Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales

by Angela Carter

  So off he went after his tea, and there she was, sitting by the fire, and stirring a big pot.

  ‘Good e’en, missis,’ says he, ‘it’s a fine night.’

  ‘Aye,’ says she, and went on stirring.

  ‘It’ll maybe rain,’ says he, and fidgeted from one foot to t’other.

  ‘Maybe,’ says she.

  ‘And m’appen it won’t,’ says he, and looked out o’ the window.

  ‘M’appen,’ says she.

  And he scratched his head and twisted his hat.

  ‘Well,’ says he, ‘I can’t mind nothing else about the weather, but let me see; the crops are getting on fine.’

  ‘Fine,’ says she.

  ‘And – and – the beasts is fattening,’ says he.

  ‘They are,’ says she.

  ‘And – and – says he, and comes to a stop – ‘I reckon we’ll tackle business now, having done the polite like. Have you any brains for to sell?’

  ‘That depends,’ says she, ‘if thou wants king’s brains, or soldier’s brains, or schoolmaster’s brains, I dinna keep ’em.’

  ‘Hout no,’ says he, ‘jist ordinary brains – fit for any fool – same as everyone has about here; something clean commonlike.’

  ‘Aye so,’ says the wise woman, ‘I might manage that, if so be thou’lt help thyself.’

  ‘How’s that for, missis?’ says he.

  ‘Jest so,’ says she, looking in the pot; ‘bring me the heart of the thing thou likest best of all, and I’ll tell thee where to get thy pottle o’ brains.’

  ‘But,’ says he, scratching his head, ‘how can I do that?’

  ‘That’s no for me to say,’ says she, ‘find out for thyself, my lad! if thou doesn’t want to be a fool all thy days. But thou’ll have to read me a riddle so as I can see thou’st brought the right thing, and if thy brains is about thee. And I’ve something else to see to,’ says she, ‘so gode’en to thee,’ and she carried the pot away with her into the back place.

  So off went the fool to his mother, and told her what the wise woman said.

  ‘And I reckon I’ll have to kill that pig,’ says he, ‘for I like fat bacon better than anything.’

  ‘Then do it, my lad,’ said his mother, ‘for certain ’twill be a strange and good thing fur thee, if thou canst buy a pottle o’ brains, and be able to look after thy own self.’

  So he killed his pig, and next day off he went to the wise woman’s cottage, and there she sat, reading in a great book.

  ‘Gode’en, missis,’ says he, ‘I’ve brought thee the heart o’ the thing I like best of all; and I put it hapt in paper on the table.’

  ‘Aye so?’ says she, and looked at him through her spectacles. ‘Tell me this then, what runs without feet?’

  He scratched his head, and thought, and thought, but he couldn’t tell.

  ‘Go thy ways,’ says she, ‘thou’st not fetched me the right thing yet. I’ve no brains for thee today.’ And she clapt the book together, and turned her back.

  So off the fool went to tell his mother.

  But as he got nigh the house, out came folk running to tell him that his mother was dying.

  And when he got in, his mother only looked at him and smiled as if to say she could leave him with a quiet mind since he had got brains enough now to look after himself – and then she died.

  So down he sat and the more he thought about it the badder he felt. He minded how she’d nursed him when he was a tiddy brat, and helped him with his lessons, and cooked his dinners, and mended his clouts, and bore with his foolishness; and he felt sorrier and sorrier, while he began to sob and greet.

  ‘Oh, Mother, Mother!’ says he, ‘who’ll take care of me now! Thou shouldn’t have left me alone, for I liked thee better than everything!’

  And as he said that, he thought of the words of the wise woman. ‘Hi, yi!’ says he, ‘must I take Mother’s heart to her?’

  ‘No! I can’t do that,’ says he. ‘What’ll I do! What’ll I do to get that pottle of brains, now I’m alone in the world?’ So he thought and thought and thought, and next day he went and borrowed a sack, and bundled his mother in, and carried it on his shoulder up to the wise woman’s cottage.

  ‘Gode’en, missis,’ says he, ‘I reckon I’ve fetched thee the right thing this time, surely,’ and he plumped the sack down kerflap! in the doorsill.

