Sunset in Canungra

Telegraph Pole, Sunset

This picture is a couple of years old, now. I took it from the side of a mountain in Canungra, Queensland, coming back from a trip to Lamington National Park. It had been wet--quite a rare thing--for the better part of the excursion until just before I took this photo. Even in the five-filled car, the very air seemed to lift for a moment: the sky was soon that lovely pellucid blue. Tramping down into the brush, I watched the clouds scud away.

Fairy Tale Art: Art Passions

A Spray of Wild Hemlock, Jessie M. King

In case you haven't seen it, Art Passions is a wonderful site filled with fairy tale art. The galleries include illustrations by Edmund Dulac (my favourite), Arthur Rackham, Max Parrish, and Kay Nielsen, with many others. It's a lovingly maintained site, with more fairy tale art uploaded regularly. And if there's any particular illustration that takes your fancy, click through to send an e-card.


If you have a free moment, check it out; if you have more than a moment, take a look at the Beauty and the Beast page (with text by Jeanne-Marie LePrince de Beaumont and Dulac illustrations) or the new Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde (with illustrations by Jessie M. King and Charles Robinson).

Fairy Tale Comics?

Fables, created by Bill Willingham. Cover illustration by James Jean.

Note: My original post listed the above cover illustration as by Charles Vess. I've since been informed that it's actually by James Jean. Apologies for the error.

Graphic novels and comics used to be what I think of as sideline media. Most people read them, few would admit to reading them, and fewer took them seriously. But things are changing. Marvel has released a number of movies, bumping up the Spiderman franchise, bringing new artists and illustrators into play. Now it’s looking to do the same for Ironman. DC, meantime, is continuing with cartoons and series featuring tried and true character—such as The Batman and Smallville--and catching the eye of a younger demographic. Jodi Picoult, the acclaimed YA author, even wrote a Wonder Woman series, released in November of 2007.

But comics and graphic novels are fast growing beyond the traditional superheroes and mystery-solving musicians and teenagers. Sure, The Archies still exist, and Disney comics are available everywhere, but new series are popping up all the time. And many of them feature fairy tales.

There are twists on the traditional such as Vertigo’s (an indie division of DC) Fables line, about fairy tale characters forced to move to New York by the takeover bid of the aptly named Adversary. The series has proved to be so popular that now there’s a spinoff, Jack of the Fables.

Then there’s a webcomic in chapters, No Rest for the Wicked, about the adventures of a Princess, Puss in Boots (named Perrault, of course), and a grown-up, arse-kicking Little Red Riding Hood. Both series discard the amended, watered down fairy tales many of us have heard over the years instead seeking to return to the stories’ older, darker roots. This is not say any are “authentic”—authenticity in fairy tales is a matter of much debate—but they are oftentimes insightful.

Then we come to more literary and artistic forays, such as Mouse Guard. While the story exists in a new world, these works conform to many fairy tale tropes. The comics follow the adventures of a select few mice, the Mouse Guard, who keep the mouse community safe in troubled times.

Even newspapers run strips that are fairy tale based—Mike Peters, writer-illustrator of Mother Goose and Grimm, has run several parody fairy tale strips, including an Atkins diet take on Hansel and Gretel.

Legends are also fair game—Arthur, King of Time and Space, is a webcomic telling the adventures of King Arthur, Quantum Leap style. Bonobo Conspiracy features a special story arc detailing “The Legend of Pele and Hi’iaka,” the Hawaiian goddesses, while poking fun at a few contemporary authors.

Such works continue to reveal themselves—it seems as if most everyday I hear about a new fairy tale strip, or a fairy tale themed graphic novel. Fairy tales have been relegated to the children’s part of the bookstore for a very long time; the Grimms originally collected their anthologies for scholarly purposes, but even their work was said to be for children. But the resurgence of fairy tales in adult media suggests a paradigm shift—one that is most welcome in this corner of the world.

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Brewery of Egg-Shells

The Fairy Flew Off with the Changeling, Arthur Rackham

This tale is from an anthology collected by William Butler Yeats, Fairy and Folktales of the Irish Peasantry. This story is by Thomas Crofton Croker, an Irish folklorist who compiled the anthologies Legends of the Lakes, Popular Songs of Ireland, and, most famously, The Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of Ireland, which would go on to six editions.

Described by Sir Walter Scott as “little as a dwarf, keen-eyed as a hawk, and of easy, prepossessing manners—something like Tom Moore,” Croker was one of the first to collect and record Irish folklore.

Interestingly, his obituary is available online at The New York Times and can be viewed here.

*

Mrs. Sullivan fancied that her youngest child had been exchanged by "fairies theft", and certainly appearances warranted such a conclusion; for in one night her healthy, blue-eyed boy had become shrivelled up into almost nothing, and never ceased squalling and crying. This naturally made poor Mrs. Sullivan very unhappy; and all the neighbours, by way of comforting her, said that her own child was, beyond any kind of doubt, with the good people, and that one of themselves was put in his place.

Mrs. Sullivan of course could not disbelieve what every one told her, but she did not wish to hurt the thing; for although its face was so withered, and its body wasted away to a mere skeleton, it had still a strong resemblance to her own boy. She, therefore, could not find it in her heart to roast it alive on the griddle, or to bum its nose off with the red-hot tongs, or to throw it out in the snow on the road-side, notwithstanding these, and several like proceedings, were strongly recommended to her for the recovery of her child.

One day who should Mrs. Sullivan meet but a cunning woman, well known about the country by the name of Ellen Leah (or Grey Ellen). She had the gift, however she got it, of telling where the dead were, and what was good for the rest of their souls; and could charm away warts and wens, and do a great many wonderful things of the same nature.

"You're in grief this morning, Mrs. Sullivan," were the first words of Ellen Leah to her.

"You may say that, Ellen," said Mrs. Sullivan, "and good cause I have to be in grief, for there was my own fine child whipped off from me out of his cradle, without as much as 'by your leave' or 'ask your pardon', and an ugly dony bit of a shrivelled-up fairy put in his place; no wonder, then, that you see me in grief, Ellen."

"Small blame to you, Mrs. Sullivan," said Ellen Leah, "but are you sure 'tis a fairy?"

"Sure!" echoed Mrs. Sullivan, "sure enough I am to my sorrow, and can I doubt my own two eyes? Every mother's soul must feel for me!"

"Will you take an old woman's advice?" said Ellen Leah, fixing her wild and mysterious gaze upon the unhappy mother; and, after a pause, she added, "but maybe you'll call it foolish?"

"Can you get me back my child, my own child, Ellen?" said Mrs. Sullivan with great energy.

"If you do as I bid you," returned Ellen Leah, "you'll know." Mrs. Sullivan was silent in expectation, and Ellen continued, "Put down the big pot, full of water, on the fire, and make it boil like mad; then got a dozen new-laid eggs, break them, and keep the shells, but throw away the rest; when that is done, put the shells in the pot of boiling water, and you will soon know whether it is your own boy or a fairy. If you find that it is a fairy in the cradle, take the red-hot poker and cram it down his ugly throat, and you will not have much trouble with him after that I promise you."

Home went Mrs. Sullivan, and did as Ellen Leah desired. She put the pot on the fire, and plenty of turf under it, and set the water boiling at such a rate, that if ever water was red-hot, it surely was.

The child was lying, for a wonder, quite easy and quiet in the cradle, every now and then cocking his eye, that would twinkle as keen as a star in a frosty night, over at the great fire, and the big pot upon it; and he looked on with great attention at Mrs. Sullivan breaking the eggs and putting down the egg-shells to boil. At last he asked, with the voice of a very old man, "What are you doing mammy?"

