Category: Fairy Tale

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1910s African American Fairies Fairy Tale Myth Short Story

The Black Fairy

The Black Fairy

By Fenton Johnson
Annotations by Rene Marzuk
Robert Henri. Eva Green. Oil on canvas, 1907, Wichita Art Museum, Roland O. Murdock Collection. Public Domain.

Little Annabelle was lying on the lawn, a volume of Grimm before her. Annabelle was nine years of age, the daughter of a colored lawyer, and the prettiest dark child in the village.[1] She had long played in the fairyland of knowledge, and was far advanced for one of her years. A vivid imagination was her chief endowment, and her story creatures often became real flesh-and-blood creatures.

“I wonder,” she said to herself that afternoon, “if there is any such thing as a colored fairy? Surely there must be, but in this book they’re all white.”

Closing the book, her eyes rested upon the landscape that rolled itself out lazily before her. The stalks in the cornfield bent and swayed, their tassels bowing to the breeze, until Annabelle could have easily sworn that those were Indian fairies. And beyond lay the woods, dark and mossy and cool, and there many a something mysterious could have sprung into being, for in the recess was a silvery pool where the children played barefooted. A summer mist like a thin veil hung over the scene, and the breeze whispered tales of far-away lands.

Hist! Something stirred in the hazel bush near her. Can I describe little Annabelle’s amazement at finding in the bush a palace and a tall and dark-faced fairy before it?

“I am Amunophis, the Lily of Ethiopia,” said the strange creature. “And I come to the children of the Seventh Veil.”[2]

She was black and regal, and her voice was soft and low and gentle like the Niger on a summer evening.[3] Her dress was the wing of the sacred beetle, and whenever the wind stirred it played the dreamiest of music.[4] Her feet were bound with golden sandals, and on her head was a crown of lotus leaves.

“And you’re a fairy?” gasped Annabelle.

“Yes, I am a fairy, just as you wished me to be. I live in the tall grass many, many miles away, where a beautiful river called the Niger sleeps.” And stretching herself beside Annabelle, on the lawn, the fairy began to whisper:

“I have lived there for over five thousand years. In the long ago a city rested there, and from that spot black men and women ruled the world. Great ships laden with spice and oil and wheat would come to its port, and would leave with wines and weapons of war and fine linens. Proud and great were the black kings of this land, their palaces were built of gold, and I was the Guardian of the City. But one night when I was visiting an Indian grove the barbarians from the North came down and destroyed our shrines and palaces and took our people up to Egypt. Oh, it was desolate, and I shed many tears, for I missed the busy hum of the market and the merry voices of the children.

“But come with me, little Annabelle, I will show you all this, the rich past of the Ethiopian.”

She bade the little girl take hold of her hand and close her eyes, and wish herself in the wood behind the cornfield. Annabelle obeyed, and ere they knew it they were sitting beside the clear water in the pond.

“You should see the Niger,” said the fairy. “It is still beautiful, but not as happy as in the old days. The white man’s foot has been cooled by its water, and the white man’s blossom is choking out the native flower.” And she dropped a tear so beautiful the costliest pearl would seem worthless beside it.

“Ah! I did not come to weep,” she continued, “but to show you the past.”

So in a voice sweet and sad she sang an old African lullaby and dropped into the water a lotus leaf.[5] A strange mist formed, and when it had disappeared she bade the little girl to look into the pool. Creeping up Annabelle peered into the glassy surface, and beheld a series of vividly colored pictures.

Brass Plaque: King Esigie Shielded by Attendants. Brass, 1500/1599 [made in Benin City], The British Museum. Public Domain.

First she saw dark blacksmiths hammering in the primeval forests and giving fire and iron to all the world. Then she saw the gold of old Ghana and the bronzes of Benin.[6][7] Then the black Ethiopians poured down upon Egypt and the lands and cities bowed and flamed. Next she saw a great city with pyramids and stately temples. It was night, and a crimson moon was in the sky.[8] Red wine was flowing freely, and beautiful dusky maidens were dancing in a grove of palms. Old and young were intoxicated with the joy of living, and a sense of superiority could be easily traced in their faces and attitude. Presently red flame hissed everywhere, and the magnificence of remote ages soon crumbled into ash and dust. Persian soldiers ran to and fro conquering the band of defenders and severing the woman and children. Then came the Mohammedans and kingdom on kingdom arose, and with the splendor came ever more slavery.[9]

The next picture was that of a group of fugitive slaves, forming the nucleus of three tribes, hurrying back to the wilderness of their fathers.

In houses built as protection against the heat the blacks dwelt, communing with the beauty of water and sky and open air. It was just between twilight and evening and their minstrels were chanting impromptu hymns to their gods of nature. And as she listened closely, Annabelle thought she caught traces of the sorrow songs in the weird pathetic strains of the African music mongers.[10] From the East the warriors of the tribe came, bringing prisoners, whom they sold to white strangers from the West.

“It is the beginning,” whispered the fairy, as a large Dutch vessel sailed westward.[11] Twenty boys and girls bound with strong ropes were given to a miserable existence in the hatchway of the boat. Their captors were strange creatures, pale and yellow haired, who were destined to sell them as slaves in a country cold and wild, where the palm trees and the cocoanut never grew and men spoke a language without music. A light, airy creature, like an ancient goddess, few before the craft guiding it in its course.

Stowage of the British Slave Ship “Brookes” Under the Regulated Slave Trade Act of 1788. Etching, Library of Congress rare Book and Special Collections Division. Public Domain.

“That is I,” said the fairy. “In that picture I am bringing your ancestors to America. It was my hope that in the new civilization I could build a race that would be strong enough to redeem their brothers. They have gone through great tribulations and trials, and have mingled with the blood of the fairer race; yet though not entirely Ethiopian they have not lost their identity. Prejudice is a furnace through which molten gold is poured. Heaven be merciful unto all races! There is one more picture –the greatest of all, but –farewell, little one, I am going.”

“Going?” cried Annabelle. “Going? I want to see the last picture—and when will you return, fairy?”

“When the race has been redeemed. When the brotherhood of man has come into the world; and there is no longer a white civilization or a black civilization, but the civilization of all men. I belong to the world council of the fairies, and we are all colors and kinds. Why should not men be as charitable unto one another? When that glorious time comes I shall walk among you and be one of you, performing my deeds of magic and playing with the children of every nation, race and tribe. Then, Annabelle, you shall see the last picture—and the best.”

Slowly she disappeared like a summer mist, leaving Annabelle amazed.

Malmström, August. Dancing Fairies. Oil on canvas, 1866, Nationalmuseum, Sweden. Public Domain.
JOHNSON, FENTON. “THE BLACK FAIRY,” THE CRISIS 6, NO. 6 (OCTOBER 1913): 292-94.

[1] The establishment of black colleges and graduate schools during the Reconstruction Era (1865-1877) allowed the emergence of a new class of black professionals. The Howard School of Law, established on January 4, 1869, was the first black law school in America. Macon Bolling Allen (1816-1894), however, is believed to be the first African American licensed lawyer. He received his certification on July 3, 1844.

[2] The following excerpt from W. E. B. Dubois’s 1903 landmark The Souls of Black Folk, in which he partially outlines the influential concept of double-consciousness, may contextualize Fenton Johnson’s allusion to the Seventh Veil:

“After the Egyptian and Indian, the Greek and Roman, the Teuton and Mongolian, the Negro is a sort of seventh son, born with a veil, and gifted with second-sight in this American world,”a world which yields him no true self-consciousness, but only lets him see himself thought the revelation of the other world.”

[3] With a length of 2,600 miles, the Niger River is the main river of Western Africa and the third longest African river after the Nile and the Congo.

Sun God Depicted as a Scarab with Human Head and Arms. Limestone, 25th Dynasty (Ethiopians), Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Germany. Public Domain.

[4] The sacred beetle refers to the Egyptian scarab, a dung beetle that for the ancient Egyptians symbolized renewal and rebirth. This beetle was also associated with Khepri, a divine manifestation of the early morning sun.

[5] Tigit Shibabaw‘s interpretation of Eshururu, an Ethiopian lullaby in Ahmaric, an Ethiopian Semitic language. “Eshururu” means “hush little baby don’t you cry.”

[6] As of today, Ghana remains a leading producer of gold in Ghana and is the seventh gold producer in the world. Unregulated small-scale gold mining in this country are a current environmental concern due to its devastating effect on the landscape.

