FEMALE LITERACY IN ANDERSEN'S THE RED SHOES

In the Andersen tale "The Red Shoes," orphan protagonist Karen does not know how to read until her wealthy female guardian has her taught how to, opening up avenues of opportunity for a young Victorian nouvelle riche female that, sadly, the author closes abruptly for her. 

Now how does Maria Tatar translate this detail of the tale and what does she have to say about it in the annotated edition?

Sadly there are no annotations by Tatar about Karen's literacy, though that of the highborn and high-ranking Clever Princess in the Fourth Story of The Snow Queen she has not given short shrift to (and annotated as a reference to a satirical barb on newspapers, I quote verbatim, at an early Victorian time when the press was the one and only mass medium!). Here is, though, how Tatar translates Karen's literacy:

"She had to learn to read ...,"

A very short six-letter half-sentence, but still one that counts as a reference to female literacy and to saving a female orphan child from the gutter.

Sur La Lune has H.B. Paull's Victorian version:

"... she was taught to read ..."

but sadly no annotations at all for "The Red Shoes" either. The annotations page for the tale only has:

coming soon!

The Myths and Legends podcast also mentions that magic four-letter verb as part of Karen's education with her posh old female guardian:

"Karen was taken into the house, and taught to read ...,"

While the Tales podcast by Parcast Media has:

"She had ..., tutors who taught her how to read ...,"

In Spanish:

"Tenía ..., tutores (sic) que le enseñaban a leer ...,"

Andersen seems to be as ambivalent towards intelectuallism in "The Red Shoes" as he is in The Snow Queen. The Prince and Princess are as out of touch with reality as they are "gode" (a word variously translated as ("good" or "kind"); their ostentatious carriage drawing the attention of the robbers, who butcher all the redshirt servants and claim the bounty of pastries. Likewise, Karen is taught how to read but never puts this knowledge to good use (in my oral secularized adaptations, at least, I vindicate this literacy --Andersen, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!-- and have her teach how to read to the children at the orphanage where her journey started...).

PS. Andersen's source text for Karen's literacy has:

"... hun måtte lære at læse ..." 

"At læse" means "to read." Compare this description of the Clever Princess in the Fourth Story of The Snow Queen:

"... hun har også læst alle aviser, der er til i verden, ..."

YOUNG CORVETTO AND THE CANOPY BED SCANDAL

THIS POST IS A SEQUEL TO "SAVED FROM ARSENIC POISONING BY THE BELL!" IN WHICH, IN THE KINGDOM OF WIDE RIVER, YOUNG MANSERVANT CORVETTO SAVED HIS KING BENEDETTO FROM, OUI, CERTAIN ARSENIC POISONING - AND THE POISONER, A MARQUIS, SWALLOWED HIS OWN FIXED DRINK. OF COURSE HIS GRACE COULD NOT LEAVE THE LAD UNREWARDED AFTER SUCH A VALUABLE SERVICE TO THE CROWN...

This is a fragment from a retelling in Parcast Tales of a Pentamerone tale, "The Trials of Young Corvetto," so to picture yourself the fashion the characters are wearing and the artwork on the walls you must think mid-seventeenth century, Thirty-Years-War-era, in a Mediterranean heavily influenced by the Baroque and the Counter-Reformation.

Giambattista Basile became a courtier late in life (Count of Torone), after being most of his life a military officer. Though he was grateful for having to rest on his laurels, and for the patronage that allowed him to publish his tales and his sister Adriana to flourish as an opera singer (she also gleaned tales that are in the Pentamerone), stories like Corvetto's criticize the intrigue and politics of the royal palaces of his day, offering a glimpse of how jaded he was (compare H.C. Andersen's satirical depictions of courtly/royal life). The original Corvetto is littered with cynical asides lambasting political corruption. The original Corvetto opens thus: "Oh hapless the one who is condemned to live in that hell that goes by the name of court, where flattery is sold by the basket, malice and bad services measured by the quintal, and deceit and betrayal weighed by the bushel!"

"Aargh... Where did you learn to use your hands like this?" King Benedetto sighed as Corvetto kneaded the muscles of his back.

Corvetto's eyes were drawn to old battle scars criss-crossing the king's olive skin. Before the servant could ask, the king chuckled.

"Ha, ha, ha! Never be afraid to ask a warrior how he got his scars...We are the world's greatest sculptors, but we work in flesh, rather than marble. Our bodies are masterpieces."

