Tulips

Yesterday was our seventh wedding anniversary (yes, I know, I'm getting on a bit). While I'm not much for mooning over things, I took a moment to leaf through our wedding pictures. First, I marvelled at the length of Joe's hair.

Second, I marvelled at the magnificence of the fig tree beneath which we were married.

Together, just after the ceremony. Unfortunately, I can't find a good picture of this lovely tree--I will post again when I do.

And third, I marvelled at the flowers.

Flowers have always been an interest of mine—I love the scent of fresh dirt on my fingertips, the green of the stems, even the light, sneeze-inducing pollen. But when it came to choosing wedding flowers, I was overwhelmed by choices. The traditional roses or jasmine? The modern and elegant orchids? The first flowers Joe ever gave me, gerberas? I considered them all as I wandered through florist shops (no, no help, just browsing, thanks) and nurseries (how hardy are the new daffodil strains?). I sniffed (nothing too heavily scented), brushed (not too much pollen), and crushed (had to stand up to a lot of pictures). Summer passed into autumn then, and I soon laid eyes upon tulips, fresh and fair.

They were pollen-full. They were fragile. They were even scented, a light, wispy, greenish sort of scent. But I wanted them all the same.

As with many things, I soon felt compelled to research tulips—anything that flags my interest for more than a second usually results in a flurry of book buying, database searching, and even "hey, have you got a minute to tell me about…" phone calls. This is time-consuming, yes, but I find myself doing it all the same. And really, I thought, how much could there be to learn about the tulip?

A lot.

The origin of the tulip (Family Liliaceae, Genus Tulipa) is sketchy. Most agree that the flowers are originally from Central Asia (their genetic centre being Tien-Shan and the Pamir-Alai mountain ranges near modern day Islamabad), and that they are so named because of their turban-like shape (consider the shape of the open flower). Historical records suggest that the flowers were cultivated in Turkey as early as 1000 AD, and that they were later introduced to Western Europe—and Holland—by a Viennese botanist in the late sixteenth century.

Tulips quickly grew in popularity—today, many people associate the tulip with Holland. The flowers were soon included in language of flower dictionaries, and the bulbs became popular on the commodities market. At the peak of the aptly named tulipomania, some tulips were worth 3000 guilders[1]! Tulip speculation was common in the wealthier classes, but also amongst those of middling income, as the tulip's phenotype would not be obvious until the flower appeared.

So, what was so special about these tulips? Infection. When a tulip is healthy, the flower has solid petals with a slightly rounded tip, and a uniform colour. The tulips that fetched the greatest prices, though, were variegated, with broken colouring. These features were later discovered to be a result of the Tulip Breaking Virus (TBV).

The rare Semper Augustus tulip, at one time worth 3000 guilders [1]

The craze for the beautiful broken tulips was by no means restricted to Holland; most of Europe succumbed [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 102]. It was in Holland, however, that the beautiful broken tulips had the greatest socio-economic ramifications. At the time tulips were introduced to Holland, the Dutch had very recently won their freedom from the Spanish; the Bubonic Plague had killed thousands; a labour shortage had resulted in increasing wages; and memories of the plague and oppression had created a general sense of anxiety. It seems likely that the Dutch were then in a state of anxious euphoria when tulips were introduced, and that this may have contributed to their tulipomania.

Tulipomania ended in 1637, three years after its peak. Many buyers had realised the market was coming to an end, and the demand for broken tulips slowly faded away—the tulip bubble had burst, leaving widespread bankruptcy in its wake [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 1054]. In fact, "the seventeenth century tulip trade is viewed by economists as the first modern stock market. Tulipomania remains the paradigm of the economic bubble," [Lesnaw and Ghabrial, p. 1054].

I still love tulips--Joe gave me a lovely bunch of broken pink ones recently. But I think I like them all the more for their history, their depth, and I am happy to know it.


A note on Tulips: tulips continue to grow after they've been cut, which can lead to a lack of pressure in their stems. Add something--like sugar--to the water, and trim stems every day. The flowers are also phototropic, i.e., they grow towards the light. To keep tulips from leaning to much, rotate the vase a quarter turn every day, or keep away from direct sunlight (this will also keep the flowers from opening too quickly).

Footnotes:

[1] According to a pamphlet written in 1636, the value of 3000 guilders (the price of the rare Semper Augustus) was equivalent to: eight fat pigs; four fat oxen; twelve fat sheep; twenty-four tonnes of wheat; forty-eight tonnes of rye; two hogsheads of wine; four barrels of eight-guilder beer; two tonnes of butter; a thousand pounds of cheese; a silver drinking cup; a pack of clothes; a bed with mattress and bedding; and a ship [Lesnaw and Ghabiral, p. 1053].

References:

Lesnaw, Judith A and Ghabrial, Said A. "Tulip Breaking: Past, Present, and Future". Plant Disease. 84.10 (2000): 1052-1060.

Fey or Fay?

We use the word 'fey' a lot—it shows up in genre after genre, including modern fairy tale literature, urban fantasy, speculative fiction and magic realism. Oftentimes, when I come across a word that seems to have blasted its way into the zeitgeist, I reach for my trusty OED to see if we've created a new usage, or are merely revisiting an old one.

So, what do these words mean?

Fey—according to the OED, fey is an adjective meaning, "giving an impression of vague unworldliness, having supernatural powers of clairvoyance," and, chiefly Scottish, "fated to die or at the point of death".

Fay—according to the OED, fay is a noun, meaning "fairy".

Simple, right? Not quite. The dictionary goes on to note that,

Fey derives from the Old English fæge (“doomed to die”) and carries the related sense “in an unusually excited state (like one about to die).” By an extension, the word came to mean “whimsical, otherworldly, eccentric,” perhaps from confusion with fay (= a fairy or elf). This shift in meaning was noticed as early as 1950. Today the word's original meaning is all but forgotten.

The Merriam Webster online gives the etymology of "fey" as Middle English feye, from Old English fæge; akin to Old High German feigi doomed and perhaps to Old English fāh hostile, outlawed,related to foe, and dated prior to the 12th century, and "fay" as Middle English faie, from the Anglo-French fee.

Interesting, isn't it? It seems a shame, though, that "fey" is losing its original meaning, while "fay" is so little used that few have probably ever heard the word, even if the evolution of language is a necessary part of growth and development. But even if we fail to see "fey" and "fay" used in their original sense, at least we can be aware of where they came from.

Amy Tan on Creativity

Reposted from its original source, here.