  ‘Maybe,’ says the wise woman, ‘but read me this, now, what’s yellow and shining but isn’t gold?’

  And he scratched his head, and thought, and thought, but he couldn’t tell.

  ‘Thou’st not hit the right thing, my lad,’ says she. ‘I doubt thou’rt a bigger fool than I thought!’ and shut the door in his face.

  ‘See there!’ says he, and set down by the road side and greets.

  ‘I’ve lost the only two things as I cared for, and what else can I find to buy a pottle of brains with!’ and he fair howled, till the tears ran down into his mouth. And up came a lass that lived near at hand, and looked at him.

  ‘What’s up with thee, fool?’ says she.

  ‘Oo, I’ve killed my pig, and lost my mother, and I’m nobbut a fool myself,’ says he, sobbing.

  ‘That’s bad,’ says she; ‘and haven’t thee anybody to look after thee?’

  ‘No,’ says he, ‘and I canna buy my pottle of brains, for there’s nothing I like best left!’

  ‘What art talking about!’ says she.

  And down she sets by him, and he told her all about the wise woman and the pig, and his mother and the riddles, and that he was alone in the world.

  ‘Well,’ says she, ‘I wouldn’t mind looking after thee myself.’

  ‘Could thee do it?’ says he.

  ‘Ou, ay!’ says she; ‘folk says as fools make good husbands, and I reckon I’ll have thee, if thou’rt willing.’

  ‘Can’st cook?’ says he.

  ‘Ay, I can,’ says she.

  ‘And scrub?’ says he.

  ‘Surely,’ says she.

  ‘And mend my clouts?’ says he.

  ‘I can that,’ says she.

  ‘I reckon thou’lt do then as well as anybody,’ says he; ‘but what’ll I do about this wise woman?’

  ‘Oh, wait a bit,’ says she, ‘something may turn up, and it’ll not matter if thou’rt a fool, so long’s thou’st got me to look after thee.’

  ‘That’s true,’ says he, and off they went and got married. And she kept his house so clean and neat, and cooked his dinner so fine, that one night he says to her: ‘Lass, I’m thinking I like thee best of everything after all.’

  ‘That’s good hearing,’ says she, ‘and what then?’

  ‘Have I got to kill thee, dost think, and take thy heart up to the wise woman for that pottle o’ brains?’

  ‘Law, no!’ says she, looking skeered, ‘I winna have that. But see here; thou didn’t cut out thy mother’s heart, did thou?’

  ‘No; but if I had, maybe I’d have got my pottle o’ brains,’ says he.

  ‘Not a bit of it,’ says she; ‘just thou take me as I be, heart and all, and I’ll wager I’ll help thee read the riddles.’

  ‘Can thee so?’ says he, doubtful like, ‘I reckon they’re too hard for women folk.’

  ‘Well,’ says she, ‘let’s see now. Tell me the first.’

  ‘What runs without feet?’ says he.

  ‘Why, water!’ says she.

  ‘It do,’ says he, and scratched his head.

  ‘And what’s yellow and shining but isn’t gold?’

  ‘Why, the sun!’ says she.

  ‘Faith, it be!’ says he. ‘Come, we’ll go up to the wise woman at once,’ and off they went. And as they came up the pad, she was sitting at the door, twining straws.

  ‘Gode’en, missis,’ says he.

  ‘Gode’en, fool,’ says she.

  ‘I reckon I’ve fetched thee the right thing at last,’ says he.

  The wise woman looked at them both, and wiped her spectacles.

  ‘Canst tel
l me what that is as has first no legs, and then two legs, and ends with four legs?’

  And the fool scratched his head, and thought and thought, but he couldn’t tell.

  And the lass whispered in his ear:

  ‘It’s a tadpole.’

  ‘M’appen,’ says he then, ‘it may be a tadpole, missis.’

  The wise woman nodded her head.

  ‘That’s right,’ says she, ‘and thou’st got thy pottle o’ brains already.’

  ‘Where be they?’ says he, looking about and feeling in his pockets.

  ‘In thy wife’s head,’ says she. ‘The only cure for a fool is a good wife to look after him, and that thou’st got, so gode’en to thee!’ And with that she nodded to them, and up and into the house.