Stories and ballads have been known to exaggerate the appearance of monarchs. Not so with the King of Wide River. Even when lying down, he was striking. And Corvetto could not help but agree that his body was a work of art. Still, the young man did not flatter or agree. Instead, he said:

"Your Grace, it has been some time since you drove the ogres from this land. Does a warrior's pride fade with age?"

Benedetto rolled over, forcing Corvetto to release his back.

"You're a clever one, Corvetto. But you have much to learn about what makes a king. Time passes, but there's still singing ballads about my deeds."

The conversation came to an end moments later, when one of the king's servants announced a visitor. Benedetto stood and covered himself with a cloak. Corvetto stepped out of the chamber and passed by two figures in jewelled robes, standing in the hallway: a man and a woman. The man had a thin skull-like face, with eyes set into their sockets like dull marbles. This was Viscount Niballo, one of the most influential men in the court. Standing at his side was a tall woman with hazelnut hair; Marchesa Agnella. She stared at Corvetto the same way one might look at a brown stain on a bedspread. Without a word, the two courtiers swept into the chamber.

Corvetto stood in the empty hallway for a moment, unsure of where to go. The rest of the court at the Palace of Wide River hated him, and, at first, he didn't understand why. He hadn't said anything rude or insulted the king. It took almost a year for Corvetto to understand. They hated him not because of anything he did, but because they had spent their lives toiling to be the king's most trusted ally, a position Corvetto had earned in a fraction of the time. It wasn't long before he started to notice traps laid for him around the palace. Just the other day he'd found a woman! The wife of a nobleman, waiting in his chambers, to ravish him! A naked ploy in both senses of the term... She'd clearly been hired to seduce him and cause a scandal. He paid her twice her fee to get rid of her.  

Not all the traps were so direct. Messages to him were intercepted, his garments were cut in compromising places, his chamber pot went neglected, and these tricks may have worked on a nobleman, but they would not work on a young man who grew dodging thieves, cutpurses, and con artists.

Corvetto was summoned back to the king's chambers shortly after his brush with the two courtiers. Upon entering, he noticed a change in Benedetto's expression. The king looked... eager. The viscount and the marchesa flanked him like gargoyles, eyes glinting wickedly. The king said:

"My dear Corvetto! I've just been given the most wonderful idea!"

SAVED FROM ARSENIC POISONING BY THE BELL!

This is a fragment from a retelling in Parcast Tales of a Pentamerone tale, "The Trials of Young Corvetto," so to picture yourself the fashion the characters are wearing and the artwork on the walls you must think mid-seventeenth century, Thirty-Years-War-era, in a Mediterranean heavily influenced by the Baroque and the Counter-Reformation.

Giambattista Basile became a courtier late in life (Count of Torone), after being most of his life a military officer. Though he was grateful for having to rest on his laurels, and for the patronage that allowed him to publish his tales and his sister Adriana to flourish as an opera singer (she also gleaned tales that are in the Pentamerone), stories like Corvetto's criticize the intrigue and politics of the royal palaces of his day, offering a glimpse of how jaded he was (compare H.C. Andersen's satirical depictions of courtly/royal life). The original Corvetto is littered with cynical asides lambasting political corruption. The original Corvetto opens thus: "Oh hapless the one who is condemned to live in that hell that goes by the name of court, where flattery is sold by the basket, malice and bad services measured by the quintal, and deceit and betrayal weighed by the bushel!"

There was no greater honour than a banquet invitation from the King of Wide River. Minor nobles sold their family heirlooms to afford the most expensive jewels and gowns. Commoners trained their sons to be the best cupbearers, in the hope that they would find themselves even serving at such an occasion! This pleased King Benedetto to no end. The members of his court bustled to and fro before him, a shifting rainbow of priceless fabric. Compliments poured in his ear from every angle, praising his kingdom as a vast improvement from the ogre tyrants that once ruled over this land.

Benedetto called out for another glass of wine. Before the servants could stir, the nobles tripped over themselves to fulfil the king's request. A goblet reached him, filled to the brim. He grinned, and raised his hand to drink... but someone seized his wrist. (GASPS FROM EVERYONE)

The chamber fell silent. Benedetto looked up in shock. It was a young servant! A tangle of dark brown hair poked from beneath his cap. His amber eyes were locked on the king, but not in fear... Before Benedetto could have him reprimanded, the young man said:

"Your Majesty, do not drink from this cup. The wine has been poisoned."