For more interesting talks and ideas, have a look at TED. It's owned by The Sapling Foundation, a non-profit whose goal is to "foster the spread of great ideas."

The Nightingale and the Rose, Oscar Wilde

Pass Me By, Charles Robinson

"She said that she would dance with me if I brought her red roses," cried the young Student; "but in all my garden there is no red rose."

From her nest in the holm-oak tree the Nightingale heard him, and she looked out through the leaves, and wondered.

"No red rose in all my garden!" he cried, and his beautiful eyes filled with tears. "Ah, on what little things does happiness depend! I have read all that the wise men have written, and all the secrets of philosophy are mine, yet for want of a red rose is my life made wretched."

"Here at last is a true lover," said the Nightingale. "Night after night have I sung of him, though I knew him not: night after night have I told his story to the stars, and now I see him. His hair is dark as the hyacinth-blossom, and his lips are red as the rose of his desire; but passion has made his face like pale ivory, and sorrow has set her seal upon his brow." "The Prince gives a ball to-morrow night," murmured the young Student, "and my love will be of the company. If I bring her a red rose she will dance with me till dawn. If I bring her a red rose, I shall hold her in my arms, and she will lean her head upon my shoulder, and her hand will be clasped in mine. But there is no red rose in my garden, so I shall sit lonely, and she will pass me by. She will have no heed of me, and my heart will break."

"Here indeed is the true lover," said the Nightingale. "What I sing of, he suffers--what is joy to me, to him is pain. Surely Love is a wonderful thing. It is more precious than emeralds, and dearer than fine opals. Pearls and pomegranates cannot buy it, nor is it set forth in the marketplace. It may not be purchased of the merchants, nor can it be weighed out in the balance for gold."

"The musicians will sit in their gallery," said the young Student, "and play upon their stringed instruments, and my love will dance to the sound of the harp and the violin. She will dance so lightly that her feet will not touch the floor, and the courtiers in their gay dresses will throng round her. But with me she will not dance, for I have no red rose to give her"; and he flung himself down on the grass, and buried his face in his hands, and wept.

"Why is he weeping?" asked a little Green Lizard, as he ran past him with his tail in the air.

"Why, indeed?" said a Butterfly, who was fluttering about after a sunbeam.

"Why, indeed?" whispered a Daisy to his neighbour, in a soft, low voice.

"He is weeping for a red rose," said the Nightingale.

"For a red rose?" they cried; "how very ridiculous!" and the little Lizard, who was something of a cynic, laughed outright.

But the Nightingale understood the secret of the Student's sorrow, and she sat silent in the oak-tree, and thought about the mystery of Love.

Suddenly she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She passed through the grove like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed across the garden.

In the centre of the grass-plot was standing a beautiful Rose-tree, and when she saw it she flew over to it, and lit upon a spray.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are white," it answered; "as white as the foam of the sea, and whiter than the snow upon the mountain. But go to my brother who grows round the old sun-dial, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing round the old sun-dial.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are yellow," it answered; "as yellow as the hair of the mermaiden who sits upon an amber throne, and yellower than the daffodil that blooms in the meadow before the mower comes with his scythe. But go to my brother who grows beneath the Student's window, and perhaps he will give you what you want."

So the Nightingale flew over to the Rose-tree that was growing beneath the Student's window.

"Give me a red rose," she cried, "and I will sing you my sweetest song."

But the Tree shook its head.

"My roses are red," it answered, "as red as the feet of the dove, and redder than the great fans of coral that wave and wave in the ocean-cavern. But the winter has chilled my veins, and the frost has nipped my buds, and the storm has broken my branches, and I shall have no roses at all this year." "One red rose is all I want," cried the Nightingale, "only one red rose! Is there no way by which I can get it?"

"There is away," answered the Tree; "but it is so terrible that I dare not tell it to you."

"Tell it to me," said the Nightingale, "I am not afraid."

"If you want a red rose," said the Tree, "you must build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with your own heart's-blood. You must sing to me with your breast against a thorn. All night long you must sing to me, and the thorn must pierce your heart, and your life-blood must flow into my veins, and become mine."

"Death is a great price to pay for a red rose," cried the Nightingale, "and Life is very dear to all. It is pleasant to sit in the green wood, and to watch the Sun in his chariot of gold, and the Moon in her chariot of pearl. Sweet is the scent of the hawthorn, and sweet are the bluebells that hide in the valley, and the heather that blows on the hill. Yet Love is better than Life, and what is the heart of a bird compared to the heart of a man?"

So she spread her brown wings for flight, and soared into the air. She swept over the garden like a shadow, and like a shadow she sailed through the grove.

The young Student was still lying on the grass, where she had left him, and the tears were not yet dry in his beautiful eyes.

"Be happy," cried the Nightingale, "be happy; you shall have your red rose. I will build it out of music by moonlight, and stain it with my own heart's-blood. All that I ask of you in return is that you will be a true lover, for Love is wiser than Philosophy, though she is wise, and mightier than Power, though he is mighty. Flame- coloured are his wings, and coloured like flame is his body. His lips are sweet as honey, and his breath is like frankincense."

The Student looked up from the grass, and listened, but he could not understand what the Nightingale was saying to him, for he only knew the things that are written down in books.

But the Oak-tree understood, and felt sad, for he was very fond of the little Nightingale who had built her nest in his branches.

"Sing me one last song," he whispered; "I shall feel very lonely when you are gone."

So the Nightingale sang to the Oak-tree, and her voice was likewater bubbling from a silver jar.

When she had finished her song the Student got up, and pulled a note-book and a lead-pencil out of his pocket.

"She has form," he said to himself, as he walked away through the grove--"that cannot be denied to her; but has she got feeling? I am afraid not. In fact, she is like most artists; she is all style, without any sincerity. She would not sacrifice herself for others. She thinks merely of music, and everybody knows that the arts are selfish. Still, it must be admitted that she has some beautiful notes in her voice. What a pity it is that they do not mean anything, or do any practical good." And he went into his room, and lay down on his little pallet-bed, and began to think of his love; and, after a time, he fell asleep.

And when the Moon shone in the heavens the Nightingale flew to the Rose-tree, and set her breast against the thorn. All night long she sang with her breast against the thorn, and the cold crystal Moon leaned down and listened. All night long she sang, and the thorn went deeper and deeper into her breast, and her life-blood ebbed away from her.

