Jack of Beanstalk fame has higher aspirations than his French counterpart. The beanstalk, like the biblical Jacob’s ladder, the Buddhist bo-tree, and the mythological yggdrasil, reminds us of the human longing to ascend to the heavens and discover the beauty, both spiritual and material, hidden away in the heights. Jack’s theft of a bag of gold, a hen that lays golden eggs, and a harp that plays by itself (in some versions Jack supports himself by taking the harp on the road) reveals his kinship to trickster figures, all of whom are ruthless in their drive to secure wealth as a badge of their success.
The adventures of Jack were first recorded by Benjamin Tabart in 1807 as The History of Jack and the Bean-Stalk. Tabart no doubt relied on oral versions in circulation at the time, though he claimed to base his tale on an “original manuscript.” What is particularly striking about Tabart’s Jack is his evolution from an “indolent, careless, and extravagant” boy into a son who is both “dutiful and obedient.” Instead of marrying a princess and ascending to a throne, Jack lives with his mother “a great many years and continued to be always happy.”
Tabart’s Jack becomes an exemplary character, a role model for children listening to his story. He is not at all a master thief who makes off with the giant’s possessions but a dispossessed boy who is recovering what by rights belonged to him. From a fairy, Jack learns that his father was swindled and murdered by the giant and that he was destined to avenge his father’s death. A powerful moral overlay turns what was once probably a tale of high adventure and shrewd maneuvering into a morally edifying story.
When Joseph Jacobs began compiling stories for his anthology English Fairy Tales, he dismissed Tabart’s History of Jack and the Bean-Stalk as “very poor” and reconstructed the version he recalled from childhood. Drawing on the memory of a tale told by his childhood nursemaid in Australia around 1860, Jacobs produced a story that is relatively free of the moralizing impulse that permeates Tabart’s story. The British folklorist Katherine Briggs has referred to Jacobs’s version as “original,” but it is in fact simply one of many efforts to recapture the spirit of the oral versions in widespread circulation during the nineteenth century.
“Hansel and Gretel” and “The Juniper Tree” give us high melodrama—abandonment, treachery, betrayal, and joyous reunions. “Tom Thumb,” by contrast, offers comic relief in the form of spunky adventurers who use their wits to turn the tables on adversaries with daunting powers. Interestingly, stories about spirited adventurers who conquer ogres and giants seem to be no match for the seductive sentimentality of “Hansel and Gretel” or the tragic power of “The Juniper Tree.” What George Cruikshank had to say about “Puss in Boots” goes far in explaining why child tricksters have not enjoyed the success of other fairy-tale characters: “As it stood, the tale was a succession of successful falsehoods—a clever lesson in lying!—a system of imposture rewarded by the greatest worldly advantage!—a useful lesson, truly, to be impressed upon the minds of children!”8 It is not surprising that adults are more likely to prefer the sufferings of the “God-fearing” siblings in “Hansel and Gretel” to the irreverent antics of Molly Whuppie or Tom Thumb.
Unlike Jack and Tom Thumb, who take possession of a giant’s treasures by using their wits, Vasilisa, the Russian peasant bride, gets her reward by carrying out household chores—sweeping the yard, clearing a hut, cooking dinner, washing linen, and sorting grains. She becomes a consummate spinner and seamstress, winning the heart of a tsar with her beautiful fabrics and handicraft.
The story of Vasilisa reflects the cultural values of an earlier age, of a time in which excellence in the household crafts was treasured as highly as beauty. But Vasilisa is more than spinner and seamstress. She also nurtures the doll given to her by her mother, understanding that she must sacrifice some of her own needs in order to benefit from her advice and help. As a figure who brings light (in the form of fire) back to her home, Vasilisa becomes a cultural heroine who restores order and creates the conditions for a real home. In the end she works hard to promote a happy ending that includes not only herself and the tsar but also her father and the woman who sheltered her.
The Japanese fairy tale “Momotaro, the Peach Boy” gives us an all-action hero, a boy who stands as a model of unalloyed courage and redemptive passion. Momotaro, a figure recruited for Japanese propaganda during World War II, floats down the river and makes his home with a childless couple. Once grown up, he wins over allies with gifts of food and travels on to an island inhabited by devils, ogres, or monsters (depending on the version). In a finale reminiscent of Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are, Momotaro triumphantly returns home after conquering rapacious monsters. The demons haunting Momotaro’s world are, for once, not all in the family.
* * *
1. “The Grateful Animals and the Talisman,” in Modern Greek Folktales, comp. and trans. R. M. Dawkins (Oxford: Clarendon, 1953), p. 42.
2. Robert Darnton, “Peasants Tell Tales: The Meaning of Mother Goose,” in The Great Cat Massacre and Other Episodes in French Cultural History (New York: Random House, Vintage, 1985), p. 34.