[7] The “Benin Bronzes” are brass-and-bronze sculptures whose creation dates back to the 16th century. In 1897, British soldiers looted hundreds of these objects from the Benin Royal Palace after a military expedition that effectively ended the independent Kingdom of Benin. The same year, the British Museum displayed a set of “Benin Bronzes” that together with later acquisitions from private collections still remains in the museum’s collection. In October 2021, the British Museum received a request from Nigeria’s Federal Ministry of Information and Culture for the return of Nigerian antiquities. Representatives from the Benin Royal Palace have also asked publicly for the restitution of these looted art objects.

[8] “Crimson moon” and “blood moon” are non-scientific terms for a total lunar eclipse, during which the moon takes on a reddish color.

[9] Mohamedans are followers of Muhammad, the Islamic prophet. In the XVI century, Islamic forces led by Ahmad ibn Ibrahim al-Ghazi invaded Ethiopia.

[10] Sorrow Songs (or spirituals) belong to the musical tradition of black slaves during the antebellum South.

[11] Between 1596 and 1839, the Dutch, active participants in the transatlantic slave trades, transported half a million Africans westward across the Atlantic.

Contexts

Starting in 1912, the October issues of The Crisis, the official magazine of the NAACP, were dedicated to children. A typical edition of these children’s numbers would contain a special editorial piece and two or three literary works specifically for children, while still including the serious pieces about contemporary issues with a focus on race that The Crisis was known for. These October numbers were sprinkled with children’s photographs sent in by the readers.

In his first editorial for the Children’s number in 1912, W. E. B. Du Bois wrote that “there is a sense in which all numbers and all words of a magazine of ideas myst point to the child—to that vast immortality and wide sweep and infinite possibility which the child represents.”

The success of The Crisis’ children’s number led to the standalone The Brownies’ Book, a monthly magazine for African American children that circulated from January 1920 to December 1921 under the editorship of Du Bois, Augustus Granville Dill, and Jessie Fauset.

Fenton’s Johnson’s “The Black Fairy” also appeared in The Upward Path: A Reader for Colored Children in 1920.

Definitions from Oxford English Dictionary:

crimson: Of a deep red colour somewhat inclining towards purple.

hist: Used to enjoin silence, attract attention, or call on a person to listen.

Resources for Further Study
  • Ethiopianism, a literary-religious tradition that emerged during the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, emphasized the classical values of African nations and their extensive histories before European colonization. In the United States, Ethiopianism “found expression in slave narratives, exhortations of slave preachers, and songs and folklore of southern black culture, as well as the sermons and political tracts of the urban elite.”
  • A brief history of fairies, courtesy of the World History Encyclopedia collective.
  • An article on fairies‘ folklore scholarship, with copious references and suggestions for further reading.
  • Kory, Fern. “Once upon a Time in Aframerica: The ‘Peculiar’ Significance of Fairies in the Brownies’ Book.” Children’s Literature, vol. 29, 2001, p. 91-112.
Contemporary Connections

Did you know that June 24th is International Fairy Day?

Louis Armstrong’s interpretation of “Go Down Moses,” an emblematic Sorrow Song.

Categories
1910s African American Fairy Tale Short Story

The Fairy Goodwilla

The Fairy Goodwilla

By Minnibelle Jones, age 10
Annotations by Rene Marzuk
This uncredited photograph appeared alongside “The Fairy Goodwilla” in The Crisis, Vol. 8, No. 6, p. 294.

In the good old days when the kind spirits knew that people trusted them, they allowed them­ selves to be seen, but now there are just a few human beings left who ever remember or believe that a fairy ever existed, or rather does exist. For, dear children, no mat­ter how much the older folks tell you that there are no fairies, do not believe them. I am going to tell you now of a clear, good fairy, Goodwilla, who has been under the power of a wicked enchanter called Grafter, for many years.

Goodwilla was once a very happy and con­tented little fairy. She was a very beautiful fairy; she had a soft brown face and deep brown eyes and slim brown hands and the dearest brown hair that wouldn’t stay “put,” that you ever saw. She lived in a beautiful wood consisting of fir trees. Her house was made of the finest and whitest drifted snow and was furnished with kind thoughts of children, good words of older people and everything which is beautiful and pleasant. She was always dressed in a white robe with a crown of holly leaves on her head.[1] In her hand she carried a long magic icicle, and whatever she touched with this became very lovely to look upon. Snow­drops always sprang up wherever she stepped, and her dress sparkled with many small stars.

The children loved Goodwilla, and she al­ways welcomed them to her beautiful home where she told them of Knights and Ladies, Kings and Queens, Witches and Ogres and Enchanters. She never told them anything to frighten them and the children were always glad to listen. You must not think that Goodwilla always remained at home and told the children stories, for she was a very busy little fairy. She visited sick rooms where little boys or girls were suffering and laid her cool brown hands on their heads, whispering beautiful words to them. She touched the different articles in the room with her magic icicle and caused them to become lovely. Wherever she stepped her beautiful snowdrops were scattered. At other times she went to homes where the father and mother were unhappy and cross. She was invisible to them, but she touched them without their knowing it and they in­stantly became kind and cheerful. Other days she spent at home separating the good deeds which she had piled before her, from the bad deeds. So you see with all of these things to do Goodwilla was very busy.

Now, there was an old enchanter who lived in a neighboring wood. He was very wealthy, but people feared him, although they visited him a great deal. His house was set in the midst of many trees, all of which bore golden and silver apples.[2] The house was made of precious metal and the inside was seemingly handsome. But looking closely one could see that the beautiful chairs were very tender and if not handled rightly they would easily break. Music was always being played softly by unseen musicians, but one who truly loved music could hear discords which spoiled the beauty of all. In fact, every­ thing in his palace, although seemingly beau­tiful, if examined closely, was very wrong. Grafter, which was the enchanter’s name, spent all of his time in instructing men how to be prosperous and receive all that they could for nothing. He did not pay much attention to the children, although once in a while a few listened to his evil words. He was always very busy, but somehow he did not at all times get the results he expected. He scratched his head and thought and thought. Finally, one day he cried, “Ah, I have it, there is an insignificant little fairy called Goodwilla who is meddling in my affairs, I’ll wager. Let me see how best I can overcome her.” The old fellow who could change his appearance at will, now became a handsome young enchanter and looked so fine that it would be almost impossible for the fairy herself to resist him. He made his way to her abode and asked for admittance to her house. She gladly bade him enter, for, although she knew him, she thought she could persuade him to forego his evil ways and win men by fair means.

Now something strange happened. Every chair that Grafter attempted to take became invisible when he started to seat himself and he found nothing but empty air. After this had happened for a long while, he became so angry that he forgot the part he was trying to play and acted very badly indeed. He stormed at poor Goodwilla as if she had been the cause of good deeds and kind words to vanish at his touch. “You, Madam,” said he, “are the cause of this, and I know now why I cannot be successful in my work. You fill the children’s heads full of nonsense and when I have almost persuaded the fathers to do something which will benefit them as well as their children, these brats come with their prattle and undo all that I have done. Now I have stood it long enough. I shall give you three trials, and if you do not con­quer, you shall be under my power for seven hundred years.”

The Good Fairy listened and felt very grieved, but she knew that Grafter was stronger than she, as minds of men turned more to his commanding way than they did to hers. Nevertheless she determined to do her best and said, “Very well, Grafter, I shall do as you wish and if I do not succeed I am in your hands, but later everything will be all right and I shall rule over you.” Grafter, who had not expected this, now be­ came alarmed and thought by soft words he could perhaps coax her to do his way, but Goodwilla was strong and would not listen to his cajoling and flattering. “Then, Madam,” he said, “I shall force you to perform these tasks or be my slave:

“First, you must cause all of the people in the world to help and give to others for the sake of giving and not for what they shall receive in return.

“Secondly, you must cause all of the rich to help the poor instead of taking from them to swell their already fat pocketbooks, and thirdly, you must cause men and women to really love for love’s sake and not because of worldly reasons.”

The poor little fairy sighed deeply, for she knew that she could not perform these tasks in the three days that Grafter had allowed her. She talked to the children, but they were being dazzled by Grafter since he had become so handsome. Goodwilla continued to work though, and had just commenced to open men’s eyes to Grafter as he really was, when the three days expired.

She was immediately whisked off by the wicked old fellow, who chuckled with glee. He did not know that there were many peo­ple in whose hearts a seed had been planted (which would grow) by this good little fairy and that she herself had a plan for helping all when she was released. Grafter, after having locked her up, departed on his way rejoicing. He has been prosperous for a long, long time, but the seven hundred years are almost up now, and soon Goodwilla will come forth stronger and more beautiful than ever with the children as her soldiers.

