#europa's fairy book

[adarkrainbow]

And here is my last "Hansel and Gretel variations" post. Some times ago @princesssarisa evoked a story called "Johnnie and Grizzle", the "English variation of Hansel and Gretel", though they were not sure if the man who collected it (Joseph Jacobs) had invented it or collected an actual folktale.

And to this I can answer because I do know this story quite well. I checked around the Internet and I saw that indeed "Johnnie and Grizzle" has been called by several websites (and presented as) an "English Hansel and Gretel". Which is MASSIVELY misleading! Not misinformation, because it is true, but not in the way that you think... As it it is not a traditional English fairytale, it was not meant to be an English fairytale, but by the way of things it became an English fairytale. I'll explain.

Before that, maybe you saw this particular drawing before:

Well it is not a Hansel and Gretel illustration. It was an illustration for "Johnnie and Grizzle". The other illustration done for the story was this one:

One would be excused from mistakenly believing "Johnnie and Grizzle" is an English fairytale because of its author - Joseph Jacobs. Joseph Jacobs was to Britain what the Grimm brothers were to Germany. He collected the most famous and popular forms of many British fairytales - and it is thanks to him that we have in children's fairytale books today stories such as The Three Little Pigs, Jack and the Beanstalk, Tom Thumb, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, etc, etc...

HOWEVER! Johnnie and Grizzle does not come from one of Jacobs' books about English fairytales. Oh no. It came from a very specific and unique book, that stayed forgotten for a good part of history and never had the same success as the other productions of Jacobs. A book known as "Europa's Fairy Book" (though it was originally released as "European Folk and Fairy Tales"), published in 1916.

Joseph Jacobs, as a folklorist and fairytale expert of the late 19th century and early 20th century, believed in a theory. A theory that we know today to be either false or massively flawed, and that is rejected by a good portion of fairytale scholars today. BUT it is a theory that was THE main theory, belief and basis of fairytale studies during almost all of the 20th century (except maybe in the 90s which is when the first criticism and rejections started to appear, though discreetly and in minority). And this theory was the theory of the "original story", "ancestor tale" or "proto-tale". People had identified the "types" and "variants" of fairytales already, had recognized the repetition of patterns and archetypes, and it was the great time of putting together catalogues and classifications of fairytales. Well for many scholars, including Jacobs, the interpretation of this phenomenon was as such: if each country, each culture, has its own vaiants and variations of what seems to be a "core story", it means that originally there was one story, an ancestor-story that was the original, initial, true version of the tale. This story was then spread out throughout different languages, cultures and lands, and each one formed their own variation and alteration of the original tale. It is a bit similar to how European mythologies (Norse, Greek, Roman, Celtic, Hungarian, etc...) are all thought to be variations and "branches" of a Proto-Indo-European "original" mythology.

Anyway, the intentions of Joseph Jacobs with his "Europa's Fairy Book" was to react to this theory, by trying to recrate the ORIGINALS "European fairytales". He collected as many variations of specific tale-types he could find across European cultures, he identified the common and recurring points, and using them he tried to recreate or rewrite what he believed to be the "original ancestor story". Back then it was a true scholarly work - but now, given authorities on fairytales recognize that there was probably not one "ancestor story" from which variations branched out, but rather a series of constant rewrites that fed of each other like a chain, Jacobs' Europa Fairy Book is more akin to literary fairytales in the style of the French ones of Perrault and d'Aulnoy, inspired by and taking back the folklore, but rewriting it heavily.

As a result, "Johnnie and Grizzle" is on one side NOT an English Hansel and Gretel - because it was created using various European variations of Hansel and Gretel, was meant to be the "European Hansel and Gretel". On the other side, yes, Johnnie and Grizzle IS the English Hansel and Gretel, because it is a literary version of Hansel and Gretel written by an English authority on fairytales. I hope this clarifies things.

So, now that we have the context, what is actually the story of Johnnie and Grizzle, the "so-called original" or "proto-Hansel and Gretel"? I'll leave it under the cut:

Johnnie and Grizzle were the two children of a farmer. The farmer unfortunately could not make anything grow in his field, until his family had barely anything to eat and drink. So the farmer decides to abandon his children in the forest. His wife, Betty, tries to convince him to abandon his project, but the father reasons as such: soon they will all starve to death. If the parents die first, the kids will be left alone with no help. Better leave them in the forest before it happens - either the kids will die there, but at least they'll be spared seeing their whole family agonie ; either a kind stranger will help them, and so they'll be saved. Johnnie however was awake in the next room and heard his parents talking. He went outside to pick "bright-colored pebbles".

The following morning, after breakfast the father took his children "for a walk" in the forest - once deep in it, he claimed to have something he needed to fetch alone, and to be returning very soon, before he disappeared by a path different from the one he took to come there. As their father were not returning, Grizzle began crying, saying that without their father they couldn't return home - but Johnnie showed her the pebbles he had been throwing behind him with each step, and they returned home by midday. They ask for something to eat - only for their mother to tell them they had nothing, and could only ope to have a bit of bread the following morning. When the father returned home, he was astonished to see his kids were back before him. However, determined to not have his children starve before his very eyes, he tried to lose them again, deeper in the forest - only for it to fail again.