Mrs. Sullivan's heart, as she said herself, was up in her mouth ready to choke her, at hearing the child speak. But she contrived to put the poker in the fire, and to answer, without making any wonder at the words, "I'm brewing, a vick" (my son).

"And what are you brewing, mammy?" said the little imp, whose supernatural gift of speech now proved beyond question that he was a fairy substitute.

"I wish the poker was red," thought Mrs. Sullivan; but it was a large one, and took a long time heating; so she determined to keep him in talk until the poker was in a proper state to thrust down his throat, and therefore repeated the question.

"Is it what I'm brewing, a vick," said she, "you want to know?"

"Yes, mammy: what are you brewing?" returned the fairy.

"Egg-shells, a vick," said Mrs. Sullivan.

"Oh!" shrieked the imp, starting up in the cradle, and clapping his hands together, "I'm fifteen hundred years in the world, and I never saw a brewery of egg-shells before!" The poker was by this time quite red, and Mrs. Sullivan, seizing it, ran furiously towards the cradle; but somehow or other her foot slipped, and she fell flat on the floor, and the poker flew out of her hand to the other end of the house. However, she got up without much loss of time and went to the cradle, intending to pitch the wicked thing that was in it into the pot of boiling water, when there she saw her own child in a sweet sleep, one of his soft round arms rested upon the pillow--his features were as placid as if their repose had never been disturbed, save the rosy mouth, which moved with a gentle and regular breathing.


References:

"Thomas Crofton Croker." The Columbia Encyclopedia. 6th ed. 2007.

Death of Thomas Crofton Croker, The New York Times [New York], 24 August 1854, p.4.
Text kindly provided by The New York Times at http://query.nytimes.com/gst/abstract.html?res=9B00EED81538EE3BBC4D51DFBE66838F649FDE

Yeats, William Butler, Fairy Tales and Folktales of the Irish Peasantry, Courier Dover Publications, 1991.

Geek

We’re all familiar with this word—chances are if you’ve never been called a geek, you’ve at least called someone else a geek. It’s even fast becoming common practice to say, after admitting a particular kind of knowledge, “Yep, I just geeked myself”. Attitudes about the term vary; some people proudly proclaim their geekdom, almost as if hoping to reach otaku status, while others hide or deny it. Some people claim it only applies to those within certain disciplines—science, math, or engineering spring to mind. But what does it actually mean? And where did it come from?

In early 1995, The X-Files ushered the original meaning of the term geek—a carnival or circus perfomer known for wild acts—back into the zeitgeist, though only to a certain crowd, I’ll admit. But the more recent meaning, “an unfashionable or socially inept person…[with adjective] a person with an eccentric devotion to a particular interest,” seems to be an extension of the word’s etymology.

And that would be…? Well, according to my trusty OED, “geek” is from an English dialect word, geck, or “fool”. This, in turn, is of Germanic origin and related to the Dutch gek, meaning “mad, silly”.

Rhodopis, the Greco-Egyptian Cinderella

Recorded by the Greek historian Strabo (c. 63 BC – c. AD 23), Rhodopis (also Rhodopsis) is arguably the earliest[1] version of Cinderella.

*

Rhodopis, the rosy-cheeked, was a girl from brought from Greece to Egypt, a bounty of the slave trade. Soon sold to a kindly but absent and elderly master, she came to work in his house, with his three Egyptian servants.

Seeing her fair skin, and hearing her foreign words, the servants were quick to hate Rhodopis. When the master bid them grind the grain, weed the garden, or do the wash, they each would say, “Call Rosy-Cheek, she can do it,” or “Rhodopis! Ugly One! Come, the master wants you to do as we say!”

Now, Rhodopis was neither soft nor blind; if she did not know the others were taking advantage of her, she certainly suspected. At first, she sought to have them share in her work, but the Egyptians were scornful and cruel, and Rhodopis soon found it was easiest to set about her chores alone. But while she forced to work for all, Rhodopis’ heart was often light; skilled as a dancer she would skip and flit and dash about, lithe as a leaf on the wind.

One day, as Rhodopis took the wash to the river, her master chanced to see her skip along. So light, so skilled, so graceful was she, he soon gifted her with a pair of gilded slippers[2], for though he was absent, elderly, and entirely unaware of Rhodopis’ hardship, he was, in essentials, a kind and good-hearted man.
All then continued as before: Rhodopis did the household work while the other girls supervised. Some time after the slipper-gift, the Pharaoh invited the people to an open court, a celebration, in Memphis. The master, delivering the news, was quick to consent to all four girls attending.

Naturally, Rhodopis’ first thought was that she would now have a chance to dance in her gilded slippers. She turned to face the other girls, sunshine in her face. But before she could utter a word, the other girls were upon her.

“Of course, you won’t be going, Rosy Cheeks,” said they. “Everyone knows you are not a true Egyptian and besides, there is so much work to do!” And they presented the fair Greek girl with a list of chores.

The day of the celebration, the Egyptian servants set out for Memphis, while Rhodopis carried the wash down to the river. But as Rhodopis tipped the clothes into the water, she wet one of her gilded slippers; taking it from her foot she carefully set it aside to dry in the sun, then tucked the other into one of the many pockets about her dress.

Suddenly, a falcon—Horus!--appeared overhead. Swooping low, the falcon snatched up the drying slipper, then returned to the sky flying toward Memphis. When the falcon god Horus reached Memphis and the celebration, he let the slipper fall into the Pharaoh’s lap.

Now, Pharaohs are clever people; some say they even speak with the gods. This Pharaoh, of course, easily recognised the falcon-fallen slipper as a sign from Horus—and he instantly resolved to take the owner as his wife.

Soon, the Pharaoh’s people came to the house of Rhodopis’ master. The three servant girls each tried the slipper. It fitted none.

The three Egyptians were loath to tell the Pharaoh’s men about Rhodopis but they soon heard about her all the same. And so the Greek girl was brought forward to try the slipper—and of course it fit, and of course she produced its mate—and the Pharaoh took her to wife, as he had said.


Note: I originally included names for the servants in this retelling. After some thought and discussion, I have decided to remove them.

Footnotes:

[1] The other variant of Cinderella from antiquity is Yeh-Hsien.
[2] I have seen these listed as gold, rose-hued, and simply slippers.

Fairy Tale: The Wonderful Birch

I have a soft spot for birches and so I offer this Russian tale. It is from Andrew Lang’s Red Fairy Book, first published in 1890.

Cinderella is, perhaps, the most popular fairy tale in the world today; consider the similarities, and the differences, between this story, Yeh-Hsien, Rhodopis, and the more familiar Grimms’ Ashenputtel.

*

ONCE upon a time there were a man and a woman, who had an only daughter. Now it happened that one of their sheep went astray, and they set out to look for it, and searched and searched, each in a different part of the wood. Then the good wife met a witch, who said to her:`If you spit, you miserable creature, if you spit into the sheath of my knife, or if you run between my legs, I shall change you into a black sheep.'

The woman neither spat, nor did she run between her legs, but yet the witch changed her into a sheep. Then she made herself look exactly like the woman, and called out to the good man: `Ho, old man, halloa! I have found the sheep already!'

The man thought the witch was really his wife, and he did not know that his wife was the sheep; so he went home with her, glad at heart because his sheep was found. When they were safe at home the witch said to the man: `Look here, old man, we must really kill that sheep lest it run away to the wood again.'

The man, who was a peaceable quiet sort of fellow, made no objections, but simply said: `Good, let us do so.'

The daughter, however, had overheard their talk, and she ran to the flock and lamented aloud: `Oh, dear little mother, they are going to slaughter you!'

`Well, then, if they do slaughter me,' was the black sheep's answer, `eat you neither the meat nor the broth that is made of me, but gather all my bones, and bury them by the edge of the field.'

