Now we have machines to do our dreaming for us. But within that ‘video gadgetry’ might lie the source of a continuation, even a transformation, of storytelling and story-performance. The human imagination is infinitely resilient, surviving colonization, transportation, involuntary servitude, imprisonment, bans on language, the oppression of women. Nevertheless, this last century has seen the most fundamental change in human culture since the Iron Age – the final divorce from the land. (John Berger describes this in fictional terms with visionary splendour, in his trilogy Into Their Labours.)
It is a characteristic of every age to believe that it is unique, that our experience will obliterate everything that has gone before. Sometimes that belief is correct. When Thomas Hardy wrote Tess of the d’Urbervilles a century and a half ago, he described a country woman, Tess’s mother, whose sensibility, sense of the world, aesthetic, had scarcely changed in two hundred years. In doing so, he – perfectly consciously – described a way of life at the very moment when profound change was about to begin. Tess and her sisters are themselves whirled away from that rural life deeply rooted in the past into an urban world of ceaseless and giddily accelerating change and innovation, where everything – including, or even especially, our notions of the nature of women and men – was in the melting pot, because the very idea of what constitutes ‘human nature’ was in the melting pot.
The stories in this book, with scarcely an exception, have their roots in the pre-industrialized past, and unreconstructed theories of human nature. In this world, milk comes from the cow, water from the well, and only the intervention of the supernatural can change the relations of women to men and, above all, of women to their own fertility. I don’t offer these stories in a spirit of nostalgia; that past was hard, cruel and especially inimical to women, whatever desperate stratagems we employed to get a little bit of our own way. But I do offer them in a valedictory spirit, as a reminder of how wise, clever, perceptive, occasionally lyrical, eccentric, sometimes downright crazy our great-grandmothers were, and their great-grandmothers; and of the contributions to literature of Mother Goose and her goslings.
Years ago, the late A.L. Lloyd, ethnomusicologist, folklorist and singer, taught me that I needn’t know an artist’s name to recognize that one had been at work. This book is dedicated to that proposition and, therefore, to his memory.
Angela Carter, London, 1990
SERMERSSUAQ
(INNUIT)
ermerssuaq was so powerful that she could lift a kayak on the tips of three fingers. She could kill a seal merely by drumming on its head with her fists. She could rip asunder a fox or hare. Once she arm-wrestled with Qasordlanguaq, another powerful woman, and beat her so easily that she said: ‘Poor Qasordlanguaq could not even beat one of her own lice at arm-wrestling.’ Most men she could beat and then she would tell them: ‘Where were you when the testicles were given out?’ Sometimes this Sermerssuaq would show off her clitoris. It was so big that the skin of a fox would not fully cover it. Aja, and she was the mother of nine children, too!
PART ONE
BRAVE, BOLD AND WILFUL
THE SEARCH FOR LUCK
(GREEK)
o go on and on with the story: there was an old woman and she had a hen. Like her the hen was well on in years and a good worker: every day she laid an egg. The old woman had a neighbour, an old man, a plague-stricken old fellow, and whenever the old woman went off anywhere he used to steal the egg. The poor old woman kept a lookout to catch the thief, but she could never succeed, nor did she want to make accusations against anyone, so she had the idea of going to ask the Undying Sun.
As she was on the way she met three sisters: all three of them were old maids. When they saw her they ran after her to find out where she was going. She told them what her trouble had been. ‘And now,’ said she, ‘I am on my way to ask the Undying Sun and find out what son of a bitch this can be who steals my eggs and does such cruelty to a poor tired old woman.’ When the girls heard this they threw themselves upon her shoulders:
‘O Auntie, I beg you, ask him about us; what is the matter with us that we can’t get married.’ ‘Very well,’ said the old woman. ‘I will ask him, and perhaps he may attend to what I say.’
