Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales

by Angela Carter

  THE PROMISE

  (BURMESE)

  nce upon a time the beautiful daughter of a Rich Man was studying at a University. She was a most assiduous scholar and one day as she sat by the window of the classroom inscribing on a palm leaf with a stylus a valuable formula which the learned Teacher was reciting to the class, the stylus slipped through her tired fingers and fell through the window on to the ground. She thought that it would be disrespectful to the Teacher to ask him to pause, but if she left her seat to pick up the stylus, she would have missed the formula. While she was in that dilemma, a fellow-student passed by her window and she begged him in a whisper to pick up the stylus for her. Now the passer-by was a King’s Son and a mischievous youth. In fun he replied, ‘Promise me that you will offer me your First Flower on the First Night.’ The Girl, engrossed in the Teacher’s formula, comprehended at that moment only the word ‘flower’ and nodded. He forgot his joke in a short time, but thinking over the incident, the Girl comprehended later the full meaning of the Prince’s words but thought no more of them and hoped that the words were said in fun.

  At the end of their respective studies in the University, the Prince returned to his kingdom and soon after succeeded to his father’s throne, and the Girl returned to her home in a neighbouring kingdom and soon after she married a Rich Man’s Son. On the night of the wedding, her memory flew back to the incident of the stylus, and troubled by her conscience she confessed to her husband of her promise but expressed the belief that the young man was only joking. ‘My dear,’ replied the Husband, ‘it is for him to say whether it was a joke or not. A promise made in honour must never be broken.’ The Girl, after making obeisance to her husband, started at once on a journey to the neighbouring kingdom to fulfil her promise to the King if he should exact such fulfilment.

  As she walked alone in the darkness, a Robber seized hold of her and said, ‘What woman is this that walks in the night, bedecked with gold and jewels? Surrender me your jewels, and your silken dress.’ ‘Oh, Robber,’ replied the Girl, ‘take my jewels, but leave me my silken dress, as I cannot enter the King’s palace, naked and ashamed.’ ‘No,’ said the Robber, ‘your silken dress is as precious as your jewels. Give me the dress also. The Girl then explained to the Robber the reason why she was travelling all alone in the dark. ‘I am impressed with your sense of honour,’ said the Robber, ‘and if you will but promise to return here after giving the First Flower to the King, I shall let you go.’ The Girl made the promise, and was allowed to continue her journey. She walked on until she passed under a banyan tree. ‘What woman is this, that is so fresh and tender and yet walks alone at night?’ said the Ogre of the tree. ‘I will eat you up, as all those who pass under my tree during the hours of darkness belong to me.’ ‘Oh, Ogre,’ pleaded the Girl, ‘please spare me, for if you eat me now, my promise to the Prince will ever remain unkept.’ After she had explained the purpose of her journey by night, the Ogre said, ‘I am impressed by your sense of honour and if you will but promise to return here after you have met the King, I will let you go.’ The Girl made the promise and she was allowed to continue her journey.

  At last, without further adventure, she arrived at the city and was soon knocking at the gates of the King’s palace. ‘What manner of woman are you?’ asked the palace guards. ‘What mean you by coming to the palace and demanding entry at this hour of midnight?’ ‘It is a matter of honour,’ replied the Girl. ‘Please go and tell my lord the King that his fellow-student at the University has come to keep her promise.’ The King, hearing the commotion, looked out of his bedroom window, and saw the Girl standing in the light of the torches of the guards, in the full bloom of her beauty. He recognized her and desired her, but when he had heard her tale he admired her for her loyalty to her oath, and her courage in facing all dangers and difficulties to keep her promise. ‘My friend,’ he said, ‘you are a marvellous woman, for you prize your honour even above maidenly modesty. Your promise was demanded by me as a jest and I had forgotten it. So return you to your Husband.’ So the Girl went back to the Ogre of the banyan tree, and said, ‘Oh, Ogre, eat my body, but after eating, take my silken dress and my jewels, and give them to the Robber who is waiting for me only a few yards from here.’ The Ogre said, ‘Friend, you are a marvellous woman, for you prize your honour even above your life. You are free to go, as I absolve you from your promise.’ The Girl went back to the Robber and said, ‘Oh, Robber, take my jewels and my silken dress. Although I shall have to go back to my Husband naked and ashamed, the servants will let me in, for they will recognize me.’ The Robber replied, ‘Friend, you are a marvellous woman, for you prize your promise above jewels and fine dresses. You are free to go, as I absolve you from your promise.’ So the Girl returned to her Husband, who received her with affection and regard, and they lived happily ever after.