Shortly after this they took the black sheep from the flock and slaughtered it. The witch made pease-soup of it, and set it before the daughter. But the girl remembered her mother's warning. She did not touch the soup, but she carried the bones to the edge of the field and buried them there; and there sprang up on the spot a birch tree--a very lovely birch tree.

Some time had passed away--who can tell how long they might have been living there?--when the witch, to whom a child had been born in the meantime, began to take an ill-will to the man's daughter, and to torment her in all sorts of ways.

Now it happened that a great festival was to be held at the palace, and the King had commanded that all the people should be invited, and that this proclamation should be made:

`Come, people all!
Poor and wretched, one and all!
Blind and crippled though ye be,
Mount your steeds or come by sea.'


And so they drove into the King's feast all the outcasts, and the maimed, and the halt, and the blind. In the good man's house, too, preparations were made to go to the palace. The witch said to the man: `Go you on in front, old man, with our youngest; I will give the elder girl work to keep her from being dull in our absence.'

So the man took the child and set out. But the witch kindled a fire on the hearth, threw a potful of barleycorns among the cinders, and said to the girl:`If you have not picked the barley out of the ashes, and put it all back in the pot before nightfall, I shall eat you up!'

Then she hastened after the others, and the poor girl stayed at home and wept. She tried to be sure to pick up the grains of barley, but she soon saw how useless her labour was; and so she went in her sore trouble to the birch tree on her mother's grave, and cried and cried, because her mother lay dead beneath the sod and could help her no longer. In the midst of her grief she suddenly heard her mother's voice speak from the grave, and say to her:`Why do you weep, little daughter?'

`The witch has scattered barleycorns on the hearth, and bid me pick them out of the ashes,' said the girl; `that is why I weep, dear little mother.'

`Do not weep,' said her mother consolingly. `Break off one of my branches, and strike the hearth with it crosswise, and all will be put right.'

The girl did so. She struck the hearth with the birchen branch, and lo! the barleycorns flew into the pot, and the hearth was clean. Then she went back to the birch tree and laid the branch upon the grave. Then her mother bade her bathe on one side of the stem, dry herself on another, and dress on the third. When the girl had done all that, she had grown so lovely that no one on earth could rival her. Splendid clothing was given to her, and a horse, with hair partly of gold, partly of silver, and partly of something more precious still. The girl sprang into the saddle, and rode as swift as an arrow to the palace. As she turned into the courtyard of the castle the King's son came out to meet her, tied her steed to a pillar, and led her in. He never left her side as they passed through the castle rooms; and all the people gazed at her, and wondered who the lovely maiden was, and from what castle she came; but no one
knew her--no one knew anything about her. At the banquet the Prince invited her to sit next him in the place of honour; but the witch's daughter gnawed the bones under the table. The Prince did not see her, and thinking it was a dog, he gave her such a push with his foot that her arm was broken. Are you not sorry for the witch's daughter? It was not her fault that her mother was a witch.

Towards evening the good man's daughter thought it was time to go home; but as she went, her ring caught on the latch of the door, for the King's son had had it smeared with tar. She did not take time to pull it off, but, hastily unfastening her horse from the pillar, she rode away beyond the castle walls as swift as an arrow. Arrived at home, she took off her clothes by the birch tree, left her horse standing there, and hastened to her place behind the stove.

In a short time the man and the woman came home again too, and the witch said to the girl: `Ah! you poor thing, there you are to be sure! You don't know what fine times we have had at the palace! The King's son carried my daughter about, but the poor thing fell and broke her arm.'

The girl knew well how matters really stood, but she pretended to know nothing about it, and sat dumb behind the stove.

The next day they were invited again to the King's banquet.

`Hey! old man,' said the witch, `get on your clothes as quick as you can; we are bidden to the feast. Take you the child; I will give the other one work, lest she weary.'

She kindled the fire, threw a potful of hemp seed among the ashes, and said to the girl: `If you do not get this sorted, and all the seed back into the pot, I shall kill you!'

The girl wept bitterly; then she went to the birch tree, washed herself on one side of it and dried herself on the other; and this time still finer clothes were given to her, and a very beautiful steed. She broke off a branch of the birch tree, struck the hearth with it, so that the seeds flew into the pot, and then hastened to the castle.

Again the King's son came out to meet her, tied her horse to a pillar, and led her into the banqueting hall. At the feast the girl sat next him in the place of honour, as she had done the day before. But the witch's daughter gnawed bones under the table, and the Prince gave her a push by mistake, which broke her leg--he had never noticed her crawling about among the people's feet. She was VERY unlucky!

The good man's daughter hastened home again betimes, but the King's son had smeared the door-posts with tar, and the girl's golden circlet stuck to it. She had not time to look for it, but sprang to the saddle and rode like an arrow to the birch tree.
There she left her horse and her fine clothes, and said to her mother: `I have lost my circlet at the castle; the door-post was tarred, and it stuck fast.'

`And even had you lost two of them,' answered her mother, `I would give you finer ones.'

Then the girl hastened home, and when her father came home from the feast with the witch, she was in her usual place behind the stove. Then the witch said to her:

`You poor thing! what is there to see here compared with what WE have seen at the palace? The King's son carried my daughter from one room to another; he let her fall, 'tis true, and my child's foot was broken.'

The man's daughter held her peace all the time, and busied herself about the hearth.

The night passed, and when the day began to dawn, the witch awakened her husband, crying: `Hi! get up, old man! We are bidden to the royal banquet.'

So the old man got up. Then the witch gave him the child, saying: `Take you the little one; I will give the other girl work to do, else she will weary at home alone.'

She did as usual. This time it was a dish of milk she poured upon the ashes, saying: `If you do not get all the milk into the dish again before I come home, you will suffer for it.'

How frightened the girl was this time! She ran to the birch tree, and by its magic power her task was accomplished; and then she rode away to the palace as before. When she got to the courtyard she found the Prince waiting for her. He led her into the hall, where she was highly honoured; but the witch's daughter sucked the bones under the table, and crouching at the people's feet she got an eye knocked out, poor thing! Now no one knew any more than before about the good man's daughter, no one knew whence she came; but the Prince had had the threshold smeared with tar, and as she fled her gold slippers stuck to it. She reached the birch tree, and laying aside her finery, she said: `Alas I dear little mother, I have lost my gold slippers!'

`Let them be,' was her mother's reply; `if you need them I shall give you finer ones.'

Scarcely was she in her usual place behind the stove when her father came home with the witch. Immediately the witch began to mock her, saying: `Ah! you poor thing, there is nothing for you to see here, and WE---ah: what great things we have seen at the palace! My little girl was carried about again, but had the ill-luck to fall and get her eye knocked out. You stupid thing, you, what do you know about anything?'

`Yes, indeed, what can I know?' replied the girl; `I had enough to do to get the hearth clean.'

Now the Prince had kept all the things the girl had lost, and he soon set about finding the owner of them. For this purpose a great banquet was given on the fourth day, and all the people were invited to the palace. The witch got ready to go too. She tied a wooden beetle on where her child's foot should have been, a log of wood instead of an arm, and stuck a bit of dirt in the empty socket for an eye, and took the child with her to the castle. When all the people were gathered together, the King's son stepped in among the crowd and cried:

`The maiden whose finger this ring slips over, whose head this
golden hoop encircles, and whose foot this shoe fits, shall be my
bride.'

What a great trying on there was now among them all! The things would fit no one, however.

`The cinder wench is not here,' said the Prince at last; `go and fetch her, and let her try on the things.'

So the girl was fetched, and the Prince was just going to hand the ornaments to her, when the witch held him back, saying: `Don't give them to her; she soils everything with cinders; give them to my daughter rather.'