  So they went home together, and he never wanted to buy a pottle o’ brains again, for his wife had enough for both.

  YOUNG MAN IN THE MORNING

  (AFRICAN AMERICAN)

  n old lady lived in the country was anxious to get married, but was too old, like me. And there was a young man come through the yard mornings, who she wanted to marry. So he told her, ‘If you wet your sheet and wrap it around you, and stay on the roof all night tonight, I’ll marry you in the morning.’

  And she was fool enough to try it. She wrapped the wet sheet around her and went upon the roof, and sat there and shivered. The young man stayed in the house to make sure she stayed on the roof. Through the night he could hear her shivering and saying:

  Oooooh, oooooh,

  Young man in the morning.

  She meant she’d just make it till morning, if she didn’t freeze. (She sure was dumb.) Every time she said it she’d get weaker. So about three o’clock in the morning the sheet was ice, and the young man heard her rolling off the roof of the house and hit the ground in the yard, froze stiff. And when she landed he says, ‘What a blessing. No old woman for me.’

  NOW I SHOULD LAUGH , IF I WERE NOT DEAD

  (ICELANDIC)

  nce two married women had a dispute about which of their husbands was the biggest fool. At last they agreed to try if they were as foolish as they seemed to be. One of the women then played this trick. When her husband came home from his work, she took a spinning-wheel and carders, and sitting down, began to card and spin, but neither the farmer nor anyone else saw any wool in her hands. Her husband, observing this, asked if she was mad to scrape the teazles together and spin the wheel, without having the wool, and prayed her to tell what this meant. She said it was scarcely to be expected that he should see what she was doing, for it was a kind of linen too fine to be seen with the eye. Of this she was going to make him clothes. He thought this a very good explanation, and wondered much at how clever his good wife was, and was not a little glad in looking forward to the joy and pride he would feel in having on these marvellous clothes. When his wife had spun, as she said, enough for the clothes, she set up the loom, and wove the stuff. Her husband used, now and then, to visit her, wondering at the skill of his good lady. She was much amused at all this, and made haste to carry out the trick well. She took the cloth from the loom, when it was finished, and first washed and fulled it, and last, sat down to work, cutting it and sewing the clothes out of it. When she had finished all this, she bade her husband come and try the clothes on, but did not dare let him put them on alone, wherefore she would help him. So she made believe to dress him in his fine clothes, and although the poor man was in reality naked, yet he firmly believed that it was all his own mistake, and thought his clever wife had made him these wondrous-fine clothes, and so glad he was at this, that he could not help jumping about for joy.

  Now we turn to the other wife. When her husband came home from his work, she asked him why in the world he was up, and going about upon his feet. The man was startled at this question, and said: ‘Why on earth do you ask this?’ She persuaded him that he was very ill, and told him he had better go to bed. He believed this, and went to bed as soon as he could. When some time had passed, the wife said she would do the last services for him. He asked why, and prayed her by all means not to do so. She said: ‘Why do you behave like a fool; don’t you know that you died this morning? I am going, at once, to have your coffin made.’ Now the poor man, believing this to be true, rested thus till he was put into his coffin. His wife then appointed a day for the burial, and hired six coffin-carriers, and asked the other couple to follow her dear husband to his grave. She had a window made in one side of the coffin, so that her husband might see all that passed round him. When the hour came for removing the coffin, the naked man came there, thinking that everybody would admire his delicate clothes. But far from it; although the coffin-bearers were in a sad mood, yet nobody could help laughing when they saw this naked fool. And when the man in the coffin caught a glance of him, he cried out as loud as he could: ‘Now I should laugh, if I were not dead!’ The burial was put off, and the man let out of the coffin.

  THE THREE SILLIES

  (ENGLISH)

  nce upon a time there was a farmer and his wife who had one daughter, and she was courted by a gentleman. Every evening he used to come and see her, and stop to supper at the farmhouse, and the daughter used to be sent down into the cellar to draw the beer for supper. So one evening she had gone down to draw the beer, and she happened to look up at the ceiling while she was drawing, and she saw a mallet stuck in one of the beams. It must have been there a long, long time, but somehow or other she had never noticed it before, and she began a-thinking. And she thought it was very dangerous to have that mallet there, for she said to herself: ‘Suppose him and me was to be married, and we was to have a son, and he was to grow up to be a man, and come down into the cellar to draw the beer, like I’m doing now, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!’ And she put down the candle and the jug, and sat herself down and began a-crying.