  KATE CRACKERNUTS

  (ENGLISH)

  nce upon a time there was a king and a queen, as in many lands have been. The king had a daughter, Anne, and the queen had one named Kate, but Anne was far bonnier than the queen’s daughter, though they loved one another like real sisters. The queen was jealous of the king’s daughter being bonnier than her own, and cast about to spoil her beauty. So she took counsel of the henwife, who told her to send the lassie to her next morning fasting.

  So next morning early, the queen said to Anne, ‘Go, my dear, to the henwife in the glen, and ask her for some eggs.’ So Anne set out, but as she passed through the kitchen she saw a crust, and she took and munched it as she went along.

  When she came to the henwife’s she asked for eggs, as she had been told to do; the henwife said to her, ‘Lift the lid off that pot there and see.’ The lassie did so, but nothing happened. ‘Go home to your minnie and tell her to keep her larder door better locked,’ said the hen-wife. So she went home to the queen and told her what the henwife had said. The queen knew from this that the lassie had had something to eat, so watched the next morning and sent her away fasting; but the princess saw some country-folk picking peas by the roadside, and being very kind she spoke to them and took a handful of the peas, which she ate by the way.

  When she came to the henwife’s, she said, ‘Lift the lid off the pot and you’ll see.’ So Anne lifted the lid, but nothing happened. Then the henwife was rare angry and said to Anne, ‘Tell your minnie the pot won’t boil if the fire’s away.’ So Anne went home and told the queen.

  The third day the queen goes along with the girl herself to the hen-wife. Now, this time, when Anne lifted the lid off the pot, off falls her own pretty head, and on jumps a sheep’s head.

  So the queen was now quite satisfied, and went back home.

  Her own daughter, Kate, however, took a fine linen cloth and wrapped it round her sister’s head and took her by the hand and they both went out to seek their fortune. They went on, and they went on, and they went on, until they came to a castle. Kate knocked at the door and asked for a night’s lodging for herself and a sick sister. They went in and found it was a king’s castle, who had two sons, and one of them was sickening away to death and no one could find out what ailed him. And the curious thing was, that whoever watched him at night was never seen any more. So the king had offered a peck of silver to anyone who would stop up with him. Now Katie was a very brave girl, so she offered to sit up with him.

  Till midnight all went well. As twelve o’clock rang, however, the sick prince rose, dressed himself, and slipped downstairs. Kate followed, but he didn’t seem to notice her. The prince went to the stable, saddled his horse, called his hound, jumped into the saddle and Kate leapt lightly up behind him. Away rode the prince and Kate through the greenwood, Kate, as they passed, plucking nuts from the trees and filling her apron with them. They rode on and on till they came to a green hill. The prince here drew bridle and spoke: ‘Open, open, green hill, and let the young prince in with his horse and his hound,’ and Kate added, ‘and his lady him behind.’

  Immediately the green hill opened and they pa
ssed in. The prince entered a magnificent hall, brightly lighted up, and many beautiful fairies surrounded the prince and led him off to the dance. Meanwhile, Kate, without being noticed, hid herself behind the door. There she saw the prince dancing, and dancing, and dancing, till he could dance no longer and fell upon a couch. Then the fairies would fan him till he could rise again and go on dancing.

