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July 30, 2020

Throwback Thursday: Italy: The Birthplace of Modern Fairy Tale Telling, By Christina Ruth Johnson

Editor’s Note: I love posts that teach us about fairy tales and folklore. Italy as the origin country for fairy tales is not a new bit of information, but not many people know about it. Enjoy this post from 2014!

When we think of countries that are birthplaces of fairy tales, we automatically think of France and Germany--at least, these are the first that come to my mind, thanks mainly to Perrault and the Grimm brothers. We may think of England, too, as the place tales about actual fairies abound. Next, our minds might travel east to Russia or even farther into the lands of the Arabian Nights. Or perhaps we go north to Denmark, remembering Hans Christian Andersen.

One place to which my mind never traveled, until my research took me there, was Italy. I have since learned that traveling to Italy (literarily speaking) is a must for fairy tale lovers!

A most extraordinary collection of tales was published in Italy between 1634 and 1636--written by Giambattista Basile (published posthumously). The original title was Lo cunto de li cunti overo lo trattenemiento de peccerille--“The Tale of Tales, or Entertainment for Little Ones.” The title by which we know the work today, however, is Il Pentamerone, a phrase from the dedication page of the first edition that appeared as a subtitle in the 1674 edition by Pompeo Sarnelli (another Italian writer of fairy tales). (Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales)

From "Two Cakes," illustrated by George Cruikshank
Giambattista Basile was born near Naples in 1575 to a middle class family. He worked as a soldier, a government official, a courtier in Mantua, and a governor of various small states in Italy (Encyclopedia Britannica). When he died in 1632, he held the title of count (OCFT). Basile was well regarded as a poet while he lived, “and during his career he became fascinated with the folklore, customs, literature, music, and dialect of the Neapolitan people. He began serious study of things Neapolitan and began to collect fairy tales and folktales, setting them down in a lively Neapolitan style with much local flavour and all the ornament and flamboyance of his influential contemporary Giambattista Marino” (EB). 
 
"The Serpent," illustrated by by Warwick Goble
Basile’s arguably most famous work, Il Pentamerone, was the first literary compilation of nothing but fairy tales to be published in Europe, paving the way for later publications by the Grimms and others that we know and love today. Linguist and historian Nancy Canepa writes, “Lo cunto constituted a culmination of the interest in popular culture and folk traditions that permeated the Renaissance, when isolated fairy tales had started to be included in novella collections” (OCFT). Il Pentamerone, however, was written in the complicated Neapolitan dialect and parodied both earlier canonical works by Italian authors, such as Boccaccio, as well as contemporary Neapolitan culture (OCFT).

"Seven Doves" and more, by Cruikshank
Like Boccaccio’s Decameron, Basile’s Il Pentamerone is composed of a frame narrative with 49 interior tales--the frame narrative is its own tale, raising the total number to 50. Many stories we readily recognize today appear in this anthology, some in their earliest known literary forms: “Cinderella,” “Sleeping Beauty,” “Rapunzel,” “Snow White and Rose Red,” “Beauty and the Beast,” and “Puss in Boots.”

"The Three Enchanted Princes, illustrated by Goble
 Canepa remarks that Basile’s versions of these stories are “often bawdier and crueller” than their later, better-known retellings. For example, the heroine of “La gatta Cennerentola” (“The Cinderella Cat”) actually kills her stepmother and actively helps orchestrate her own happily-ever-after. In general, Il Pentamerone’s heroines are surprisingly active and clever agents in their own fates. (OCFT) Petrosinella (the earliest incarnation of Rapunzel) coordinates her escape from her tower, essentially giving orders to the prince.

You can read a selection of stories from The Tale of Tales on the Surlalune website, as well as view more of the gorgeous illustrations by Warwick Goble and George Cruikshank here: http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/pentamerone/. You may also try your hand at reading the original Neapolitan here (full text): http://www.letteraturaitaliana.net/pdf/Volume_6/t133.pdf.

I for one love reading such different versions of tales we think we know so well! Which Pentamerone tale is your favorite? Join Enchanted Conversation and let us know!