But the third time succeeded, because Grizzle had told her parents about the "funny" thing her brother was doing - how he was collecting pebbles and throwing them down the road each time they went for a walk in the woods. Grizzle's innocent comment betrayed her brother, and the father locked the doors at night so Johnnie couldn't get any more pebbles. The third time, the bread trick was used: Grizzle ate all the bread her father gave her, but Johnnie kept his bread and scattered the crumbs along the path, only for the birds to eat it all.

Completely lost, the children wandered, getting hungrier and hungrier, until they randomly came across a little glade with a "funny little house". Its door was made of butter-scotch, its windows of sugar candy, its bricks of chocolate cream, its pillars of lollypops, and its roof of gingerbread. The children started eating the house madly - picking pieces of the door and the bricks apart, Johnnie climbing on Grizzle's back to eat the roof... But the house's owner got out: a "little old woman with red eyes". The little old woman said they were naughty children, and that if they wanted to eat something, they should have just knocked at the door and she would have gladly gave them food. The children begged the little old woman for food, and she allowed them inside. We get here a full description of the inside of the house: all made of candies, with chairs and table of maple-sugar, and couch of cocoanut.

But as soon as the children were inside, the old woman seized Johnnie, took him to her kitchen, and locked him in a "dark cubby-hole". As it turns out (who could have seen it coming?), she was a witch who had the habit of capturing, fattening up and eating children. She openly tells Grizzle that she will become her servant and do all her work, while her brother will be a "fine meal" once he is fattened up. And so began a daily life where Grizzle did all the housework, while Johnnie was served three large meals to eat (breakfast in the morning, dinner at mid-day, supper at night), only for after each supper to be judged by the witch. Being "nearly blind" she tells him to put out his forefinger, and each time she feels it she mutters "Not fat enough yet".

After some times of his new diet, Johnnie "felt he was getting real fat" (to take back Jacobs' own words), and fearing the witch would eat him, he did the bone-finger trick (except here it is with a stick he finds in his cubby-hole). The witch, amazed at seeing him "as thin as a lath", served him even more food - and each tme the boy put out the stick, the witch gave him even more and more to eat. Until one day he got careless and as she was feeling the stick, the boy lost its grip on it, making the witch understand the trick. The witch, flying into a rage, told Grizzle to make the oven hot, adding "This lad is fat enough for Christmas". Grizzle could only obey the witch, piling the wood and setting it alight under the oven. After a while the witch asked: "Grizzle, Grizzle, is the oven hot?" and Grizzle answered: "I don't know, mum". [Note: It isn't to be taken literaly, it is just a way of speaking. Before in the tale Betty, the farmer's wife, referred to her husband as "father". But Jacobs, being a folklorist and having done comparative studies of fairytales, very likely saw the mother-daughter nature of the relationship between Gretel and the witch, with the "witch's daughter" or "ogress' daughter" archetype, and played with it in his reconstruction]

When the witch asked again some times later, Grizzle said: "I do not know how hot an oven ought to be." The witch decided to check it herself, but as soon as her head was in the oven, Grizzle pushed her into it and closed the door. She set Johnnie free and the both of them left the house, running "towards the setting sun, where they knew their own house was".

As the children reached a broad streem too deep for them to cross, they turned back and saw that the old witch had escaped the oven ad was running towards them. Grizzle, spotting a big duck, called it out in a rhyme: "Duck, duck, come to me, / Johnnie and Grizzle depend upon thee; / Take Johnnie and Grizzle on thy back, / Or else they'll be eaten". The duck answeres "Quack! Quack!", took the two children on his back, and they crossed the stream. The old witch arrived and told the duck to carry her too, but the duck with another "Quack! Quack!" refused.

So the witch decided to dry up the stream to get across - she lay down and swallowed up the water, drinking and drinking and drinking. But there was too much water, and the witch ended up bursting. As for Johnnie and Grizzle, they returned home. While they had their adventures, their father had earned a lot of money - and had been searching for his lost children all over the forest. Everybody was glad to be reunited together.

The end.

[trupowieszcz-moved]

Europa's fairy book (1916)

[nocnitsa]

John D. Batten- The Wounded Dragon, Illustration from "Europa's Fairy Book," 1916

[aradiamegido]

save me new project. new project save me

(frame is 20"x20", image is by John D Batten, titled The Giant Tries to Drink the Stream, from Europa's Fairy Book, 1916)

[europaworldtravels]

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[katzenfalter]

The Earl of Cattenborough, from European Folk and Fairy Tales by John D. Batten (1916)

[lookbookfly21]

Unforgettable Family Adventures: Europe Tour Packages from India with look book fly

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[smalllizardnamedfred]

Okay guys I’m putting this out here because I want to see if anyone would find it interesting. I’m writing a story and it’s sort of a fantasy. I think people who like the raven cycle would like it because the world building and overall vibes are kind of similar.

Just a quick little thing: This is all my work. I mean it’ll probably sound similar to some other books because that’s just how things are, nothings 100% original anymore, but if someone stole this idea and published it I would be utterly devastated. So please, don’t steal anything I post here. If it doesn’t get any notes within a week I’ll probably take it down.

Okay so it’s not set in some fancy new world, just Earth in sort of a parallel universe. In this universe, there are humans and regular animals just like ours, but there’s the addition of nonhumans, which are sorted into civilized, uncivilized, and unclassified.