Well, then the Prince gave the witch's daughter the ring, and the woman filed and pared away at her daughter's finger till the ring fitted. It was the same with the circlet and the shoes of gold. The witch would not allow them to be handed to the cinder wench; she worked at her own daughter's head and feet till she got the things forced on. What was to be done now? The Prince had to take the witch's daughter for his bride whether he would or no; he sneaked away to her father's house with her, however, for he was ashamed to hold the wedding festivities at the palace with so strange a bride. Some days passed, and at last he had to take his bride home to the palace, and he got ready to do so. Just as they were taking leave, the kitchen wench sprang down from her place by the stove, on the pretext of fetching something from the cowhouse, and in going by she whispered in the Prince's ear as he stood in the yard: `Alas! dear Prince, do not rob me of my silver and my gold.'

Thereupon the King's son recognised the cinder wench; so he took both the girls with him, and set out. After they had gone some little way they came to the bank of a river, and the Prince threw the witch's daughter across to serve as a bridge, and so got over with the cinder wench. There lay the witch's daughter then, like a bridge over the river, and could not stir, though her heart was consumed with grief. No help was near, so she cried at last in her anguish: `May there grow a golden hemlock out of my body! Perhaps my mother will know me by that token.'

Scarcely had she spoken when a golden hemlock sprang up from her, and stood upon the bridge.

Now, as soon as the Prince had got rid of the witch's daughter he greeted the cinder wench as his bride, and they wandered together to the birch tree which grew upon the mother's grave. There they received all sorts of treasures and riches, three sacks full of gold, and as much silver, and a splendid steed, which bore them home to
the palace. There they lived a long time together, and the young wife bore a son to the Prince. Immediately word was brought to the witch that her daughter had borne a son--for they all believed the young King's wife to be the witch's daughter.

`So, so,' said the witch to herself; `I had better away with my gift for the infant, then.'

And so saying she set out. Thus it happened that she came t the bank of the river, and there she saw the beautiful golden hemlock growing in the middle of the bridge, and when she began to cut it down to take to her grandchild, she heard a voice moaning: `Alas! dear mother, do not cut me so!'

`Are you here?' demanded the witch.

`Indeed I am, dear little mother,' answered the daughter `They threw me across the river to make a bridge of me.'

In a moment the witch had the bridge shivered to atoms, and then she hastened away to the palace. Stepping up to the young Queen's bed, she began to try her magic arts upon her, saying: `Spit, you wretch, on the blade of my knife; bewitch my knife's blade for me, and I shall change you into a reindeer of the forest.'

`Are you there again to bring trouble upon me?' said the young woman.

She neither spat nor did anything else, but still the witch changed her into a reindeer, and smuggled her own daughter into her place as the Prince's wife. But now the child grew restless and cried, because it missed its mother's care. They took it to the court, and tried to pacify it in every conceivable way, but its crying never ceased.

`What makes the child so restless?' asked the Prince, and he went to a wise widow woman to ask her advice.

`Ay, ay, your own wife is not at home,' said the widow woman; `she is living like a reindeer in the wood; you have the witch's daughter for a wife now, and the witch herself for a mother-in- law.'

`Is there any way of getting my own wife back from the wood again?' asked the Prince.

`Give me the child,' answered the widow woman. `I'll take it with me to-morrow when I go to drive the cows to the wood. I'll make a rustling among the birch leaves and a trembling among the aspens--perhaps the boy will grow quiet when he hears it.'

`Yes, take the child away, take it to the wood with you to quiet it,' said the Prince, and led the widow woman into the castle.

`How now? you are going to send the child away to the wood?' said the witch in a suspicious tone, and tried to interfere.

But the King's son stood firm by what he had commanded, and said: `Carry the child about the wood; perhaps that will pacify it.'

So the widow woman took the child to the wood. She came to the edge of a marsh, and seeing a herd of reindeer there, she began all at once to sing--

`Little Bright-eyes, little Redskin,
Come nurse the child you bore!
That bloodthirsty monster,
That man-eater grim,
Shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
They may threaten and force as they will,
He turns from her, shrinks from her still,'

and immediately the reindeer drew near, and nursed and tended the child the whole day long; but at nightfall it had to follow the herd, and said to the widow woman: `Bring me the child to-morrow, and again the following day; after that I must wander with the herd far away to other lands.'

The following morning the widow woman went back to the castle to fetch the child. The witch interfered, of course, but the Prince said: `Take it, and carry it about in the open air; the boy is quieter at night, to be sure, when he has been in the wood all day.'

So the widow took the child in her arms, and carried it to the marsh in the forest. There she sang as on the preceding day--

`Little Bright-eyes, little Redskin,
Come nurse the child you bore!
That bloodthirsty monster,
That man-eater grim,
Shall nurse him, shall tend him no more.
They may threaten and force as they will,
He turns from her, shrinks from her still,'

and immediately the reindeer left the herd and came to the child, and tended it as on the day before. And so it was that the child throve, till not a finer boy was to be seen anywhere. But the King's son had been pondering over all these things, and he said to the widow woman: `Is there no way of changing the reindeer into a human being again?'

`I don't rightly know,' was her answer. `Come to the wood with me, however; when the woman puts off her reindeer skin I shall comb her head for her; whilst I am doing so you must burn the skin.'

Thereupon they both went to the wood with the child; scarcely were they there when the reindeer appeared and nursed the child as before. Then the widow woman said to the reindeer: `Since you are going far away to-morrow, and I shall not see you again, let me comb your head for the last time, as a remembrance of you.'

Good; the young woman stript off the reindeer skin, and let the widow woman do as she wished. In the meantime the King's son threw the reindeer skin into the fire unobserved.

`What smells of singeing here?' asked the young woman, and looking round she saw her own husband. `Woe is me! you have burnt my skin. Why did you do that?'

`To give you back your human form again.'

`Alack-a-day! I have nothing to cover me now, poor creature that I am!' cried the young woman, and transformed herself first into a distaff, then into a wooden beetle, then into a spindle, and into all imaginable shapes. But all these shapes the King's son
went on destroying till she stood before him in human form again.

Alas! wherefore take me home with you again,' cried the young woman, `since the witch is sure to eat me up?'

`She will not eat you up,' answered her husband; and they started for home with the child.

But when the witch wife saw them she ran away with her daughter, and if she has not stopped she is running still, though at a great age. And the Prince, and his wife, and the baby lived happy ever afterwards.

Make-up Mondays: Sun, Moon, and Talia, by Giambattista Basile

As promised, here is a tale as recompense for my late posting. Sun, Moon, and Talia is from Giambattista Basile's Il Pentamerone, a collection of folktales first published at Naples and in the Neopolitan dialect.

This story will seem familiar to many readers; consider, as you pad along, the almost ostentatious literary nature of the tale and the light allusions to the relationship between the King, Talia, Sun, and Moon.

*

It is a well-known fact that the cruel man is generally his own hangman; and he who throws stones at Heaven frequently comes off with a broken head. But the reverse of the medal shows us that innocence is a shield of fig-tree wood, upon which the sword of malice is broken, or blunts its point; so that, when a poor man fancies himself already dead and buried, he revives again in bone and flesh, as you shall hear in the story which I am going to draw from the cask of memory with the tap of my tongue.

There was once a great Lord, who, having a daughter born to him named Talia, commanded the seers and wise men of his kingdom to come and tell him her fortune; and after various counsellings they came to the conclusion, that a great peril awaited her from a piece of stalk in some flax. Thereupon he issued a command, prohibiting any flax or hemp, or such-like thing, to be brought into his house, hoping thus to avoid the danger.