Anne Brigman. The Breeze. Gelatin silver print, 1909 (printed in 1915), Wilson Centre for Photography, London, UK. Public Domain.
JONES, MINIBELLE. “THE FAIRY GOOD WILLA.” THE CRISIS, VOL. 8, NO. 6 (OCTOBER 1914): 294-96.

[1] The symbolism of holly plants and holly leaves reaches back to antiquity. Druids thought the hollies were sacred and, according to some legends, these plants were a refuge for faeries and nature spirits during winter. In the Christian tradition, the holly is associated with Christ’s crown of thorns.

[2] Apples have had a long life in mythology. Greek and Teutonic myths feature golden apples.

Contexts

Starting in 1912, the October issues of The Crisis, the official magazine of the NAACP, were dedicated to children. A typical edition of these children’s numbers would contain a special editorial piece and two or three literary works specifically for children, while still including the serious pieces about contemporary issues with a focus on race that The Crisis was known for. These October numbers were sprinkled with children’s photographs sent in by the readers.

In his first editorial for the Children’s number in 1912, W. E. B. Du Bois wrote that “there is a sense in which all numbers and all words of a magazine of ideas myst point to the child—to that vast immortality and wide sweep and infinite possibility which the child represents.”

The success of The Crisis’ children’s number led to the standalone The Brownies’ Book, a monthly magazine for African American children that circulated from January 1920 to December 1921 under the editorship of Du Bois, Augustus Granville Dill, and Jessie Fauset.

Resources for Further Study
  • A brief history of fairies, courtesy of the World History Encyclopedia collective.
  • An article on fairies‘ folklore scholarship, with copious references and suggestions for further reading.
Contemporary Connections

Did you know that June 24th is International Fairy Day?

Categories
1910s Fairy Tale Forests Poem Wild animals

The Moon in the Wood

The Moon in the Wood

By Madison Julius Cawein
Annotations by Mary Miller/KK
Ivan Bilibin. Fairy Forest at Sunset. 1906. Public domain. Courtesy of Wikimedia.

I.

From hill and hollow, side by side,
The shadows came, like dreams, to sit
And watch, mysterious, sunset-eyed,
The wool-winged moths and bats aflit,
And the lone owl that cried and cried.


And then the forest rang a gong,
Hoarse, toadlike; and from out the gate
Of darkness came a sound of song,
As of a gnome that called his mate,
Who answered in his own strange tongue.


And all the forest leaned to hear,
And saw, from forth the entangling trees,
A naked spirit drawing near,
A glimmering presence, whom the breeze
Kept whispering, “Forward! Have no fear.”

II.

The woodland, seeming at a loss,
Afraid to breathe, or make a sound,
Poured, where her silvery feet should cross,
A dripping pathway on the ground,
And hedged it in with ferns and moss.


And then the silence sharply shook
A cricket tambourine; and Night
From out her musky bosom took
A whippoorwill flute, and, lost to sight
Sat piping to a wildwood brook.


Until from out the shadows came
A furtive foot, a gleam, a glow;
And with a lamp of crystal flame
The spirit stole, as white as snow,
And put the firmament to shame.

III.

Then up and down vague movements went,
As if the faeries sought an herb;
And here and there a bush was bent,
A wildflower raised: the wood-pool’s curb
Was circled with a scarf of scent.


And deep within her house of weeds
Old Mystery hung a glowworm lamp,
And decked her hair with firefly beads,
And sate herself ‘mid dew and damp,
And crooned a love-song to the reeds.


Then through the gates of solitude,
Where Witchery her shuttle plied,
The Spirit entered, white and nude
And where she went, on every side,
Dreams followed through the solitude.

CAWEIN, MADISON JULIUS. “THE MOON IN THE WOOD“, IN MINIONS OF THE MOON, 25-26. STEWART & KIDD COMPANY, 1913.
Contexts

“The Moon in the Wood” was included in Cawein’s collection of poems for children Minions of the Moon, A Little Book of Song and Story, published in 1913, was inscribed with the words “To All Children, big and little, who have ever believed or still believe in faeries, I dedicate this little book, that attempts to set forth in wolds all that such a belief may mean to the soul of man.”

Cawein’s love of nature and otherworldly spirits came to him early; his father was an herbalist who made patent medicines, and his mother was interested in spiritualism. His poems reflect his love of nature and his fascination with the spiritual creatures depicted by fairies and elves.

Definitions from the Oxford English Dictionary:

aflit: A light movement, as of a bird’s wing; a flutter; a light touch.

hollow: An area that is lower than the surface around it, especially on the ground.

sate: To fill or satisfy to the full with food, nourishment, etc.; to indulge or gratify fully with the satisfaction of an appetite or desire.

Resources for Further Study
  • The Story of a Poet: Madison Cawein includes biographical information about the poet as well as critical reviews and anecdotes from contemporaries.
  • Read all the poems in Minions of the Moon.
  • The Fairy Mythology by Thomas Kneightley, originally published in 1828, is a source for understanding the context for many of Cawein’s poems.
  • Spiritualism is a movement based on the belief that departed souls can interact with the living. The Fox sisters from Hydesville, New York, sparked the modern Spiritualist movement in 1848, with one sister, Maggie, eventually confessing that their performances were a farce.
Contemporary Connections

Fairies are messengers from another world with powers beyond that of any mortal human being. The enormous popularity of children’s books based on magic, such as the Harry Potter series and remakes of fairy tales in popular films such as Frozen and Beauty and the Beast demonstrate that otherworldly beings still appeal to many people, perhaps especially children.

Categories
1920s African American Fairy Tale Poem

The Silver Shell

The Silver Shell

By Eulalie Spence
Annotations by Catherine Bowlin
Wheeler, Laura. Decorations for “The Silver Shell.” 1920. From the sixth volume of The Brownies’ Book, 185. W. E. B. Du Bois, ed., http://www.loc.gov/item/22001351/. 
Dreamy-eyed, the fisher maid
Slowly down the long beach strayed;

“Gardens, palaces entrancing,
Knights and ladies gayly dancing,–

If I, an unknown maid, might be
One of that happy company!–”

Thus she mused – then nearly fell
O’er a gleaming silver shell.

As she raised it to her ear
Fell a voice, deep, tender, clear. 

“Prince am I of a noble land
Who at the touch of a witch’s wand

Enchanted was, and doomed to know
But fruitless search, where’er I go.

The seven seas, I’ve sailed them o’er.
I’ve seen far lands and barren shore.”–
Wheeler, Laura. Decorations for “The Silver Shell.” 1920. From the sixth volume of The Brownies’ Book, 185. W. E. B. Du Bois, ed., http://www.loc.gov/item/22001351/. 
“What art thou seeking, noble friend?
Why does thy questing know no end?”

“A maid who with nothing to acquire,
Would forsake her heart’s desire;

Who at the call of a simple shell
Would sound to her fondest hopes a knell. [1]

This purging flame of sacrifice
The witch demands – it is her price.

Then would I haste to my father’s home
To love and joy, no more to roam.”–

“O noble one, I’ll set thee free,
To seek thy home across the sea.

The dreams I’ve had are idle, vain;
‘Tis meet that I should bear the pain.”–

A golden mist illumes the land– [2]
A prince is kneeling on the sand!

A prince of courtly mien and carriage, [3]
Who seeks the maiden’s hand in marriage.
Spence, Eulalie. “The Silver Shell.” The Brownies’ Book, ed. W. E. B. Du Bois, vol. 1, no. 6, New York, N.Y.: DuBois and Dill, June 1920. 185. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/22001351/>.

[1] Knell: the sound of a bell, especially when rung solemnly for a death or funeral.

[2] Though it is more common to use “illuminate,” “illume” conveys the same meaning.

[3] Mien: a person’s look or manner, especially one of a particular kind indicating their character or mood.

Contexts

Eulalie Spence would have been around 25 years old when this poem was published in the sixth volume of The Brownies’ Book. From the West Indies, Spence was a Black writer, director, teacher, and playwright during the Harlem Renaissance. Eventually known as one of the most experienced Black female playwrights of the time, she also won several playwright competitions. Spence worked with W. E. B. Du Bois’s Krigwa Players from 1926 to 1928, helping make the guild more known. However, she and Du Bois disagreed artistically, which eventually led to the disbanding of the Krigwa Players. For more information about the Krigwa Players, see Wintz and Finkelman (full citation below). For more information about Spence and Du Bois’s disagreement, see Hill’s dissertation (full citation below).

