The Asylum for Fairy-Tale Creatures
Page 4
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy hair to me.”
Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the sorceress climbed up to her. “If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I will for once try my fortune,” said he, and the next day, when it began to grow dark, he went to the tower and cried,
“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down thy hair to me.”
Immediately the hair fell down and the King’s son climbed up.
At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man as her eyes had never yet beheld came to her, but the King’s son began to talk to her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought, He will love me more than the sorceress, and she said yes, and laid her hand in his. She said, “I will willingly go away with thee.”
Rapunzel laid down her hair for the prince to descend but in his excitement he slipped and, caught in Rapunzel’s hair, his neck did snap. The sorceress returned home to find the hanging prince and Rapunzel sobbing by the window.
“Ah! Thou wicked child,” cried the sorceress. “What do I hear thee say? I thought I had separated thee from all the world, and yet thou hast deceived me!” In her anger she clutched Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snip, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. Rapunzel, in a rage, picked up the scissors and buried them deep into the sorceress, who died. It was weeks before Rapunzel was found and by that time all sanity had fled. Rapunzel was removed from the tower and taken to the asylum, where she had been ever since.
Doctor Grimm’s notebook: Cinderella
The wife of a rich man fell sick, and died. Every day his daughter went out to her mother’s grave and wept. When winter came the snow spread a white sheet over the grave, and when the spring sun had drawn it off again the man had taken another wife.
The woman had brought two daughters into the house with her, who were vile and foul of face, black of heart and jealous of the stepchild’s beauty. Now began a bad time for the poor stepchild.
“Is the stupid goose to sit in the parlour with us?” said they.
“He who wants to eat bread must earn it; out with the kitchen-wench.”
They took her pretty clothes away from her, put an old grey bed gown on her, and gave her wooden shoes.
“Just look at the proud princess, how decked out she is!” they cried, and laughed, and led her into the kitchen. There she had to do hard work from morning till night, get up before daybreak, carry water, light fires, cook and wash. Besides this, the sisters did her every imaginable injury—they mocked her and emptied her peas and lentils into the ashes, so that she was forced to sit and pick them out again. Therefor they named her “Cinderella”. Thrice a day Cinderella sat and wept and prayed at her mother’s grave and a little white bird always came on the headstone, and if Cinderella expressed a wish, the bird threw down to her what she had wished for. By praying at the grave of her mother, Cinderella had unleashed witchcraft.
It happened, however, that the King appointed a festival which was to last three days, and to which all the beautiful young girls in the country were invited, in order that his son might choose himself a bride. When the two stepsisters heard that they, too, were to appear amongst the number, they were delighted, called Cinderella and said, “Comb our hair for us, brush our shoes and fasten our buckles, for we are going to the festival at the King’s palace.”
Cinderella obeyed, but wept, because she, too, would have liked to go with them to the dance, and begged her stepmother to allow her to do so.
“Thou go, Cinderella!” said she. “Thou art dusty and dirty, and wouldst go to the festival? Thou has no clothes and shoes, and yet wouldst dance?”
Cinderella went to her mother’s grave and called:
“Shiver and quiver, my little tree. Silver and gold throw down over me.”
Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers embroidered with silk and silver. She put on the dress with all speed, and went to the festival. Her stepsisters and the stepmother, however, saw that Cinderella had lost her wits and she wore a dress of twigs and sticks and muck. Everyone at the festival, including the prince, laughed and pointed at Cinderella. So, upset and lost, Cinderella, using her new power, commanded all the birds of the sky to swoop and peck out the eyes of everyone at the festival. The birds did so and the screams could be heard for miles and miles as the guests ran blind with blooded sockets. Others came to their aid but she turned them to pumpkins and white mice. Then, once she pained her stepsisters and stepmother more by having them wear broken glass slippers, did Cinderella stop. Her father, on hearing the news, had his daughter sent to the asylum. Where she resided ever since.
Doctor Grimm’s notebook: Beauty
Once upon a time...as a merchant set off for market, he asked each of his three daughters what she would like as a present on his return. The first daughter wanted a brocade dress, the second a pearl necklace, but the third, whose name was Beauty, the youngest, prettiest and sweetest of them all, said to her father:
“All I’d like is a rose you’ve picked specially for me!”
When the merchant had finished his business, he set off for home. However, a sudden and unnatural storm blew; his horse was killed by a falling tree in the howling gale. Cold and weary, the merchant had lost all hope of reaching safety when he suddenly noticed a bright light shining in the middle of a wood. As he drew near he saw that it was a castle, bathed in light.