She sang first of the birth of love in the heart of a boy and a girl. And on the top-most spray of the Rose-tree there blossomed a marvellous rose, petal following petal, as song followed song. Pale was it, at first, as the mist that hangs over the river--pale as the feet of the morning, and silver as the wings of the dawn. As the shadow of a rose in a mirror of silver, as the shadow of a rose in a water-pool, so was the rose that blossomed on the topmost spray of the Tree.

But the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and louder and louder grew her song, for she sang of the birth of passion in the soul of a man and a maid.

And a delicate flush of pink came into the leaves of the rose, like the flush in the face of the bridegroom when he kisses the lips of the bride. But the thorn had not yet reached her heart, so the rose's heart remained white, for only a Nightingale's heart's-blood can crimson the heart of a rose.

And the Tree cried to the Nightingale to press closer against the thorn. "Press closer, little Nightingale," cried the Tree, "or the Day will come before the rose is finished."

So the Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn, and the thorn touched her heart, and a fierce pang of pain shot through her. Bitter, bitter was the pain, and wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of the Love that is perfected by Death, of the Love that dies not in the tomb.

And the marvellous rose became crimson, like the rose of the eastern sky. Crimson was the girdle of petals, and crimson as a ruby was the heart.

But the Nightingale's voice grew fainter, and her little wings began to beat, and a film came over her eyes. Fainter and fainter grew her song, and she felt something choking her in her throat.

Then she gave one last burst of music. The white Moon heard it, and she forgot the dawn, and lingered on in the sky. The red rose heard it, and it trembled all over with ecstasy, and opened its petals to the cold morning air. Echo bore it to her purple cavern in the hills, and woke the sleeping shepherds from their dreams. It floated through the reeds of the river, and they carried its message to the sea.

"Look, look!" cried the Tree, "the rose is finished now"; but the Nightingale made no answer, for she was lying dead in the long grass, with the thorn in her heart.

And at noon the Student opened his window and looked out.

"Why, what a wonderful piece of luck!" he cried; "here is a red rose! I have never seen any rose like it in all my life. It is so beautiful that I am sure it has a long Latin name"; and he leaned down and plucked it.

Then he put on his hat, and ran up to the Professor's house with the rose in his hand.

The daughter of the Professor was sitting in the doorway winding blue silk on a reel, and her little dog was lying at her feet.

"You said that you would dance with me if I brought you a red rose," cried the Student. "Here is the reddest rose in all the world. You will wear it to-night next your heart, and as we dance together it will tell you how I love you."

But the girl frowned.

"I am afraid it will not go with my dress," she answered; "and, besides, the Chamberlain's nephew has sent me some real jewels, and everybody knows that jewels cost far more than flowers."

"Well, upon my word, you are very ungrateful," said the Student angrily; and he threw the rose into the street, where it fell into the gutter, and a cart-wheel went over it.

"Ungrateful!" said the girl. "I tell you what, you are very rude; and, after all, who are you? Only a Student. Why, I don't believe you have even got silver buckles to your shoes as the Chamberlain's nephew has"; and she got up from her chair and went into the house.

"What a silly thing Love is," said the Student as he walked away. "It is not half as useful as Logic, for it does not prove anything, and it is always telling one of things that are not going to happen, and making one believe things that are not true. In fact, it is quite unpractical, and, as in this age to be practical is everything, I shall go back to Philosophy and study Metaphysics."

So he returned to his room and pulled out a great dusty book, and began to read.

Fairy Tale Fridays: The Happy Prince

The Happy Prince, by Charles Robinson

It's my birthday today, so rather than posting a fairy tale ripe for commentary, I've decided to post one of my favourites. Like all of Oscar Wilde's fairy tales, The Happy Prince is a very bittersweet story, but I love it all the same. My other favourite Wilde tale is The Nightingale (also The Nightingale and the Rose)--I may post that later today.

Note: this version of the tale uses quotation marks and other pieces of punctuation not present in my unabridged copy.

*

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock," remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. "The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything."

"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy," muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

"How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master, "you have never seen one."

"Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

"Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

"It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady- love. "She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind." And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. "I admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also."

"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

"You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!" and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where shall I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

"I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air." So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. "What a curious thing!" he cried; "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw - Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

"Who are you?" he said.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched me."

"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans- Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep."

"What! is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion- flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of- honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move."

"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus- flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad."

"I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. "It is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger."

"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered; "I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy."

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," said the boy, "I must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold."

"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "What a remarkable phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. "A swallow in winter!" And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

"To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Have you any commissions for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow. "To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."

"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"

"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."

"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to weep.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up. "I am going to Egypt"! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."

"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her."

"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. "What a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he said, "so I will stay with you always."

"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."

"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there."

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. "How hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here," shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you."

"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.

"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is litttle beter than a beggar!"

"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.

"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor. "We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We must have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of myself."

"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. "This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away." So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me."

Tagged

Bish has been tagged in a meme. I thought this might happen at some point--someone is reading my page with enough interest to care about my answers! It's actually kind of exciting, in a completely naive and fluttery way.

And so...


1. Pick up the nearest book.
2. Open to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people and post a comment to Vijaya's blog once you've posted your three sentences.

I have to admit, I was tempted to cheat. I was curled up in bed when I saw that I'd been tagged, and the nearest book lay at the bottom of a pile of around twenty books balanced at varying levels of precariousness. The book on top--a slim, beaten-covered Susan Sand novel I received last Christmas (does anybody else remember Susan Sand Mystery Stories?)--looked quite inviting. Arching upward, I reached for it, then flopped back down. My nagging tendency toward honesty had kicked in.

So what was the nearest book? I hold it now, gently eased free of its brethren, Beatrix Potter: The Complete Tales.





Page 123, from The Tale of Mr. Jeremy Fisher,

The boat was round and green, and very like the other lily-leaves. It was tied to a water-plant in the middle of the pond. Mr Jeremy took a reed pole, and pushed the boat out into open water.

Now I'm supposed to tag five people. I've always hated chain letters &c., so this goes a little against the grain, and yet, I really would like to know what books a few people have within reach. As such, I will pass this on, but please feel free to ignore me.


Chris

Nadia

Sheri (who may have already been tagged; ignore me if this is the case)

Rouha

Serena


Note: if you want to participate but don't keep a weblog or don't want to carry the meme over to your page, just post in the comments here. If I haven't tagged you (possibly because I wanted neither to intrude nor irritate) and you want to take part, I'd love to see what you post.

Clever Else

There was once a man who had a daughter who was called "Clever Else," and when she was grown up, her father said she must be married, and her mother said, "Yes, if we could only find some one that she would consent to have."