 References:
“Giambattista Basile.” Encyclopedia Britannica. Accessed 17 August 2014. http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/55102/Giambattista-Basile#ref188608. [OE]
Heidi Anne Heiner, ed. “Il Pentamerone.” Surlalune Fairy Tales. http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/pentamerone/.
Nancy Canepa. “Giambattista Basile.” The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales: The Western fairy tale tradition from medieval to modern, 41-43. Edited by Jack Zipes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. [OCFT]
Nancy Canepa. “Pentamerone.” The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales: The Western fairy tale tradition from medieval to modern, 377-378. Edited by Jack Zipes. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. [OCFT] 


Christina Ruth Johnson recently received her Masters in Art History with a focus on the ancient Mediterranean and a side interest in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her other great love is fantasy literature from ancient times to present day.

August 2, 2018

THE KNIGHT AND THE KING by Christina Ruth Johnson


Others have tried to solve this mystery and failed-
You have 3 nights to discover my daughters’ secret...
A lone traveler walked along the road, his clothing nondescript, his destination only where the road might end. He did not think that he had traveled this particular road before, but then his memory was not what it used to be.

He wore a sword comfortably at his side, and his body bore the marks of a soldier’s trade. Traveling was difficult as he pushed through the aching of bones that had never used to ache before, but—homeless and aimless—he kept walking. The other travelers saw reflected in his eyes memories of different days, but there was sadness, too, for memory was all that remained.

News of this uncommon soldier came to the ears of the king whose city lay at the end of the road. As the soldier approached the gates, the king had him brought to the castle, for a man with both memory and loss in his eyes might be just the sort of man to solve his kingdom’s greatest mystery.

In an audience chamber hung with fine tapestries, the king sat on a dais behind a long table meant for feasting, though it was currently bare. His face was lined with pain, but he sat upright and regal. The soldier bowed low. When the king spoke, his voice did not waver.

“I welcome to my hall one who has known pain as I know pain.”
“I am sorry for your pain, my lord,” the soldier replied.
“And I for yours.”
The soldier frowned. “My sword arm has strength yet. My heart has courage.”
“But your shield arm is gone,” came the reply, without malice.
          
The soldier shifted his shoulders, which made the empty left sleeve of his shirt sway back and forth.
          
“My pain is easy to perceive. What form, my lord, does yours take?”
“You have a pain greater than the loss of an arm, I think. I have two pains as well. The first is a wound that does not heal and that will not allow me to rise to pay you the respect that you deserve. For I know your second pain . . . knight of Camelot.”
The man bowed his head and tried not to weep.
“I am a knight no longer,” he said, “But I swear by the King Who Was—if you will accept such an oath—that I will help you cure your pain. In doing so, I may find a balm for my own.”
          
The king nodded graciously. “Such an oath will always hold honor in my kingdom, sir knight—you deserve the title still—but, alas, my first pain cannot be healed. Instead, I plead with you, aid me with my second. In this, I believe you can truly help.”
“To my utmost ability.”
“For nearly a year, my daughters have kept a secret from me. They disappear from their rooms every night and reappear at dawn, their shoes tattered, their hems dirtied. Despite my pleas, they will not tell me why.
“Others have tried to solve this mystery and failed, and this is the challenge I set before to them: you have three nights to discover my daughters’ secret. If you prevail, you may choose one of them to be your wife, as she is willing.”
“Forgive me, lord, but many years ago I had a wife, whom I loved. I will not replace her, now that I am past my youth.”
The king smiled. “You are yet young enough to barter with a king! But if a wife does not suit, you may choose any other reward that I am capable of giving.”
“And if I fail?”
“Then I ask you to swear yourself to my service for the rest of your days.”
          
The knight dropped to one knee and laid his remaining hand across his heart. A tiny light glinted off of a delicate ring on his smallest finger.
“I accept.”