The world map looks like this:

I didn’t include Antarctica because it wouldn’t fit on the paper and no one was gonna live there anyway in this world. Most of the continents are named differently. I used Latin Google translate to think of names because I’m in creative when it comes to that stuff.

We have Greenland and Europe, which are Septentrios and Europa. Also Australia, which are now the Forbiddenlands since it’s isolated and filled with nonhumans.

Africa and Asia, which didn’t undergo a name change.

And South and North America, which are West Africa and Transmara.

There are different ethnic groups in each continent/country.

There are also areas in a few continents like this:

These are the regions that are mostly inhabited by no humans, specifically uncivilized nonhumans.

The story I’m writing is set in Transmara, near the Forest.

Okay so the difference between civilized and uncivilized is sort of simple. Civilized creatures have complex language and are humanoid enough to socialize with human beings. These would be fairies, most sea or pond nymphs, and some fey. Uncivilized creatures are more similar to animals and tend to stray from humans with the exception of a few. That would be faeries, dryads, most other nymphs, giants, and tree devils. Unclassified would be creatures with the potential for either, like sirens and harpies. Halfborn hybrids between civilized creatures and humans aren’t uncommon, but frowned upon sometimes (especially in a certain region).

Okay, we got through all the world building.

The story I’m writing is about a 16 year old half-fairy, 17 year old half pond nymph, their legal guardian/brother figure, their best friend, and a handful of other people. The (mostly) main character, Lis, is visited by a creature with large eyes and a smile (Cheshire Cat style, without the whole floaty business) that tries to get her to come closer and follow it, which is a huge no-no near the Forest because you won’t come back. Lis runs away and over the next several weeks children go missing, including Lis and her sibling, Ri’s best friend’s younger brother. Their neighbor’s best friend goes missing, too, and they gather a group to find the missing kids. The story will switch POVs between the members of the group, Lis and Ri’s technical brother (woo subplot), and Lis’s potential girlfriend (woo, romance and internal struggle) but will mostly revolve around Lis, Ri, and Michael Blake (yes, that is his name. He goes by his first and middle name the entire book). Will they survive the perils of the Forest? Will they find the missing kids? Will Lis find answers?

I’ve already finished a first draft that I started in June and I’m working on the second now. This was gonna be a standalone but I had an amazing idea for a second and third book, each one focusing on a separate group of characters in a different region with the same antagonists (the main antagonist will change with each book).

Sorry for the long post! I’m gonna go ahead and tag this with the raven cycle because that’s sort of my target audience. Reblog if you’d read this.

[adarkrainbow]

Most people know Joseph Jacobs for his work of collecting and putting in a literary form the traditional fairy tales of England - he is the man that made famous tales such as Goldilocks and the Three Bears, The Three Little Pigs, Jack and the Beanstalk, Tattercoats, The Buried Moon, and many others.

But what people tend to not know is that he was also the author of a very particular book called “European Folk and Fairy Tales” - sometimes shortened as Europa’s Fairy Book (in reference to the Fairy Books of Andrew Lang). Remember what I said before about the folklorist vs literary theories when it came to fairy tales? Well Joseph Jacobs lived in the full “folkloric fairytale” movement, fashion and study, and one of the main beliefs of this movement was that, beyond all the local and regional variations of a fairy tale, at the root of these similarly “cousin tales” found in numerous countries and eras, for each “fairy tale type”, there was an “ancestor-tale”. A “first” tale, a “primitive” tale, an “original” tale from which all the variants were born - a common ancestor that gave birth to all the different variations that formed together a “type”. It was the theory of evolution if you want, with each individual belonging to a larger group of species all coming from a common ancestor. 

And Joseph Jacobs, working on this theory and belief, decided to create his European Folk and Fairy Tales book. After collecting as many variants and variations of some fairy tale types across as much European countries as he could, he compared them, studied them, and tried to re-create the “original tale”, the “ancestor-fairytale”, the “original Europan story”. The result of this work was his “European Folk and Fairy Tales” book, a book contaned the supposed and believed reconstructed “original” tales that formed the “primordial” group of fairytales from which the ones collected by Grimm,  Asbjørnsen and Moe, Jacobs himself and others came from. 

Of course, this being a purely folklorist work that tried to ignore as much as it could all the literary side of fairytale history (for example Jacobs removed the fairy godmother from his Cinderella reconstruction due to it being an invention of Perrault), and a work of 1916 that was created with the resources and perceptions of the time, this is not at all considered to be a true scholar work today, and it mostly fell into obscurity as an entertaining project and an interesting piece of fairytale history. But it shouldn’t be forgotten by any means, since this book reflects the beliefs and theories of the folklorists and fairy tale critics of the 1910s Western Europe, and even today on the Internet you will see several illustrations created for this specific book reused for other fairytales (I was surprised to discover that a recurring illustration of Hansel and Gretel I saw everywhere was actually created for Jacobs’ reconstruction-tale). 

So if you ever want to check Jacobs’ Europa’s Fairy Book, you’ll find in it...

... The proto-”Snow White” fairytale, simply titled Snowwhite

... The proto-”Cinderella” story, Cinder-Maids

... “Beauty and the Beast”, which as you can guess is the reconstruction of the “original Beauty and the Beast”

... Thumbkin, the supposed “ancestor” of the Tom Thumb tales.