“I hope I’ll find shelter there for the night,” he said to himself. When he reached the door, he saw it was open, but, though he shouted, nobody came to greet him. Plucking up courage, he went inside, still calling out to attract attention. On a table in the main hall, a splendid dinner lay already served. The merchant lingered, still shouting for the owner of the castle. But no one came, and so the starving merchant sat down to a hearty meal. There were all kinds of exotic meats served rare in deep red sauces and, although the merchant did not recognise the flavour, it was indeed delicious.
Overcome by curiosity, he ventured upstairs, where the corridor led into magnificent rooms and halls. A fire crackled in the first room and a soft bed looked very inviting. It was now late, and the merchant could not resist. He lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep. When he woke next morning, an unknown hand had placed a mug of hot red liquid and slices of thin pink meat.
The merchant had breakfast and, after tidying himself up, went downstairs to thank his generous host. But, as on the evening before, there was nobody in sight. Shaking his head in wonder at the strangeness of it all, he went towards the garden where he had a horse, tethered to a tree. Suddenly, a large rose bush caught his eye. The rose bush was placed in front of a large crypt, where a stone angel looked down from above.
Remembering his promise to Beauty, he bent down to pick a rose. Instantly, out of the crypt entrance sprang a horrible pale hand. The man was lifted by the throat. Two bloodshot eyes, gleaming angrily, glared at him and a deep, terrifying voice growled: “Ungrateful man! I gave you shelter, you ate at my table and slept in my home, but now all the thanks I get is the theft of my favourite flowers! I shall put you to death for this slight!” Trembling with fear, the merchant fell on his knees before the beast.
“Forgive me! Forgive me! Don’t kill me! I’ll do anything you say! The rose wasn’t for me, it was for my daughter Beauty. I promised to bring her back a rose from my journey!” The beast dropped the claw it had clamped on the unhappy merchant.
“I shall spare your life, but on one condition: that you bring me your daughter!” The terror-stricken merchant, faced with certain death if he did not obey, promised that he would do so. When he reached home in tears, his three daughters ran to greet him. After he had told them of his drea
dful adventure, Beauty put his mind at rest immediately.
“Dear Father, I’d do anything for you! Don’t worry, you’ll be able to keep your promise and save your life! Take me to the castle. I’ll stay there in your place!” The merchant hugged his daughter.
“I never did doubt your love for me. For the moment I can only thank you for saving my life.”
So Beauty was led to the castle. The beast, however, had quite an unexpected greeting for the girl. Instead of menacing doom as it had done with her father, it was surprisingly pleasant, as was his cold, pale skin and blood-red lips. In the beginning, Beauty was frightened of the beast, and shuddered at the sight of it. Then his red eyes looked deep into hers and she felt compelled to obey. She found that, in spite of the monster’s awful fangs, her horror of it was gradually fading as time went by. She had one of the finest rooms in the castle, and sat for hours, embroidering in front of the fire. And the beast would sit, for hours on end, only a short distance away, silently gazing at her, watching her throat. Then it started to say a few kind words, till in the end Beauty was amazed to discover that she was actually enjoying its conversation; his words sounded like tombstones from the ages.
The nights passed, and Beauty and the beast became good friends. Then one day, the beast asked the girl to be his wife and Beauty agreed, so the beast kissed her neck and she fell into deep sleep. When she woke that evening there was a new strength about her. She went to see her father to tell him the news, but when she arrived a strange hunger gripped her and she supped on the blood of her father and her sisters until they were dead. Stricken with grief from what her fiancé had made her do, she went back to the castle and drove a wooden stake through his heart, turning him to dust. The spell broken, she was human once more, but insane with what she had lost. There was only one place in the world left for her: the asylum.
A Leech a Day Keeps the Doctor Away
When the girl opened her eyes again she was in a cell, the walls cushioned to save an occupant from caving their mind in. Crumpled in the corner like a broken Jack Horner, she found a strait-jacket holding her tight around her. From a single barred window the full moon shone its light into the room. There was now only a shadow in the corner untouched by the moonlight and something shuffled inside. The girl, whose thoughts were confused of late, only watched by the flicker of her eyes.
“Hello, child,” said the voice that the girl instantly recognised as her beloved grandma.
“How are you here?” the girl whispered through dry lips.
“Child—” she laughed a warm laugh “—are you not pleased to hear from me?”
The girl did not move except to shed tears that ran away into the moonlight.
“I saw you; I saw what the wolf did.”
“That it did, that it did.” Again she chuckled. “But did not I always teach you to see things that were not there? Did you think something as trivial as death would stop me from seeing you?”
“I’m losing myself,” the girl replied and there was a sigh from the dark corner.
“Do you not remember the forest with the sunlight and the smells of wet wood and the greens and the fairies’ folk hiding amongst the undergrowth? Even now in this horrible place they will try to take that away from you. Do not let them.”
“How can I stop them?”
“By remembering who you are. You remember who you are, don’t you, girl?”
“Yes,” the girl replied. “I am Red Riding Hood.”