Resources for Further Study
Contemporary Connections

Though Spence’s work has been overshadowed by more famous counterparts of her day, her plays are still being presented in contemporary theatre. Hot Stuff was presented in 2007 by The American Century Theater of Arlington, Virginia. In 2015, The Hunch was presented by The Xoregos Performing Company in New York City, Yonkers, and Newburgh. The Starter also premiered the same year at The Xoregos Performing Company.

Categories
1920s African American Fairies Fairy Tale Short Story

The Fairies’ Flower Garden

The Fairies’ Flower Garden

By Grace White
Annotations by Catherine Bowlin
Wilkinson, Hilda. “The Fairies’ Flower Garden” 1920. From the fourth volume of The Brownies’ Book, 131. W. E. B. Du Bois, ed., http://www.loc.gov/item/22001351/.

GRANDMA CAREY, a little, old, white-haired lady of the village, had the most beautiful flower garden of all. No one had flowers to bloom as early as Grandma Carey and nobody’s lived as long; and no one, not even in the whole village, had flowers to match Grandma Carey’s in color. Her flowers had the richest hues, her rambling roses, the pinkest tint, and her pansies were almost dazzling in their bright color. When anyone was sick a flower from Grandma Carey’s garden was the first aid to recovery. 

When visitors asked Grandma Carey how she obtained such glorious colors, she would laugh and her little eyes would twinkle merrily as she said, “Land sakes, I don’t do nothin’; that garden belongs to the fairies!”

No wonder Grandma Carey had such a beautiful garden, the fairies lived there! 

But soon there came a morning when the flowers didn’t hold up their heads, but hung them in shame. What could have happened? All the children and even the grown-ups of the village came hurrying to Grandma Carey’s cottage. And this is how she explained it.

For a long, long time the fairies had been planning and preparing for the Queen’s annual dance. They collected all the sweet honey and nectar and all the bright golden pollen for miles and miles around. For this year at the Queen’s annual dance they were to entertain with great ceremony and pomp, the King of the Gnomes. Everything was ready, from the sweet food of the fairies to the beautiful fairy carriages which were driven by golden-winged beetles. And the King of the Gnomes didn’t arrive! Imagine the anger and disappointment of the fairies! So they neglected their homes, (which are the roses and pansies and nearly all the flowers), to meet at the fairy palace to talk and wonder about the King of the Gnomes.

“But,” said Grandma Carey, slowly, “I know why the King of the Gnomes didn’t arrive on time. While crossing a meadow he happened to notice a tiny, neglected field and in the center a tiny, neglected cottage standing all alone. And it looked so forlorn and forgotten that the King of the Gnomes expressed a desire to visit it. 

“‘But,’ said the Count of the Gnomes, ‘we are on our way to visit Her Majesty, The Queen of the Fairies!’

“‘I wish to visit that cottage,’ said the King, ‘and I shall do so.’

“And so the King of the Gnomes visited the forlorn looking cottage. If one would call the outside forlorn, one should see the inside, that was most forlorn! For on a cot in the corner of the room lay a little girl moaning and tossing in pain, crying always, incessantly for flowers, bright flowers.

Wilkinson, Hilda. “The Fairies’ Flower Garden” 1920. From the fourth volume of The Brownies’ Book, 132. W. E. B. Du Bois, ed., http://www.loc.gov/item/22001351/.

“‘We have work here,’ said the King softly. ‘Let us begin.’ So all the King’s men started to work and they worked harder and harder. Now when one works hard one accomplishes something; and the King’s men really did accomplish something. For the next morning the little field around the cottage was cleared of its rubbish and weeds and in their place grew beautiful, bright flowers! Imagine the surprise and joy of little Margaret Marnie when she saw her lovely garden! 

“And so today when the King left, Margaret Marnie was sitting on the steps softly talking and caressing her bright flowers. Margaret Marnie was well again. Now,” continued Grandma Carey, “the King of the Gnomes is on his way to visit the Queen of the Fairies and when he arrives the Queen will forget her temper. The King will apologize and all will be peace again. For the King of the Gnomes is going to ask for the Queen’s hand in marriage and I think she will accept. Their honeymoon will be spent visiting Margaret Marnie’s garden, then they will come back to live forever in my garden. When they do, then my flowers will become beautiful again.”

Thus Grandma Carey ended her story. Yes, even as she spoke the flowers raised their heads; their color returned, the King of the Gnomes had arrived.

Once more Grandma Carey had the most beautiful garden of all. And strange to say, Grandma Carey’s flowers never lost their bloom again, and so we conclude that the King of the Gnomes and the Queen of the Fairies are living very happily in their beautiful garden of flowers. 

White, Grace. “The Fairies’ Flower Garden.” The Brownies’ Book, ed. W. E. B. Du Bois, vol. 1, no. 5, New York, N.Y.: DuBois and Dill, May 1920. 131-133. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/22001351/>.
Contexts

Racial uplift is the ideology that educated Black people are responsible for the welfare of the majority of the race. This ideology describes a prominent response of Black middle-class leaders, spokespersons, and activists to the crisis marked by the assault on the civil and political rights of African Americans primarily in the U. S. South from roughly the 1880s to 1914.

Resources for Further Study
  • For an analysis of fairies in The Brownies’ Book, see Fern Kory’s article, “Once Upon a Time in Aframerica: The ‘Peculiar’ Significance of Fairies in the Brownies’ Book” in the 2001 volume of Children’s Literature. Full citation for this source: Kory, Fern. “Once upon a Time in Aframerica: The “Peculiar” Significance of Fairies in the Brownies’ Book.” Children’s Literature, vol. 29. (2001): 91-112. ProQuest, https://login.libproxy.uncg.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/docview/195575070?accountid=14604.
  • See also the section “Fairies in The Brownies’ Book as Symbols of Assimilationism” from Amanda Ashley Jones’s history thesis, With a Sprinkle of Fairy Dust and a Splash of Color, in which the author discusses fairies as symbolic of assimilationism in the racial uplift movement.

Categories
1850s Fairy Tale

The Elves of the Forest Centre

The Elves of the Forest Centre

By Pansy [1]
Annotations by Maggie Kelly
Richard Holzschuh. Untitled (Troop of Elves). Pen and ink and watercolor on card. Minneapolis Institute of Art, Minneapolis, MN.

There lived a little girl, named Maia, with her mother, in a deep forest. As they had always dwelt in the same lone spot, the child had become accustomed to the solitude of the surrounding woods, and even loved the old trees that towered above her head.

So she was not surprised when, one bright morning, her mother said: “Maia, take thy little basket, and go to the forest centre, and fetch a few fagots and some nuts.”

Maia quickly put on her gipsy hat, bade her mother good-bye, and tripped away. She knew all the little birds and squirrels; she did not fear even the king of beasts, so gentle was he to her. And oh! when the young tigers leaped forth to meet her, she could not help setting her basket down, to take a nice tumble upon the soft moss. Then the old tiger and tigress came home, bringing four little lions to spend the day. So they carried Maia on their backs by turn, until they reached the forest centre, then, wagging their tails, they left her, all alone.

Hark! a rustling among the dry branches—only the wind or a squirrel in its nest—Maia began to fill her basket from a store of nuts, hidden in a hollow stump, and to tie up her fagots, for she must hasten; but soon she dropped her basket, the fagots were forgotten, for there, before her, were the little Elves of the forest; yes, the dear funny little Elves, whose history her mother had so often told her.

A little Elfin maid stole to her side, to see what she might be, and Maia was half tempted to seize the tiny creature, but something bade her not, so she only said: “Oh, how beautiful thou art!” At this the little Elf darted away, but soon returned to say: “Our king desires thee to come and feast with us, oh! great giantess!”

Maia, quite bewildered, followed the little maid, and soon found herself in the presence of the Elfin king, a tiny fellow, about as tall as her hand, and dressed in a robe of crimson velvet, spangled with diamonds. As she began to blush and courtesy, he said: “Maia, thou art a good child; we have watched thee, day by day; all the beasts of the forest love thee. They say, ‘So kind and gentle is little Maia, that we would not harm her.’ We, too, love, and will befriend, thee.”

Photograph of the painting “When Love Reigns” by Strutt depicting children surrounded by beasts, [s.d.]. Three small children pose on what appears to be a desert ridge, surrounded by animals large and small. The young girl of the three stands at center, holding a laurel branch, while the two other children play with snakes at her feet. In the right foreground, a lamb lies with a lion. In the background, cows, lions, leopards, bears and other animals recline peacably in a prospect of flowers. The sky fills the rest of the image.