The knight was given a room along the same hallway as the princess’ suites. Just before sunset, there was a gentle knock on his door. The king’s eldest daughter smiled and offered him a cup of mulled wine, fresh from the fire. He bowed over her hand and asked her name.
“Elaine,” she replied.
“Thank you, Lady Elaine.”
“You are welcome, sir. I wish you a comfortable night.”
No sooner had she left and he had drunk the wine, than the knight did indeed fall into a comfortable sleep, from which he woke only when the morning sun was high.
When Elaine offered another cup the following evening, he feigned drinking and poured it out when she was gone. He waited until he heard movement in the hallway: the soft shutting of doors, the hush of female voices. When he judged the moment was right, he looked down at the delicate ring on his finger—gold with a simple dark stone—and twisted it so that the stone faced inward.
Its magic still worked, even after years of disuse, and invisibility settled comfortably upon him.  
Over the following hour, he trailed the princesses as they made their way through a hidden panel in the wall, down a concealed staircase made of polished white marble and into a world that only existed in the most extravagant of dreams. First was a winding gravel path lined with trees with limbs of gold, leaves of silver, and hanging fruit of the richest gems.
The knight removed a single ruby, to take back to the king as evidence.
Next, there was a cave, whose ceiling was so high it disappeared into an eerie canopy of shadows. Underneath was a vast lake, clear as pure crystal with a depth to rival the height of the ceiling. Twelve little boats were moored along its shoreline of water-smooth pebbles.
The princesses efficiently climbed into the boats and pushed off toward the far side. The knight slipped into the last boat with the last princess as quietly as possible—no easy task with one arm. She gasped as the boat rocked, but his invisibility preserved him.
           
He waited while she disembarked at the far shore and then followed her toward a wondrous scene.
The twelve princesses danced in a ballroom carved from living stone. Tables holding a feast of food and wine lined the walls around the dance floor. Colorful tapestries and finely dyed silks hung along the walls. Crystals suspended from chandeliers of polished metal gently vibrated to music played by unseen instruments. The sweet fragrance of flowers swirled through the air as the dancers energetically stepped and spun together. All was lit by an unearthly glow, as though from invisible candles, which, he now realized, had illuminated the entire journey.
And the princesses were not dancing alone.
There were twelve men partnering the twelve princesses. No, eleven. Eleven men and eleven princesses.
Elaine stood to one side, next to the only table empty of food. On it lay instead three objects: a red-stained lance, a broken sword, and a plain silver cup.
But these did not entrance the knight for long, for he caught a clear glimpse of one of the dancing men. His eyes quickly sought out the others.
Each man bore a face from his memory.
There was Gawain. There, Calogrenant. And, there, Kay. Every face he saw lifted his heart. Ector, Gareth, Bedivere, Dinadan, Tristram, Erec, Sagramor. Lancelot.
To see their specters here, after the lonely years since Camelot’s final days, was too overwhelming. The knight found a chair not far from where Elaine stood and quietly wept over his fallen brothers, watching them all the while.
When the unearthly light began to fade and the princesses made their way tiredly back to their boats, the eleven lost knights bowed graciously and faded into the shadows at the edges of the room, as if they had never existed.
The knight blinked and wondered if he had dreamed them.
Distressed and wanting more proof of this strange night, he hurried to the table with the three objects. He reached for the cup, thinking to fill it with the lake’s crystal water.
His ring burned, and his invisibility failed.
He could not stifle his cry, and Elaine, not yet in her boat, heard him. She turned back.
“My sister thought someone followed us,” she said, approaching the table.  
“Yes. I wished to take proof back to your father.”
“The cup is not for you to take.”
“What of the lance and sword?”
“The lance has been claimed, sir knight, by myself and my sisters. Tomorrow night, we will take it to our father to help heal his wound.”
“It has that power?”
“With the sword and cup, yes. Otherwise, it will be but a partial healing. My sisters and I bargained with the keeper of these objects. If we spend one year of nights in this otherworld, then the lance is ours.”
“If the lance is yours, what of the sword?”
“Do you recognize it?”
He bowed his head.
“Yes, but last I saw, it was whole.”
“Its last act was the death of a son at the hands of a father. That is enough to break a world, much less a sword. To be mended, it must be wielded by a broken man for a true and good purpose.” She paused. “And I believe that man to be you, Sir Yvain.”
He did not deny the name.
“You are right that mine is a broken body.”
“And a broken heart, for your king is dead.”
Yvain spoke softly, almost to himself. “But if I take up this sword, I could heal another king. I can think of no truer or better purpose than that.”
The knight reverently folded his fingers around the hilt of Excalibur. A soft chime sounded, as from a distant bell, and the broken blade became whole once more.