  At last the cock crew, and the prince made all haste to get on horseback; Kate jumped up behind, and home they rode. When the morning sun rose they came in and found Kate sitting down by the fire and cracking her nuts. Kate said the prince had a good night; but she would not sit up another night unless she was to get a peck of gold. The second night passed as the first had done. The prince got up at midnight and rode away to the green hill and the fairy ball, and Kate went with him, gathering nuts as they rode through the forest. This time she did not watch the prince, for she knew he would dance, and dance, and dance. But she saw a fairy baby playing with a wand and overheard one of the fairies say: ‘Three strokes of that wand would make Kate’s sick sister as bonny as ever she was.’

  So Kate rolled nuts to the fairy baby, and rolled nuts till the baby toddled after the nuts and let fall the wand, and Kate took it up and put it in her apron. And at cockcrow they rode home as before, and the moment Kate got home to her room she rushed and touched Anne three times with her wand, and the nasty sheep’s head fell off and she was her own pretty self again.

  The third night Kate consented to watch, only if she should marry the sick prince. All went on as the first two nights. This time the fairy baby was playing with a birdie; Kate heard one of the fairies say: ‘Three bites of that birdie would make the sick prince as well as ever he was.’ Kate rolled all the nuts she had to the fairy baby until the birdie was dropped, and Kate put it in her apron.

  At cockcrow they set off again, but instead of cracking her nuts as she used to do, this time Kate plucked the feathers off and cooked the birdie. Soon there arose a very savoury smell. ‘Oh!’ said the sick prince, ‘I wish I had a bite of that birdie,’ so Kate gave him a bite of the birdie, and he rose up on his elbow. By-and-by he cried out again: ‘Oh, if I had another bite of that birdie!’ so Kate gave him another bite, and he sat up on his bed. Then he said again: ‘Oh! if I but had a third bite of that birdie!’ So Kate gave him a third bite, and he rose hale and strong, dressed himself, and sat down by the fire, and when the folk came in next morning they found Kate and the young prince cracking nuts together. Meanwhile his brother had seen Annie and had fallen in love with her, as everybody did who saw her sweet pretty face. So the sick son married the well sister, and the well son married the sick sister, and they all lived happy and died happy, and never drank out of a dry cappy.

  THE FISHER - GIRL AND THE CRAB

  (INDIAN TRIBAL)

  n old Kuruk and his wife had no children. The old man sowed rice in his field and, when after some days the rice had sprouted, he took his wife to the field to see it. On one side of the field was a gourd, and they took it home for food. But when the old man was about to cut it up, the gourd said, ‘Cut me gently, gently, grandfather!’ The old man was so frightened that he dropped it. He ran to his wife and said, ‘This is a talking gourd.’ ‘Nonsense,’ said the old woman and took the knife herself. But the gourd said, ‘Cut me, gently, gently, old mother!’

  So the old woman cut the gourd up carefully and slowly, and from inside there came out a crab. They got a new pot and put the crab inside. The woman tied a basket to her belly and covered it with cloth. Then she went to the bazaar and told the neighbours, ‘Look, in my old age Mahapurub has given me a son.’

  After some time, she removed the basket and took the crab out of the pot and told everyone. ‘Look, I have given birth to this crab.’

  When the crab was grown up, they went to find him a wife. They got him a nice girl, but when she came to the house she was angry at finding herself married to such a creature. Every night she waited for him, but what could a crab do? Then the girl thought, ‘I must find another man.’ Whenever the crab spoke to the girl, she used to kick it away.

  One day, the girl wanted to go to visit a man in another village. She let her parents-in-law and the crab go to sleep, and then crept out of the house. But the crab saw her go and he got out by another way and went ahead of her along the road. By the roadside there was a banyan tree; to this the crab said, ‘Are you my tree, or whose tree are you?’ The tree said, ‘I am yours.’ Then said the crab, ‘Fall down.’ The tree fell down. Now inside that tree there lived the shape of a youth. The crab took this on itself, and put its crab-shape into the tree instead. It went along the road a little and then told the tree to stand up again.

  After a time, along came the girl. When she saw the beautiful youth under the tree, she was very pleased, and said, ‘Where are you going?’ He said, ‘Nowhere, I am going home.’ She said, ‘Come and lie with me.’ He said, ‘No, I’m afraid. Your husband will beat me. But I’ll come another day.’