He paused, and a little Elf came forth to dance. When the dance was finished, Maia sang a song about the Elves, which pleased the king very much; then all sat down to the banquet, which was composed of the most delicate food ever known. When all were done feasting, the Elves sang another song, after which Maia was again called by the king: “Here,” he said, leading forward the Elfin maid whom she had before met, “here is a little one for thee; guard her well, and she will be a faithful friend.”

“How can I repay thy kindness?” cried Maia; but before she could say more, she found herself in a beautiful little carriage, drawn by twelve robins, and at her side sat the maiden Elfletta, given her by the king. Soon she arrived at home, where she had long been expected; but where was the basket of nuts? where the fagots? Elfletta soon answered that question, by pointing to another Elf, who was seen in the distance, bringing them, and many other nice things.

But this good fortune did not make Maia forget her duties, and I am sure she set a good example for Elfletta, by rising early, and cheerfully performing her labors. At the forest centre the Elves were always glad to see her, and the tigers always glad to carry her there.

When she grew older, the little Elfin maid found a little Elfin man, and, as they loved each other, they were married. Then Maia’s good old mother died, blessing the dear daughter who had been a comfort to her in all her trials. And when Maia found grey hairs among her own dark tresses—when her hand failed, and she grew old and feeble, there had sprung up around her a little family of Elves—then did they befriend her, and she loved them more than ever.

Her eyes grew dim, she lay down to rest, and with her last breath blessed the little Elves. Upon the bed lay a cold form, with a calm smile upon the face; the heart did not beat, the eyes were fixed, the old woman was at rest, but was she there? No; in the sky were a host of angels—they bore the soul of Maia to its heavenly home.

Seward, Frances. “The Elves of the Forest Centre.” Merry’s Museum 35 (January 1858): 11.

[1] Pansy was the pen name for Frances (Fanny) Adeline Seward, who wrote several pieces for the children’s literary magazine Robert Merry’s Museum. Seward was 13 when this story was published.

Contexts

This piece is a selection from Robert Merry’s Museum, a popular children’s literary magazine in the 19th century. Samuel Griswold Goodrich founded it in 1871, and in 1872, the magazine was absorbed by The Youthful Companion.

According to scholar Pat Pflieger, “‘Elves’ is a good example of a ‘Mary Sue,’ an unbelievably amazing character often created by amateur writers.” Click the Mary Sue link to learn more about the history of this archetypal character, often featured in children’s fairy tales.

Resources for Further Study
Categories
1910s Fairy Tale Poem

Rose and Redbird

Rose and Redbird, A Faerytale

By Madison Julius Cawein
ANNOTATIONS BY MAGGIE KELLY
Women Enframed in Flowers by Laura Coombs Hills (ca. 1861-1897). Original medium is chromolithograph. Image courtesy of Boston Public Library (no known copyright restrictions).

I had the strangest dream last night:—
  I dreamed the poppies, red and white,
  That over-run the flower-bed,
  Changed to wee women, white and red,
  Who, jeweled with the twinkling wet,
Joined hands and danced a minuet. [1]

  And there, beside the garden walk,
  I thought a red-rose stood at talk
  With a black cricket; and I heard
  The cricket say, “You are the bird,
  Red-crested, who comes every day
  To sing his lyric roundelay.”[2]

  The rose replied,—“Nay! you must know
  That bird and I loved long-ago:
I am a princess, he a prince: [3]
  And we were parted ever since
  The world of science made us don
  The new disguises we have on.”

  And then the rose put off disguise
  And stood revealed before my eyes,
  A faery princess; and, in black,
  His tiny fiddle on his back,
  An elfin fiddler, long of nose,
  The cricket bowed before the rose.

  A house of moss and firefly-light
  Now seemed to rise within the night
  Beside the tree where, bending low,
  The flowers stood, a silken row,
  Around the rose,—a faery band
  Before the Queen of Faeryland.

  And suddenly I saw the side
  Of a great beech-tree open wide,
  And there, behold! were wondrous things,—
  Slim flower-like people bright with wings,
  Who bowed before a throne of state,
  Whereon the rose and redbird sate.

  And then I woke; and there, behold,
  Was naught except the moonlight’s gold
  On tree and garden; and the flowers
  Safe snuggled in their beds and bowers:
  The rose was gone, but where she’d stood
  Lay scattered crimson of her hood.

  The cricket still was at his tune
  Somewhere between the dawn and moon:
  And I’d have sworn it was a dream
  Had I not glimpsed a glowworm gleam
  And heard a chuckling in the tree,
  And seen the dewdrop wink at me.

Flower Fairy by Laura Coombs Hills (ca. 1861-1897). Original medium is chromolithograph. Image courtesy of Boston Public Library (no known copyright restrictions).

[1] A minuet is a type of ballroom dance that was especially popular in the 18th century.

[2] A roundelay is a type of short song.

[3] Emphasis original.

CAWEIN, MADISON JULIUS. ROSE AND REDBIRD A FAERYTALE. CINCINNATI: 1913. HTTPS://LOGIN.LIBPROXY.UNCG.EDU/LOGIN?URL=HTTPS://WWW.PROQUEST.COM/DOCVIEW/2147576325?ACCOUNTID=14604.

Resources for Further Study

For more information on fairy tales from the early 20th century, check out this book: Oddly Modern Fairy Tales.

Also, see Phil Kaveny’s website: https://philkaveny.wordpress.com/2015/08/13/folklore-and-fairy-tales-and-childrens-literature-historical-overview-the-modernity-of-childhood-by-philip-kaveny/

Pedagogy

Use the bright, magical imagery in this poem to inspire your little ones to create a fairyland of their own. They can draw what is described in the poem and/or design a magical world all their own using art supplies (e.g. cardboard boxes, crayons, glitter, pipe cleaners, construction paper, etc.) around the house.

Categories
1920s Book chapter Fairy Tale

from The Princess and the Goblin

from The Princess and the Goblin

By George MacDonald[1]
Annotations by ian McLaughlin
Cover Image – 1920, Public Domain

CHAPTER VI[2]

THE LITTLE MINER

THE next day the great cloud still hung over the mountain, and the rain poured like water from a full sponge. The princess was very fond of being out of doors, and she nearly cried when she saw that the weather was no better. But the mist was not of such a dark dingy gray; there was light in it; and as the hours went on, it grew brighter and brighter, until it was almost too brilliant to look at; and late in the afternoon, the sun broke out so gloriously that Irene clapped her hands, crying,

“See, see, Lootie! The sun has had his face washed. Look how bright he is! Do get my hat, and let us go out for a walk. Oh dear! oh dear! how happy I am!”

Lootie was very glad to please the princess. She got her hat and cloak, and they set out together for a walk up the mountain; for the road was so hard and steep that the water could not rest upon it, and it was always dry enough for walking a few minutes after the rain ceased. The clouds were rolling away in broken pieces, like great, overwoolly sheep, whose wool the sun had bleached till it was almost too white for the eyes to bear. Between them the sky shone with a deeper and purer blue, because of the rain. The trees on the road-side were hung all over with drops, which sparkled in the sun like jewels. The only things that were no brighter for the rain, were the brooks that ran down the mountain; they had changed from the clearness of crystal to a muddy brown; but what they lost in color they gained in sound—or at least in noise, for a brook when it is swollen is not so musical as before. But Irene was in raptures with the great brown streams tumbling down everywhere; and Lootie shared in her delight, for she too had been confined to the house for three days. At length she observed that the sun was getting low, and said it was time to be going back. She made the remark again and again, but, every time, the princess begged her to go on just a little farther and a little farther; reminding her that it was much easier to go down hill, and saying that when they did turn, they would be at home in a moment. So on and on they did go, now to look at a group of ferns over whose tops a stream was pouring in a watery arch, now to pick a shining stone from a rock by the wayside, now to watch the flight of some bird. Suddenly the shadow of a great mountain peak came up from behind, and shot in front of them. When the nurse saw it, she started and shook, and tremulously grasping the hand of the princess turned and began to run down the hill.

“What’s all the haste, nursie?” asked Irene, running alongside of her.

“We must not be out a moment longer.”

“But we can’t help being out a good many moments longer.”

It was too true. The nurse almost cried. They were much too far from home. It was against express orders to be out with the princess one moment after the sun was down; and they were nearly a mile up the mountain! If his Majesty, Irene’s papa, were to hear of it, Lootie would certainly be dismissed; and to leave the princess would break her heart. It was no wonder she ran. But Irene was not in the least frightened, not knowing anything to be frightened at. She kept on chattering as well as she could, but it was not easy.