So she went on and on and she met an old woman shivering with cold. When the old woman saw her and heard where she was going, she began to entreat her: ‘I beg you, old woman, to question him about me too; what is the matter with me that I can never be warm although I wear three fur coats, all one on top of the other.’ ‘Very well,’ said the old woman, ‘I will ask him, but how can I help you?’
So she went on and on and she came to a river; it ran turbid and dark as blood. From a long way off she heard its rushing sound and her knees shook with fear. When the river saw her he too asked her in a savage and angry voice where she was going. She said to him what she had to say. The river said to her: ‘If this is so, ask him about me too: what plague is this upon me that I can never flow at ease.’ ‘Very well, my dear river; very well,’ said the old woman in such terror that she hardly knew how to go on.
So she went on and on, and came to a monstrous great rock; it had for very many years been hanging suspended and could neither fall nor not fall. The rock begged the old woman to ask what was oppressing it so that it could not fall and be at rest and passers-by be free from fear. ‘Very well,’ said the old woman, ‘I will ask him; it is not much to ask and I will take it upon me.’
Talking in this way the old woman found it was very late and so she lifted up her feet and how she did run! When she came up to the crest of the mountain, there she saw the Undying Sun combing his beard with his golden comb. As soon as he saw her he bade her welcome and gave her a stool and then asked her why she had come. The old woman told him what she had suffered about the eggs laid by her hen: ‘And I throw myself at your feet,’ said she: ‘tell me who the thief is. I wish I knew, for then I should not be cursing him so madly and laying a burden on my soul. Also, please see here: I have brought you a kerchief full of pears from my garden and a basket full of baked rolls.’ Then the Undying Sun said to her: ‘The man who steals your eggs is that neighbour of yours. Yet see that you say nothing to him; leave him to God and the man will come by his deserts.’
‘As I was on my way,’ said the old woman to the Undying Sun, ‘I came upon three girls, unmarried, and how they did entreat me! “Ask about us; what is the matter with us that we get no husbands.”’ ‘I know who you mean. They are not girls anyone will marry. They are like to be idle; they have no mother to guide them nor father either, and so it happens that every day they start and sweep the house out without sprinkling water and then use the broom and fill my eyes with dust and how sick I am of them! I can’t bear them. Tell them that from henceforth they must rise before dawn and sprinkle the house and then sweep, and very soon they will get husbands. You need have no more thought about them as you go your way.’
‘Then an old woman made a request of me: “Ask him on my behalf what is the matter with me that I cannot keep warm although I wear three fur coats one on top of the other.”’ ‘You must tell her to give away two in charity for the sake of her soul and then she will keep warm.’
‘Also I saw a river turbid and dark as blood; its flow entangled with eddies. The river requested me: “Ask him about me; what can I do to flow at ease?”’ ‘The river must drown a man and so it will be at ease. When you get there, first cross over the stream and then say what I have said to you; otherwise the river will take you as its prey.’
‘Also I saw a rock: years and years have passed and all the time it has hung like this suspended and cannot fall.’ ‘This rock too must bring a man to death and thus it will be at ease. When you go there pass by the rock, and not till then, say what I have said to you.’
The old woman arose and kissed his hand and said Farewell and went down from the mountain. On her way she came to the rock, and the rock was waiting for her coming as it were with five eyes. She made haste and passed
beyond and then she said what she had been told to say to the rock. When the rock heard how he must fall and that to the death of a man, he grew angry; what to do he knew not. ‘Ah,’ said he to the old woman: ‘If you had told me that before, then I would have made you my prey.’ ‘May all my troubles be yours,’ said the old woman and she – pray excuse me – slapped her behind.
On her way she came close to the river and from the roar it was making she saw how troubled it was and that it was just waiting for her to hear what the Undying Sun had said to her. She made haste and crossed over the stream, and then she said what he had told her. When the river heard this, it was enraged, and such was its evil mood that the water was more turbid than ever. ‘Ah,’ said the river, ‘why did I not know this? Then I would have had your life, you who are an old woman whom nobody wants.’ The old woman was so much frightened that she never turned round to look at the river.
