See my notes on the princess and the role of the heroine. http://journal.petajinnathandersen.com/2008/01/mother-holle-commentary-part-ii.html
[5]The tale of Rhodopsis, from around the 6th century B.C. is the other noted ‘origin story’ of Cinderella.
[6]Carl G. Jung, excerpted from http://www.timestar.org/collective.htm
[7]Maria Tatar, Harvard Gazette.



References:

Beth Potier, Harvard Gazette, Once Upon A Time: Maria Tatar's 'Annotated Classic Fairy Tales' offers new insights on familiar old tales...http://www.hno.harvard.edu/gazette/2003/04.10/18-tatar.html
Waley, Arthur, 1947, The Chinese Cinderella Story, Folklore, Vol. 58, No. 1, pp. 226-238. Text kindly provided by JSTOR.
Terri Windling, 2007,Ashes, Blood, and the Slipper of Glass, Journal of Mythic Arts, Endicott Studio, pp1-2, http://www.endicott-studio.com/rdrm/forashs.html
Heidi Anne Heiner, Tales Similar to Cinderella, http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/cinderella/other.html
Foley, Louis,1954, A Princess And Her Magic Footwear, The Modern Language Journal, Vol. 38 No. 8., pp.412-415. Text kindly provided by JSTOR.
Dr. Rouhier Willoughby, http://www.uky.edu/~jrouhie/rae370_web4.html
Jung, Carl G., The Archetypes And The Collective Unconscious. Text kindly provided by http://www.timestar.org/collective.htm

Yeh-Hsien: Commentary Part I

History of Yeh-Hsien

Probably the first recorded version (c. 850-960 C.E. [1]) of a Cinderella tale, Yeh-Hsien was first written down by Tuan Ch’eng Shih[2], though the story itself appears to come from aborigines in the extreme south. Surprisingly, the story was largely ignored until 1911, when attention was drawn to it by Japanese folklorist K. Minakata [3].

In contrast to many other early folklorists, Tuan Ch’eng Shih not only made no effort to ‘literise’ tales but also went to great effort to preserve the authenticity of his collections. In the case of Yeh-Hsien, this has provided a clean text, though it must be noted that in other tales he has ‘corrected’ stories, believing that later versions, even those collected from a different region, are bastardisations of earlier, ‘authentic’ tales.

But Ch’eng Shih’s Cinderella is particularly interesting, providing more motivations and explanations etc. than common, more detail about Yeh-hsien (good at making pottery on the wheel) giving her more character (consider today's modern, snappy one-lining protagonists) than our modern cinderellas.

About Yeh-Hsien

Certain details of this tale’s setting are unique. While European Cinderellas usually involve a mother or step-mother, a sometimes orphaned and poor girl, and a wish-granting spirit. Yeh-Hsien, however, contains elements and motivations outside the norm. Interestingly, the story continues past the ‘happily ever after’, detailing the fate of the step family—flying stones, then the tomb of the distressed women, prayed to by bachelors who then succeeded with whomever they sought to court; the king used the bones for a year then, when they stopped answering, buried them royally by the sea; during a mutiny a general opened them up to provide for his army; finally, the bones were washed away by the sea.

Over time, many tellings have lost the detail of the cave, that Yeh-Hsien’s father had two wives , and that the name of the neighbouring island kingdom (T’o’han), and. It’s possible that such details have been omitted in an attempt to refine the story (consider Perrault’s Cendrillion). But each of these details has its own significance in terms of placing the story and learning about its origins. First, we shall deal with the cave.

In the Tuan Ch’eng Shih version, the story begins:

Among the people of the south there is a tradition that before the Ch'in and Han dynasties there was a cave-master called Wu. The aborigines called the place the Wu cave.

On first reading, ‘cave’ is surprising, if not a little disturbing. As we continue to read the story, it becomes clear that Yeh-Hsien’s home is not literally a cave. Why, then, such a beginning?

According to Arthur Waley[4], aborigines in the south of China did live in caves but, when this tale was recorded (c. 9th century), the aborigines had come to live in small villages and ‘cave owner’ had come to mean ‘in the native lands’, i.e. it was used in an ethnic sense rather than a literal one.

With regard to Yeh-Hsien’s father and his two wives:

The aborigines called the place the Wu cave. He married two wives. One wife died...She had a daughter Yeh-hsien...After some years the father died, and she was ill-treated by her step-mother...

Some versions describe Yeh-Hsien’s step-mother as her father’s ‘co-wife’. Historical record shows us that Chinese men took only one wife. Chiefs and high ranking aborigines in the south, however, were sometimes documented as taking more than one wife, and modern aborigines have been shown to have more than one wife also, adding to the idea of the tale’s provenance being from this area.

Tomorrow: Commentary Part II of II; detailed analysis of Yeh-Hsien, plot elements, and comparison; notes on Cinderella.

Footnotes:

[1] Waley, p.1
[2] ibid.
[3] ibid.
[4] ibid.