... The Unseen Bridegroom, the artificial ancestor of all “Cupid and Psyche” type of fairytales

... Johnnie and Grizzle, a synthesis of all Europan “Hansel and Gretel” stories

... The Earl of Cattenborough, the proto-”Puss in Boots”.

And many more artificial but fascinating wonders! 

(Though don’t get me wrong - I do not use “artificial” in a pejorative way. Many fairytales we know today are “artificial” in the eyes of folklorists - all literary fairytales for example, from Perrault to Andersen, are demmed “artificial” by their literary nature ; and even the folklorists have to admit that some of their own created artificial tales, such as those born of the Grimm’s editing of the collected folktales. So, considering all that, while Jacobs’ reconstruction are certainly not THE actual proto-fairytales - if such a thing even exists - it is not because they are artificial that they are less to be considered than literary works or the edited final Grimm stories)

[weepingcollectiveface]

'Europa's Fairu Book' by John D. Batten, 1916

[cherrywperson]

things that are a talkshow boy reference:

(keep in mind this is just for the funsies and not meant to be rlly taken seriously)

australia, ukraine, california, new york, dakota, england, the queen of england (the dead one), puppies, cats, foxes, whales, tv, radio, crosswords, tracheotomy, cold and hot temperatures respectively, the year 1996, the heart, blood, organs, the fool, skeletons, alligators, bananas, the nightmare by henry fuseli, burger joints, icicles, the ocean, the color blue, being sad, being in love, being happy, perestroika, pepsi, cars, being gay, being bi, livejournal, auditoriums, washing machines, marathon stars, cream, butter, squash, chicory, bubble and squeak, pork pie, fairy bread, dim sims, potato cakes, ham, ham on the bone (ham in general), creme caramel, dr pepper, choc tops, paddle pops, gummy bears, gingerbread men, chupachups, murder, souffle, guacamole, toffee apple, abalone, kom pot, chicken strips, sorbet, eggs benedict, gravy, brains, gameshows, 36 degrees celsius, suits, belts, police, ice, summer, books, eskimos, europa, religion, oxigen, food, water, callisto, lcd soundsystem, icebergs, shipwreck, artic, being single, vhs, the sun, frying pans, bakeries, kitchens, breakfasts. hardcore, synthesizers, the gutter, houses, movies, holding hands, testosterone, estrogen, being lactose intolerant, fun, the future, knives, knife fights, ace, king, queen, jack, hearts, clubs, spades, diamonds, 2021, and You!!!!!! probably

in conclusion, talkshow boy is like jjba in terms of references...... well, everything can be a reference of something you like if you try hard enough !

[stormcrawler75]

Oohh if it isn't already been prompted, Allergic Reaction with Virgil and Logan? V with the reaction to.... whatever! Love your writing!!! -An important fae who ghosts around tumblr (previously known as the nonimportant fae who ghosts around tumblr)

Warnings: Allergic Reaction, Hives

Characters: Logan, Virgil, Remus, and mentions of Janus.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan grunted as he woke up late at night, rubbing at his eyes weakly. Virgil was cuddled close in his arms with the smaller man’s face pressed against Logan’s collarbone. It was a very quiet night and even their infant son was fast asleep in the crib beside their bed. There was absolutely no reason for Logan to be awake and it annoyed him to no end that he was. But sadly, there was nothing Logan could do now. Once he was awake, there was nothing that he could do to get back to sleep.

And it had been such a good sleep too. Dreamless - as far as Logan remembered - and lovely. Logan sighed and reached out blindly to the bedside table, slapping his palm gently against the surface until he found his glasses and pushed them onto his face. The room came more into focus, the moonlight coming through the window lighting it up. Logan glanced over to the nearby crib and softened when he was his son that he and Virgil had adopted just a few weeks ago holding his bright green octopus stuffy tightly. Logan’s lips quirked into a warm smile. For one brief moment, he considered getting out of bed, taking Remus and going downstairs to sit in the rocking chair. Perhaps read a book of fairy tales to the boy.

But then Logan remembered how much and for how long Remus had cried when Virgil had accidentally woken him up during his nap the day before and decided against it.

“You are so cute when you are sleeping, my star child,” Logan whispered softly with a fond smile on his lips. He tensed when Remus shifted, internally wishing that the baby would stay sleeping, only relaxing when Remus drifted back off. Logan sighed and glanced down to Virgil, whispering softly, “I am so happy and relieved that he’s sleeping through the night now, Darling. I love our son but I love getting a good night’s sleep almost as much.” He rubbed his hand up and down Virgil's spine gently, chuckling softly when Virgil curled closer to him. “Perhaps we can call your brother tomorrow and he can take Remus for the,” he trailed off, a spark of terror going through him.

There was a lump on Virgil’s lower back.

The grogginess that had been clouding Logan’s vision immediately cleared, replaced with a stark sense of panic. Lumps, what did lumps mean? Tumours, hernias, cancer? “Virgil,” Logan whispered, shaking him gently. “Virgil, wake up.”

Virgil groaned, pulling away from him and rolling away. “Go away,” he whined, giving Logan a gentle kick. “Go ‘way, Lo, it’s night time.”

Logan reached out to give Virgil another shake before pausing. Now that Logan could see Virgil’s back clearly he could see that it wasn’t just one lump. It was several, all spread across Virgil’s lower back and Logan could see the start of some on Virgil’s sides too. And they weren’t lumps at all, they were hives. Virgil was having an allergic reaction.