  Well, they began to wonder upstairs how it was that she was so long drawing the beer, and her mother went down to see after her, and she found her sitting on the settle crying, and the beer running over the floor. ‘Why, whatever is the matter?’ said her mother. ‘Oh, Mother!’ says she, ‘look at that horrid mallet! Suppose we was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be.’

  ‘Dear, dear! what a dreadful thing it would be!’ said the mother, and she sat down aside of the daughter, and started a-crying too. Then after a bit the father began to wonder that they didn’t come back, and he went down into the cellar to look after them himself, and there they two sat a-crying, and the beer running all over the floor. ‘Whatever is the matter?’ says he. ‘Why,’ says the mother, ‘look at that horrid mallet. Just suppose, if our daughter and her sweetheart was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him, what a dreadful thing it would be!’

  ‘Dear, dear, dear! so it would!’ said the father, and he sat himself down aside of the other two, and started a-crying.

  Now the gentleman got tired of stopping up in the kitchen by himself, and at last he went down into the cellar too, to see what they were after; and there they three sat a-crying side by side, and the beer running all over the floor.

  And he ran straight and turned the tap. Then he said: ‘Whatever are you three doing, sitting there crying, and letting the beer run all over the floor?’

  ‘Oh,’ says the father, ‘look at that horrid mallet! Suppose you and our daughter was to be married, and was to have a son, and he was to grow up, and was to come down into the cellar to draw the beer, and the mallet was to fall on his head and kill him!’ And then they all started a-crying worse than before.

  But the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and reached up and pulled out the mallet, and then he said: ‘I’ve travelled many miles, and I never met three such big sillies as y
ou three before; and now I shall start out on my travels again, and when I can find three bigger sillies than you three, then I’ll come back and marry your daughter.’ So he wished them goodbye, and started off on his travels, and left them all crying because the girl had lost her sweetheart.

  Well, he set out, and he travelled a long way, and at last he came to a woman’s cottage that had some grass growing on the roof. And the woman was trying to get her cow to go up a ladder to the grass, and the poor thing durst not go. So the gentleman asked the woman what she was doing. ‘Why, lookye,’ she said, ‘look at all that beautiful grass. I’m going to get the cow on to the roof to eat it. She’ll be quite safe, for I shall tie a string round her neck and pass it down the chimney, and tie it to my wrist as I go about the house, so she can’t fall off without my knowing it.’ ‘Oh, you poor silly!’ said the gentleman, ‘you should cut the grass and throw it down to the cow!’ But the woman thought it was easier to get the cow up the ladder than to get the grass down, so she pushed her and coaxed her and got her up, and tied a string round her neck, and passed it down the chimney, and fastened it to her own wrist. And the gentleman went on his way, but he hadn’t gone far when the cow tumbled off the roof, and hung by the string tied round her neck, and it strangled her. And the weight of the cow tied to her wrist pulled the woman up the chimney, and she stuck fast halfway, and was smothered in the soot.

  Well, that was one big silly.

  And the gentleman went on and on, and he went to an inn to stop the night, and they were so full at the inn that they had to put him in a double-bedded room, and another traveller was to sleep in the other bed. The other man was a very pleasant fellow, and they got very friendly together; but in the morning, when they were both getting up, the gentleman was surprised to see the other hang his trousers on the knobs of the chest of drawers and run across the room and try to jump into them, and he tried over and over again, and he couldn’t manage it; and the gentleman wondered whatever he was doing it for. At last he stopped and wiped his face with his handkerchief. ‘Oh dear,’ he says, ‘I do think trousers are the most awkwardest kind of clothes that ever were. I can’t think who could have invented such things. It takes me the best part of an hour to get into mine every morning, and I get so hot! How do you manage yours?’ So the gentleman burst out a-laughing, and showed him how to put them on; and he was very much obliged to him, and said he should never have thought of doing it that way.