At last one came from a distance, and his name was Hans, and when he proposed to her, he made it a condition that Clever Else should be very careful as well.

"Oh," said the father, "she does not want for brains."

"No, indeed," said the mother, "she can see the wind coming up the street and hear the flies cough."

"Well," said Hans, "if she does not turn out to be careful too, I will not have her."

Now when they were all seated at table, and had well eaten, the mother said, "Else, go into the cellar and draw some beer."

Then Clever Else took down the jug from the hook in the wall, and as she was on her way to the cellar she rattled the lid up and down so as to pass away the time. When she got there, she took a stool and stood it in front of the cask, so that she need not stoop and make her back ache with needless trouble. Then she put the jug under the tap and turned it, and while the beer was running, in order that her eyes should not be idle, she glanced hither and thither, and finally caught sight of a pickaxe that the workmen had left sticking in the ceiling just above her head.

Then Clever Else began to cry, for she thought, "If I marry Hans, and we have a child, and it grows big, and we send it into the cellar to draw beer, that pickaxe might fall on his head and kill him." So there she sat and cried with all her might, lamenting the anticipated misfortune.

All the while they were waiting upstairs for something to drink, and they waited in vain. At last the mistress said to the maid, "Go down to the cellar and see why Else does not come."

So the maid went, and found her sitting in front of the cask crying with all her might. "What are you crying for?" said the maid.

"Oh dear me," answered she, "how can I help crying? If I marry Hans, and we have a child, and it grows big, and we send it here to draw beer, perhaps the pickaxe may fall on its head and kill it." "Our Else is clever indeed!" said the maid, and directly sat down to bewail the anticipated misfortune.

After a while, when the people upstairs found that the maid did not return, and they were becoming more and more thirsty, the master said to the boy, "You go down into the cellar, and see what Else and the maid are doing."

The boy did so, and there he found both Clever Else and the maid sitting crying together. Then he asked what was the matter.

"Oh dear me," said Else, "how can we help crying? If I marry Hans, and we have a child, and it grows big, and we send it here to draw beer, the pickaxe might fall on its head and kill it." "Our Else is clever indeed!" said the boy, and sitting down beside her, he began howling with a good will.

Upstairs they were all waiting for him to come back, but as he did not come, the master said to the mistress, "You go down to the cellar and see what Else is doing."

So the mistress went down and found all three in great lamentations, and when she asked the cause, then Else told her how the future possible child might be killed as soon as it was big enough to be sent to draw beer, by the pickaxe falling on it. Then the mother at once exclaimed, "Our Else is clever indeed!" and, sitting down, she wept with the rest.

Upstairs the husband waited a little while, but as his wife did not return, and as his thirst constantly increased, he said, "I must go down to the cellar myself, and see what has become of Else."

And when he came into the cellar, and found them all sitting and weeping together, he was told that it was all owing to the child that Else might possibly have, and the possibility of its being killed by the pickaxe so happening to fall just at the time the child might be sitting underneath it drawing beer; and when he heard all this, he cried, "How clever is our Else!" and sitting down, he joined his tears to theirs.

The intended bridegroom stayed upstairs by himself a long time, but as nobody came back to him, he thought he would go himself and see what they were all about. And there he found all five lamenting and crying most pitifully, each one louder than the other. "What misfortune has happened?" cried he.

"O my dear Hans," said Else, "if we marry and have a child, and it grows big, and we send it down here to draw beer, perhaps that pickaxe which has been left sticking up there might fall down on the child's head and kill it; and how can we help crying at that!"

"Now," said Hans, "I cannot think that greater sense than that could be wanted in my household; so as you are so clever, Else, I will have you for my wife," and taking her by the hand he led her upstairs, and they had the wedding at once.

A little while after they were married, Hans said to his wife, "I am going out to work, in order to get money; you go into the field and cut the corn, so that we may have bread." "Very well, I will do so, dear Hans," said she.

And after Hans was gone she cooked herself some nice stew, and took it with her into the field. And when she got there, she said to herself, "Now, what shall I do? Shall I reap first, or eat first? All right, I will eat first." Then she ate her fill of stew, and when she could eat no more, she said to herself, "Now, what shall I do? Shall I reap first, or sleep first? All right, I will sleep first." Then she lay down in the corn and went to sleep.

And Hans got home, and waited there a long while, and Else did not come, so he said to himself, "My Clever Else is so industrious that she never thinks of coming home and eating."

But when evening drew near and still she did not come, Hans set out to see how much corn she had cut; but she had cut no corn at all, but there she was lying in it asleep. Then Hans made haste home, and fetched a bird-net with little bells and threw it over her; and still she went on sleeping. And he ran home again and locked himself in, and sat him down on his bench to work.

At last, when it was beginning to grow dark, Clever Else woke, and when she got up and shook herself, the bells jingled at each movement that she made. Then she grew frightened, and began to doubt whether she were really Clever Else or not, and said to herself, "Am I, or am I not?" And, not knowing what answer to make, she stood for a long while considering; at last she thought, "I will go home to Hans and ask him if I am or not; he is sure to know."

So she ran up to the door of her house, but it was locked; then she knocked at the window, and cried, "Hans, is Else within?" "Yes," answered Hans, "she is in."

Then she was in a greater fright than ever, and crying, "Oh dear, then I am not I," she went to inquire at another door, but the people hearing the jingling of the bells would not open to her, and she could get in nowhere. So she ran away beyond the village, and since then no one has seen her.

Commentary: Clever Gretel, part II

Given the lack of responses to my earlier Clever Gretel post, I let it be for a little while. Not much else has turned up, in terms of posting or commenting, so I'm just going to raise this one point (in a far from exhaustive fashion, mind), then post a fairy tale on Friday (after checking I can find something to say about it, of course).

In her foreword to Kathleen Ragan's Fearless Girls, Wise Women and Beloved Sisters, Jane Yolen takes the opportunity—an important opportunity for those of us reading—to remark upon the female hero,

Hero is a masculine noun. It means an illustrious warrior, a man admired for his achievements and qualities, the central male figure in a great epic or drama. A heroine, on the other hand, is the female equivalent. Or is she really his equal in the epic? We might as well have called her a hero-ess or a hero-ette, some kind of diminutive subset of real heroes. The heroine is the one who carries spears but does no hurl them. The one who dresses well but does not dirty her fingernails in the fight. The one who lies down in a glass casket, until revived by an awakening kiss. Or so the Victorian folk tale anthologists would have had us believe. …In the past twenty-five years there has been a re-evaluation of the female hero in folklore. Perceptive anthologists have begun to resurect the female hero, showing us some of the riches that are still in the storehouses of folklore, unremarked but quite remarkable. They have uncovered stories of the most admirable women homes, young and old, who have been strong actors in their own epic narratives [1].