And Grandma laughed and laughed and laughed. But as the full moon observed, it appeared as if the grandma was laughing from the girl’s dry lips.
The moon went, replaced by sunlight, and then the moon came back and went again. It was when the moon visited once again that Red Riding Hood was woken by screams. She hadn’t been fed or watered for some time and her mind had wandered off into memory more and more. She kept finding herself barefoot walking through the forest, happy to be lost in the past. Then the screams brought her back. Madness carried on the air around the corridors. They were the sounds of lunacy uncontained and it was everywhere. Weak, Red could only listen; her strength had abandoned her and she was sure she would die. She thought it would not be entirely unwelcome. The door to her cell creaked open to the jangle of keys. Two figures entered and immediately found the girl. She tried to protest as they held her, sitting her upright.
“Drink this—it is nice,” said Thumbeana chirpily.
The girl’s eyes widened at the sight; she was relieved, happy and confused at the same time. She gulped at the water that Thumbeana poured from a pigskin pouch. She hadn’t noticed at first but the Thread Bear had untied her strait-jacket. She was able to take the pouch and drain it.
“How are you here?” she gasped.
Thumbeana smiled that mismatched grimace that to Red was the most welcome in the world.
“We escaped,” she explained.
“We all escaped. Dr Grimm is dead,” added Thread Bear.
“How?” Red Riding Hood could barely believe it.
The Thumbeana at the bear, and the bear bowed its head, afraid to tell
“It was the wolf. It has come for you,” she said cheerily, thinking back on what had happened
Thumbeana, the most beautiful girl in the whole fairy tale kingdom who was made from a thousand princesses, went to her lovely new home with Thread Bear, her best friend ever ever, ever. They were taken to part of the asylum where all the false children lived or unlived. The pair made lots of new friends. There was a boy made of wood, who had told a big lie so bad that his nose had grown. It pierced his father’s heart like a spear. There were children whose behaviour had been so terrible that they had transformed into beasts and creatures of the field. They met triplets who had the faces of swine. The pig children were abandoned by their parents. They were forced to make homes of their own. They made one from straw, but it blew down. So they made another from sticks and that blew down also. In the end the only material strong enough to stay solid was the very bones of their own parents. Thumbeana’s favourite was the boy made of hair. She heard a poem about him from a cruel set of rag dolls:
Mr and Mrs Barber cut the hair of many a child in the shop under their home.
After a while of doing this,
They longed for a child of their own.
Quickly it became apparent they were not going to be so blessed:
Mrs Barber was seventy-two and Mr Barber, well, he did his best.
Mrs Barber cried out loud, “I want a baby, I don’t care if it has a pig’s face.
I want to hear the patter of tiny feet, or trotters, running round the place.”
Mr Barber had an idea, because he loved his wife and was kind.
He decided to make a boy from bits of hair in the barber shop he’d find.
After a week of collecting hair, Mr Barber had bagged enough.
With locks, tresses and manes, a boy shape he lovingly stuffed.
That night Mr and Mrs Barber, from an old tome in Latin, aloud they read,
Sacrificed a goat, had a cocoa, put their teeth in a jar and went upstairs to bed.
It was shortly after midnight when the child of hair was born.
Husband and wife were sleeping,
When woken by a terrible groan.
Something pulled upon the quilt,
Something climbed upon the bed,
The most wonderful gift they had ever received:
A living boy made of hair,
Completely;
Foot to head.
Their hearts filled with delight,
With the future they would share,
They hugged him,
They kissed him,
They loved him forever,
This boy made of hair.
Two weeks later the barber shop remained closed.
The customers were not worried, a well-earned holiday they supposed.
However Mr and Mrs Barber still lay in their bed,
Grinning and happy,
You see, it’s quite simple. You have to take care,
Or you may end up choking to death,
When kissing a boy made of hair.
The days were spent in learning. All the children, too many to count, were taken to a vast hall. There were more mirrors placed around the wall. Each with Dr Grimm’s face reflected and reciting over and over again:
ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,
ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,
All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,
TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.
The room was mainly white and well lit by gaslight; there were no windows at all. In the daytime the un-children would line up and sing over and over again:
ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,
ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,
All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,
TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.
Thumbeana was surprised to find, not one, but many Mother May I’s. Each as identical as the other.The grinning May Is would join in by waving their hands, trying to keep tune. The guards clapped and groaned and did a sort of shuffle. Thumbeana would look at Thread Bear and Thread Bear at Thumbeana, not sure whether to pretend, or to join the sound of a hundred or so un-children trying to sing with mouths not designed for singing.
ALL GOOD CHILDREN LISTEN,
ALL GOOD CHILDREN OBEY,
All GOOD CHILDREN EAT THEIR LEECHES,
TO KEEP THE MADNESS AWAY.