Persinette
Page 1
Persinette
By Charlotte-Rose de Caumont de La Force
Translated by Laura Christensen
and other maiden-in-a-tower fairy tales
Copyright Notice
Translation of “Persinette” by Mlle de La Force © 2014 by Laura Christensen
1st Edition: October 2014
All supplementary materials © 2014 by Laura Christensen. This excludes the English translations of “Petrosinella” by Giambattista Basile and “Rapunzel” by the Brothers Grimm, which are in the public domain.
Cover image: Rapunzel / von Otto Spekter 1857
Cover design © 2014 by Niki Smith
E-book editing and design by Kristy G. Stewart of Looseleaf Editorial & Production, LLC
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Table of Contents
INTRODUCTION: Three Maidens in Three Towers
PART 1: PERSINETTE
•“Persinette” by Mlle de La Force, 1698, translated by Laura Christensen
•Some Notes on the Authoress, Mlle de La Force
•Translator’s Note
PART 2: PETROSINELLA and RAPUNZEL
•Introduction to “Petrosinella” by Giambattista Basile, 1634–36
•“Petrosinella,” translated by John Edward Taylor, 1847
•Introduction to “Rapunzel” by the Brothers Grimm, 1812–57
•“Rapunzel,” anonymous translation, 1853
PART 3: LITTLE TRANSLATOR
•Acknowledgements
•About the Translator
Introduction: Three Maidens in Three Towers
Three mothers, pregnant and craving a harmless plant under dangerous circumstances. Three daughters given in exchange for the herb who grow into beauties with unnaturally long hair. Three dangerous women to lock them up high in a tower. Three princes to give them a taste of the outside world. Three escapes. Three happy endings.
Growing up reading various versions of “Rapunzel,” I had many unanswered questions. The one that bothered me the most was why, if this unnamed mother and father loved each other and their unborn child so much, did they exchange her so easily for a fistful of this mysterious “rapunzel” plant? In my mind, Rapunzel’s parents’ devotion to their little family set them apart from Hansel and Gretel’s heartless step-mother and push-over father. Second to this concern was another question: What happened to the witch in the end? And did the prince’s parents accept Rapunzel and her two children with open arms, seeing as she was not of royal blood? Not to mention the question of how Rapunzel survived in the desert and gave birth to her twins on her own. How did the prince, blind and alone, survive and find them in the end?
You can tell I was one of those children who annoyed her poor mother by asking too many “why?” and “what if?” questions. But after many years of keeping my eyes open, I’ve found the answers to a few of these questions.
Holly Tucker, a professor of French Studies and Biomedical Ethics and Society at Vanderbilt University addressed my first set of questions in her book Pregnant Fictions: Childbirth and the Fairy Tale in Early Modern France. Why did the husband do what his pregnant wife asked? Why was he so afraid of what might happen if he did not, and why did he give away his unborn daughter so easily?
At the time this fairy tale was written, miscarriages and still births occurred far more often than they do today. Less was known about the child in utero, so common practices required protecting the mother and her unborn child with extreme caution. Pregnant women were expected to remain still and quiet, not just physically but emotionally as well. Anger, agitation, fear, any form of upset could harm the unborn child, (100, 101).
Unfulfilled cravings during pregnancy were also considered a danger to the mother and child. Holly Tucker says,
Extreme by nature, pregnancy cravings were especially dangerous for the fetus. Family and friends were frequently warned to avoid mentioning anything that the mother might crave because if these cravings were left unfulfilled birthmarks—or worse, miscarriage—might result. (103)
To a certain degree, these dangerous cravings during pregnancy reversed the normal power dynamic between the sexes. In a society in which the males dominated and the females served, men were nonetheless expected, during pregnancy, to provide for the nutritional needs and desires of women, no matter how fanciful they were. In her Relation du voyage d’Espagne (1691), Marie-Catherine D’Aulnoy’s narrator indicates that in Spain when pregnant women wish to see the king, they need only to signal to him and “he had the goodness to appear on the great balcony that overlooked the palace courtyard and stayed there as long as they wished.” She also explains that when a French woman enters a Spanish church she is always surrounded by curious onlookers who single her out because her clothes are different. However, pregnant women are especially “much more curious than the others and…they receive here the ultimate indulgence because it is believed that when they want something and it is refused to them something bad will happen and make them give birth to a dead child.” Moreover, Witkowski relates a similar episode of compliance in which the pregnant wife of the sixteenth-century German botanist Joachim Camerarius was consumed with a desire to smash a dozen eggs in her husband’s face; the husband permitted her to do so. (103-104)
In “Rapunzel,” the husband, although frightened, nevertheless ventures into the garden to risk the fairy’s wrath because not only is his child’s life at stake if he does not do this (which the original readers would have known, though it is unstated), but his wife believes she, herself, will die as well. Talk about pressure! And no wonder the fairy agrees that his excuse is a reasonable one.