3. Bruno Bettelheim, The Uses of Enchantment: The Meaning and Importance of Fairy Tales (New York: Knopf, 1976), p. 162.
4. Anne Leblans argues that the children are “starved” and “cannot resist the temptation to eat from the gingerbread house.… What would be more natural than that she would do to them what they do to her?” She too sees the children as succumbing to projection in order to free themselves from dependency on the mother. She draws a number of interesting parallels between the children’s destruction of the witch and the Grimms’ own disavowal of the feminine oral storytelling tradition from which they culled the tales in their collection. See “Anthropology and the German Enlightenment: Perspectives on Humanity,” Bucknell Review 38 (1995): 76–100.
5. P. L. Travers, “The Black Sheep,” in What the Bee Knows: Reflections on Myth, Symbol, and Story (Wellingborough, Northamptonshire: Aquarian, 1989), p. 232.
6. J. R. R. Tolkien, “On Fairy-Stories,” in The Tolkien Reader (New York: Balantine, 1966), p. 31.
7. Norah Montgomerie and William Montgomerie, comps., “Pippety Pew,” in The Well at the World’s End: Folk Tales of Scotland (London: Bodley Head, 1956), p. 209.
8. George Cruikshank, Puss in Boots (London: Arnold, 1864), p. 1.
BROTHERS GRIMM
Hansel and Gretel†
At the edge of a great forest, there once lived a poor woodcutter with his wife and two children. The little boy was called Hansel, and the girl’s name was Gretel. There was never much to eat in the house, and once, during a time of famine, the woodcutter could no longer put bread on the table. At night, he would lie in bed worrying, tossing and turning in his distress. One day he said to his wife with a sigh: “What will become of us? How can we provide for our poor children when we don’t even have enough for ourselves?”
“Listen to me,” his wife replied. “Tomorrow at daybreak we’ll take the children out into the darkest part of the woods. We’ll make a fire there and give them each a piece of bread. Then we’ll go about our work and leave them alone. They’ll never find their way home, and then we’ll be rid of them.”
“No,” her husband replied. “I can’t do it. I don’t have the heart to leave the children all alone in the woods and let wild beasts come and tear them to pieces.”
“You fool,” she said. “Then all four of us will end up starving to death. You might as well start sawing the boards for our coffins.”
She didn’t give her husband a moment’s peace until he agreed to the plan. “But still, I feel sorry for the poor children,” he said.
The two children hadn’t been able to sleep either, because they were so hungry, and they heard every word their stepmother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears and said to Hansel: “Well, now we’re lost.”
“Be quiet, Gretel,” said Hansel, “and stop worryin
g. I’ll figure out something.”
As soon as the old folks had fallen asleep, he climbed out of bed, put on his little jacket, opened the lower half of the door, and slipped out. The moon was shining brightly, and the white pebbles in front of the house glittered like silver coins. Hansel stooped down and put as many as would fit into his jacket pocket. Then he went back and said to Gretel: “Don’t worry, dear little sister. Sleep peacefully. God will not forsake us.” And he went back to bed.
At daybreak, just before sunrise, the wife came and woke the two children. “Get up, you lazybones, we’re going to go into the forest to fetch some wood.”
The wife gave each child a crust of bread and said: “Here’s something for lunch. But don’t eat it before then, because you’re not getting anything else.”
Gretel put the bread under her apron because Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together on the path into the forest. After a little while, Hansel stopped to look back at the house. He kept looking back. His father said: “Hansel, why are you always stopping and staring? Watch out, and don’t forget what your legs are for.”
“Oh, Father,” said Hansel. “I’m looking at my white kitten, which is sitting up on the roof saying good-bye to me.”
The woman said: “You fool, that’s not your kitten. Those are the rays of the sun, shining on the chimney.”
But Hansel had not been looking at the kitten. He had been taking the shiny pebbles from his pocket and dropping them on the ground.
When they arrived in the middle of the forest, the father said: “Go gather some wood, children. I’ll build a fire so that you won’t get cold.”
Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood until they had a little pile of it. The brushwood was lit, and when the flames were high enough, the woman said: “Now lie down by the fire, children, and get some rest. We’re going into the forest to chop some wood. When we’re done, we’ll return and take you back home.”
Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire. At noon they ate their crusts of bread. Since they could hear the sounds of an ax, they were sure that their father was nearby. But it wasn’t an ax that they heard, it was a branch their father had fastened to a dead tree, and the wind was banging it back and forth. They sat and waited for so long that finally their eyes closed from exhaustion, and they fell fast asleep. When they awoke, it was pitch dark. Gretel began to cry and said: “How will we ever get out of the woods!”
Hansel comforted her: “Just wait until the moon appears. Then we will find our way back.”
When the full moon appeared, Hansel took his sister by the hand and followed the pebbles, which were shimmering like newly minted coins. They marked the way back home. The two walked all night long and arrived at their father’s house at daybreak. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened the door and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said: “You wicked children! Why did you sleep so long in the woods? We were sure you were never going to come back.”
But the father was overjoyed, because he was upset at how he had abandoned the children in the woods.
Not long after that, every square inch of the country was stricken by famine. One night the children heard what the mother was saying to their father while they were in bed: “We’ve eaten everything up again. All that’s left is half a loaf of bread, and then we are done for. The children have to go. This time we’ll take them deeper into the forest so that they won’t be able find their way back home. Otherwise there’s no hope for us.”
