folk tales – Bone and Sickle

The Dog-Head Saint

By boneandsickle | July 5, 2026

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 40:21 — 46.2MB)

Today he’s known mainly as a figure from medals carried to insure safe travels, but that image of a giant carrying the Christ Child across a dangerous river represents only the final stage in the long and strange evolution of the saint’s legend. Earlier or forgotten aspects of his story describe Christopher as a ferocious soldier, the Devil’s servant, a cannibal, and even a dog-headed monster.

Our episode begins with the best known version of the tale recorded in The Golden Legend, the classic collection of hagiographies written in 1260 by Jacobus de Voragine, a Dominican friar in Genoa. Here Christopher begins as Reprobus, a fearsome giant determined to serve the most powerful master in the world. He first serves a king but abandons him after discovering that the king fears the Devil. Reprobus then serves the Devil, only to discover that the Devil fears Christ.

Seeking Christ, Reprobus encounters a hermit who suggests that the giant use his great strength to carry travelers across a dangerous river. One night, a mysterious child asks to be carried across. As Reprobus struggles through the rising water, the child becomes impossibly heavy. Upon reaching the opposite bank, the child reveals himself as Christ and explains that Reprobus has carried both the Creator of the world and the weight of the world itself. Reprobus thus becomes Christopher, the “Christ-bearer.”

After this, comes the lesser known portion of his tale, in which Christopher runs up against Roman authorities thanks to his Christian faith. As a sign that God will be with him throughout this, his staff planted in the earth breaks for in blooms, and he’s preserved through numerous tortures and attempts to execute him after his refusal to worship the pagan gods. Tortures fail to harm him, arrows miraculously stop in midair, and Christopher eventually converts the king responsible for his execution.

But earlier versions of the legend are considerably stranger. Around 986, the German poet and bishop Walter von Speyer composed two Latin hagiographies, one in prose and the other in verse. Each tells the same story, describing Reprobus as a dog-headed cannibal who could only bark before his conversion. The struggle through the river in de Voragine 13th-century tale is prefigured as a spiritual transformation in the waters of baptism.

An even older narrative is found in the apocryphal Acts of Andrew and Bartholomew. Pieced together from parchments dated to the fifth and seventh centuries, merging stories, which originated in Coptic communities of Syria and Egypt. We hear extensive passages from this particularly fantastical tale read by Mrs. Karswell.

In this which the apostles encounter a terrifying dog-headed cannibal named “Bewitched.” He’s been sent to them by an angel, who first removes his appetite for human flesh and grants him the ability to speak. Renamed “Christian,” (though still referred to in the text as “Dog’s Head”) the creature accompanies the apostles on their missionary adventures to the city of Barbaros in Parthia. When they are sentenced to death by lions and tigers , Dog’s Head is divinely granted a temporary return to his original ferocity, and slaughtering and devouring the beasts. Walls of fire, flying idols, miraculous floods, and more grisly tortures and martrydoms, round out the narrative.

St. Christopher in 18th-century Russian lubok print

A slightly later Greek text, The Martyrdom of Christophoros, brings the legend closer to its later form. Reprobus remains a dog-headed member of a cannibalistic race but is now a soldier and Christian. After receiving the miraculous ability to speak, he converts fellow soldiers, survives numerous tortures, and is eventually martyred by beheading. Several elements later incorporated into the Golden Legend—including his flowering staff, conversion of prostitutes, and miraculous survival of torture—already appear here.

A number of images of St. Christopher as a dog-headed man (Greek: cynocephalus) can still be seen in Orthodox churches and monasteries in Greece and Russia. While Peter the Great sought to suppress this portrayal of the saint in 18th-century Russia, his efforts were not entirely successful, and cynocephalus icons are produced by the sect known as the Old Believers to this day.

Christopher’s monstrous appearance was intended to highlight both a pre-conversion savagery and extreme foreignness. Ancient and medieval writers from Herodotus to Marco Polo repeatedly placed imaginary races of dog-headed humans in distant, unexplored lands. Armenian illustrations of Pentecost similarly included cynocephali to symbolize the remotest peoples reached by Christianity.