Title Page

“Lootie! Lootie! why do you run so fast? It shakes my teeth when I talk.”

“Then don’t talk,” said Lootie.

But the princess went on talking. She was always saying, “Look, look, Lootie,” but Lootie paid no more heed to anything she said, only ran on.

“Look, look, Lootie! Don’t you see that funny man peeping over the rock?”

Lootie only ran the faster. They had to pass the rock and when they came nearer, the princess clearly saw that it was only a large fragment of the rock itself that she had mistaken for a man.

“Look, look, Lootie! There’s such a curious creature at the foot of that old tree. Look at it, Lootie! It’s making faces at us, I do think.”

Lootie gave a stifled cry, and ran faster still—so fast, that Irene’s little legs could not keep up with her, and she fell with a clash. It was a hard down-hill road, and she had been running very fast—so it was no wonder she began to cry. This put the nurse nearly beside herself; but all she could do was to run on, the moment she got the princess on her feet again.

“Who’s that laughing at me?” said the princess, trying to keep in her sobs, and running too fast for her grazed knees.

“Nobody, child,” said the nurse, almost angrily.

But that instant there came a burst of coarse tittering from somewhere near, and a hoarse indistinct voice that seemed to say, “Lies! lies! lies!”

“Oh!” cried the nurse with a sigh that was almost a scream, and ran on faster than ever.

“Nursie! Lootie! I can’t run any more. Do let us walk a bit.”

“What am I to do?” said the nurse. “Here, I will carry you.”

She caught her up; but found her much too heavy to run with, and had to set her down again. Then she looked wildly about her, gave a great cry, and said—

“We’ve taken the wrong turning somewhere, and I don’t know where we are. We are lost, lost!”

The terror she was in had quite bewildered her. It was true enough they had lost the way. They had been running down into a little valley in which there was no house to be seen.

Now Irene did not know what good reason there was for her nurse’s terror, for the servants had all strict orders never to mention the goblins to her[3], but it was very discomposing to see her nurse in such a fright. Before, however, she had time to grow thoroughly alarmed like her, she heard the sound of whistling, and that revived her. Presently she saw a boy coming up the road from the valley to meet them. He was the whistler; but before they met, his whistling changed to singing. And this is something like what he sang:

“Ring! dod! bang!
Go the hammers’ clang!
Hit and turn and bore!
Whizz and puff and roar!
Thus we rive the rocks.
Force the goblin locks.
See the shining ore!
One, two, three—
Bright as gold can be!
Four, five, six—
Shovels, mattocks, picks!
Seven, eight, nine—
Light your lamp at mine.
Ten, eleven, twelve—
Loosely hold the helve.[4]
We’re the merry miner-boys,
Make the goblins hold their noise.”

“I wish you would hold your noise,” said the nurse rudely, for the very word goblin at such a time and in such a place made her tremble. It would bring the goblins upon them to a certainty, she thought, to defy them in that way. But whether the boy heard her or not, he did not stop his singing.

“Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen—
This is worth the siftin’;
Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen—
There’s the match, and lay’t in.
Nineteen, twenty—
Goblins in a plenty.”

“Do be quiet,” cried the nurse, in a whispered shriek. But the boy, who was now close at hand, still went on.

“Hush! scush! scurry!
There you go in a hurry!
Gobble! gobble! gobblin’!
There you go a wobblin’;
Hobble, hobble, hobblin’!
Cobble! cobble! cobblin’!
Hob-bob-goblin—Huuuuuh!”

“There!” said the boy, as he stood still opposite them. “There! that’ll do for them. They can’t bear singing, and they can’t stand that song. They can’t sing themselves, for they have no more voice than a crow; and they don’t like other people to sing.”[5]

The boy was dressed in a miner’s dress, with a curious cap on his head. He was a very nice-looking boy, with eyes as dark as the mines in which he worked, and as sparkling as the crystals in their rocks. He was about twelve years old. His face was almost too pale for beauty, which came of his being so little in the open air and the sunlight—for even vegetables grown in the dark are white; but he looked happy, merry indeed—perhaps at the thought of having routed the goblins; and his bearing as he stood before them had nothing clownish or rude about it.

“I saw them,” he went on, “as I came up; and I’m very glad I did. I knew they were after somebody, but I couldn’t see who it was. They won’t touch you so long as I’m with you.”

“Why, who are you?” asked the nurse, offended at the freedom with which he spoke to them.

“I’m Peter’s son.”

“Who’s Peter?”

“Peter the miner.”

“I don’t know him.”

“I’m his son, though.”

“And why should the goblins mind you, pray?”[6]

“Because I don’t mind them. I’m used to them.”

“What difference does that make?”

“If you’re not afraid of them, they’re afraid of you. I’m not afraid of them. That’s all. But it’s all that’s wanted—up here, that is. It’s a different thing down there. They won’t always mind that song even, down there. And if anyone sings it, they stand grinning at him awfully; and if he gets frightened, and misses a word, or says a wrong one, they—oh! don’t they give it him!”[5]

“What do they do to him?” asked Irene, with a trembling voice.

“Don’t go frightening the princess,” said the nurse.

“The princess!” repeated the little miner, taking off his curious cap. “I beg your pardon; but you oughtn’t to be out so late. Everybody knows that’s against the law.”

“Yes, indeed it is!” said the nurse, beginning to cry again. “And I shall have to suffer for it.”

“What does that matter?” said the boy. “It must be your fault. It is the princess who will suffer for it. I hope they didn’t hear you call her the princess. If they did, they’re sure to know her again: they’re awfully sharp.”

“Lootie! Lootie!” cried the princess. “Take me home.”

“Don’t go on like that,” said the nurse to the boy, almost fiercely. “How could I help it? I lost my way.”

“You shouldn’t have been out so late. You wouldn’t have lost your way if you hadn’t been frightened,” said the boy. “Come along. I’ll soon set you right again. Shall I carry your little Highness?”

“Impertinence!” murmured the nurse, but she did not say it aloud, for she thought if she made him angry, he might take his revenge by telling some one belonging to the house, and then it would be sure to come to the king’s ears.

“No, thank you,” said Irene. “I can walk very well, though I can’t run so fast as nursie. If you will give me one hand, Lootie will give me another, and then I shall get on famously.”

They soon had her between them, holding a hand of each.

“Now let’s run,” said the nurse.

“No, no,” said the little miner. “That’s the worst thing you can do. If you hadn’t run before, you would not have lost your way. And if you run now, they will be after you in a moment.”[5]

“I don’t want to run,” said Irene.

“You don’t think of me,” said the nurse.

“Yes, I do, Lootie. The boy says they won’t touch us if we don’t run.”

“Yes; but if they know at the house that I’ve kept you out so late, I shall be turned away, and that would break my heart.”

“Turned away, Lootie. Who would turn you away?”

“Your papa, child.”

“But I’ll tell him it was all my fault. And you know it was, Lootie.”

“He won’t mind that.[7] I’m sure he won’t.”

“Then I’ll cry, and go down on my knees to him, and beg him not to take away my own dear Lootie.”

The nurse was comforted at hearing this, and said no more. They went on, walking pretty fast, but taking care not to run a step.

“I want to talk to you,” said Irene to the little miner; “but it’s so awkward! I don’t know your name.”

“My name’s Curdie, little princess.”

“What a funny name! Curdie! What more?”

“Curdie Peterson. What’s your name, please?”

“Irene.”

“What more?”

“I don’t know what more.—What more is my name, Lootie?”

“Princesses haven’t got more than one name. They don’t want it.”

“Oh then, Curdie, you must call me just Irene, and no more.”

“No, indeed,” said the nurse indignantly. “He shall do no such thing.”

“What shall he call me, then, Lootie?”

“Your royal Highness.”

“My royal Highness! What’s that? No, no, Lootie, I will not be called names. I don’t like them. You said to me once yourself that it’s only rude children that call names; and I’m sure Curdie wouldn’t be rude.—Curdie, my name’s Irene.”

“Well, Irene,” said Curdie, with a glance at the nurse which showed he enjoyed teasing her, “it’s very kind of you to let me call you anything. I like your name very much.”

He expected the nurse to interfere again; but he soon saw that she was too frightened to speak. She was staring at something a few yards before them, in the middle of the path, where it narrowed between rocks so that only one could pass at a time.

“It’s very much kinder of you to go out of your way to take us home,” said Irene.

“I’m not going out of my way yet,” said Curdie. “It’s on the other side those rocks the path turns off to my father’s.”

“You wouldn’t think of leaving us till we’re safe home, I’m sure,” gasped the nurse.