When Talia was grown up, and was standing one day at the window, she saw an old woman pass by who was spinning. She had never seen a distaff or a spindle, and being vastly pleased with the twisting and twirling of the thread, her curiosity was so great that she made the old woman come upstairs. Then, taking the distaff in her hand, Talia began to draw out the thread, when, by mischance, a piece of stalk in the flax getting under her finger-nail, she fell dead upon the ground; at which sight the old woman hobbled downstairs as quickly as she could.

When the unhappy father heard of the disaster that had befallen Talia, after weeping bitterly, he placed her in that palace in the country, upon a velvet seat under a canopy of brocade; and fastening the doors, he quitted for ever the place which had been the cause of such misfortune to him, in order to drive all remembrance of it from his mind.

Now, a certain King happened to go one day to the chase, and a falcon escaping from him flew in at the window of that palace. When the King found that the bird did not return at his call, he ordered his attendants to knock at the door, thinking that the palace was inhabited; and after knocking for some time, the King ordered them to fetch a vine-dresser's ladder, wishing himself to scale the house and see what was inside. Then he mounted the ladder, and going through the whole palace, he stood aghast at not finding there any living person. At last he came to the room where Talia was lying, as if enchanted; and when the King saw her, he called to her, thinking that she was asleep, but in vain, for she still slept on, however loud he called. So, after admiring her beauty awhile, the King returned home to his kingdom, where for a long time he forgot all that had happened.

Meanwhile, two little twins, one a boy and the other a girl, who looked like two little jewels, wandered, from I know not where, into the palace and found Talia in a trance. At first they were afraid because they tried in vain to awaken her; but, becoming bolder, the girl gently took Talia's finger into her mouth, to bite it and wake her up by this means; and so it happened that the splinter of flax came out. Thereupon she seemed to awake as from a deep sleep; and when she saw those little jewels at her side, she took them to her heart, and loved them more than her life; but she wondered greatly at seeing herself quite alone in the palace with two children, and food and refreshment brought her by unseen hands.

After a time the King, calling Talia to mind, took occasion one day when he went to the chase to go and see her; and when he found her awakened, and with two beautiful little creatures by her side, he was struck dumb with rapture. Then the King told Talia who he was, and they formed a great league and friendship, and he
remained there for several days, promising, as he took leave, to return and fetch her.

When the King went back to his own kingdom he was for ever repeating the names of Talia and the little ones, insomuch that, when he was eating he had Talia in his mouth, and Sun and Moon (for so he named the children); nay, even when he went to rest he did not leave off calling on them, first one and then the other.

Now the King's stepmother had grown suspicious at his long absence at the chase, and when she heard him calling thus on Talia, Sun, and Moon, she waxed wroth, and said to the King's secretary, "Hark ye, friend, you stand in great danger, between the axe and the block; tell me who it is that my stepson is enamoured of, and I will make you rich; but if you conceal the truth from me, I'll make you rue it."

The man, moved on the one side by fear, and on the other pricked by interest, which is a bandage to the eyes of honour, the blind of justice, and an old horse-shoe to trip up good faith, told the Queen the whole truth. Whereupon she sent the secretary in the King's name to Talia, saying that he wished to see the children. Then Talia sent them with great joy, but the Queen commanded the cook to kill them, and serve them up in various ways for her wretched stepson to eat.

Now the cook, who had a tender heart, seeing the two pretty little golden pippins, took compassion on them, and gave them to his wife, bidding her keep them concealed; then he killed and dressed two little kids in a hundred different ways. When the King came, the Queen quickly ordered the dishes served up; and the King fell to eating with great delight, exclaiming, "How good this is! Oh, how excellent, by the soul of my grandfather!" And the old Queen all the while kept saying, "Eat away, for you know what you eat."

At first the King paid no attention to what she said; but at last, hearing the music continue, he replied, "Ay, I know well enough what I eat, for YOU brought nothing to the house." And at last, getting up in a rage, he went off to a villa at a little distance to cool his anger.

Meanwhile the Queen, not satisfied with what she had done, called the secretary again, and sent him to fetch Talia, pretending that the King wished to see her. At this summons Talia went that very instant, longing to see the light of her eyes, and not knowing that only the smoke awaited her. But when she came before the Queen,
the latter said to her, with the face of a Nero, and full of poison as a viper, "Welcome, Madam Sly-cheat! Are you indeed the pretty mischief-maker? Are you the weed that has caught my son's eye and given me all this trouble."

When Talia heard this she began to excuse herself; but the Queen would not listen to a word; and having a large fire lighted in the courtyard, she commanded that Talia should be thrown into the flames. Poor Talia, seeing matters come to a bad pass, fell on her knees before the Queen, and besought her at least to grant her time to take the clothes from off her back. Whereupon the Queen, not so much out of pity for the unhappy girl, as to get possession of her dress, which was embroidered all over with gold and pearls, said to her, "Undress yourself--I allow you." Then Talia began to undress, and as she took off each garment she uttered an exclamation of grief; and when she had stripped off her cloak, her gown, and her jacket, and was proceeding to take off her petticoat, they seized her and were dragging her away. At that moment the King came up, and seeing the spectacle he demanded to know the whole truth; and when he asked also for the children, and heard that his stepmother had ordered them to be killed, the unhappy King gave himself up to despair. He then ordered her to be thrown into the same fire which had been lighted for Talia, and the secretary with her, who was the handle of this cruel game and the weaver of this wicked web. Then he was going to do the same with the cook, thinking that he had killed the children; but the cook threw himself at the King's feet and said, "Truly, sir King, I would desire no other sinecure in return for the service I have done you than to be thrown into a furnace full of live coals; I would ask no other gratuity than the thrust of a spike; I would wish for no other amusement than to be roasted in the fire; I would desire no other privilege than to have the ashes of the cook mingled with those of a Queen. But I look for no such great reward for having saved the children, and brought them back to you in spite of that wicked creature who wished to kill them."

When the King heard these words he was quite beside himself; he appeared to dream, and could not believe what his ears had heard. Then he said to the cook, "If it is true that you have saved the children, be assured I will take you from turning the spit, and reward you so that you shall call yourself the happiest man in the world."

As the King was speaking these words, the wife of the cook, seeing the dilemma her husband was in, brought Sun and Moon before the King, who, playing at the game of three with Talia and the other children, went round and round kissing first one and then another. Then giving the cook a large reward, he made him his chamberlain; and he took Talia to wife, who enjoyed a long life with her husband and the children, acknowledging that—

"He who has luck may go to bed,
And bliss will rain upon his head."

Commentary: The Ballad of Hua Mulan

Origins

The earliest known writing of The Ballad of Hua Mulan was recorded in Guijin yuelu, by Zhi Jiang c. 568 A.D. The earliest extant version of the work, however, comes to us from Guo Maoqian twelfth-century compilation, Yuefu shiji or Collection of Music-Bureau Poems, as the former has been lost to time[Lan, 2003, p.231].

Where did The Ballad of Hua Mulan come from, then? For the most part, it’s believed that the poem originated in the Northern Wei, around the fifth and sixth centuries—“a time,” Lan tells us,

...when the Northern Wei was engaged in a series of wars against foreign invaders. There have been efforts to identify the military event in the poem with a famous battle in which Emperor Taiwu of the Northern Wei defeated the invading Rouran army in 429 A.D. [Lan, 2003, p.231]

Northern Wei

A non-Chinese, i.e. non-Han dynasty, this dynasty was ruled by the Xianbei tribe. At first, this non-Sino aristocracy was resistant to Chinese custom and culture, though later, most notably in the era of Emperor Xiaowen (471-77), said ruling class began to encourage the assimilation of Chinese customs and values. The dynasty was starting to decline at this time; this assimilation was intended to strengthen ties and lessen tension rather than endorse Chinese customs and Confucianism.