We end the episode with a nod to St. Christopher’a identity as the patron saint of surfers, and a bit of music from that unlikely nexus of Catholicism and surfdom. It’s a snippet from the 1999 album by the Malibooz, Living Water:The Surfer’s Mass.

“Horse-head” St. Christopher from Assumption Cathedral, Sviyazhsk, Russia.

Trolls in Medieval Literature

By boneandsickle | April 27, 2026

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 46:10 — 52.8MB)

Trolls, as presented in medieval literature, are vastly different from the creatures we encountered in our last episode’s collection of 19th-century Norwegian folktales. These Viking Age trolls are more vividly and gruesomely described, and the “troll-women,” who frequently appear, are akin to witches.

We begin the show with a traditional song from the Faroe Islands, “Trøllini í Hornalondum,” telling the story of St. Olaf battling trolls on the coast of Norway. While the ballad presumably originated in Norway, it was first recorded by the Danish priest and historian, Anders Sørensen Vedel, in his 1591 publication, Hundredvisebogen, (the Book of 100 Ballads.”)

While St. Olaf (King Olaf II) is regarded as the saint who drove paganism from Norway, but this struggle was ongoing with trolls continuing to embody the old pagan world as belied by various tropes — their dislike of church bells, and fear of crosses. We’ll next look at an interesting case from Iceland presenting a direct conflict between a church and troll. It was collected by the “Grimm of Iceland, Jón Árnason, a librarian and museum curator who published several collections of folktales, beginning in 1852. This one’s from his second volume of Icelandic Folktales, published in 1864.

Encountering trolls -- St. Olaf's Journey, fresco by Albertus Pictor, ca 1470, Dingtuna Church, Västerås, Sweden — Encountering trolls — St. Olaf’s Journey, fresco by Albertus Pictor, ca 1470, Dingtuna Church, Västerås, Sweden

After this, we have some general comments on the historical relationship between trolls and giant (jötunn, Þurs and risi) as well as trolls and witches or sorcery (trollldom). Our remaining four stories (the medieval ones) present trolls of the Icelandic saga, epic stories written in Old Norse and relating the adventures of ancestral heroes or rulers, usually with some connection to history but with certain creative embellishments. A subset of the sagas, which take place in their own mythic timeline, the fornaldarsögur were simply written with entertainment in mind and more oriented toward magic and folklore – and trolls, so we’ll lok at a couple of those. And then there’s the þáttr, a sort of short story, sometimes folded into sagas, but often reproduced independently.

As this is a storytelling episode, we won’t spoil the tales with plot outlines, but the sources (in order) are:

The 14th-century þáttr of Thorstein Ox-leg as translated in William Craigie’s 1896 compilation called Scandinavian Folk-lore: “The Trolls in the HeidarWoods.”
A portion of the 16th-century Illuga Saga, translated by Philip Lavender of the Viking Society for Northern Research.
The 14th-century Saga of Grim Shaggy-Cheek as translated by Peter Tunstall.
The Saga of Orm Stórolfsson, as retold by William Craigie in Scandinavian Folk-lore – under the title: “The Giant on Sauðey” (Saudey).

We end with a song “Trøllini Trampa,” (“Trolls’ Tramp”) by the Faroese band, Spælimenninir

Trolls (Pt. 1)

By boneandsickle | March 7, 2026

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 49:19 — 56.4MB)

Trolls in Scandinavian folklore can be a little different from what’s imagined in the rest of the world. We begin our show with a montage of clips from recent movies, Trollhunter (2010), Troll (2022), and Troll 2 (2025) — the latter two being Netflix productions that have rekindled interest in the subject while reimagining trollsin a way that does not always conform to the folklore. While all Scandinavian countries have their share of troll lore, this episode focuses specifically on Norway, the country with the most compelling collection of troll folklore.