“Of course not,” said Curdie.

“You dear, good, kind Curdie! I’ll give you a kiss when we get home,” said the princess.

The nurse gave her a great pull by the hand she held. But at that instant the something in the middle of the way, which had looked like a great lump of earth brought down by the rain, began to move. One after another it shot out four long things, like two arms and two legs, but it was now too dark to tell what they were. The nurse began to tremble from head to foot. Irene clasped Curdie’s hand yet faster,[7] and Curdie began to sing again.

“One, two—
Hit and hew!
Three, four—
Blast and bore!
Five, six—
There’s a fix!
Seven, eight—
Hold it straight.
Nine, ten—
Hit again!
Hurry! scurry!
Bother! smother!
There’s a toad
In the road!
Smash it!
Squash it!
Fry it!
Dry it!
You’re another!
Up and off!
There’s enough!—Huuuuuh!”

As he uttered the last words, Curdie let go his hold of his companion, and rushed at the thing in the road, as if he would trample it under his feet. It gave a great spring, and ran straight up one of the rocks like a huge spider. Curdie turned back laughing, and took Irene’s hand again. She grasped his very tight, but said nothing till they had passed the rocks. A few yards more and she found herself on a part of the road she knew, and was able to speak again.

“Do you know, Curdie, I don’t quite like your song; it sounds to me rather rude,” she said.

“Well, perhaps it is,” answered Curdie. “I never thought of that; it’s a way we have. We do it because they don’t like it.”

“Who don’t like it?”

“The cobs, as we call them.”

“Don’t!” said the nurse.

“Why not?” said Curdie.

“I beg you won’t. Please don’t.”[3]

“Never mind, Princess Irene,” he said. “You mustn’t kiss me to-night. But you sha’n’t break your word. I will come another time.”

“Oh, if you ask me that way, of course I won’t; though I don’t a bit know why. Look! there are the lights of your great house down below. You’ll be at home in five minutes now.”

Nothing more happened. They reached home in safety. Nobody had missed them, or even known they had gone out; and they arrived at the door belonging to their part of the house without anyone seeing them. The nurse was rushing in with a hurried and not over-gracious good-night to Curdie; but the princess pulled her hand from hers, and was just throwing her arms around Curdie’s neck, when she caught her again and dragged her away.

“Lootie, Lootie, I promised Curdie a kiss,” cried Irene.

“A princess mustn’t give kisses. It’s not at all proper,” said Lootie.

“But I promised,” said the princess.

“There’s no occasion; he’s only a miner-boy.”

“He is a good boy, and a brave boy, and he has been very kind to us. Lootie! Lootie! I promised.”

“Then you shouldn’t have promised.”

“Lootie, I promised him a kiss.”

“Your royal Highness,” said Lootie, suddenly growing very respectful, “must come in directly.”

“Nurse, a princess must not break her word,” said Irene, drawing herself up and standing stockstill.

Lootie did not know which the king might count the worst—to let the princess be out after sunset, or to let her kiss a miner-boy. She did not know that, being a gentleman, as many kings have been, he would have counted neither of them the worse. However much he might have disliked his daughter to kiss the miner-boy, he would not have had her break her word for all the goblins in creation. But, as I say, the nurse was not lady enough to understand this, and so she was in a great difficulty, for, if she insisted, some one might hear the princess cry and run to see, and then all would come out. But here Curdie came again to the rescue.

“Never mind, Princess Irene,” he said. “You mustn’t kiss me to-night. But you sha’n’t break your word. I will come another time. You may be sure I will.”

“Oh, thank you, Curdie!” said the princess, and stopped crying.

“Good night, Irene; good night, Lootie,” said Curdie, and turned and was out of sight in a moment.

“I should like to see him!” muttered the nurse, as she carried the princess to the nursery.

“You will see him,” said Irene. “You may be sure Curdie will keep his word. He’s sure to come again.”

“I should like to see him!” repeated the nurse, and said no more. She did not want to open a new cause of strife with the princess by saying more plainly what she meant. Glad enough that she had succeeded both in getting home unseen, and in keeping the princess from kissing the miner’s boy, she resolved to watch her far better in future. Her carelessness had already doubled the danger she was in. Formerly the goblins were her only fear; now she had to protect her charge from Curdie as well.

George MacDonald. “The Little Miner.” Chapter. In the Princess and the Goblin, 32–44. Philidelphia, PA: David McKay Company, 1920. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/34339/34339-h/34339-h.htm#Page_42.

[1] In “The Fantastic Imagination”, George MacDonald wrote “I write not for children, but for the childlike, whether they be of five, or fifty, or seventy-five.”

[2] This chapter shows three possible reactions to nature: excitement, fear, and mastery.
A summary of the story to this point is in the Context section.

[3] The King and Lootie are too scared for Irene to teach her about goblins.

[4] A handle of a weapon or tool, as an axe, chisel, hammer, etc.

[5] Curdie is safe because he knows about goblins and how to deal with them.

[6] Lootie breaks the rule about mentioning goblins in front of the princess.

[7] Pay attention to, take into account. (OED)

[8] More tightly. (OED)

Contexts

Princess Irene lives in a castle in a mountainous kingdom. Her father is often away, so her primary caregiver is her nurse, Lootie. Unbeknownst to Irene, there are goblins living in the mountains. These goblins once lived on the surface but were long ago banished by the humans. They hate humans and harm them when they can hoping to avenge themselves.

One rainy day—the third in a row—the princess “loses herself” in a part of the castle she had never seen before. There she meets a benevolent, mysterious, and beautiful old lady with long white hair, who calls herself Irene’s namesake and great-great-grandmother. The lady keeps pigeons and spends most of her time spinning thread. After a short visit, the lady helps Irene find her way back to more familiar parts of the castle.

Resources for Further Study
Pedagogy

This chapter, as well as the book it comes from shows multiple reactions to nature and problem-solving. It is also an excellent example of a long-form fairy tale.

Learning Questions:

  • “Which fairy tale conventions do you see in this story?”
  • “What is each character’s reaction to nature? Which seems the best to you?”
  • “Does Lootie do a good job of protecting Irene from goblins?”
  • “Will she do a good job ‘protecting’ Irene from Curdie?”
Contemporary Connections

In The Annotated Hobbit (2002), edited and annotated by Douglas A. Anderson, Tolkein is quoted as saying, “[my goblins] owe, I suppose, a good deal to the goblin tradition…especially how it appears in George MacDonald“.

Categories
1920s Fairy Tale Short Story

The Bremen Town-Musicians

The Bremen Town-Musicians[1]

Edited by Frances Jenkins Olcott[2]
Annotations by Ian McLaughlin
Cutting from Original Text by Rie Cramer (1927)

A certain man had a Donkey, which had carried the corn-sacks to the mill faithfully for many a long year; but his strength was going, and he was growing more and more unfit for work.

Then his master began to consider how he might best save his keep; but the Donkey, seeing that no good wind was blowing, ran away and set out on the road to Bremen.

“There,” he thought, “I can surely be town-musician.”[3]

When he had walked some distance, he found a Hound lying on the road, gasping like one who had run till he was tired.

“What are you gasping so for, you big fellow?” asked the Donkey.

“Ah,” replied the Hound, “as I am old, and daily grow weaker and no longer can hunt, my master wants to kill me. So I have taken to flight. But now how am I to earn my bread?”

“I tell you what,” said the Donkey, “I am going to Bremen, and shall be town-musician there. Come with me and engage yourself also as a musician. I will play the lute, and you shall beat the kettledrum.”

The Hound agreed, and on they went.

Before long, they came to a Cat, sitting on the path, with a face like three rainy days!

“Now then, old shaver, what has gone askew with you?” asked the Donkey.

“Who can be merry when his neck is in danger?” answered the Cat. “Because I am now getting old, and my teeth are worn to stumps, and I prefer to sit by the fire and spin,[4] rather than hunt about after mice, my mistress wants to drown me, so I have run away. But now good advice is scarce. Where am I to go?”

“Come with us to Bremen. You understand night-music, so you can be a town-musician.”

The Cat thought well of it, and went with them.

After this the three fugitives came to a farmyard, where the Cock was sitting upon the gate, crowing with all his might.

“Your crow goes through and through one,” said the Donkey. “What is the matter?”

“I have been foretelling fine weather, because it is the day on which Our Lady washes the Christ-child’s little shirts, and wants to dry them,” said the Cock. “But guests are coming for Sunday, so the housewife has no pity, and has told the cook that she intends to eat me in the soup to-morrow. This evening I am to have my head cut off. Now I am crowing at full pitch while I can.”