In choosing the folk tales for the book, Ragan notes that "one of the greatest dilemmas was the definition of a heroine" [2].

Is Gretel a heroine? One of the comments I received about Clever Gretel, from Tasukigirl, says this,

I remember reading something about Clever Gretel and how it falls into the type of humor type tale that doesn't get a lot of attention compared with other tale types…I laughed when I read it, so I'd say it serves it's purpose. I wouldn't try to get caught up in the details too much because I don't think that's what it's about. A servant does something that could get herself in trouble and she's smart enough to get herself out of trouble. I think we're supposed to identify with Gretel more than any of the other characters.

I completely agree—Gretel is the character we identify with, easily. Gretel is smart. And no, I don't think we should get too caught up in the details. But in being so relatable, can we call Gretel a heroine, a role model?

I would like to think so.

True, she does something bad—she steals, she lies, she frightens. And yet, this is a common theme in fairy tales—heroes steal things, heroes lie, heroes frighten. Just last night, I read Minnikin, in which the hero steals a crone's single eye for self gain. Gretel has many good qualities too: she's assertive, she's confident, she's quick to think on her feet, she's in control. These are all things I would to be true of myself—wouldn't any woman?

Stories about warrior women, warrior heroines, are not as well known as they should be, and I do think that the image of Disneyfied heroine is too prevalent. I also think, though, that we too easily push characters like Gretel to the sidelines, laughing but not necessarily seeing.

And now, another "Das Kluge" tale—Clever Else.

Footnotes:

[1] Yolen, Jane. "The Female Hero and the Women Who Wait." Foreword. Fearless Girls, Wise Women, and Beloved Sisters: Heroines in Folktales from Around the World. Ed. Kathleen Ragan. n.p: W.W. Norton & Co. 2000. xviii-xix.

[2] Ragan, Kathleen. Introduction. Fearless Girls, Wise Women, and Beloved Sisters: Heroines in Folktales from Around the World. Ed. Kathleen Ragan. n.p: W.W. Norton & Co. 2000. xxv.

Bahá’í Rights

Every morning, Joe makes a pot of coffee or tea and we sit down to check our email, messages, and catch up on the news. This morning, I stumbled upon The Muslim Network for Bahá’í Rights.

Bahá’í s represent a religious minority in many parts of the world; believers are as far-flung as Iran, Egypt, Germany, and Australia (to name just a small section of their geographic reach). Moreover, the Bahá’í faith is one of the fastest-growing religions in the world, with more than five million followers to date. And yet, as The Muslim Network for Bahá’í Rightsso aptly points out, Bahá’í s are persecuted in many places, most notably Egypt and Iran.

Why?

According to the founder of , a young woman from Bahrain,

“When I talk to my friends about the Bahá’í faith, they tell me that it is a satanic religion. I ask them to provide me with one of the principles of this religion, but they have no answer. Some think that the Bahá’í s are a sect of Shi’i Islam which is also a mistake. They don’t know anything about it, but they are nonetheless suspicious of its followers.” [1]

Is this true?

According to Bahai.com, the principles of the Bahá’í faith as laid out by Bahá'u'lláh in the mid-late nineteenth century are belief in:

-- the oneness of mankind

-- universal peace upheld by a world government

-- independent investigation of truth

-- the common foundation of all religions

-- the essential harmony of science and religion

-- equality of men and women

-- elimination of prejudice of all kinds

-- universal compulsory education

-- a spiritual solution to the economic problem

-- a universal auxiliary language [2].

Many of these principles are familiar, as personal beliefs and human rights (the equality of men and women, elimination of prejudice of all kinds), a principle of the judicial system and government (independent investigation of truth), elements of the business world (a universal auxiliary language—seeming much as English functions today) and perhaps even hopes for a better world (universal compulsory education). Not all will resonate with every individual—we are, after all, individuals. [3]

The Common Foundation of All Religions

Here, I think, is where we first come to trouble. A perceived tenet of many religions is that said religion is correct, said deity(ies) is(are) the only true deity(--ies), and that other beliefs are incorrect and/or dangerous. This is not to say that all people of faith in any given religion believe the above, but rather that the possibility for such belief is there.

I have been fortunate enough, in fact, to meet and work with people from a variety of religions, including the Bahá’í Faith, Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism[4], Islam, and Nature Religions (e.g. Druidism, Paganism, and Wicca). The majority of these people have been kind-hearted, considerate, thoughtful individuals from varying socio-economic backgrounds. Many have espoused their belief to “live and let live”; in fact, the above religions each list tolerance and equality among their fundamental beliefs.

But what about the news headlines, the fundamentalists, the persecutors? Such people cling to certain beliefs, including the idea that they, and they alone, are correct. it is these people, I think, who fixate upon the idea that all religions have a common foundation as correct. Here, however, I think it is important to remember that it is human nature to want and think that we are correct—every parent and child, every couple, every friend, has most likely, at some point, argued their side of the case is the right one, the only one.

Tied into the Bahá’í belief that all religions have a common foundation is the idea of ‘divine messengers’. Such people include the more recent persons, Bahá'u'lláh and the Báb, but they also include the Prophets of Islam and Christianity, the Buddha, Krishna and Zoroaster. From Bahai Topics,

“This succession of divine Teachers reflects a single historic ‘plan of God’ for educating humanity about the Creator and for cultivating the spiritual, intellectual, and moral capabilities of the race.”

In short, Bahá’í s believe in a universal creator, believe he speaks in many ways and through many forms, believe there is a divine plan, and believe in developing the potential of the human race. These are not terrible, terrifying, or awful beliefs, but I imagine the seeming co-opting of any given religion’s teachers and prophets is one of the underlying issues for those who consider Bahá’í s dangerous apostates.

Persecution—Says Who?

According to the BBC’s religion and ethics pages online,

The 350,000 Bahá'ís of Iran were severely persecuted following the 1979 Islamic Revolution.

More than 200 Bahá'ís were executed or murdered, hundreds imprisoned and tens of thousands discriminated against in work and education.

The persecution has slackened in the last decade, although it has not stopped.