The first portion of our show looks at the Norwegian writer Henrik Ibsen’s play along with incidental music composed for the play by his associate Edvard Grieg. Introducing this topic is a clip from the 1970 musical Song of Norway, a fanciful Edvard Grieg biopic that garnered particularly bad reviews. We learn a bit about why Grieg hated his well-known “Hall of the Mountain King,” a composition which accompanies Peer Gynt’s encounter with trolls inside a mountain in the Dovre mountain chain. We also learn what Ibsen hoped to achieve in telling the story of his antihero Peer Gynt, and how he wrestled with the movement known in Norway as Romantic Nationalism.

Next we look at two figures integral to this movement, Peter Christen Asbjørnsen and Jørgen Moe, a pair of folktale collectors often described as the “Brothers Grimm of Norway.” Their 1841 publication, Norwegian Folk-Tales, along with updated volumes published in 1844, 1845, and 1871, provide most all the troll tales with examine in this episode. An exception to this is a book authored by Asbjørnsen alone, High Mountain Scenes, volume 2, Reindeer Hunt at Rondane. Published sometime before 1846, it’s the only volume referencing tales told about Peer Gynt, those being very loosely represented in Ibsen’s play.

Asbjørnsen & Moe’s “Norwegian Folk Tales”

The first of these we retell concerns a creature known as “the Bøyg,” something referred to as a type of troll in the story is described more as a giant serpent of sorts. We follow this with more Peer Gynt episodes involving male trolls flirting with human females and a troll poking his enormous nose through a cabin window and suffering the consequences inflicted by Gynt. The final story, “The Cat on the Dovre-Mountain,” takes place at Christmas, a time when troll encounters are particularly prevalent, and involves Gynt outsmarting a group of bothersome trolls via a peculiar stratagem.

Next, we run through some lesser-known details of the best-known troll tale “The Three Billygoats Gruff.” We follow this with another well-known (in Norway) story, “The Boy Who Had an Eating Match with a Troll.” It involves a youth outwitting a troll with a particularly gruesome ruse It was familiar enough to Norwegian audiences to be referenced in Trollhunter.

Next we look at a character Askeladden, who is pitted against trolls in several of Asbjørnsen & Moe’s stories. He’s usually describing the good-for-nothing youngest brother of a trio, an underdog who surprisingly achieves great things. His name (literally “ash lad”) referenes his stay-at home habits, in particular, sitting by the hearth playing in the ashes. We learn of several characters with related names and habits in Scandinavian literature and a more insultingly rude nickname for such characters, one which Asbjørnsen & Moe chose to censor from their stories.

Theodor Kittlesen, “Troll Pondering How Old iIt Is” (1911)

Our next troll tale, “The Lads who Met the Trolls in the Hedale Woods,” gives us particularly monstrous trio of trolls sharing a single eyeball. While this is atypical, we also encounter here the common trope of trolls sniffing the air for “Christian blood,” a suggestion that their kind of an older pre-Christian order. A reference to trolls using magic is also contained in this story, something we’ll run into in other tales.

We then hear some clips from a couple of Asbjørnsen & Moe-inspired films, the 2017 Norwegian film Ash Lad: In the Hall of the Mountain King and its 2019 follow-up, The Ash Lad: In Search of the Golden Castle. The “Golden Castle” in Norwegian film title and the title of the relevant Asbjørnsen & Moe story is “Soria Moria Castle.” This one also features trolls, but in a peripheral role. It’s a longer legend quest rather than a short folk tale in which we encounter three multi-headed trolls holding human women captive in three different castles.

Our last story, “The Hen is Trips in the Mountain,” takes its weird title from a strange phrase uttered to open a door into a mountain, like “Open Sesame.” When a young woman enters theis particular mountain looking for a lost hen, she meets an unpleasant end, as does her younger sister, but when the youngest of the three enters, she manages not to repeat the mistakes of her two siblings and later discovers that trolls can explode when touched by the first rays of dawn (as well as turning to stone, another common folklore trope).

We wrap up the show with some interesting stats regarding the fascination trolls exert over the heavy metal subculture.