“Dearest,” Logan whispered, shaking his shoulder gently, still alert and panicked. He racked his mind, trying to think of something that could’ve caused this. “Dearest, what did you eat yesterday? Did you take any medicine?”

“I ate everything you ate,” Virgil groaned, swatting at his hand. “And just the penicillin for the root canal that I had last week.”

Logan paused. He remembered that his younger cousin had a penicillin allergy and her symptoms looked very, very similar to Virgil’s. A late reaction, perhaps? Either way, this was not something they could put off until morning. “Virgil, you have to wake up. You’re having an allergic reaction.” He leaned over and hissed through his teeth at the slight swelling in Virgil’s cheeks. “And a bad one at that.”

Immediately, Virgil was awake and looking at Logan with wide eyes. “Allergic reaction? What?” He glanced down at his bare stomach and paled when he saw the hives. His breath hitched and his hands started to tremble.

“Shhhh, Dearest, it’ll be alright,” Logan promised, taking his hands and squeezing gently. “I will get ready for a drive to the hospital. Call your brother and ask him to take Remus for the night, okay?”

“Okay,” Virgil whispered shakily, sitting up and reaching for his phone. 

Logan took a calming breath, standing up and walking over to Remus, picking him up gently along with his baby blanket and octopus stuffy. “Shhhh,” he cooed when the baby started to crack his eyes open, swaying back and forth, “Shhh, it’s alright, Sweetheart. We’re just going for a little drive, that’s all. There we go, go back to sleep. No, don’t wake up, please go back to sleep.” Logan sighed in relief when Remus’ eyes slipped back closed. “Good, good,” he whispered. “Let’s get you in the car seat and Uncle Janus will meet us at the hospital.”

Hopefully, it wouldn’t be too long of a stay.

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[adarkrainbow]

Daily reminder that, as said above, while Joseph Jacobs did collect a good handful of traditional British fairytales, one shouldn't mistake his entire stories as being purely collected stories. Because several, wrongly presented as "traditional British tales", actually come from his "Europa's Fairy Book", a book where he attempted to "recreate" the proto-story behind each fairytale type. (Now we know the theory of an original tale from which all the others sprung forth is false, but it was still the main and dominant theory by Jacobs' type that there were "tale-ancestors" from which all the others came from). Thus is the case of Cinder-Maid, the first tale in his book of "European Folktales", and Jacobs' attempt at recreating what he believed to be the "original" Cinderella tale.

If you are curious he also wrote in it the "original" Hansel and Gretel (Johnnie and Grizzle), the "original" Puss in Boots (The Earl of Cattenborough), the "original" Snow-White and many more... Stories which, again, are not actually the "true origins" of the fairytales despite Jacobs' effort, but are funny scholarly recreation of what a "typical tale exemplifying each fairytale type" could look like.

I've still been reading Heidi Ann Heiner's Cinderella Tales From Around the World. I've just finished reading all the variants from Ireland, Scotland, and England.

Here are the patterns:

*In Gaelic variants (e.g. two Irish versions and one Scottish), the heroine and her two sisters typically have names that describe their appearance or demeanor, with the sisters' names implying that one is blonde and the other brunette. For example, Fair, Brown, and Trembling, or Fair-Hair, Brown-Hair, and Mangy-Hair, or the Fair Maid, the Swarthy Maid, and the Snow-White Maid.

*As usual, it varies whether the heroine is abused by a stepmother and stepsister(s) or by her own mother (or both parents) and sister(s), or just by her sisters alone, and whether there are two (step)sisters or just one. In the three Gaelic versions with hair-themed naming, the girls are biological sisters, though in The Snow-White Maid, the Fair Maid, the Swarthy Maid, and Bald Pate Their Mother, they're half-sisters and Balt Pate is the Snow-White Maid's stepmother.

*It seems far more common in these versions for the heroine and her (step)sister(s) to be princesses. This has sometimes turned up in other countries' variants so far, most notably in Finette Cendron, but so far the British Isles seem to have the biggest number of Cinderellas who are princesses by birth.

**In the Irish, Fair, Brown, and Trembling, not only is Trembling seen by her own prince at church, but the fame of her beauty spreads throughout the world, and all the princes of Ireland come to see her, as do princes from other countries like Spain and Greece. They all want to marry her and agree to duel for her hand after the slipper fits her, but after four days of fighting they all concede to the prince who first fell in love with her.

*The heroine's magical helper is either an old woman or an animal in these variants, and if it's an animal, it's almost always either a black sheep or a red calf. The beginning of one Irish version explains that black ewes were considered good luck.

**In almost all the versions with an animal, as in the Grimms' One-Eye, Two-Eyes, Three-Eyes or French tale of The Blue Bull, the (step)mother sends the heroine out to pasture each day with barely anything to eat, hoping to slowly starve her, but the animal magically provides her with good food.

**As usual, the animal companion tends to be killed by the (step)mother, but unusually, it doesn't stay dead in these variants. Instead, after the heroine gathers up the bones, the animal comes back to life, limping because the heroine lost one shank bone, but otherwise none the worse for wear. There are also some variants where the animal doesn't die at all. In one Scottish version, the heroine is ordered to behead the calf herself, but instead she kills her sister (!), takes the calf and runs away.