Benedetto snorted.

"Ha! Is that so? What makes you, a common boy, so certain of this?"

The young man replied:

"With all due respect, Your Grace, noble men and women grow up learning the intricacies of court life. Table manners, proper honorifics... So too does a common boy learn how to spot deadly intent in a crowd."

The youth pointed to a man, a red-faced marquis, keeping to the edge of the crowd. At the king's command, guards dragged the sweating nobleman forward. Without a word, the king handed him the cup. The man drank... and vomited blood all over the king's shoes. He dropped to the floor, convulsing and uttering half-choked curses. When he fell still, the king raised his eyes back to the young man.

"What is your name, clever servant?"

A wry grin spread across the young man's face.

"They call me... Corvetto."

A VORACIOUS READER?

In the Parcast Tales podcast, we get a closer look at secondary characters who had been overlooked in canon fairytales. Like the princesses spurned by the hero of H.C. Andersen's Princess and the Pea. Vanessa Richardson and her team chose to make one of them, called Sophia (maybe related to, or the same as?, the drugger in the Three Little Blue Stones/As Tres Pedrinhas Azuis character in January's installment on both Parcast and this blog) a true blue cobalt bluestocking, dyed in the wool with element 27 of the periodic table. However, there is something crucial missing from her well-stocked royal palace library that makes Prince Erik flinch:

Allons-y to her character introduction, shall we?

Next stop was Vordingborg (look it up on Google Maps, it's a real-life town!), where he'd had heard there was a princess who was a voracious reader. 

Maybe she'd be perfect.

He thought Princess Sophia was even more graceful and well mannered than [a previous candidate, a hoyden].

Erik was confident that she could please his mother [a domineering queen] though.

[...]

"This is more," Erik thought, especially if she enjoyed books as much as him when they were done with dessert.

Erik asked if she would show him to her book collection. Princess Sophia clapped her hands excitedly. 

When Erik stepped inside he gasped. The room was two stories, tall with shelves of leather-bound books that extended to the rafters. There was a large stone fireplace as big as a cave glowing and crackling with fragrant cedar logs. Erik had never seen a better, more inviting library. 

He imagined all of the books were about knights on quests and adventures and love affairs. He was so thrilled. He wanted to propose marriage on the spot. He turned to Sophia:

"Which is your favourite book?"

She gestured to the room around them.

"Take your pick, my prince."

Erik wandered over to a bookshelf and thumbed through a few of the volumes, but they were not what he expected. Instead of romantic stories, they were arcane texts about alchemy and celestial observation.

"What are these?" he asked.

Sophia cocked her head at him and chuckled:

"Books, silly!"

Erik pulled more books off the shelves flipping off the pages, flipping through the pages desperately.

"Where are the novels about dragons... quests... love...?" he asked.

Sophia shrugged.

She didn't have any of those like such contrived tales. She preferred maths, science, and such academic subjects.

Erik's heart sank. He couldn't imagine a library full of books without stories. It made him shudder. 

Maybe Sophia wasn't the perfect wife for him.

He thanked her for dinner and trudged out out of the castle.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------"

Later out, when he meets the heroine Margaret, a kindred spirit of his who carries a fiction novel at hand, he has this dialogue with her:

[...] he told her about [...] Sophia with the library full of books, but no stories [...]

After all, not everyone may know arsenic is number 33 on the periodic table but you should know it can burn away at your insides just like a very persistent and negative intrusive thought, 

The thought whereof

Doth, like a poisonous mineral, gnaw my inwards...

Iago dixit.

The same goes for gold, silver, and lead, on Portia's caskets... From Shakespeare to Christie and beyond, literature has needed science for the substances and illnesses and injuries that affect its characters. Lives were saved because the Pale Horse by Christie employed obscure thallium when she had used strychnine and arsenic and every other substance in the book and turned to little-known thallium, then it inspired other real-life psychos in turn...

The keyword is consiliency, the marriage of the arts and sciences!

SOPHIA AND THE CHALICE

 This fragment is from the Portuguese fairytale The Three Little Blue Stones (As tres pedrinhas azuis) as told in Parcast Tales. It's a slandered wife tale, taking place in the husband Prince Miguel's castle in his village kingdom. Again, the wife Elena is drugged so the evil in-laws can do their dastardly deeds to her (slit her newborn triplets' throats and make her look like the culprit) while she is unconscious; and I loved how it described the drugging from her POV.