Before she had gone much farther she could see the reek coming up from the roofs of the village and the savour of cooking came across to her. She made no delay but went to the old woman, she who could never keep warm, and said to her what she had been told to say. The table was set all fresh and she sat down and ate with them: they had fine lenten fare and you would have eaten and licked your fingers, so good it was.
Then she went to find the old maids. From the time the old woman had left them their minds had been on her; they were neither lighting the fire in their house nor putting it out: all the time they had their eyes on the road to see the old woman when she came by. As soon as the old woman saw them, she went and sat down and explained to them that they must do what the Undying Sun had told her to tell them. After this they rose up always when it was still night and sprinkled the floor and swept it, and then suitors began to come again, some from one place and some from another; all to ask them in marriage. So they got husbands and lived and were happy.
As for the old woman who could never keep warm, she gave away two of her fur coats for the good of her soul and at once found herself warm. The river and the rock each took a man’s life and so they were at rest.
When the old woman came back home she found the old man at the very gate of death. When she had gone off to find the Undying Sun he was so much frightened that a terrible thing happened to him: the hen’s feathers grew out of his face. No long time passed before he went off to that big village whence no man ever returns. After that the eggs were never missing and the old woman ate them until she died, and when she died the hen died too.
MR FOX
(ENGLISH)
ady Mary was young, and Lady Mary was fair. She had two brothers, and more lovers than she could count. But of them all, the bravest and most gallant, was a Mr Fox, whom she met when she was down at her father’s country-house. No one knew who Mr Fox was; but he was certainly brave, and surely rich, and of all her lovers, Lady Mary cared for him alone. At last it was agreed upon between them that they should be married. Lady Mary asked Mr Fox where they should live, and he described to her his castle, and where it was; but, strange to say, did not ask her, or her brothers, to come and see it.
So one day, near the wedding-day, when her brothers were out, and Mr Fox was away for a day or two on business, as he said, Lady Mary set out for Mr Fox’s castle. And after many searchings, she came at last to it, and a fine strong house it was, with high walls and a deep moat. And when she came up to the gateway she saw written on it:
Be bold, be bold.
But as the gate was open, she went through it, and found no one there. So she went up to the doorway, and over it she found written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.
Still she went on, till she came into the hall, and went up the broad stairs till she came to a door in the gallery, over which was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,
Lest that your heart’s blood should run cold.
But Lady Mary was a brave one, she was, and she opened the door, and what do you think she saw? Why, bodies and skeletons of beautiful young ladies all stained with blood. So Lady Mary thought it was high time to get out of that horrid place, and she closed the door, went through the gallery, and was just going down the stairs, and out of the hall, when who should she see through the window, but Mr Fox dragging a beautiful young lady along from the gateway to the door. Lady Mary rushed downstairs, and hid herself behind a cask, just in time, as Mr Fox came in with the poor young lady who seemed to have fainted. Just as he got near Lady Mary, Mr Fox saw a diamond ring glittering on the finger of the young lady he was dragging, and he tried to pull it off. But it was tightly fixed, and would not come off, so Mr Fox cursed and swore, and drew his sword, raised it, and brought it down upon the hand of the poor lady. The sword cut off the hand, which jumped up into the air, and fell of all places in the world into Lady Mary’s lap. Mr Fox looked about a bit, but did not think of looking behind the cask, so at last he went on dragging the young lady up the stairs into the Bloody Chamber.
As soon as she heard him pass through the gallery, Lady Mary crept out of the door, down through the gateway, and ran home as fast as she could.
Now it happened that the very next day the marriage contract of Lady Mary and Mr Fox was to be signed, and there was a splendid breakfast before that. And when Mr Fox was seated at table opposite Lady Mary, he looked at her. ‘How pale you are this morning, my dear.’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I had a bad night’s rest last night. I had horrible dreams.’ ‘Dreams go by contraries,’ said Mr Fox; ‘but tell us your dream, and your sweet voice will make the time pass till the happy hour comes.’