  Disappointed, the girl went on. She met a Chamar girl and two pretty Mahara girls. They too were looking for men. The Kuruk girl told them her story, and they took her with them to a dance, promising her a fine gallant. When they got there, they found that the crab-youth was there already. When they saw him, each girl longed to have him as a lover. He went to the Kuruk girl and she drew him aside. But he did nothing. She gave him her ornaments, and he went away.

  When he reached the tree, he bade it fall down, and took his own crab-shape again, returning the shape of the youth to the tree. ‘Stand up again,’ he told the tree, and went home. After a little while the girl also came home. The crab asked her where she had been, but she was in a temper and kicked him out of bed. Then the crab gave her back her ornaments. The girl was frightened and declared that they were not hers.

  The next day, the girl again gave everyone food and put them to sleep. This time she hid by the roadside, and watched to see what the crab would do. The crab came to the banyan tree and said, ‘Are you my tree, or whose are you?’ The tree said, ‘I am your tree.’ Then the crab said, ‘If you are mine, then fall down.’ The tree fell down, and the crab took the shape of the handsome youth, and let the tree stand up again.

  The girl was watching all that happened. When the boy had gone on his way, she went to the tree and said, ‘Are you my tree or whose are you?’ The tree said, ‘I am yours.’ She said, ‘If you are mine, then fall down.’ The tree fell down, and the girl pulled out the crab-shape and killed it and threw it on a fire. Then she hid behind the tree and waited.

  The youth went to the dance, but he could not find his girl, so he came back to the tree. The girl jumped out from behind the tree and caught him and took him home. After that they lived happily together.

  PART TWO

  CLEVER WOMEN, RESOURCEFUL GIRLS & DESPERATE STRATAGEMS

  MAOL A CHLIOBAIN

  (SCOTS GAELIC)

  nce upon a time there was a widow, and she had three daughters; and they said to her that they would go to seek their fortune. She baked three bannocks. She said to the big one, ‘Whether dost thou like best the little half and my blessing, or the big half and my curse?’ ‘I like best,’ said she, ‘the big half and thy curse.’ She said to the middle one, ‘Whether dost thou like best the big half and my curse, or the little half and my blessing?’ ‘I like best,’ said she, ‘the big half and thy curse.’ She said to the little one, ‘Whether dost thou like best the big half and my curse, or the little half and my blessing?’ ‘I like best the little half and thy blessing.’ This pleased her mother, and she gave her the two other halves also. They went away, but the two eldest did not want the youngest to be with them, and they tied her to a rock of stone. They went on; but her mother’s blessing came and freed her. And when they looked behind them, whom did they see but her with the rock on top of her. They let her alone a turn of a while, till they reached a peat stack, and they tied her to the peat stack. They went on a bit but her mother’s blessing came and freed
her, and they looked behind them, and whom did they see but her coming, and the peat stack on the top of her. They let her alone a turn of a while, till they reached a tree, and they tied her to the tree. They went on a bit but her mother’s blessing came and freed her, and when they looked behind them, whom did they see but her, and the tree on top of her.

  They saw it was no good to be at her; they loosed her, and let her come with them. They were going till night came on them. They saw a light a long way from them; and though a long way from them, it was not long that they were in reaching it. They went in. What was this but a giant’s house! They asked to stop the night. They got that, and they were put to bed with the three daughters of the giant. The giant came home, and he said, ‘The smell of the foreign girls is within.’ There were twists of amber knobs about the necks of the giant’s daughters, and strings of horse hair about their own necks. They all slept, but Maol a Chliobain did not sleep. Through the night a thirst came on the giant. He called to his bald, rough-skinned gillie to bring him water. The rough-skinned gillie said that there was not a drop within. ‘Kill,’ said he, ‘one of the strange girls, and bring to me her blood.’ ‘How will I know them?’ said the bald, rough-skinned gillie. ‘There are twists of knobs of amber about the necks of my daughters, and twists of horse hair about the necks of the rest.’