When the king received him the following day, Yvain told the whole extraordinary tale. At the end, he placed the sword on the long, empty table. The king hesitantly laid his fingers along the mended blade, and a rush of healthy color flushed his face. Yvain knelt in his joy.
“Allow your daughters their final night of dancing,” Yvain asked, “That they may win you the lance also. I am sorry that the cup must remain, but I believe its time will come.”
“You have done me the highest of honors,” the king replied. “Such a blessing as this I cannot repay.”
“I do not seek payment, my lord. But I do ask for your blessing in return.”
“What would you ask of me?”
Yvain told him.

On the final night of the princesses’ bargain, Yvain accompanied them without disguise. At the ballroom of living stone, the knights greeted him with cries of surprise, welcome, and laughter. Elaine joined her hand with his, and together they danced with her sisters and his friends—twelve knights with twelve princesses.
When the light began to fade, the knights did not leave but rather stood at attention along the edges of the room. Elaine walked to the table with its two remaining objects and took up the spear.
“Will you help us take this to our father?” she asked Yvain.
“No, my lady.”
Elaine was not surprised. He bowed and, a little boldly, kissed her hand.
“Does my father know?” she asked.
“He has given his blessing.”
Elaine smiled and quietly joined her sisters at the boats.
She watched Yvain turn to his brother knights, once lost, now found. They clapped his back and embraced him with much laughter and joking. Somewhere in the midst of embracing them in return, she saw that Yvain did so with two arms, young and hale.
As she rowed away, it did not appear to her as if the knights faded into the shadows, but rather as if they walked together into a mist of golden light, whose reflection danced on the silver of the cup still sitting on the table.
Waiting.  
Christina Ruth Johnson has her master’s degree in Art History and works as a teacher and an archaeologist. She previously wrote for Enchanted Conversation as the Vintage Fairy Tale Sleuth, and her short stories have been published in Scheherazade's Bequest (Cabinet des Fees) and in World Weaver Press' Frozen Fairy Tales. Her short story “The Stolen Heart” received a Pushcart Prize nomination.  

Cover: Amanda Bergloff

May 30, 2014

Madame d'Aulnoy: La dame des contes des fees, By Christina Ruth Johnson, Vintage Fairy Tale Sleuth

We hear so much about the famous male authors of fairy tales such as the Grimm brothers, Andrew Lang, Hans Christian Andersen, Charles Perrault, etc., that we might sometimes forget the female authors who helped just as much to define the genre as we know it today. In fact, it was a female author who first coined the phrase “fairy tales” -- “contes des fées” in the original French.

Madame d'Aulnoy

Marie-Catherine Le Jumel de Barneville, Baronne d'Aulnoy, better known as simply Madame d’Aulnoy, was born in either 1650 or 1651. We know she married Francois de la Motte, Baron d’Aulnoy at the tender age of 16 in 1666. The Baron was thirty years her senior at the time.

Madame d’Aulnoy’s early years of marriage were marked by scandal and intrigue worthy of HBO. Her husband, often in dire financial straits, was accused of lese-majesty (a crime against the reigning authority, usually considered high treason) in 1669, a claim soon proved false. His two primary accusers were the Marquis de Courboyer and his lover the Marquise de Gudanes. The former was executed, and the latter was exiled to Spain, where she apparently took on the role of royal spy until her death in 1702. Madame d’Aulnoy’s mother was involved in the accusations against her daughter’s husband as well, and she fled France for Spain soon after the verdict. The exact nature of the involvement of Madame d’Aulnoy herself remains a mystery. Never accused by her husband as complicit in the plot, she nevertheless was ostensibly imprisoned for a short time in December of 1669 (immediately following the birth of her fourth child) before gaining her freedom.