The key character here is Princess Sophia, the sister-in-law. She is described upon being introduced in the story as "a young woman, skinny as a twig." My mental image of hers is a bit like an evil medieval or renaissance Yuzuriha Nekoi... Anyway, we cut straight to her making her move!

...as Princess Sophia arrived with a chalice of wine. She presented it to Elena.

"Drink this; it will make the birth go easier."

Elena gulped it down. It tasted sour on her lips. The pain faded away from her body; but... so did everything else. Elena's eyes rolled to the back of her head; her mind felt fuzzy. Then, everything went black.

Coming up; Elena awakens to a bloody horror.

Elena drifted back into consciousness. Her head pounded as she tried to piece together her final memories; ..., Sophia and the chalice, ... Her throat was impossibly dry! With a raspy voice, she called out: ...

Needless to say justice is served like in the end of every fairytale. Prince Miguel says in the Parcast adaptation:

"Find my ... sister. They're the true murderers. Lock them in a tower; I can't kill them myself!"

POST SCRIPTUM.

Having just read the original tale As tres pedrinhas azuis I found out that both the drugging and the sister-in-law character are absent in it. This change makes the Parcast adaptation more interesting than the source material, knowing me and my tastes...

a drunken mistake forces the houses of Hogwarts into open war

All rights reserved to Victor Hugo for the charas, JK Rowling for the setting, and Vanessa Richardson for the myth retelling on parcast that I listened to today, and that, being personal catnip in this fragment, inspired this show.

Also, this is my first Enjornasse story, not only the first one I filked from parcast and the first Enj-drunk one. That's a lot of firsts!