As for my other questions—what happened to the witch in “Rapunzel” and how did Rapunzel survive in her desert with her twins—I found answers by looking a hundred years before the Grimm Brothers’ “Rapunzel” tale and reading Mlle de La Force’s “Persinette.” In “Persinette,” I discovered a precursor to the “Rapunzel” tale, and it captured my imagination anew. Once I’d read it, I knew I had to translate it for others to read and experience as well.
Mlle de La Force, or Charlotte-Rose de Caumont La Force, was a French aristocrat living in exile from Paris when her collection of fairy tales was published in 1698. Already known as a writer of “secret histories,” an early form of historical fiction, she took up writing fairy tales in her correspondence to her friends in 1697 at the height of fairy tales’ popularity at court. Her friends then compiled and published the tales in a volume entitled Les Contes des Contes.
“Persinette” was translated into German a century later, which is how we get the more well-known “Rapunzel” telling by the Brothers Grimm. However, in my research I found there is still another precursor to “Rapunzel,” an Italian version of the tale written in the Neapolitan dialect by Giambattista Basile and published in 1634. No one is entirely certain how Mlle de La Force came by Basile’s collection of stories, but by their similarities it’s clear that a volume of his work made it to the Parisian court. There she heard and was inspired by his tale of Petrosinella, another lovely maiden to be locked in a high, door-less tower.
Once I had discovered these two maidens’ stories and compared them side by side with “Rapunzel,” the maiden-in-the-tower telling I know best, I knew I would be remiss if I didn’t also include a translation of Petrosinella’s
tale for readers to see. Persinette’s story felt incomplete without her sisters in history, Petrosinella of Italy and Rapunzel of Germany. I should be clear that the following translation of Persinette is my own, but her sisters’ translations I took from the public domain.
So, without further ado, I introduce to you: “Persinette,” from France, as told by Mlle de La Force in 1698; “Petrosinella,” a Neopolitan tale from Italy, as told by Giambattista Basile in 1634; and “Rapunzel,” from Germany, as told by the Brothers Grimm in 1812 and later editions.
SOURCES & FURTHER READING
• Holly Tucker’s Pregnant Fictions: Childbirth and the Fairy Tale in Early Modern France, published in 2003 by Wayne State University Press.
Part I: Persinette
“Persinette” by Mlle de La Force
Translated by Laura Christensen
Two young lovers were married after a long courtship. Nothing could equal their ardor. Their life together was already happy and content, when, to the young wife’s utter delight, she discovered she was pregnant. This was a great joy to the little household: they had been longing for a child, and now their desire was fulfilled.
Close by there lived a Fairy who was, above all else, a great collector of plants. She kept a beautiful garden where an abundance of fruits, plants, and flowers could be seen.
In those days, parsley was extremely rare in these lands; the Fairy had imported some from India, and it could be found nowhere else in the country but in her garden.
The new wife greatly desired to eat some, and since she well knew how difficult it would be to satisfy her desire because no one could enter the garden, she fell into a melancholy that rendered her unrecognizable even to her husband’s eyes. He pestered her to know the cause of this preternatural change which appeared in her soul as well as her body, and after evading him too long, his wife at last admitted she would dearly like to eat some parsley. The husband sighed and agonized over such a difficult desire to satisfy. Nevertheless, as nothing seems insurmountable to one in love, he went day and night around the walls to scale them, but their height made it impossible.
Finally, one evening he discovered one of the garden gates ajar. He quietly slipped inside and was so pleased with his good fortune that he quickly took a fistful of parsley, left the way he had entered, and carried his plunder to his wife, who ate it eagerly, and who two days later found herself more distressed than ever by the desire to eat still more.
Parsley must have tasted excellent in those days.
The poor husband then returned several times in vain, but at last his perseverance paid off. Once more he found the garden gate ajar, entered, and was startled to see the Fairy herself who harshly rebuked him for having the audacity to come thus to a place whose entry was not permitted to just anyone. The poor, distraught fellow dropped to his knees, begged forgiveness, and told her that his wife would die if she did not eat a little parsley, that she was with child, and that surely this desire was indeed forgivable. “Well then,” said the Fairy, “I will give you as much parsley as you like, if you will give me the child your wife will bear.”
The husband, after a short deliberation, promised to do so, and he took as much parsley as he wanted.
When it was time for the baby to be delivered, the Fairy came to stand by the mother’s side as she brought forth a daughter to whom the Fairy gave the name Persinette, after the parsley her mother had craved. The Fairy received the baby swaddled in cloth of gold and sprinkled her face with precious water from a crystal vessel that instantly rendered her the most beautiful creature in the world.
After these beauty rituals, the Fairy took little Persinette, brought her home, and raised her with all the care imaginable. So it was surprising when the Fairy, who knew Persinette’s fate, resolved to strip her of her destiny before she had even reached her twelfth year.