References:

Waley, Arthur, 1947, The Chinese Cinderella Story, Folklore, Vol. 58, No. 1, pp. 226-238. Text kindly provided by JSTOR.
Windling, Terri, 2007, Ashes, Blood, and the Slipper of Glass, Journal of Mythic Arts, Endicott Studio, pp1-2. http://www.endicott-studio.com/rdrm/forashs.html

Yeh-Hsien, by Tuan Ch'eng-shih

Among the people of the south there is a tradition that before the Ch'in and Han dynasties there was a cave-master called Wu. The aborigines called the place the Wu cave. He married two wives. One wife died. She had a daughter Yeh-hsien, who from childhood was intelligent and good at making pottery on the wheel. Her father loved her. After some years the father died, and she was ill-treated by her step-mother, who always made her collect firewood in dangerous place and draw water from deep pools. She once got a fish about two inches long, with red fins and golden eyes. She put it into a bowl of water. It grew bigger every day, and after she had changed the bowl several times she could find no bowl big enough for it, so she threw it into the back pond. Whatever food was left over fro meals she put it into the water to feed it. When she came to the pond, the fish always exposed its head and pillowed it on the bank; but when anyone else came, it did not come out. The step-mother knew about this, but when she watched for it, it did not once appear. S she tricked the girl, saying, "Haven't you worked hard! I am going to give you a new dress." She then made the girl change out of her tattered clothing. Afterwards she sent her to get water from another spring and reckoning that it was several hundred leagues, the step-mother at her leisure put on her daughter's clothes, hid a sharp blade up her sleeve, and went to the pond. She called to the fish. The fish at once put its head out, and she chopped it off and killed it. The fish was now more than ten feet long. She served it up and it tasted twice as good as an ordinary fish. She the bones under the dung-hill. Next day, when the girl came to the pond, no fish appeared. She howled with grief in the open countryside, and suddenly there appeared a man with his hair loose over his shoulders and coarse clothes. He came down from the sky. He consoled her, saying, "Don't howl! Your step-mother had killed the fish and its bones are under the dung. You go back, take the fish's bones and hide them in your room. whatever you want, you have only to pray to them for it. It is bound to be granted." The girl followed his advice, and was able to provide herself with gold, pearls, dresses and food whenever she wanted them.

When the time came for the cave-festival, the step-mother went, leaving the girl to keep watch over the fruit-trees in the garden. She waited till the step-mother was some way off, and then went herself, wearing a cloak of stuff spun from kingfisher feather and shoes of gold. Her step-sister recognised her and said to the step-mother, "That's very like my sister." The step-mother suspected the same thing. The girl was aware of this and went away in such a hurry that she lost one shoe. It was picked up by one of the people of the cave. When the step-mother got home, she found the girl asleep, with her arms round one of the trees in the garden, and thought no more about it.

This cave was near to an island in the sea. On this island was a kingdom called T'o-han. Its soldiers had subdued twenty or thirty other islands and it had a coast-line of several thousand leagues. The cave-man sold the shoe in T'o-han, and the ruler of T'o-han got it. He told those about him to put it on; but it was an inch too small even for the one among the that had the smallest foot. He ordered all the women in his kingdom to try it on; but there was not one that it fitted. It was light as down and made no noise even when treading on stone. The king of T'o-han thought the cave-man had got it unlawfully. He put him in prison and tortured him, but did not end by finding out where it had come from. So he threw it down at the wayside. (Here the text is corrupt, and the tale becomes unclear.) Then they went everywhere through all the people's houses and arrested them. If there was a woman's shoe. they arrested them and told the king of T'o-han. He thought it strange, searched the inner-rooms and found Yeh-hsien. He made her put on the shoes, and it was true.

Yeh-hsien then came forward , wearing her cloak spun from halcyon feathers and her shoes. She was as beautiful as a heavenly being. She now began to render service to the king, and he took the fish-bones and Yeh-Hsien, and brought them back to his country.

The step-mother and step-sister were shortly afterwards struck by flying stones, and died. The cave people were sorry for them and buried them in a stone-pit, which was called the Tomb of the Distressed Women. The men of the cave made mating-offerings there; any girl they prayed for there, they got. The king of T'o-han, when he got back to his kingdom made Yeh-Hsien his chief wife. The first year the king was very greedy and by his prayers to the fish-bones got treasure and jade without limit. Next year, there was no response, so the king buried the fish-bones on the sea-shore. He covered them with a hundred bushels of pearls and bordered them with gold. Later there was a mutiny of some soldiers who had been conscripted and their general opened (the hiding-place) in order to make better provision for his army. One night they (the bones) were washed away by the tide.


Author's note: This story was told me by Li Shih-yuan, who has been in the service of my family a long while. He was himself originally a man from the caves of Yung-chou and remembers many strange things of the South.

Translated by Arthur Waley.

Excerpted from Waley, Arthur, 1947, The Chinese Cinderella Story, Folklore, Vol. 58, No. 1, pp. 226-238. Text kindly provided by JSTOR.

Review: Making Money

by Terry Pratchett


It’s hard to believe that Terry Pratchett, the man who wrote the Tiffany Aching books (The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky, Wintersmith), is also Terry Pratchett, the man who wrote Making Money.

Continuing on with the exploits of the unfortunately named Moist Lipwig (last seen in Going Postal), Pratchett explores themes of finance and banking. Which is fine. Except when it’s not.

The Tiffany Aching books are structured, tightly plotted and well-written, with just a smidge of dark humour. Making Money, however, is almost a paean to poor structure, messy perspective, irrelevant plotlines, and forced humour.

When I buy a book, I like to consider the white space—you know, the amount of text-free space on any given page. Making Money has very little white space; almost every inch is crowded with words, almost a print version of the annoying, loquacious relative we all have stashed in a cellar somewhere.

For me, the only redeeming feature of this book is Lord Vetinari. Too often, Vetinari is relegated to the sidelines, a Discworld deus ex machina. But in this book, Pratchett lets Vetinari have his head—and that makes me happy.


Tomorrow: Yeh-Hsien commentary