Mulan in Disney

The Disney film [1], Mulan is how most many people in the West first became acquainted with this tale (myself included). In the past decade, the story has garnered much attention—its unfamiliarity helping to make it a hit. The main character, Mulan herself, is easily identified with—most young women can relate to feelings of not belonging, of difference, of wanting to prove themselves. But is this a true representation of the Mulan in the tale?

Yes and no. As with many of their adaptations, Disney appears to have used a revisionist telling as source material. Versions—particularly Confucianist versions—of Mulan abound, but it seems likely that the Disney version of the story was most heavily influenced by the anonymously penned Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan, (The Legendary Story of a Girl Who Is Loyal, Filial, Heroic, and Chaste). Though it “completely Siniticizes” [Lan, p.235] the tale, Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan is the most popular prose account. One recognisable feature of both tales is the Emperor—in Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan, the author has changed the Emperor to Taizong of the Tang dynasty, and Disney appears to have kept this change.

Another version of Mulan, however, also appears to have influenced the tale. Interestingly,a 16th century (Ming Dynasty) play by Xu Wei begins with Mulan singing an aria “about her desire to find a place for herself among the heroes and heroines of history”. Although the link is somewhat tenuous, the Disney song, Reflection, is easily brought to mind. Xu Wei’s version of the tale, while not as well known as Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan, is still important—it is here, notes Jeannette Faurot, that the tale’s tone first begins to change. As Susan Mann writes,

Besides duty, Xu Wei’s Mulan is motivated by her excitement at the prospect of going off to war to use skills her father had taught her.

It’s also likely that it was Xu Wei who gave Mulan the “Hua” (Fa, in Cantonese). A well-known critic of Confucianism, his work seeks to make a case for a Chinese tradition of female heroism, going farther than the original, saying that women “can stand upright on their two legs between heaven and earth” [Mann, p.234]. It is the hands of this dramatist that Mulan first takes on her most recognisable colours.

Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan, the afore-mentioned 1732 revision is the most radical revision of the tale, presenting Mulan as a Han woman from a good Confucianist family, in contrast to the earlier, Northern Mulan. Generally speaking, tracing such ethnicities if of little use; attempting to verify a suggested ethnicity may even be an exercise in futility. But the differences between Mulan in the Northern Wei and Mulan as a Confucianist woman (such revisions first appeared in the Tang Dynasty) are vast; as Lan notes, such a character as Mulan could only surface in a time and place in which Confucianism had “lost its sway”.


A Northern Horsewoman?

Let us first look at Mulan as a Northern woman. Consider the following excerpts from The Ballad of Hua Mulan:

“I want to buy a saddle and horse/and serve in the army in Father’s place…
She doesn’t hear the sound of Father and Mother calling
She only hears the Yellow River’s flowing water cry tsien tsien.”

These lines aptly illustrate Mulan’s courage, valour, and loyalty. The business of war is not something to be taken lightly; Mulan’s decision to take her father’s place is both brave and kind. Moreover, even when she is away from home, possibly for the first time, Mulan puts her family behind her and focuses on the moment.

“She goes ten thousand miles on the business of war,
She crosses passes and mountains like flying…
…Stout soldiers return after ten years…”

Ten thousand miles! To travel even one thousand miles “on the business of war” is an achievement. And to spend ten years at war—here, it seems the poem suggests that, to travel so far and remain unharmed, Mulan must have great skill as a fighter and horse woman.

“The Khan asks her what she desires,
‘Mulan has no use for a minister's post.
I wish to ride a swift mount
To take me back to my home.’"

Here, we return to loyalty, but also to duty—Mulan has done what she must, by her father and the emperor. Now, the ever-loyal daughter and sister, she seeks only to return to home in relative obscurity. She is humble.

The above traits show us Mulan as a Northern horsewoman, aligned with images of other Northern horsewomen of the same period [Lan, p.232] [2]. Moreover, there is some evidence that the poem is also aligned with a shared value system of the Northern peoples, including the Xianbei [Lan, p.232].


Or a Confucian ideal?

In The Sage and the Second Sex, Chenyang Li discusses the role of women in a Confucianist society, noting that the ideal woman was “the obedient daughter, the faithful wife, the sacrificing mother [Ching Chung via Li, p.9]. Others have defined the ideal Confucianist woman as gentle and graceful, almost princess-like. She is pious, chaste, and bound by filial duty, always remembering the Confucian three cardinal guides—monarch guides subject, father guides son, husband guides wife.

Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan makes much of Mulan’s Confucianist upbringing and, as such, her understanding that loyalty to the state and family serve the same ends. As a virtuous person, then it is Mulan’s duty to replaces her father, too old to fight [Mann, p.236].

Her exploits continue as before—we are told that Mulan makes war for ten years, then returns home. But while she has been away, her parents have passed on; learning this, she immediately vows to tend their graves for the rest of her life. Soon after the vow, though, the Emperor invites Mulan to serve at the imperial court. The narrative becomes less clear here—some think the Emperor’s invitation to serve at court is simply that, an invitation to serve at court, while others have argued it is a veiled invite to become his concubine.

As a Confucian woman, Mulan is now in trouble. Her duty to the Emperor is first, above all but she has a made a vow to her parents also. Does she refuse the Emperor? Does she break her filial vow? Whichever she chooses, she brings shame upon herself and her family. There is only one option—the Confucian Mulan commits suicide, thereby preserving “her integrity as an obedient daughter, loyal subject, and chaste virgin” [Lan, p.236].

Zhingxiaoyonglie qinu zhuan presents a very different Mulan to the Northern Horsewoman discussed above. And yet, she is still recognisable under the veil of Confucianism—Mulan is kind, loyal, and brave, noted for her integrity. It is unsurprising, then, that Confucian writers sought to rewrite her story and polish her up as a model for the ideal Confucian woman—and yet when shown so, the strong heroine we admire becomes tragic and pathetic in the end[3].

Is Mulan real?

Some say yes; some say no. Many small Chinese towns have claimed to be the home of Hua Mulan and many have shrines dedicated to her.

In Women Warriors and Amazons of the Mid Qing Texts Jinghua Yuan and Honglou Meng, Louise Edwards writes,

Mulan (c. 618) was born to the Wei family in Anhui. During the tumultuous years that led to the fall of the Sui, Mulan’s aged, ailing father was called to the army to defend the nation against northern invaders. Mulan, appreciating that her father was too weak to fulfil his duty, dons male attire and takes his place. She battles as a man, with none suspecting her sex, for twelve years before finally returning home and resuming her female life. On hearing of this remarkable occurrence the Emperor requested that she join his palace, but Mulan refused and committed suicide rather than obey his command.

As with many stories from antiquity, it is hard to determine the truth. But even if Mulan herself was not real, the idea of a woman courageous, loyal, resourceful, intelligent, and kind will continue to be as real as we choose to make it.

Footnotes:

[1] Note: as many films do, Disney took artistic license with the film. This is, for the most part, okay—but many people have taken issue—and rightly so, to this writer—with the representation of the Huns as invaders in the film. To my knowledge, the opposing side in the tale is never named; the Huns were a Disney addition, and are unfairly portrayed as evil and barbaric. When watching the film, please be aware of this.

[2] See also Li Bo xiaomei ge, The Song of Li Bo’s Younger Sister and Ziliu ma, The Black-Tailed Red Horse.

[3] I am not a Confucian scholar; much has been said about the role of women in Confucianism, with many scholars calling the system oppressive. There are also arguments, however, that the Confucian idea of yin and yang, masculine and feminine together in one is liberating. Readers must decide for themselves.