Bahá'ís are considered heretics by Muslims because Bahá'u'lláh denied that Muhammad was the last prophet and claimed that he, Bahá'u'lláh, was the latest prophet of God. This denies one of the most fundamental Islamic beliefs.[5]

In March 2006, the UN Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief officially registered her concern over the treatment of Bahá’í s in Iran. From the media press release,

"The Special Rapporteur is highly concerned by information she has received concerning the treatment of members of the Bahá'í community in Iran.

A confidential letter sent on 29 October 2005 by the Chairman of the Command Headquarters of the Armed Forces in Iran to a number of governmental agencies…which is addressed to the Ministry of Information, the Revolutionary Guard and the Police Force, states that the Supreme Leader, Ayatollah Khamenei, had instructed the Command Headquarters to identify persons who adhere to the Bahá'í faith and monitor their activities... [requesting] the recipients to, in a highly confidential manner, collect any and all information about members of the Bahá'í faith…

…The Bahá'í community has an estimated 300,000 to 350,000 adherents throughout Iran. However, members of the Bahá'í community are not recognized as a religious minority in the country and do not have the right to practice their religion. The Special Rapporteur on freedom of religion or belief has closely monitored the treatment of religious minorities in Iran, and has long been concerned by the systematic discrimination against members of the Bahá'í community. Since taking up the mandate in July 2004, the Special Rapporteur has intervened with the Government on a number of occasions regarding the treatment of the Bahá'í community.[6]

And in an article from December 2006, Turkish Daily News journalists Yusuf Kanli and Burak Bekdil wrote that,

Last month [November 2006], the U.S. Congress passed a resolution calling for the emancipation of Iran's largest religious minority, Bahá’í s. Both the Senate and House resolutions decry recent and intensifying persecution of Bahá’í s in Iran that has included a state-sponsored anti-Bahá’í media campaign, the death of a Bahá’í in prison who had been accused of apostasy, and continued harassment and detentions. A committee of the U.N. General Assembly also passed a resolution condemning Iran's human rights violations, including those against the Bahá’í s and other religious minorities.[7]

Denial of work permits, higher education, and even citizenship is an everyday fact of life for Bahá’í s in Iran.

Bahá’í s in Egypt have similar problems. A recent article on the BBC, The Muslim Network for Bahá’í Rights, lists several cases of injustice against Bahá’í s in Egypt, including the exclusion of an Egyptian seventeen year old high school student from her final exams. Failing to complete said exams excludes the student, Kholoud Hafez, from consideration by universities.

Recent events in Egypt offer some hope, though—in late January of this year, Reuters reports that,

”An Egyptian court granted Baha'is the right to obtain government identity papers on Tuesday, so long as they omit their faith, in an important ruling for members of unrecognised religions…

… Egypt had previously refused to allow members of the minority faith to obtain documents listing them as Baha'is, nor would it allow them to omit their religion. Baha'is are regarded as heretics by many Muslims, and rights activists say they face systematic persecution in socially conservative Egypt.

Rights groups say Baha'is were often pressured to accept documents labelling them as members of faiths viewed as more palatable in Egypt.”[8]

Bahá’í Faith as a Cult?

Although much of the talked about persecution of Bahá’í s centres around in Iran and Egypt, there is in some sections of the Christian community a belief that “the Bahá’í Faith, is at its very core anti-Christian theology” [9]. Some websites, such as Bibleline Ministeries and the Cult Awareness and Information Centre, founded by the late Jan Groenveld, a former Jehovah’s Witness and Mormon, denounce the Bahá’í Faith as a cult.

As with all religions, the Bahá’í Faith has many intricacies. The Universal House of Justice in Haifa, is the global home and centre of the religion—and there are strict rules regarding the promulgation of Bahá’í ideas and faith by Bahá’í s themselves. Unsurprisingly, these rules have caused difficulties for both Bahá’í s and non-Bahá’í s, though it seems that said rules relate to the accepted interpretations and ideas of the religion as a whole in much the same way the Catholic papacy leads the Catholic Church with regard to accepted interpretations and ideas.

What Can We Do?

The issues facing Bahá’í s are complex and immense, like many world issues, (and this post is by no means comprehensive). The idea of helping out with a cause can be overwhelming—which cause? How do I do it? What if I don’t have time? I’m a student, I can’t afford donations? I think it’s awful what’s happening, but it’s a government problem, why can’t they sort it out?

Perhaps some of these questions are familiar to you, perhaps none are. But the first step to helping with this cause, and any other cause—Darfur, animal rights, global warming, heart disease, breast cancer, etc.—is awareness. Read. Think. Investigate independently. Consider sources. True, there aren’t enough hours in the day to read about each and every cause out there—and I certainly don’t expect you to keep up with every titbit of information. But I hope you will remember Martin Niemoller’s poem, which I first read upon the haunting and eerie Boston Holocaust memorial:

“They came first for the Communists,

and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a Communist.

Then they came for the Jews,

and I didn’t speak up because I was not a Jew.

Then they came for the trade unionists,

and I didn’t speak up because I wasn’t a trade unionist.

Then they came for the Catholics,

and I didn’t speak up because I was a Protestant.

Then they came for me,

and by that time no one was left to speak up.”

Footnotes

[1] Sobhani, Na'im. "Formation of a Muslim Group in Defense of the Rights of Bahá’í s." BBC-Persia, Washington.
Translation kindly provided by bahairights.org

[2] Bahai.com, 2007. Mid-east Youth

[3] For more information and explanation of the above-listed principles, please see Bahai.com, The Bahá’í s, or Gloria Faizi’s book, An Introduction to the Bahá’í Faith

[4] For more on the principle of equality and its place in Hinduism, please see The Heart of Hinduism.

[5] "Persecution in Iran." BBC-Religion and Ethics--Bahai.

[6] "United Nations Press Release: Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief Concerned About Treatment of Followers of Bahai Faith in Iran." United Nations Human Rights, Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights. 20 Mar. 2006.

[7 Bekdil, Burak and ]Kani, Yusuf. "Bahaism: An Alien Faith Israel and Iran View Differently." Turkish Daily News. Dec 22. 2006

[8] Johnston, Cynthia. "Egypt Baha'is win court fight over identity papers." Reuters-Africa. 29 Jan. 2008

[9] "What is the Bahai Faith?" Christians.co.za: The Gospel Through e-Media. 2005. C-Web.