The exact events of the next twenty years of Madame d’Aulnoy’s life are also a mystery. She almost certainly traveled quite a bit, first to Flanders and England, with a brief return to France in 1676 (where she gave birth to a potentially illegitimate daughter); then she likely traveled to Spain to see her mother before again going to England. Back in France by 1685, she returned rather forcefully to the French social scene in 1690, overseeing her own salon, which was frequented by aristocrats from both France and England.
Marie-Catherine, Baroness d’Aulnoy was a prolific writer. Her contes des fées were only a minor part of her overall repertoire. “As a skillful polygraph, she had tried various genres: two works of piety, four volumes of historical memoirs, three novels, and one collection of gallant short stories, in addition to the eight volumes of tales published in 1697 and 1698 for which she is now best know” (Raynard 64).

Based on firsthand accounts from this time, we know that Madame d’Aulnoy met Catherine Bernard, Charlotte Rose de la Force, and Henriette-Julie de Murat, all fellow female writers of fairy tales.
Heidi Ann Heider, editor of Sur La Lune Fairy Tales, writes, “In the late 1600s, the French Salons were filled with fairy tale writing, primarily by women writers. Many of the tales were influenced by oral traditions, but most did not end up influencing oral tradition directly.”

The eight volumes of fairy tales written by Madame d’Aulnoy were published in two parts: Contes des fees in 1697 followed by Contes nouveau ou les fees a la mode in 1698. These tales would have been read aloud at her salons years before their physical publication. Her stories include “The White Cat,” “The Yellow Dwarf,” “The Golden Branch” (one of my personal favorites), and “The Hind in the Wood.” A translation of all of her stories may be found online at Project Gutenberg, while a small selection--including the ones I’ve mentioned--is also available on Sur La Lune.

Which of Madame d'Aulnoy's tales is your favorite? Join Enchanted Conversation and let us know!

References:Sophie Raynard, ed. The Teller’s Tale: Lives of the Classic Fairy Tale Writers. SUNY Press, 2012.Heidi Ann Heider. “Marie-Catherine Baronne d’Aulnoy.” Sur La Lune Fairy Tales. http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/daulnoy.html.

*Read all of Madame d’Aulnoy’s stories online at Project Gutenberg:Tome I: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18367Tome II: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18368*Or a select few at Sur La Lune:http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/authors/daulnoy.html

Christina Ruth Johnson recently received her Masters in Art History with a focus on the ancient Mediterranean and a side interest in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her other great love is fantasy literature from ancient times to present day.

Update: Here are English translations--
The Gutenberg links are to the original French stories (which is only awesome if you read French). If you have a JSTOR account, you can read Buczkowski's translation here:http://www.jstor.org/discover/10.2307/41388901?uid=2129&uid=2&uid=70&uid=4&sid=21104251099353. 
Or you can "purchase" the free ebook of an 1892 translation here:http://books.google.com/books/about/The_Fairy_Tales_of_Madame_D_Aulnoy_Newly.html?id=5qKQAAAAIAAJ. 
There are also a bunch of Andrew Lang's publications, which include some of her stories, on Project Gutenberg:http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30580/30580-h/30580-h.htm.

Hope this helps! 

April 29, 2014

How One Thousand and One Nights Came to Be, By Christina Ruth Johnson, Vintage Fairy Tale Sleuth

One Thousand and One Nights or The Arabian Nights did not always comprise its nigh-proverbial 1,001 tales. The anthology, as we are familiar with it today, actually has no single source and stems from no single culture. Growing up, I could recognize tales as belonging to the Nights, but I had not (and still probably haven’t) read every tale ever included. Before today, I was even unsure about which title was the correct one to use (and am still unconvinced there is one).

So what is the history of Scheherazade and her 1,001 tales? Where did this story about stories come from? The Vintage Sleuth is on the case!

"Princess Scheherazade," by Edmund Dulac, 1907


The first known use of the title “One Thousand and One Nights” appears (in Arabic) in, of all places, a 12th century notebook belonging to a Jewish bookseller from Cairo. The content of the book, however, originates from much earlier. The frame narrative--that of Scheherazade and of the ruler Shahryar, whom she entertains with stories for a thousand and one nights to stave off his boredom and her execution--is modeled on a Persian story, translated into Arabic in the 9th century. This “A Thousand Tales” tells how a caliph, who kills a new wife every night for three years, is finally outwitted by a vizier’s daughter and her slave-girl.