Theodor Kittlesen, “Mountain Troll” (1887)

The Fates

By boneandsickle | July 9, 2025

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 49:48 — 57.0MB)

The Fates of Classical Antiquity not only survived in the form of related fairy-tale figures but also as the object of superstitions and rituals associated with newborns. In South Slavic and Balkan regions particularly, these customs represent a surprisingly long-lived and genuine case of pagan survival.

We begin our episode examining the fairy godmothers of “Sleeping Beauty” as embodiments of the Fates. Mrs. Karswell reads a few key passages from the definitive version of the story included in Charles Perrault’s 1697 collection, Histoires ou contes du temps passé (“stories of times gone by.”) We learn how the fairies fulfill the historical role of godparents at the newborn’s christening. We also note the peculiar emphasis on the quality of what’s set before the fairies at the christening banquet, observing how a failure there leads the wicked fairy to curse the Sleeping Beauty.

Czech illustration — 1874 illustration by František Doucha for a Czech edition of Sleeping Beauty

We then explore antecedents to Perrault’s tale, beginning with the 14th-century French chivalric romance, Perceforest. A peripheral story in this 8-volume work is that of Troylus and Zeelandine, in which the role of Sleeping Beauty’s fairy godmothers are played by Greek and Roman deities, with Venus as supporter of Princess Zeelandine (and her suitor Troylus) and Themis cursing Zeelandine to sleep in a manner similar to Perrault’s princess. A failure to correctly lay out Themis’ required items at the christening banquet is again again responsible for the curse, though the awakening of Zeelandine by Troylus awakens is surprisingly different and a notorious example of medieval bawdiness.

Preceding Perceforest, there was the late 13th-century French historical romance Huon of Bordeaux, in which we hear of the newborn fairy king Oberon being both cursed and blessed by fairies attending his birth. From around the same time, French poet and composer Adam de la Halle’s Play of the Bower describes a banquet at which fairy guests pronounce a curses and blessings on those in attendance prompted again by their pleasure or displeasure at what’s set before them at a banquet. We also hear of the Danish King King Fridlevus (Fridlef II) bringing his newborn son to a temple of “three maidens” to ascertain the destiny pf the child in Gesta Danorum (“Deeds of the Danes”).written around 1200 by Saxo Grammaticus. And lest listeners think such appeals to the Fates were strictly a literary motif, we hear Burchard of Worms, in his early-11th-century Decretum, condemning the not uncommon among the Germans of his region of setting up offering tables for the Fates. By this point, the connection between how fairy godmother types are served at a banquet and offerings made to the Fates to ensure a cild’s fortune should be clear.

We then turn back to the Greek Fates, the Moirai (Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos) and the Roman Parcae (Nona, Decuma, and Morta). Particularly in the case of the Parcae, we hear examples of their connection to the newborn’s destiny in the celebration nine or ten days after the birth of the dies lustricus, during which offerings were made to the Fates.

The Three Fates by Bernardo Strozzi, late 17th c

We make a brief side-trip to discuss the Norns (Urðr, Verðandi and Skuld), the Germanic equivalent of the Fates. These are more distant cousins, not strongly associated with the newborn and his destiny, though we do hear a passage from the Poetic Edda, in which the Norns are present birth of the hero Helgi. We also hear a gruesome passage from the 13th-century Njáls Saga, in which the Valkyries weave out the fate of those who will die in the Battle of Clontarf.

The Anglo-Saxon equivalent of the Fates, the Wyrds, are also discussed, and we hear how the witches in Macbeth partook in this identity as the “Weird Sisters,” an association Shakespeare inherited from his source material, the 1587 history of Great Britain, known as Holinshed’s Chronicles.

We then turn our attention the Fates in Slavic and Balkan lands — the Rozhanitsy in Russia and Ukraine, the Sudičky among West Slavs, the Orisnici in Bulgaria, and the Ursitoare in Romania. As these customs survived into more recent times, there is a vast body of folklore to describe — much of it revolving around the setting up of offering tables and the communication of newborn’s destiny through dreams sent to mothers and midwives and confirmed by marks (visible or invisible) left upon the infant during their nocturnal visits on the third night after birth.