*In both Irish and Scottish versions, the special event the heroine attends is always church, not a festival or party. Several versions take place at Christmas and have her attend the special Yuletide Masses.

*The old woman or animal typically not only provides the girl with finery and a horse to ride, but cooks the family's dinner for her by the time she gets back. In one Scottish version, Ashpitel, the black lamb doesn't even give her finery – she just dresses herself in her own fine clothes that she rarely gets to wear, while the magic the lamb provides is just to cook the dinner for her.

*In the Gaelic versions, the prince rides after the heroine the third time she rides away from church, and grabs her by the foot, but only succeeds in pulling off her shoe. Whereas in the Scots versions, she just loses her shoe by accident.

*In Scotland, the story (and the heroine) is most often called Rashin Coatie (a.k.a. Rashie Coat, or Rushen Coatie), because the heroine wears a coat made of rushes, or "rashes" in Scots dialect.

** It varies whether Rashin Coatie is simply forced to serve her (step)mother and (step)sister(s) at home, or whether she runs away, to escape either from a cruel family or from an arranged marriage, and becomes a servant at the prince's castle, a la Donkeyskin.

*Both Irish and Scottish versions tend to include the motif of foot-cutting to make the slipper fit, just like the German versions do. A bird alerts the prince, typically in a rhyme which says that "nipped foot and clipped foot" is riding with him while "pretty foot and bonny foot" is elsewhere. But it's not always the (step)sisters who do it. In the Donkeyskin-like versions of Rashin Coatie, where the heroine runs away and becomes a servant at the prince's castle, the rival who tries to trick the prince is a henwife's daughter instead.

**Henwives are ubiquitous in these variants. But in the Gaelic versions (both Irish and Scottish), the henwife is benevolent, often serving as the heroine's magical helper, while in the Scots-dialect Rashin Coatie variants, she's a secondary villain, with the above-mentioned daughter who aspires to marry the prince.

*The Gaelic versions usually continue the story after the heroine's marriage, and have her eldest sister (the blonde one) throw her into the sea or a lake, then take her place. But either the princess's bed stays afloat so she doesn't drown, or she's captured by a whale or a water monster that keeps her a prisoner in the deep, yet briefly lets her onto the shore now and then. A cowherd sees her and alerts her royal husband, who rescues her, slaying the whale or monster if there is one, and the sister is executed.

*There doesn't seem to be a strong tradition of localized, oral Cinderella stories in England the way there is in Ireland and Scotland. But this book does include an English literary version: The Cinder-Maid by Joseph Jacobs, the folklorist who gave us the best-known versions of Jack and the Beanstalk and The Three Little Pigs.

**As usual in Jacobs' retellings of folktales, he borrows motifs from various different oral versions in an attempt to write down the "definitive" version of the tale. So The Cinder-Maid is basically the Grimms' Aschenputtel, with the three-day royal festival, the heroine getting her finery from a hazel tree on her mother's grave, the prince smearing the palace steps with tar to catch her golden slipper, and the stepsisters cutting off parts of their feet. But Jacobs also includes the motifs of "finery from a nutshell" and "hollow tree opens to reveal gifts" from other versions – each dress and pair of shoes comes from inside a hazelnut from the tree, and then the trunk opens to produce a coach and horses. And the bird in the tree instructs Cinder-Maid to leave by midnight, as in Perrault. (The midnight deadline is a rare motif in international Cindrellas, despite the fame Perrault gave it; in most versions she just leaves early to ensure that she gets home before her family does.)

**In his footnotes to The Cinder-Maid, Jacobs notes the existence of Rhodopis, but he argues that the entire Cinderella story (the persecuted heroine, magical help to attend an event, etc.) most likely originated in Germany, because it was a German betrothal tradition for a man to put a shoe on his fiancée's foot. He makes no mention of Ye Xian, or the more common belief that the story was born in China from the Chinese view of tiny feet as the height of feminine beauty. This reminds me of a hypothesis I once read that maybe Ye Xian isn't really as ancient a tale as it's believed to be – that maybe the story originated in Germany, then spread to China by way of the Silk Road, and that the name "Ye Xian" may derive from the similar-sounding "aschen," the German word for "ashes" that starts every German form of Cinderella's name (Aschenputtel, Aschenbrödel, etc.). Personally, though, I don't see why the reverse can't be true: couldn't the story just as easily have travelled from China to Germany? Maybe the heroine's association with ashes started when Germans heard the name "Ye Xian" and thought it sounded similar to "aschen"!

But I'm getting ahead of myself talking about China. The next several Cinderellas I'll be reading come from Scandinavia.

@adarkrainbow, @ariel-seagull-wings, @themousefromfantasyland

[gregarnott]

The Witch, Illustration from “Europa’s Fairy Book,” 1916 - John Dickson Batten

[deerslug]

John Dickson Batten (English, 1860-1932) - "Europa's Fairy Book," Joseph Jacobs, London: G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1916.

[alias-b]

Eros & Psyche: SOMY drabble

Billy Hargrove x Evie Fenny: Whump with a Happy Ending Drabble

~Evie contemplates her past relationship after getting together with Billy. ((No real fic spoilers, it’s no secret that Billy & Evie are soulmates & Endgame. Just some extra words for them to touch.)) TW: Talk of past grooming/Abusive student& teach relationship.