“Ah, but Red-Comb,” said the Donkey, “you had better come away with us. We are going to Bremen. You can find something better than death everywhere. You have a good voice, and if we make music together, it must have some quality!”

The Cock agreed to this plan, and all four went on together.

They could not, however, reach the city of Bremen in one day, and in the evening they came to a forest where they meant to pass the night. The Donkey and the Hound laid themselves down under a large tree. The Cat and the Cock settled themselves in the branches; but the Cock flew right to the top, where he was most safe.

Before he went to sleep, he looked round on all the four sides, and thought he saw in the distance a little spark burning. So he called out to his companions that there must be a house not far off, for he saw a light.

The Donkey said, “If so, we had better get up and go on, for the shelter here is bad.”

The Hound thought that a few bones with some meat would do him good too!

They made their way to the place where the light was, and soon saw it shine brighter and grow larger, until they came to a well-lighted robber’s house. The Donkey, as the biggest, went to the window and looked in.

“What do you see, my Grey-Horse?” asked the Cock.

“What do I see?” answered the Donkey; “a table covered with good things to eat and drink, and robbers sitting at it enjoying themselves.”

“That would be the sort of thing for us,” said the Cock.

“Yes, yes! ah, how I wish we were there!” said the Donkey.

Then the animals took counsel together as to how they could drive away the robbers, and at last they thought of a plan. The Donkey was to place himself with his forefeet upon the window-ledge, the Hound was to jump on the Donkey’s back, the Cat was to climb upon the Hound, and lastly the Cock was to fly up and perch upon the head of the Cat.

When this was done, at a given signal, they began to perform their music together. The Donkey brayed, the Hound barked, the Cat mewed, and the Cock crowed. Then they burst through the window into the room, so that the glass clattered!

At this horrible din, the robbers sprang up, thinking no otherwise than that a ghost had come in, and fled in a great fright out into the forest.

The four companions now sat down at the table, well content with what was left, and ate as if they were going to fast for a month.

As soon as the four minstrels[5] had done, they put out the light, and each sought for himself a sleeping-place according to his nature and to what suited him. The Donkey laid himself down upon some straw in the yard, the Hound behind the door, the Cat upon the hearth near the warm ashes, and the Cock perched himself upon a beam of the roof. Being tired with their long walk, they soon went to sleep.

When it was past midnight, the robbers saw from afar that the light was no longer burning in their house, and all appeared quiet.

The captain said, “We ought not to have let ourselves be frightened out of our wits;” and ordered one of them to go and examine the house.

The messenger finding all still, went into the kitchen to light a candle, and, taking the glistening fiery eyes of the Cat for live coals, he held a lucifer-match[6] to them to light it. But the Cat did not understand the joke, and flew in his face, spitting and scratching.

He was dreadfully frightened, and ran to the back door, but the Dog, who lay there, sprang up and bit his leg.

Then, as he ran across the yard by the straw-heap, the Donkey gave him a smart kick with his hind foot. The Cock, too, who had been awakened by the noise, and had become lively, cried down from the beam:

“Kicker-ee-ricker-ee-ree!”

Then the robber ran back as fast as he could to his captain, and said, “Ah, there is a horrible Witch sitting in the house, who spat on me and scratched my face with her long claws. By the door stands a man with a knife, who stabbed me in the leg. In the yard there lies a black monster, who beat me with a wooden club. And above, upon the roof, sits the judge, who called out:

“‘Bring the rogue here to me!’

so I got away as well as I could.”

After this the robbers did not trust themselves in the house again. But it suited the four musicians of Bremen so well that they did not care to leave it any more.

And the mouth of him who last told this story, is still warm[7].

Olcott, Frances Jenkins, ed. “The Bremen Town-Musicians.” short Story. In grimm’s Fairy Tales, 122–26. Philidelphia, PA: The Penn Publishing Company, 1927. http://www.gutenberg.org/files/52521/52521-h/52521-h.htm#hdr_16.

[1] Contemporary retellings spell the title as “The Bremen Town Musicians” or “The Bremen-Town Musicians“.

[2] This folktale was originally collected and published by the Brothers Grimm.

[3] A city official whose duty was to superintend or take part in municipal events by providing music.

[4] This is a reference to spinning wool into yarn.

[5] A traveling musician, typically a singer. (OED)

[6] A friction match made usually of a splint of wood tipped with an inflammable substance ignitable on a roughened or otherwise prepared surface. (OED)

[7] This not only signals the end of the story but lends realism to the events.

Contexts

“The Bremen Town-Musicians” was originally a German folk tale. It was collected and edited by Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm alongside versions of “Cinderella,” “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves,” “Hansel and Gretel,” and many many other famous (and not so famous) stories. Many of the Grimm brother’s stories have been translated and adapted to suit audiences of all ages.

Resources for Further Study
Pedagogy

Missouri Southern State University has a great upper elementary level unit plan for teaching fairy tales.

Contemporary Connections

Room on the Broom, the delightful children’s book by Julia Donaldson and its Netflix original adaptation, has a similar plot and message.

Categories
1920s African American Fairies Fairy Tale Short Story

Gyp: A Fairy Story

Gyp: A Fairy Story

By A. T. Kilpatrick
Annotations by Catherine Bowlin
Cover of the first volume of The Brownies' Book. Photograph of a little African American girl in white costume, crown, and ballet shoes.
Battey. Untitled Cover of The Brownies’ Book. 1920. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/22001351/>.

ONCE there was a little fairy named Gyp. The king of fairies gave all of the little fairies work to do. And Gyp’s work for that day was to paint apples. 

Early that morning Gyp went to the forest to work. He carried all his paints, but more of red and brown because he had a lot of apples to paint red and also the leaves to tint brown.

He soon came to the trees, and leaving the other paints on the ground, he carried the red up to paint apples.

The little children who lived in the forest thought it about time to find ripe apples, and some of them went out that same morning to get some. 

After roaming a bit they came to the tree where Gyp was painting and found all his paints on the ground. 

They began to amuse themselves by playing with the paints, until the wind blew some apples down.

But they soon tired and fell asleep. Gyp had noticed them meddling with his paints and saw that they liked red and brown best.

When he came down and found all asleep, he wondered what joke to play on them that would be pleasing. So after deciding on many things and changing, he determined to paint their faces, knowing they would be delighted.

So he painted their faces,––some red like the apples, and the others brown like the leaves. When they woke and looked at each other, they were startled and amazed. They went home never knowing why their faces changed colors.

Now their descendants still live. Those children who were at home remained white, but the little red children still love to roam about in the forest and on the plains.

The little brown children can be found most everywhere, carrying happiness and sunshine to all they see.

So when you read of the work of the little brownies, don’t forget the good fairy Gyp.

Brunner, Arnold William. Forest. 1891, Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum, CC0. https://www.si.edu/unit/cooper-hewitt.
Kilpatrick, A. T. “Gyp: A Fairy Story.” The Brownies’ Book, ed. W. E. B. Du Bois, vol. 1, no. 1. (1920): 31. www.loc.gov/item/22001351/.
Resources for Further Study
  • In the introduction to the 2019 volume of The Lion and The Unicorn, a contemporary journal that studies children’s literature, Katharine Capshaw and Michelle Martin draw parallels between The Brownies’ Book and the Black Lives Matter movement. Full citation for this source: Capshaw, Katharine, and Michelle H. Martin. “Introduction: From The Brownies’ Book to Black Lives Matter: One Hundred Years of African American Children’s Literature.” The Lion and the Unicorn, vol. 43, no. 2. (2019): v-vii. ProQuest, https://login.libproxy.uncg.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/docview/2330797298?accountid=14604, doi:http://dx.doi.org/10.1353/uni.2019.0015.
  • For an analysis of fairies in The Brownies’ Book, see Fern Kory’s article, “Once Upon a Time in Aframerica: The ‘Peculiar’ Significance of Fairies in the Brownies’ Book” in the 2001 volume of Children’s Literature. Full citation for this source: Kory, Fern. “Once upon a Time in Aframerica: The “Peculiar” Significance of Fairies in the Brownies’ Book.” Children’s Literature, vol. 29. (2001): 91-112. ProQuest, https://login.libproxy.uncg.edu/login?url=https://www.proquest.com/docview/195575070?accountid=14604.
Pedagogy

Possible discussion questions:

  • How does the positive diction in this story foreshadow its purpose?
  • Can this text be considered an origin story? Why or why not?
  • What does this story suggest about racial difference?

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