References:

Lan, Feng, The Female Individual and the Empire: A Historicist Approach to Mulan and Kingston’s Woman Warrior, Comparative Literature, Vol. 55, No. 3. (Summer, 2003), pp. 229-245
Text kindly provided by JSTOR at http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0010-4124%28200322%2955%3A3%3C229%3ATFIATE%3E2.0.CO%3B2-C

Mann, Susan, Presidential Address: Myths of Asian Womanhood, The Journal of Asian Studies, Vol. 59, No. 4. (Nov., 2000), pp. 835-862.
Text kindly provided by JSTOR at http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0021-9118%28200011%2959%3A4%3C835%3APAMOAW%3E2.0.CO%3B2-7

Edwards, Louise, Women Warriors and Amazons of the Mid Qing Texts Jinghua Yuan and Honglou Meng, Modern Asian Studies, Vol. 29, No. 2. (May, 1995), pp. 225-255.
Text kindly provided by JSTOR at http://links.jstor.org/sici?sici=0026-749X%28199505%2929%3A2%3C225%3AWWAAOT%3E2.0.CO%3B2-T

Li, Chenyang, The Sage and the Second Sex, 2000, Open Court Publishing, n.p.

The Women from the Boab Tree

This goes with a short story I've been working on.

Fairy Tale Friday will be Fairy Tale Weekend this week, I think. I'm still writing things up, but my eyes (frequent short-duration migraines) are preventing me from spending too much at the computer just now. To make it up, though, I'll post a few more fairy tales this week--not all for commentary, just for general interest. I hope you'll bear with me while I sort things out.


If you're wondering what a boab tree is--it's a baobab tree. I don't know why, but we call them boabs in Australia--and seemingly only in Australia.

Note: as it is related to other work, this image is not covered under the site creative commons license.

Fairy Tales and Legends

What’s the difference? I touched on this briefly in the Maiden of Brakel commentary, but , given the number of legends I’ve been posting lately, it seems prudent to address the topic in more depth—just remember that this is far from a thorough treatment of the matter!

The Oxford English Dictionary defines a legend as “a traditional story sometimes popularly regarded as historical but unauthenticated[OED, 2005]”, while Wikipedia suggests that a legend is “a meme that propagates through a culture[Anon, n.a.]”. In contrast, a fairy tale is “a children's story about magical and imaginary beings and lands[OED, 2005]” while Katharine Briggs has defined fairy tales as “narratives containing or hinging upon supernatural happenings[Briggs, 1970 ]”. Doesn’t actually tells us much, does it?

“It easy to assert,” writes Heda Jason, “that a particular text is a legend while another is not. The decision is frequently based on experience; one ‘feels’ that a tale is or is not a legend”.

How many times have we had such an experience? Reading a story—such as the Ballad of Hua Mulan—some instantly categorise it as “fairy tale” while others think, “wait, that’s not right—it’s a legend, isn’t it?”

There have many definitions of legend, though the best known is that of the Grimm Brothers: a legend is a story that is believed and that is told about a definite (real or fabulous) person, event, or place[Jason, 1971]. Simple, right? Legends are “true”, fairy tales are not. Well, not quite. Think about the first part of that definition, “a legend is a story that is believed”. This does not mean that the details of a legend are true, merely that they are believed by the narrators of the story—i.e. a legend may also have supernatural elements, just as long as the person telling it considers them real. Jason then goes on to define a fairy tale as “not believed by the narrating community, although it too deals with supernatural events[Jason, 1971]”.

So what is a fairy tale?

At the SurLaLune Fairy Tale pages, Heidi Anne Heiner says that, “fairy tales do not have to be stories about fairies. Also, fairy tales are part of folklore, but folk tales are not necessarily fairy tales. The simplest way to explain this is to think of fairy tales as a subgenre of folklore along with myths and legends [Heiner, n.a.]”.

But then, in his introduction to The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales, Jack Zipes writes,

…fairy tales have been defined in so many different ways that it boggles the mind to think that they can be categorised as a genre. In fact, the confusion is so great that most literray critics continually confound the oral folk tale with the literary fairy tale and vice versa. Some even argue, to the dismay of folklorists, that we might as well label any text or narrative that calls itself and is called a fairy tale as such since the average reader is not aware of the distinction between the oral and literary traditions or even cares about it…[Zipes, 2000].

In short, that which most of us consider a fairy tale is either a literary fairy tale (The White Cat, The Golden Cockerel) or an oral folktale (Kate Crackernuts), transcribed by a folklorist or other collector. In recent years, there has been much discussion amongst folklorists about such transcriptions, most saying that in the case of tale collection, the collector should take care to transcribe the exact words of the storyteller.

And in the context of this site? Well, I’m not a folklorist—just an enthusiastic amateur with too little spare time and too many books. In the introductions and commentaries I post, I do try to note the origin of tales, insofar as I can find one. And Fairy Tale Fridays? There are certainly more than enough literary fairy tales for me to post, thereby keeping to a slightly more correct definition of fairy tale. Yet coasting from story to story as I tend to do is a far more interesting and free adventure—and one that I much prefer. Perhaps I should consider changing Fairy Tale Fridays to Folk Lore or Folk Tale Fridays…


References:

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.
Oxford English Dictionary, Electronic Version 1.0.2, 2005.
Jason, Heda, Concerning the ‘Historical’ and the ‘Local’ Legends and Their Relatives, The Journal of American Folklore, Vol. 84, No. 331, Toward New Perspectives in Folklore (Jan.-Mar., 1971), pp. 134-144.
Heiner, Heidi Anne, Answering What is a Fairy Tale? http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/introduction/ftdefinition.html
Zipes, Jack, et al., The Complete Fairy Tales of the Brothers Grimm All-New Third Edition, Bantam, 2003.

Fearn

I drew this while thinking about a short story. As you can see, I'm not an artist, but I often find that letting my pencil skim the page allows my mind to flutter and flit about the right cages until I'm ready to write.

Note: as it is related to other work, this image is not covered under the site creative commons license.

Forest Hills

A few weeks ago, we took a trip out to Forest Hills Cemetery. It's a lovely old place, filled with crumbling gravestones and storied old trees; witches' balls glimmered against bare branches and blue sky.

It was too cold for a proper ramble, but we had a short wander all the same, reading names and dates, sketching in histories, lives. Towards the end of the trip, we spotted this...

still...

and serene...

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Ballad of Hua Mulan

Hua Mulan Goes to War, Oil Painting on Silk

It's Monday. I know. I'm working on it.

*

Tsiek tsiek and again tsiek tsiek,
Mulan weaves, facing the door.
You don't hear the shuttle's sound,
You only hear Daughter's sighs.
They ask Daughter who's in her heart,
They ask Daughter who's on her mind.
"No one is on Daughter's heart,
No one is on Daughter's mind.
Last night I saw the draft posters,
The Khan is calling many troops,
The army list is in twelve scrolls,
On every scroll there's Father's name.
Father has no grown-up son,
Mulan has no elder brother.
I want to buy a saddle and horse,
And serve in the army in Father's place."

In the East Market she buys a spirited horse,
In the West Market she buys a saddle,
In the South Market she buys a bridle,
In the North Market she buys a long whip.
At dawn she takes leave of Father and Mother,
In the evening camps on the Yellow River's bank.
She doesn't hear the sound of Father and Mother calling,
She only hears the Yellow River's flowing water cry tsien tsien.

At dawn she takes leave of the Yellow River,
In the evening she arrives at Black Mountain.
She doesn't hear the sound of Father and Mother calling,
She only hears Mount Yen's nomad horses cry tsiu tsiu.
She goes ten thousand miles on the business of war,
She crosses passes and mountains like flying.
Northern gusts carry the rattle of army pots,
Chilly light shines on iron armor.
Generals die in a hundred battles,
Stout soldiers return after ten years.