We also enjoy a couple entertaining folktales about Romania’s Ursitoare collected in the early years of the 20th century by folklorist Tudor Pamfile.

While such customs have since died out in Greece, customs related to the Moirai preserved into the early 20th century, as we hear in passages of John Lawson’s Modern Greek Folklore and Ancient Greek Religion: A Study in Survivals, written in 1900.

We end with a brief look at christening parties in modern Romania, at which costumed Ursitoare play an increasingly major role, this paired with an introduction to the popular song “Ursitoare, Ursitoare.”

Romanian Fates attend a christening party. Ursitoare show by FormatiiNunta

Mélusine, the Serpent Fairy

By boneandsickle | February 18, 2025

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 55:51 — 63.9MB)

Mélusine is a female fairy of medieval legend. who suffers under a curse transforming her once weekly into a monstrous form. In various tales she becomes either a serpent or fish from the waist down, or fully transforms into a dragon. Mélusine can only break this curse via marriage to a mortal who is obliged to allow her certain secret freedoms. In return, her husband enjoys magical assistance and sees his fortunes flourish, at least until that day pact is broken.

The most famous version of this story, and the one to which we devote the bulk of the show is a French tale set down in 1387 by Jean d’Arras, Mélusine or the Noble Story of the Lusignans. The patron for whom he wrote, Duke Jean de Berry, belonged to the House of Lusignan, whose ancestral claims to the lands around Poitiers were portrayed by Arras as a matter of supernatural destiny involving the fairy.

We learn how Jean de Berry’s ancestor, Raymondin (Raymond) became engaged to Mélusine after a meeting at an enchanted fountain. Raymond is unaware that this encounter, and all that follows, is the subject of a prophecy set in motion by his accidental killing of his uncle. We hear the curious way in which this transpires, of Raymond and Mélusine’s wedding attended by a multitude of fairy folk, and of the building of Château de Lusignan through a sly collaboration of fairy magic, ingenuity, and human agency.

We then learn of Mélusine’s and Raymond’s offspring, all of whom are handsome and strong yet also betray their supernatural parentage via certain disfigurements — strange birthmarks, enormous stature, huge jutting teeth, or additional eyes. Much of Arras’ narrative is devoted to the sons’ heroic exploits, particularly as Crusaders in the Middle East, where the historical Lusignans gained lands and reputations, but our episode, focuses only only two sons, “Geoffroy Big-Tooth” and Fromont, whose stories are more intertwined with that of Mélusine herself.

Next comes the central drama, the breaking of the secret pact between Raymond and his fairy wife, which I’ll leave for you to enjoy without spoilers. Mrs. Karswell delivers a fine dramatic reading of this lengthier passage.

While that situation simmers, we hear how Geoffroy has returned from a giant-slaying adventure to discover that his brother, Fromont, is about to enter a monastery rather than devote himself to expanding the Lusignan empire. This doesn’t sit well with Geoffroy, whose disproportionately wrathful response is at once horrible and comic.

Reacting to the tragic fall-out of Geoffroy’s rampage, Raymond himself flies into a rage, accusing Mélusine of producing offspring supernaturally inclined toward evil. Cruel as his words may be, Mélusine seems to validate them, assuming a diabolical presence as she abandons their marriage, flying away from Castle Lusignan in the form of a dragon.

Finally, we examine the origins of the curse upon Mélusine, a strange backstory revealed through the discovery of a tablet in fantastic subterranean tomb, one which relates how she imprisoned her human father inside a mountain and installed there a giant as jailer.

Our episode then considers some folkloric parallels to the figure of Mélusine, a possible kinship with the Irish Banshee, the Scottish Bean-nighe or the Lavandières (“midnight washer women) of Brittany as well as earlier 13th-century literary sources for Arras’s tale including works by Gervase of Tilbury, Marie de France, Walter Map, and others.