‘I dreamed,’ said Lady Mary, ‘that I went yestermorn to your castle, and I found it in the woods, with high walls, and a deep moat, and over the gateway was written:
Be bold, be bold.’
‘But it is not so, nor it was not so,’ said Mr Fox.
‘And when I came to the doorway over it was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold.’
‘It is not so, nor it was not so,’ said Mr Fox.
‘And then I went upstairs, and came to a gallery, at the end of which was a door, on which was written:
Be bold, be bold, but not too bold,
Lest that your heart’s blood should run cold.’
‘It is not so, nor it was not so,’ said Mr Fox.
‘And then – and then I opened the door, and the room was filled with bodies and skeletons of poor dead women, all stained with their blood.’
‘It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,’ said Mr Fox.
‘I then dreamed that I rushed down the gallery, and just as I was going down the stairs, I saw you, Mr Fox, coming up to the hall door, dragging after you a poor young lady, rich and beautiful.’
‘It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,’ said Mr Fox.
‘I rushed downstairs, just in time to hide myself behind a cask, when you, Mr Fox, came in dragging the young lady by the arm. And, as you passed me, Mr Fox, I thought I saw you try and get off her diamond ring, and when you could not, Mr Fox, it seemed to me in my dream, that you out with your sword and hacked off the poor lady’s hand to get the ring.’
‘It is not so, nor it was not so. And God forbid it should be so,’ said Mr Fox, and was going to say something else as he rose from his seat, when Lady Mary cried out:
‘But it is so, and it was so. Here’s hand and ring I have to show,’ and pulled out the lady’s hand from her dress, and pointed it straight at Mr Fox.
At once her brothers and her friends drew their swords and cut Mr Fox into a thousand pieces.
KAKUARSHUK
(INNUIT)
ong ago women got their children by digging around in the earth. They would pry the children loose from the very ground itself. They would not have to travel far to find little girls, but boys were more difficult to locate – often they would have to dig extremely deep in the earth to get at the boys. Thus it was that strong women had many childre
n and lazy women very few children or no children at all. Of course, there were barren women as well. And Kakuarshuk was one of these barren women. She would spend nearly all of her time digging up the ground. Half the earth she seemed to overturn, but still she could find no children. At last she went to an angakok, who told her, ‘Go to such-and-such a place, dig there, and you will find a child . . .’ Well, Kakuarshuk went to this place, which was quite a distance from her home, and there she dug. Deeper and deeper she dug, until she came out on the other side of the earth. On this other side, everything seemed to be in reverse. There was neither snow or ice and babies were much bigger than adults. Kakuarshuk was adopted by two of these babies, a girl-baby and a boy-baby. They took her around in an amaut sack and the girl-baby lent her her breast to suck. They seemed to be very fond of Kakuarshuk. Never was she without food or attention. One day her baby-mother said: ‘Is there anything you want, Dear Little One?’ ‘Yes,’ Kakuarshuk replied, ‘I would like to have a baby of my own.’ ‘In that case,’ her baby-mother replied, ‘You must go to such-and-such a place high in the mountains and there you must start digging.’ And so Kakuarshuk travelled to this place in the mountains. She dug. Deeper and deeper the hole went, until it joined many other holes. None of these holes appeared to have an exit anywhere. Nor did Kakuarshuk find any babies along the way. But still she walked on. At night she was visited by Claw-Trolls who tore at her flesh. Then there was a Scourge-Troll who slapped a live seal across her chest and groin. At last she could walk no further and now she lay down to die. Suddenly a little fox came up to her and said: ‘I will save you, mother. Just follow me.’ And the fox took her by the hand and led her through this network of holes to the daylight on the other side. Kakuarshuk could not remember a thing. Aja, not a thing. But when she woke up, she was resting in her own house and there was a little boy-child in her arms.
Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales Page 3