For this purpose, she conjured a silver Tower in the middle of the forest. The mysterious Tower had no door to enter. Within were grand and beautiful apartments brightly lit with garnets that shone like sunlight. Every curiosity was collected in this place. Persinette had but to open her cabinet drawers and she would find them filled with the most beautiful jewelry. Her wardrobes were as magnificent as those of the Queens of Asia, and there was no fashion that she wasn’t the first to have. She was alone in this beautiful abode where she had nothing to desire but companionship. Apart from that, nearly all her desires were anticipated and satisfied.
It goes without saying that the finest food comprised all her meals, but I will say to reassure you that, though she was acquainted with no one but the Fairy, she was never bored in her solitude. She read. She painted. She played instruments and amused herself with all the pastimes befitting a girl of perfect breeding.
The Fairy ordered her to sleep at the top of the Tower where there was a single window, and after establishing her in her enchanting solitude, the Fairy descended by way of the window and returned to her home.
Persinette amused herself with a hundred different things as soon as she was alone. Even sorting through her trunks was a rather large chore. How many people would love to have one similar!
The view from the Tower window was the most beautiful in the world, with the sea on one side and the vast forest on the other. These two features were peerless and enchanting. Persinette had a divine voice; she greatly enjoyed singing, and it was often her distraction, especially in those hours she waited for the Fairy. The Fairy came to see Persinette quite often, and when the Fairy was at the base of the Tower, she was accustomed to saying, “Persinette, let down your hair, so I may climb to you, my dear.”
One of Persinette’s great beauties was her hair, which was thirty-eight yards long without inconveniencing her, blonde like fine gold, and braided with ribbons of all colors. When she heard the Fairy’s voice, she unpinned her hair and let it down, then the Fairy climbed it.
One day Persinette stood alone at the window, singing the prettiest song in the world with all her heart.
At the same time, a young Prince was hunting. He had lost his way while pursuing a stag, and hearing so sweet a song, he drew near and saw the young Persinette. Her beauty touched him. Her voice entranced him. Twenty times he circled the fateful Tower, but seeing no point of entry, he thought he would die from agony. He had love. He had courage. He should have been able to scale the Tower.
Meanwhile, Persinette became speechless when she saw such a handsome man. She considered him for a long time, entirely astonished. Then abruptly she withdrew from her window, believing that this was some sort of monster, remembering she had heard it said that there were monsters which killed with a glance; she had found this one’s gaze dangerous indeed.
The Prince despaired to see her go. He strove to find answers, asking in the nearest settlements if anyone knew about the Tower and who lived inside. He was told that a Fairy had built the Tower and had locked away a young maiden therein. Every day he skulked nearby. At last he was present to see the Fairy arrive and hear her say, “Persinette, let down your hair, so I may climb to you, my dear.” That very instant he beheld the beautiful figure unbind the long tresses of her hair and the Fairy ascend with their aid. He was greatly astonished by a manner of visiting so out of the ordinary.
The next day when he believed the hour the Fairy customarily entered the Tower had passed, he waited for nightfall with great impatience. Then, approaching the Tower under her window, he imitated the Fairy’s voice admirably and said, “Persinette, let down your hair, so I may climb to you, my dear.”
The poor Persinette, deceived by the sound of his voice, hurried to let down her beautiful hair. The Prince scaled it, and when he had reached the top and appeared at the window, he thought he might fall when he beheld her preternatural beauty up close. Nevertheless, recalling all his natural courage, he hopped into the chamber, and kneeling at Persinette’s feet, he clasped her knees with persuasive ardor. She was frightened at first, and shrieked. A moment later she was trembling and nothing c
ould reassure her except for when she sensed in his heart as much love as she felt for him. He told her the most beautiful things in the world, to which she responded only with a flustered shyness that gave the Prince reason to hope. Then, his courage gathered at last, he proposed to marry her then and there. She consented without much knowing what she did and in that same manner completed the entire ceremony.
Here we see the happy Prince. Persinette also became accustomed to loving him. They saw each other every day, and a little while later her belly began to swell. This unfamiliar circumstance worried her very much. The Prince suspected he knew what it might be, but he did not wish to tell her for fear of afflicting her. But the Fairy, having been to see her, only had to take one look to recognize her malady at once. “Oh, wretched girl!” the Fairy said. “You have fallen into grave error. You will be punished for it. Destiny cannot be avoided. My clairvoyance has all been in vain.” After saying this, she commanded Persinette in an imperious tone to confess her whole misadventure, which poor Persinette did, her eyes wet with tears.
When she had finished, the Fairy did not appear at all moved by the love with which Persinette recounted the touching moments of her tale. Instead, taking her by the hair, the Fairy cut off her precious braids. After that the Fairy made her descend out the window and then followed her down. When they both reached the bottom, the Fairy enveloped herself and Persinette in a cloud that carried them to a solitary but rather idyllic spot along the seashore. There were woods nearby, a little freshwater brook, and a small hut made from evergreen boughs, inside which lay a bed of sea thrift and a wicker box at its side filled with assorted delicious biscuits that never ran out. It was to this place that the Fairy led Persinette then left her after having rebuked her, which chastisement seemed a hundred times crueler to her than her own despair.