"The Fisherman and the Genie," by Dulac, 1907

The compendium of stories from this 9th century collection and other later manuscripts originate, of course, in the oral tradition, making these stories-within-a-story potentially much older than the literary versions. According to The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales (to which I owe most of the information I relate in this post--thank you Oxford!): “The oldest preserved manuscripts, comprising a core corpus of about 270 nights, appear to date from the 15th century.” The oral stories, therefore, likely date between the 9th and 15th centuries--or slightly earlier. Once the stories began to be written down, a wide variety of anonymous authors, all writing in Middle Arabic but with different styles, interpreted and re-wrote them either as part of the now-expected frame narrative or as independent tales. Studying these multiple versions, scholars have discerned three distinct oral traditions from which the tales originated: Persian, Indian, and Arab.

"The Princess of Deryabar," by Dulac, 1907

So how did these Middle Eastern tales come to impact the Western imagination so heavily? Other wonderful examples of Middle Eastern literature from this period, such as The Romance of ‘Antar (11th-12th centuries), is much less well known outside of culturally specific studies.

The answer lies, as it often does, in the world of publication and translation.

Antoine Galland was the first European translator of the tales. His 12-volume compendium, Le Mille et une nuits (1704-1717), was based mainly on one Arabic source with the addition of a translation of “The Voyages of Sinbad,” as well as tales told to him by an Arab acquaintance. These included “Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves” and “Aladdin and His Wonderful Lamp.” Over 120 years later, Edward William Lane published the first English translation of the tales (1839-1841)--heavily culling from his sources, so his final product was much shorter than Galland’s.
 
"Aladdin and His Wonderful Lamp," by Dulac, 1907
 
Some forty years after this, Richard Burton set out on a monumental translation project that resulted in 10 volumes entitled “Book of a Thousand Nights and A Night,” published between 1885 and 1886. Apparently not completely satisfied, he then published “Supplemental Nights” in the years immediately following. These volumes were fanciful to the extreme, taking artistic license when translation failed. From 1921 to 1928, Enno Littmann transcribed a German edition of 6 volumes with an incredibly faithful translation and scholarly footnotes. (Funny side note: he translated the scandalous scenes into Latin, not German.) Beyond Littmann, the twentieth century oversaw a multitude of translations of the tales into a wide variety of European (and other) languages. 

Galland’s translation from the early 18th century marked the beginning of the popularity of the Nights. “In some respects, the Nights are more important and famous in the West than they are in the Orient” (OCFT). The list of famous authors and poets and artists who drew inspiration from the Nights is incredibly long and varied, including Votaire, Samuel Johnson, Robert Louis Stevenson, Herman Melville, Edmund Dulac (whose gorgeous illustrations I showcase here), Jorge Luis Borges, Salman Rushdie, Neil Gaiman, and, of course, Disney. 

"City of Brass," by Dulac, 1907

The beauty, the wonder, the enchantment, and the Otherness of these tales draws us in and refuses to leave our minds even after the book cover is closed. Join the family of Enchanted Conversation, and let us know which of the thousand and one (give or take) tales is your favorite!

Christina Ruth Johnson recently received her Masters in Art History with a focus on the ancient Mediterranean and a side interest in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her other great love is fantasy literature from ancient times to present day.

References:
Jack Zipes, ed. The Oxford Companion to Fairy Tales. Oxford University Press, 2000.
Robert Irwin. The Arabian Nights: A Companion. London: Taurus Park Paperbacks, 2005.

January 29, 2014

A Tale Across Time (East of the Sun, West of the Moon), By Christina Ruth Johnson, Vintage Fairy Tale Sleuth

My favorite fairy tale for many years has been “East of the Sun and West of the Moon.” A few different things conspired to make it so. I love that the hero of the tale is female--it is she who undertakes the quest, she who rescues the prince, and she who defeats the evil. I love the illustrations by the great Kay Nielsen that are associated with it.

Kay Nielsen, East of the Sun and West of the Moon:Old Tales from the North

I also love the conundrum it presents when compared with the classical myth of “Cupid and Psyche.” To be so similar, yet so far removed in time and space! What is the connection? I decided that whether or not I found an answer, I would address this problem in my next Fairy Tale Vintage Sleuth column . . . so let the sleuthing begin!