Whew, I wrote something, guys. Lol named is sorta after an existing chp bc I'm shameless. xoxo askbox open. Goodnight! :)))

He’s perfect.

Heaven carved her a prince from all her favorite fairy tales. Dash of charming. Sprinkle of classical good looks. A darling smile. Enough to melt any girl. Evangeline had no chance.

Fredrick always included Evie in his life. Well, the part of it no one else was involved in. That counted. She told herself it did.

Hawkins couldn’t know how much he loved her. She was sure that truly ached him. 

She was pretty sure.

Fredrick included Evie in what was under his mask. She told herself that was what mattered most of all. His true self and it was bared. All hers and hers alone.

She told herself.

Evie was telling herself lots of things these days. Fredrick called her a classic over-thinker. She didn’t need to think, she had him. He’d guide her along. Being wise and experienced of course. All she needed to do was let go and trust him.

But, he was perfect.

Fredrick took her to parties with other thirty year olds. Always held her hand. Said the right thing. Brought her under one arm. Introduced her as if he was thrilled and proud she was with him. Showed her off like a new designer watch. Fredrick liked to buy Evie designer things too in lace.

Things that made for a better pose in cotton sheets. Pictures she claimed she was too shy to let him take. 

He’d press a tight smile. Telling her it was enough to have her trapped in his thoughts. 

The, he’d unzip his pants. The sound prickled under her skin.

“This is Evangeline,” he boasted at parties, “my girl.”

Men and women extended their hands. Fussed over her. She just looked so youthful. She must have secrets.

“For now,” Fredrick said in the car once, “just tell anyone who asks that you’re nineteen.” He smiled and caressed her cheek. Fredrick always said the right thing. “You’re too beautiful. I love you so much.”

Slowly, he unzipped his pants.

All Evie wanted to do was please him. See that smile. See the lights behind it because he was hers and she was a moth drawn to them. Fredrick liked most that she was his too. He came to her upon a deathly white horse with a silken, red cape upon his back. Bought her lace and flowers.

Fed her only a certain amount and took plates away before she was finished. 

“There’s this silk nightie I want to buy you, but it’s just a smidge too small. Couple pounds should do it. Not that I think you need to lose it.” He cared so much. Evie welled and drank her cool water down. Swallowed the ice cubes when he went to the kitchen. 

They drank quite a bit. He liked her swaying and loose. Not alert. Not overthinking too much. Cause he cared. More than anything.

Evie always said no to coke lines. Yes to shots. Yes to the occasional pill that lit shit up inside her. Let her see the night sky in living color. 

Fredrick kept close. He always did. Especially if other men approached her. His arm pulled her back into his orbit. One sharp snap. Another prickle that made her skin pulse.

Europa trapped circling Jupiter and its great red storms. Clinging desperately maybe cause she’s scared and she doesn’t know it. She doesn’t have anywhere to go and no planet will love her or hold her like her Jupiter.

Fredrick could storm too. Could get snappy. Grip her too hard. Leave marks she had to hide from her mother and classmates. It’s all passion. That’s what he said. He loved fierce and unyielding. Just like a prince would, they’re supposed to love hard. 

Evie’s terrified to disappoint him. Terrified to leave the narrative because who would she be without it? She figured that was normal, growing up with the same dynamic in her household. Children wetting the bed cause their parents build these anxieties into them. Phantoms that never leave.

“Letting everyone down would be my greatest unhappiness.” She often repeated that to the mirror. Repeated it when Fredrick was slamming things around. Pretending he’s fine until she’s crawling to unzip his pants and then all is forgiven.

Evie loved being forgiven. Gentle pats and warm embraces into the night. Fingers to swipe her loose tears. Fredrick gave her everything she needed.

Even if he was the one telling her she needed it.

Prince Charming knew to force his kisses and wake the princess. Now she owed a debt. He knew she needed saving from her tower or dragon. She was too helpless to decide her own path. He knew that she had to love him in return to break the curse. She doesn’t get a choice, it’s destiny.

Evie believed in destiny when she met Fredrick. He certainly murmured it into her ear enough. Hushed tones that made her feel cradled. Made her feel found. Made her float.

But, she can’t tell people, “This is Fredrick, my prince.”

Once he screamed at her for even signing a little heart above the “i” in her name during class. All because he cares. Because he’s the prince who knew better. Because no one would ever understand them.

Maybe that was why she loathed Billy upon meeting him that windy autumn day.

Billy Hargrove was the exact opposite. He never pretended to know better. Not as far as Evie’s soul was concerned. Evie didn’t grovel. Didn’t beg his forgiveness for the slightest misstep or incorrect thought. They nipped at each other, but it was an equal exchange.

Billy’s not a prince. He didn’t try to be either.

He didn’t shake her hand when they met. Not until Neil made him. He doesn’t always hold doors. Doesn’t constantly have to have Evie under his arm. Under his eye.

Especially doesn’t start slamming things when she laughs at Tommy’s stupid jokes or shares her drinks with Steve. He didn’t tell her she couldn’t hang out with Heather or Carol without him. Didn’t steer her from her mother or friends. He also didn’t pry for secrets out of mistrust.

He doesn’t care what she does as long as she isn’t getting herself into deep shit. Without him. His words. He’s not perfect and he doesn’t try to be.

Billy drove like shit. He smoked too much. He got into fights. He could be a total sourpuss grump, but he doesn’t grab Evie to leave bruises over it.