On her return she sees the Son of Heaven,
The Son of Heaven sits in the Splendid Hall.
He gives out promotions in twelve ranks
And prizes of a hundred thousand and more.
The Khan asks her what she desires.
"Mulan has no use for a minister's post.
I wish to ride a swift mount
To take me back to my home."

When Father and Mother hear Daughter is coming
They go outside the wall to meet her, leaning on each other.
When Elder Sister hears Younger Sister is coming
She fixes her rouge, facing the door.
When Little Brother hears Elder Sister is coming
He whets the knife, quick quick, for pig and sheep.
"I open the door to my east chamber,
I sit on my couch in the west room,
I take off my wartime gown
And put on my old-time clothes."

Facing the window she fixes her cloudlike hair,
Hanging up a mirror she dabs on yellow flower powder
She goes out the door and sees her comrades.
Her comrades are all amazed and perplexed.
Traveling together for twelve years
They didn't know Mulan was a girl.
"The he-hare's feet go hop and skip,
The she-hare's eyes are muddled and fuddled.
Two hares running side by side close to the ground,
How can they tell if I am he or she?"

Commentary: The Golden Cockerel, part II

Aleksandr Pushkin, Vasily Tropinin

The Princes, the Astrologer, and the Queen

What is the purpose of Dadone’s sons? There are no sons in the Washington Irving story; why has Pushkin added them, rather than have Dadone ride out to seek the danger?

Most fairy tales tell things in threes—three sons, three daughters, three attempts. Such adherence to perceived fairy tale structure is a strong feature of literary tales—consider the three episodes in d’Aulnoy’s The White Cat, or the use of time in Wilde’s The Nightingale. Although such structures are seemingly superficial, they result in a certain fairy tale tone, lending a story credence not only as a part of the fairy tale genre, but as a story that may be aged, and appreciated as such, rather than written off as new, nascent, and nothing.

In the Irving story, the King of Granada does not beat about the bush. The moment his advisors wake him, he is out of bed and dressing; soon after he is astride his horse, riding toward the source of the danger and his rendezvous with the Queen of Shamakhan. The plot is set. We know the danger. We know how it ends.

Seven days go by and more,
But no message from the corps:
Has the march been rough or quiet-
Naught to tell it or deny it.
Cockerel goes off once more!
Tracking down the elder's corps,
Rides the younger with another
To the rescue of his brother.
Presently subsides the bird;
And again no more is heard!
And again the people, troubled,
Wait a week, their fears redoubled.
Yet again the cock is heard…

“What could the matter?” we ask. “Why has the eldest not returned? Where is the youngest?” True, we know that both sons will fail, but the how, the why, and the who are drawn out, building to the climax of Dadone’s own trip.

Then it preys upon each mind:
Not a camp or battleground,
Not a warriors' burial mound,
Is encountered near or far.

The suspense builds—when Dadone finally comes upon the silken tent, the dead princes, and the Queen of Shamakhan, it is easy to fit the pieces together. And yet, “Numb he stands - her sight outstuns/Aye! the death of both his sons”. What can this mean? Is this woman, the Queen of Shamakhan, really so beautiful? Or is there more to her? The lines are a clue, a hint at the character and power of the Queen.

And how did the princes come to die?

Both his noble princes, slain,
Pierced each by the other's charge…

What could bring two brothers to such dangerous blows? Seven days, Pushkin tells us, pass before the younger sons sets out. Seven days pass before Dadone sets out. Seven days pass before Dadone returns home, the Queen of Shamakhan alongside. Might we imagine that the eldest son, like the Tsar, is welcomed by the Queen? And, if so, what of the youngest son? Surely he, too, cannot be immune to

“the prize of maidens,
Queen of Shamakhan, in radiance
Lambent like the morning star…”

After all, we know the Queen’s beauty is magical, for no right father is so easily distracted by the death of his only children. Although her motives remain unclear, the Queen’s character has become apparent in just a few lines; the princes’ death has given her depth.

Succour from a gelding sage,
Planet-reckoner and mage;
Sent a runner to implore him
And the magus, brought before him…

Who is this astrologer on whom the Tsar calls? In his preface to The Golden Cockerel, the librettist V. Belsky remarks upon “the way in which Pushkin has shrouded in mystery the relationship between his two fantastical characters: The Astrologer and the Queen. Did they hatch a plot against Dodon? Did they meet by accident, both intent on the king's downfall?[Abraham, p.53]”

Why, moreover, is he “gelded”? Is this a hint, a comment, that wise men are castrated by autocracy and stupidity? Certainly, Pushkin had experienced much to embitter him toward the Tsar. In a letter, he once wrote,

“I have seen three Tsars in my life. The first ordered me to take off my hat, and as I was too young to be scolded myself, he scolded my nurse instead. The second was hardly an admirer of mine, and although the third has raised me to the exalted rank of gentleman of the bedchamber in my dotage, I have no great desire to change him for a fourth. Let us leave well enough alone.”

Twice, Nicholas I had cuckolded the poet—first in 1826, then in 1834. In the first instance, the Tsar recalled Pushkin from exile—after the failure of the Decembrist revolt-- on the condition that he stop writing “subversive poetry”. The Tsar then continued, saying that from then on, he, and he alone, would edit and annotate Pushkin’s work. It was a great compliment, but a great insult, too: Nicholas I had, in essence, made Pushkin his pet protégé and captive, a bird in a gilded cage.[Massie, p.208]

In the second instance, the Tsar appointed the then 34 year old Pushkin to the post of gentlemen of the bedchamber. It was a clearly inappropriate appointment—gentlemen of the bedchamber were usually boys, aged between 15 and 18—because he wished Pushkin and pretty wife to attend court functions and balls. Early on, Nicholas I had become infatuated with Pushkin’s wife, riding by the house and inviting her often to court; seeing the state of affairs, Pushkin tried to keep away from the Tsar as much as possible. But the Tsar could not be deterred; Pushkin was soon stuffed into a page boy uniform and forced to partake in court duties, while his wife went about town with the Tsar.

Considering these events, it is not particularly surprising that Pushkin has painted the tale’s authority figure, Tsar Dadone, as a careless, thoughtless, and cruel fool. The Astrologer, meanwhile, seems a fair portrait of the poet himself: as we have seen, like the poet, he is gelded; like the poet, he is clever; like the poet, he has been mistreated by the Tsar. But Pushkin has also implied that the Astrologer may have more than simple greed in his mind when he asks for the Queen of Shamakhan. As the Tsar asks the eunuch, “And - what use is she to you?”

What use indeed? Why would the Astrologer ask for a woman when he lacks will and means? Is it possible that the Astrologer has recognised his like in the Queen of Shamakhan? Could he be seeking to rid the Tsardom of an evil influence? Did Pushkin the political, subversive, popular poet see himself in such a light? There is no clear answer, of course, except that which the long-dead poet would give us—none, to be exact. But the idea of a linkage between these two characters is not new. As noted above, the librettist Belsky also wonders about the pair. “Did they hatch a plot against Dodon?” he writes. ”Did they meet by accident, both intent on the king's downfall?[Abraham, p. 53]”

I wonder.

When I first read the story, I was taken with it; every now and then I would pluck the book from the shelf and leaf through it, my eyes lingering upon Zvorykin’s bright, illumination-style illustrations, my mind picking at, playing with, rearranging words upon the page. Posting the story for Fairy Tale Fridays seemed a good thing to do—certainly, if I loved the tale so much, wouldn’t other people? And then came the commentary.

Pushkin, his work, his influences, and, of course, “The Golden Cockerel”, provides a lot of reading material. To be sure, I have ploughed through it eagerly, learning and laughing and almost wishing that I had been alive at a time play tickets were so coveted they were sold on the black market, a time when the ideas of liberty a