Kay Nielsen, East of the Sun and West of the Moon: Old Tales from the North

ESWM was originally collected by Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe, two famous Norwegian folklorists, who were born about 30 years after the Grimm brothers and drew on the work of the latter for inspiration in their own endeavors. Asbjørnsen and Moe began publishing their collection of stories, Norske folkeeventyr, in 1841 (ESWM is tale number 41).

Cover of Norske folkeeventyr, 5th edition, 1874
 
Like Kinder- und Hausmärchen, this anthology of tales was incredibly well received by the reading public. Like the Grimm brothers, Asbjørnsen and Moe transcribed the stories they collected into language more suited for literary publication, though with perhaps less overt changes than in the German collection.


Theodor Kittelsen

Summary: A young farmer’s daughter is taken from her home by a large white bear and born on his back to a grand castle, where an unknown man comes to her every night after dark. The girl’s mother convinces her to peek at the man when he is sleeping, so she lights a candle and sees that her lover is a handsome prince; but she drips wax on his skin and he wakes, thereby cursing him to travel to a castle that lies east of the sun and west of the moon and to marry a troll princess. On her journey to rescue him, the girl meets three old women, is given three golden gifts, and rides the four winds. She uses the gifts to trick the trolls and then performs a task that only she can do in order to win her prince back.

The earliest extant version of “Cupid and Psyche” is found in Apuleius’ novel Metamorphoses (not to be confused with Ovid’s), also known as The Golden Ass. Apuleius was a Latin prose writer and traveler, born in North Africa in 125 BC. Images of Cupid and Psyche, however, appear in Greek art as early as the 4th century BC.


 Cupid & Psyche, Roman replica
of Hellenistic (2nd c. BC) original, Capitoline Museum

Summary: A beautiful mortal girl, Psyche, is given to an unknown “monster” in marriage. A wind bears her away to a beautiful estate, where a man comes to her only at night after dark. Although he has forbidden her to look upon his face, her sisters convince her to peek. She lights a lamp and sees before her Cupid, the very god of love himself, but she spills oil on his skin and he wakes. To punish her doubt, he leaves. To reclaim him, Psyche (while pregnant) goes to a vengeful Venus, who sets before her three impossible tasks, which Psyche completes with the aid of various friendly entities. In the end, Cupid asks Jupiter to grant Psyche the gift of immortality, and they live forever after as husband and wife.


Psyche in the Garden of Amor, illustration of Apuleius Metamorphoses
 c. 24. Manuscript Vat. Lat. 2194 in the Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana 
in Rome, circa 1345

Apuleius’ tale had spread to western Europe in the Middle Ages, as evidenced by the above illumination from a 1345 manuscript. “Cupid and Psyche” was first translated into English by William Adlington in 1566. The story was referenced in Milton’s Comus in the first half of the 17th century, suggesting a certain familiarity with the tale at this time. The famous sculptor, Antonio Canova, dynamically captured the mythical lovers in the late 18th century, just decades before Asbjørnsen and Moe collected ESWM. Fascinatingly, even as Asbjørnsen and Moe were transcribing ESWM, a descendant of “Cupid and Psyche,” the original story remained popular across Europe.

Canova, Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Kiss, first commissioned 1787

Is the similarity between these two tales an example of medieval (or earlier) literature trickling down to the “folk,” being altered to fit the culture of that specific group of people, and turning into a folktale? We saw evidence for this in my very first post with the similarities between the medieval story of Emaré and the two later fairytales “Maiden Without Hands” (Grimm) and “Donkeyskin” (Perrault).

It’s fascinating to wonder about when and where the exact exchanging and changing of the original story took place--very likely it was a much more complicated process than I summarized just now.

What are your thoughts? Can you think of other instances where stories like this changed over time and became folk/fairy tales? 

References:
(The citations on these Wikipedia entries are surprisingly thorough.)

Christina Ruth Johnson recently received her Masters in Art History with a focus on the ancient Mediterranean and a side interest in the 18th and 19th centuries. Her other great love is fantasy literature from ancient times to present day. 
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