He fucked hard though, he always made sure Evie got off. Never unzips unprompted. Girls hit on him and he says that he’s seeing someone. Easy enough. Sometimes gesturing to Evie if she’s in the room. No need to bother her with pointless shit.

They were always aware of each other even if they didn’t interact. Something magical there neither could place.

Billy knew things Fredrick didn’t care to remember about Evie as well. How she’s a talented roller skater. What she liked on her cheeseburger. Her favorite movie snacks. Her order when they grab Chinese. The articles of clothing that always comforted her on bad days. How to gauge her mood by the song she’d hum or the book in her hand.

How she tapped the rhythm of songs she wrote into flesh and hard surfaces. How she wanted to turn the radio up when her favorite song was on, but politely doesn’t always. Billy does it for her.

He doesn’t comment when she eats and doesn’t care what she wears out or to bed.

He’s often trying to piece together the bits of songs he hears her humming and creating. She’ll share them with him one day, he won’t make her.

Billy’s not a prince. He’s probably beaten up a few in his day. But, he remembers. He pays attention. He lets Evie exist as her own soul and take up her own needed space. 

They’re two equal stars twinkling pleasantly in the same shared constellation.

There’s plenty he didn’t tell her. About himself. About his life. Things he wanted to share, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe one day. She needed to trust him enough in that light. And she did.

Before getting together, Evie thought of Billy too often when she was with Fredrick. Especially when she was under him. Counting the seconds before he finished with her. She hadn’t been warmed up enough and her prince was hurting her with his passion. 

She wondered about asking him to stop. If he would. If he’d ignore her and chase his end. If he’d bruise her wrists again. A lot could be said about Billy, but he’d stop.

He wouldn’t ignore this beautiful star he’s so well attuned to. Billy wouldn’t hurt Evie and call it passion. He’d own his shit.

But, they tell her Billy isn’t the prince and the princess always was supposed to end up with her prince. Billy was a lone, glittering god with his own marble pedestal. Unobtainable. Eyes that watch the mortals below.

Maybe he’ll grace them with his presence and a fresh set of shiny arrows. Messy, little Eros with a laundry list of issues and vices he’ll never outrun. Evie didn’t mind to carry a few vices if he’d watch hers too. She was just a mortal girl with dreams higher than stars could go. Piled with dead weight as Fredrick collapsed into her. Smothering her. 

And Evie’s first thought was always the shine of Billy’s eyes blaring into her after Fredrick dropped her at the end of Cherry Land so she could walk home. Defeated and wanting for more. They broke her heart.

Fredrick pushed down. Crushed her until Evie was gasping herself awake in her own bed. Eons later after she left him. After he shattered her already.

“Squirming more than usual.” A voice in the pillows next to her muttered. Billy groaned, turning over like he was annoyed. 

Evie knew he wasn’t. She didn’t feel her heart give an unpleasant clench like she’d upset him. One arm slung over her stomach as Billy stretched back out on his front, facing her. A barely there glow from the moon trickled between the curtains showing his lashes fluttering.

“Just a dream.” Evie reached out and traced a line into his shoulder. Let her finger trail up to tap his nose. Made him scrunch and look sorta adorable.

“Well, it’s over.” Billy closed his eyes. Nestled into her heat. “Try rolling for another.”

“I like this better.” She caught his lip twitching up. Billy remained silent for a while there. Almost lulling back to sleep. He shifted up. Revived Evie with a simple, cathartic kiss. Mapping more across her cheek as lazy as can be. 

They still felt carefully packaged. Billy had a way with careless affection that was still so striking and beautiful. Flaming arrows through her heart. 

They don’t hurt. So few things hurt with Billy. Evie liked to think she returned that.

His arm tightened.

“I’ll roll this time.”

And Evie could let him without sacrificing her own agency. Her own narrative.

Fingers reached up to draw select gold curls aside. She decided princes were small and overrated. Billy had wings and he had light and he had a swelter of carefully exposed nerves that he trusted Evie to pluck. A heart he let her guard. He wouldn’t ask but she’d give that back.

Love cannot exist without soul. Without trust. 

Evie pushed up to meet his oncoming kiss. Brought him back down to touch the soft earth with her. Where they felt safe together.

She realized it then as Billy shifted up to see her there. Fredrick never made her feel safe, he just used her to save himself. Sunk his teeth in to suck her dry of vitality so he could have it. 

She didn’t ask Billy if he trusted her. Didn’t tell him in this moment that she trusted him. That was destiny. Not the draining of your soul until you’re forced to give it over.

Sometimes it was just knowing the obvious placement of stars. Glittery dust might sprinkle delicately over them.

“Let’s roll later,” Evie nudged her head into his, “always time for dreaming. But, I think I want to be wide awake right now. Hope that’s not too disappointing.” Hands shifted around his shoulders. A fuller smile crossed and Billy matched it. Blue eyes glinting almost iridescent. He hummed in thought. Seemed to agree. 

“Evangeline,” he sounded out with some lazy amusement, “you couldn’t disappoint me if you tried, you know that?” Billy settled himself against her. Continued to map his euphoric paths. Stroking her cheek and hair. Sparking. Hushing. “Hope you know that much, Angel.”

“I know, Billy,” she sighed out to the forgiving cloak of night, “I do.”