Commentary: Clever Gretel, part I

Surprisingly, I have had little luck finding research concerning Clever Gretel. I had thought that this story, AT 1741—i.e., the guest flees to save his ears—would be well covered. Indeed, it may be, but none of my usual resources appear to have information regarding this tale type.

As a result, this commentary will perhaps be less interesting than some others, as I explore the tale, for the most part, alone. As I look through the tale, I'd like to propose that readers do the same: I've posted a few questions about the feelings the tale engenders below. Think about them, and comment with your answers (or any other thoughts) if you feel so inclined.

I'll collate whatever comes up and mention it, as appropriate, on Friday, when I post the commentary for this and the week's fairy tale (I haven't picked it yet, so if there are any suggestions or requests, now's the time).

→ How do you feel about Gretel as a role model? Is she a heroine? Is she a villain?
→ Are you satisfied with the end of the story? Do you wish Gretel had had some sort of comeuppance?
→ Can you relate to Gretel's actions?
→ Are Gretel's actions in any way justified? Why might she act as she does (remembering that this tale fits with a pattern of behaviour)?
→ How do you see the relationship between Gretel and the master? Is it equal?
→ Is there any particular element of the tale you consider symbolic, or that speaks to you?
→ Do you find the tale amusing? If so, why? If not, why not?
→ Do you identify with the guest? How do you view the treatment of the guest within the story?

Note: if readers are interested in this sort of interactive commentary, please let me know, and I'll post similarly at the beginning of each week (Sunday or Monday) so as to leave enough time for responses to accrue.

Fairy Tale Fridays: Clever Gretel

There was once a cook named Gretel, who wore shoes with red heels, and when she walked out with them on, she turned herself this way and that, was quite happy and thought: ‘You certainly are a pretty girl!’ And when she came home she drank, in her gladness of heart, a draught of wine, and as wine excites a desire to eat, she tasted the best of whatever she was cooking until she was satisfied, and said: ‘The cook must know what the food is like.’

It came to pass that the master one day said to her: ‘Gretel, there is a guest coming this evening; prepare me two fowls very daintily.’ ‘I will see to it, master,’ answered Gretel. She killed two fowls, scalded them, plucked them, put them on the spit, and towards evening set them before the fire, that they might roast. The fowls began to turn brown, and were nearly ready, but the guest had not yet arrived. Then Gretel called out to her master: ‘If the guest does not come, I must take the fowls away from the fire, but it will be a sin and a shame if they are not eaten the moment they are at their juiciest.’ The master said: ‘I will run myself, and fetch the guest.’ When the master had turned his back, Gretel laid the spit with the fowls on one side, and thought: ‘Standing so long by the fire there, makes one sweat and thirsty; who knows when they will come? Meanwhile, I will run into the cellar, and take a drink.’ She ran down, set a jug, said: ‘God bless it for you, Gretel,’ and took a good drink, and thought that wine should flow on, and should not be interrupted, and took yet another hearty draught.

Then she went and put the fowls down again to the fire, basted them, and drove the spit merrily round. But as the roast meat smelt so good, Gretel thought: ‘Something might be wrong, it ought to be tasted!’ She touched it with her finger, and said: ‘Ah! how good fowls are! It certainly is a sin and a shame that they are not eaten at the right time!’ She ran to the window, to see if the master was not coming with his guest, but she saw no one, and went back to the fowls and thought: ‘One of the wings is burning! I had better take it off and eat it.’ So she cut it off, ate it, and enjoyed it, and when she had done, she thought: ‘The other must go down too, or else master will observe that something is missing.’ When the two wings were eaten, she went and looked for her master, and did not see him. It suddenly occurred to her: ‘Who knows? They are perhaps not coming at all, and have turned in somewhere.’ Then she said: ‘Well, Gretel, enjoy yourself, one fowl has been cut into, take another drink, and eat it up entirely; when it is eaten you will have some peace, why should God’s good gifts be spoilt?’ So she ran into the cellar again, took an enormous drink and ate up the one chicken in great glee. When one of the chickens was swallowed down, and still her master did not come, Gretel looked at the other and said: ‘What one is, the other should be likewise, the two go together; what’s right for the one is right for the other; I think if I were to take another draught it would do me no harm.’ So she took another hearty drink, and let the second chicken follow the first.

While she was making the most of it, her master came and cried: ‘Hurry up, Gretel, the guest is coming directly after me!’ ‘Yes, sir, I will soon serve up,’ answered Gretel. Meantime the master looked to see what the table was properly laid, and took the great knife, wherewith he was going to carve the chickens, and sharpened it on the steps. Presently the guest came, and knocked politely and courteously at the house-door. Gretel ran, and looked to see who was there, and when she saw the guest, she put her finger to her lips and said: ‘Hush! hush! go away as quickly as you can, if my master catches you it will be the worse for you; he certainly did ask you to supper, but his intention is to cut off your two ears. Just listen how he is sharpening the knife for it!’ The guest heard the sharpening, and hurried down the steps again as fast as he could. Gretel was not idle; she ran screaming to her master, and cried: ‘You have invited a fine guest!’ ‘Why, Gretel? What do you mean by that?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘he has taken the chickens which I was just going to serve up, off the dish, and has run away with them!’ ‘That’s a nice trick!’ said her master, and lamented the fine chickens. ‘If he had but left me one, so that something remained for me to eat.’ He called to him to stop, but the guest pretended not to hear. Then he ran after him with the knife still in his hand, crying: ‘Just one, just one,’ meaning that the guest should leave him just one chicken, and not take both. The guest, however, thought no otherwise than that he was to give up one of his ears, and ran as if fire were burning under him, in order to take them both with him.

Suan the Guesser Notes and Variants

Dean S. Fansler's notes on Suan the Guesser.

*

This story seems to be fairly widespread among the Filipinos: there is no doubt of its popularity. The distinguishing incidents of the type are as follows:--

A1 Lazy son decides that he will go to school no longer, and (A2)with his ABC book or a pencil and pad of paper, he has no trouble in making his parents think him wise. (A3) He tells his mother that he has learned to be a prophet and can discover hidden things. (A4) He spies
on his mother, and then "guesses" what she has prepared for supper.

B He hides his father's plough (cattle), and then finds it for him. (B1) Plays similar trick on his uncle, thereby establishing his reputation as a diviner.

C King's daughter loses ring, and the king sends for Juan to find it under penalty of death if he fails, or (C1) his mother volunteers her son's services. (C2) He accidentally discovers the thief by an ejaculation of sorrow, or (C3) shrewdly picks out the guilty one from among the soldiers.