The husband’s heart was heavy, and he thought: “It would be better if you shared the last crumb of bread with your children.” But the woman refused to pay attention to anything he said. She fussed and fumed. In for a penny, in for a pound, and since he had given in the first time, he had to give in a second time.
The children were still awake and overheard the entire conversation. While their parents were sleeping, Hansel got up and wanted to go out to pick up some pebbles as he had the last time, but the woman had locked the door, and Hansel couldn’t get out. He comforted his sister and said: “Don’t cry, Gretel. Just sleep peacefully. The Lord will protect us.”
Early the next morning the woman came and woke the children up. They each got a crust of bread, this time even smaller than last time. On the way into the woods, Hansel crushed the bread in his pocket and stopped from time to time to scatter crumbs on the ground.
“Hansel, why do you keep stopping and staring?” the father asked. “Keep going!”
“I’m looking at my little dove, the one sitting on the roof and trying to bid me farewell,” Hansel replied.
“Fool,” said the woman. “That isn’t your little dove. Those are the rays of the morning sun shining up on the chimney.”
After a while, Hansel had scattered all the crumbs on the path.
The woman took the children even deeper into the woods, where they had never been before in their lives. Once again a large fire was built, and the mother said: “Don’t move from there, children. If you feel tired, you can sleep for a while. We’re going to go into the forest to chop some wood. In the evening, when we’re done, we’ll come to get you.”
At noon Gretel shared her bread with Hansel, who had scattered bits of his piece on the path. Then they fell asleep. The evening went by, but no one came to get the poor children. They awoke when it was pitch dark, and Hansel comforted his sister by saying: “Just wait, Gretel, until the moon appears. Than we will be able to see the crumbs of bread I scattered. They will mark the way home for us.”
When the moon appeared, they set off, but they couldn’t find the crumbs because the many thousands of birds flying through the forest and over the fields had eaten them. Hansel said to Gretel: “We’ll find our way back,” but they didn’t find it. They walked all night long and then another day from early in the morning until late at night. But they still couldn’t find their way out of the woods, and they grew hungrier and hungrier, for they had nothing to eat but the few berries they found on the ground. After a while, they were so tired that their legs could no longer carry them, and they lay down under a tree and fell asleep.
It was now the third morning after they had left their father’s house. They started walking again, but they just ended up moving deeper and deeper into the woods. If help did not come their way soon, they were sure to perish. At noon they saw a beautiful bird, white as snow, perched on a branch. It sang so beautifully that they stopped to listen. When the bird had finished its song, it flapped its wings and flew on ahead of them. They followed it until they came to a little house, and the bird perched on its roof. As they approached the house, they realized it was built of bread and had a roof made of cake as well as transparent windows made of sugar.
“Let’s see what it tastes like,” said Hansel. “May the Lord bless our meal. I’ll try a piece of the roof, Gretel, and you can try the window. That’s sure to taste sweet.” Hansel reached up and broke off a small piece of the roof to see what it tasted like. Gretel went over to the windowpane and nibbled on it. Suddenly a gentle voice called from inside:
“Nibble, nibble, little mouse?
Who’s that nibbling at my house?”
The children replied:
“The wind so mild,
The heavenly child.”
and they continued eating, without getting distracted. Hansel, who liked the taste of the roof, tore off a big chunk, and Gretel knocked out an entire windowpane and sat down on the ground to taste it. Suddenly the door opened, and a woman, old as the hills, hobbled out, leaning on a crutch. Hansel and Gretel were so terrified that they dropped everything they were holding. The old woman said, with her head shaking: “Well, dear children, how in the world did you get here? Come right inside and stay with me. No harm will come to you here.”
She took them by the hand and led them into her little house. They were served a wonderful meal of milk and pancakes with sugar, apples, and nuts. Later, two beautiful little beds were made up for them with white sheets. Hansel and
Gretel lay down in them and felt as if they were in heaven.
The old woman had only pretended to be so friendly. She was really a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children. She had built the little house of bread just to lure them inside. As soon as a child was in her power, she killed it, cooked it, and ate it. That was a real feast day for her. Witches have red eyes and can’t see very far, but they have a keen sense of smell, like animals, and they can always tell when a human being is around. When Hansel and Gretel got near her, she laughed fiendishly and sneered: “They’re mine! This time they won’t get away from me!” Early in the morning, before the children were awake, she climbed out of bed and looked at the two of them resting so sweetly, with their big red cheeks. She muttered to herself: “They will make a tasty morsel.”
Then she grabbed Hansel with her scrawny hand, took him to a small shed, and locked the door, which had bars on it. He could shout as loud as he wanted, it did him no good. Then she went over to Gretel, shook her until she woke up, and cried out: “Get up, lazybones, fetch some water and cook your brother something good. He’s staying outside in a shed, waiting to be fattened up. When he’s put on enough weight, I’ll eat him.”
The Classic Fairy Tales (Second Edition) (Norton Critical Editions) Page 36