After that, he was offered the prefecture of Slytherin.
Initially, Enjolras was an outstanding ruler, an outstanding leader. Unlike more warlike and supremacist Prefects who had preceded him, he promoted culture and universal well-being, advised by friends of all bloodlines he had in all three other houses, which he considered Slytherin's equals. Defense and conquest of privileges were less important during this period than development and stability. But, as the Prefect led his thriving dominion, trouble brewed in the common room of Slytherin itself. Everyone's good fortune was about to change...
Montparnasse considered himself another Loki or Tezcatlipoca, as Lord of Change through Conflict. He'd been watching Enjolras develop these reformations, and he hated what he saw.
"There he sits! Pathetic little mortal! Puffing himself up with Hufflepuffs?! Consorting with the enemy?! How dare he call himself a ruler, or a leader? If either of us deserves that prefecture, it is I!"
Season after season, everyone carried on, blissfully unaware of the passed-over Slytherin's growing rage. Meanwhile, the aforementioned simmered over his fair-haired roommate's success, until he could stand it no longer.
What Enjolras didn't realise was that even his refusals were part of his roommate's devious plan.
Prosperity returned to Slytherin House: the Quidditch Cup was won by team Seeker Montparnasse having caught all three Snitches and, as a result, many people in green and silver turned away from Enjolras, and treated the victorious Seeker as their leader instead. For the first time, Montparnasse experienced what it was like to be popular, and almost to be Prefect. And he loved every minute of it. However, the Seeker still had a problem; a certain blond stripling continued wearing that badge on his chest. And, as long as Enjolras remained a Prefect, some people would persist in following him. With that annoying thought in mind, Montparnasse began devising a scheme to take over Slytherin for good.
Meanwhile, Enjolras spent his days in passionate concentration. He was so devastated by the pressure that came with his position that he barely ate or slept. By purging himself, he hoped to find a way to save them. Then one day, after many months of pressure, Enjolras heard someone approaching. He looked over his shoulder and saw an otaku-like young man in a hooded anorak and thick-rimmed glasses, carrying a mirror.
"What can I do for you, if there is anything...?"
"I have something to show you; a picture... of yourself."
At the otaku's urging, Enjolras looked into the mirror. And, to his shock, he didn't see his own image. Instead, he saw the place where he was in the common room empty of reflection where it should have been.
"Oh... ah... Can this be true?"
"The mirror shows what it sees, Sir. But... There are many different truths... If you come with me, I can show you how to shape your own!"
Enjolras was shocked by the image in the mirror, and he was was eager to erase it from his memory. So he got up and followed the nerdy young man. He had no idea that the stranger was actually his roommate and fiercest rival... or that the otaku was luring him into a trap.
Coming up: a drunken mistake forces the houses of Hogwarts into open war.
Then one day, his roommate appeared as an otaku, and told the prefect to follow him.
Montparnasse took his rival to the signalman's cabin of Hogsmeade Station, where an attendant was waiting. Strangely enough, that person half-framed in the evening light wore the uniform of the railway staff but with a Slytherin scarf on top. The attendant painted Enjolras' face like an eighteenth-century noble's, and wove a beautiful ribbon into his hair, to tie it back. He dressed him in a kimono-like crimson robe of rich fabric, embroidered with gold thread and leaf motifs. When this was done, Montparnasse showed Enjolras his reflection once again.
"Thank these attendants! I look like a leader again!"
Enjolras was so pleased by his appearance that he called for a celebration. The usual restraints of self-control had slipped from his grasp. A group of attendants, equally attired, joined him and the alleged otaku in the signalman's cabin. They brought a sweet nectar, which they encouraged the leader to drink.
"Thank you, my friends, but I cannot accept. I'm a Prefect, and a disciplined one. I'm not used to... indulgences of the flesh. Even a sip of wine or butterbeer could make me weak."
"Don't worry, Sir. It is not wine or beer they offer you, but medicine. It will help you reclaim your power!"
Enjolras still didn't realise that the otaku with the mirror was his scheming roommate. So at his urging, he took a drink of the nectar. Then, he took one more, and another. And a fourth. This so-called "medicine" was in fact an alcoholic spirit made from the alihotsy plant.
After a number of libations, the Prefect got extremely drunk! He began calling for his friends and other members of his Hogwarts house to join him.
"The-e-ere you a-a-are, 'Parnasssse... mmmm, so beautiful... Come, 'ave a drink with me!"
"Don't be afraid, my beautiful..."
Enjolras was so overcome by the power of this liquor that he forgot himself and his vow of chastity. Overcome with desire, he stole a kiss from the so-called otaku, then slapped him in the face, then fell unconscious.
The next morning, Enjolras and the Imperiused "railway staff" awoke. They were all horrified by what had happened. The news of what the Prefect had done was already spreading through everywhere. Montparnasse watched in triumph as his rival's followers within Slytherin rose up in anger against him.
They demanded that Enjolras leave the prefecture, and asked Montparnasse to rule them instead. Just as the Seeker had always wanted.
With a heavy heart, Enjolras gathered his last followers (Combeferre and Joly, Ravenclaw; Courfeyrac and Prouvaire, Hufflepuff; Marius and Lesgle and Grantaire, Gryffindor) and abandoned the prefecture. He was convinced, as he tore out the badge and placed it in the left palm of his rival, that the Slytherins were headed for disaster, but he did not know how to save them.

***a wartime relation***

He had been sent away to fight on the frontlines... and (she) doubted that he would ever return.
(Clank of swords)
Each night she lay awake, envisioning (him, her lover) on the battlefield. She imagined his death a hundred times over; calling out in pain and anguish for her. Her sleepless nights left her too exhausted to do much of anything. She aimlessly roamed the halls of the palace like the living dead, a distant look in her glazed eyes.
[···]
(She) heard the sound of someone approaching, and leapt to her feet, wiping the tears from her eyes.
(Creaking doors) 
(She) stared at the soldier standing before her. He wore the frayed and muddy uniform of the defeated army. His face was battered, and partially obscured by rough stubble, but his eyes were the same as the first time they met.
(Thud on the grass-strewn floor as he goes: Oh!/Whoa!)
(The lovers) lay in (there; on the floor) for hours, discussing all that had happened. (He) told (her) about the things he had seen, the battles he had fought, the friends that he had lost. (She/One) could see now that he was not the same man that had gone off to war; some small part of him had not returned... like a light that had gone out. But she loved him all the more fiercely for it, and wanted nothing more than to protect him. As dawn approached, their discussion turned to the approaching wedding.


Adapted from the Krasue episode of Mythology Parcast -- but could also apply to Othello or Marius or Marius's dad or... there is a book called La vida de las flores (I will soon review it) with a story, La Siempreviva (The Evergreen) about a young veteran returning home to his village from the frontlines a broken man... and he only lives for a little more and then dies young at the end, but it is a fascinating study in PTSD (from pre-world-war times no less).