In either case he causes the ring to be hid in a secret place or swallowed by a goose (turkey), in whose body it is found the next day.

D Juan marries the princess.

E By overhearing a conversation, Juan is able to tell the number of seeds in an orange (melon), and to win a large sum of money from a
neighboring king who has come to bet with hero's father-in-law.

F Hero required to accept another bet, as to the contents of three jars. (Method as in E,--swimming out to neighboring king's casco and
overhearing conversation.)

G Ejaculation guess as to contents of golden ball (bottle).

H Afraid of being called on for further demonstration of his skill, hero burns his "magic" book.


A concluding adventure is sometimes added to version c, "Juan the Guesser." King and queen of another country visit palace of Juan's father-in-law and want their newly-born child baptized. Juan is selected to be godfather. When called upon to sign the baptism certificate, he instantly dies of shame, pen in hand: he cannot write even his own name.

Commentary: Suan the Guesser, part II

When reviewing yesterday's post, I noted that some of the text appears to have been eaten by my text editor. I have now remedied this, marking the new sections with bold type.

As you will see, there are some ideas about the Suan tales I do not agree with. Please remember that this is only my opinion, and that the author in question has more grounding and experience.

*

Stage 3—Homophony and the Ejaculation Guess

After the events listed earlier, we come to stage three, where our protagonists are faced with an immediate problem and no hope of truly diving the answer. Startled and afraid, it is here they make what Fansler calls the ejaculation guess, muttering a word—most usually their name—that sounds like, or close to like, the name of the object. Such homophony is a key part of the Doctor Know-All tale type; indeed, it appears that no recorded tale is without it.

Suan the Guesser—wanting to win his money back, Mayabong fills a bottle with dun, covers it, and again challenges Suan and the King. At first, Suan refuses to take part, but the King threatens him with execution if he does not guess, saying, "I let you marry my daughter, because I though that you were a good guesser." When Mayabong then presents Suan with the bottle, the now angry and frightened Suan throws it upon the ground cursing, "I consider that you are all waste to me", and this is accepted as a correct guess.

Note: sometimes the Suan Eket story ends with the events listed above, while it is sometimes ended with the same events listed in Suan the Guesser.

Goldhair—still distrusted, Goldhair is told he must guess the contents of a bag the Emperor shows him to earn his reward. Frightened, he sighs to himself, "Goldhair, oh Goldhair". As the bag contains a golden haired cat, this is accepted as an appropriate answer.

Harisarman—one of the King's ministers does not trust Harisarman, and advises the King to administer a test of his skill. The King then asks Harisarman to guess the contents of a covered pitcher. Afraid, and believing that he will be killed as a result of his inability to guess correctly, Harisarman recalls his father's pet name for him, Froggie, and begin to mumble about the pitcher to himself, all the while calling himself Froggie. As the pitcher contains a frog, this is accepted as an appropriate answer.

Crab—seeking a further demonstration of Crab's skill, the King asks him to guess the contents of a certain dish. Seeing that he is about to be found out, Crab says to himself, "Oh, Crab, what a plight you are in!" As the dish contains a crab, this is accepted as an appropriate answer. Note that the story tells us crabs were quite unknown in the country at the time.

Crab[Ger]—seeking a demonstration of Crab's skill, the nobleman asks him to guess the contents of a certain dish. Seeing that he is about to be found out, Crab says to himself, "Oh, poor Crab!" As the dish contains a crab, this is accepted as an appropriate answer. Note that the story tells us crabs were quite unknown in the country at the time.

Note: the events in Crab[Ger] are reversed, with Crab asked to determine the name of the dish before the thieves reveal themselves to him.

Elements

Retherford—Suan the Guesser as a tale of sexual maturation and societal integration?

In his work, "Suan the Guesser": A Filipino Doctor Know-All, Robert Retherford suggests that the Suan stories are tales of sexual maturation and societal integration, asking us to consider the element of marriage and the way in which Suan comes to it, the sexual symbolism present in the stories, and finally, and that of the "male figure, a ruler at some level whose favor[sic] needs to be gained" [Retherford, p.108.].

Marriage

In the stories discussed here, we see that the protagonists, with the exception of Suan, are already married; indeed, in the case of Crab[Ger], it is the conversation with his wife that ultimately leads Crab[Ger] to discover the thieves. It is here that Retherford points to Suan's bachelor status in Suan Eket, noting that "his placing of the ring within the body cavity of a bird[1] and then 'miraculously' locating it can be interpreted as a seduction scene, since Suan first finds the daughter's ring through guile and later openly discovers it in a more socially acceptable way," [Retherford, pp.105-106].

He continues,

The physical connection between the ring and the internal organs supports the sexual interpretation, and it can be no accident that Suan acquires the daughter through finding her ring: the action of inserting one's finger into a ring is a direct analog with intercourse [Retherford, p.105].

But is this enough to say the tale is representative of sexual maturation? Perhaps, though Retherford also mentions the earlier Suan stories and the symbolism therein, focusing particularly on Suan's Good Luck and Suan Eket. In the former, he notes that the Suan "spies on his mother in order to see what se has inside her bag or jar, which indicates curiosity about female sexuality," [Retherford, p.105], while the stolen plough and carabao, "male objects used in preparing fields for seeding, have connotations of male sexuality and so indicate the theme of sexual awakening" [Retherford, p.105].

And so we have, it seems, a theory of sexual maturation—Suan moves from bachelorhood to marriage throughout the tale, becoming sexually aware of women and intercourse along the way.

But is there enough data to support this theory? Certainly, sexual symbolism has been discussed in relation to folklore many times over—it is quite a popular subject in today's world, and many interesting and well-researched books about the subject are easily available. Yet it seems that while Retherford's hypothesis is interesting, the discussion of symbolism and representation applies only to the Filipino tales and not to those of other cultures—in the tales discussed here, all the protagonists, with the exception of Suan, appear to be married. Indeed, in the case of Crab[Ger] and Harisarman, the wife plays a somewhat important role, facilitating certain events. Marriage is unique to the Filipino tale type.

While tales within a tale type vary, it seems unusual for there to be such a great difference in theme from one culture to the next, with no discernible reason. Moreover, the way in which he has arrived at his hypothesis is questionable to this reader, and he seems to have failed to meet the burden of proof.

Indeed, Retherford is aware of the lack of cross-cultural support, writing,

A lack of cross-cultural support for one aspect of an analysis does not reduce the validity of this aspect for the culture it appears in, nor the general validity of the structural analysis of the tale. Ther