By the late 15th century, the story by Arras had been retold by the French author Coudrette in a version that became broadsheet fodder for German publishers. We also hear how the tale was embraced in Luxembourg, where it attached to Siegfried, Count of the Ardennes, and the magical construction of Luxembourg Castle.

Finally, we look at some 19th-century retellings of the legend as German folktales, some of which made their way into Czech lands, where Meluzina’s doleful howling at her fate is heard in the moaning of winter winds. The show closes with a snippet of a modern Czech children’s song mentioning Meluzina, as an embodiment of the wind –“Vitr fouka do komina” (The wind blows in the chimney).

Glass-Coffin Girls

By boneandsickle | February 28, 2024

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 52:11 — 59.7MB)

The story of Snow White, as told by the Brothers Grimm, is only one of many narratives involving girls who have fallen into a deathlike state and are displayed in a glass coffins. In this episode, we examine the sordid details of the Grimm’s original 1812 version of the tale and compare it with analogous stories dating back to the 12th century.

We begin with a review of the Grimms’ original story, many aspects of which have been subsequently muddled and obscured not only by Disney but by later alterations made by the Grimms. These include the identify of the Evil Queen, the malevolence of her intent, the purported benevolence of the Huntsman, and particularly, the nature of Snow White’s resurrection.

"Snow White Receives the Poisoned Comb" Hans Makart (1872) — “Snow White Receives the Poisoned Comb” Hans Makart (1872)

After this, we have a look at the immediate predecessor to the 1812 story, a children’s play of the same name by the (unrelated) German author Albert Ludwig Grimm. Though it features dwarves who aid Snow White, a magic mirror addressed in rhyme, poisoned fruit, deception involving the heroine’s purported death, and glass coffin, it proves to be a very different story.

The next tale explored is the 1782 novella Richilde, by the German writer Johann Karl August Musäus. Surprisingly, the title character here, Richilde, is the wicked stepmother rather than her step-daughter Bianca, whose name in Italian (i.e., “white”) might be compared to “Snow White.” Set in medieval Brabant (Belgium), this one has Bianca courted by a prince whom the jealous stepmother hopes to see married to her own daughter. A further complication is presented by the fact that the prince here is already married.

We then take a look at the rarely mentioned Russian story, “The Tale of the Old Mendicants,” (my translation) published in the 1794 collection, An Old Song in a New Setting, or a Complete Collection of Ancient Folk Tales, Published for a lover of them, at the expense of the Moscow merchant Ivan Ivanov (my translation). In this one, the role of the Evil Queen is played by an innkeeper jealous that her guests have complimented the beauty of her daughter rather than her own. The alms-collecting monks of the title are used by the mother to deliver a poisoned shirt to the Snow White character, Olga the Beautiful.

Our next offering comes from the 1634 volume by Neapolitan writer Giambattista Basile, Il Pentamerone, or The Tale of Tales, the very first collection of fairy tales, with which the Brother Grimm were definitely familiar (and one featured in our earlier “Dark Fairy Tales” episodes, both One and Two ). The story in question is “The Little Slave,” which combines elements of Snow White, Sleeping Beauty, and Cinderella. Here, the Snow White character, Lisa, again falls into a death-like swoon and is kept within not one but seven glass coffins in a locked room. The story resolves itself with the aid of a doll, a whetstone, and a knife.

Our earliest story paralleling Snow White, is quite a bit older — from the 12th-century, the Lai of Eliduc by Breton writer Marie de France. While serving a king in England, the Breton knight Eliduc falls in love with his lord’s daughter, Guillardun, who falls into a swoon during an ocean voyage. Eliduc (who is not exactly innocent when it comes to Guillardun’s condition) transports the body of his love back to France and keeps it on the altar of a deserted woodland chapel. In this case, the story resolves itself thanks to a very clever weasel.

After our more detailed examination of these strangely paralleled stories, we take a quick look at the wide range of more recent variants that were committed to print after the Grimms published their work and at a rather ugly controversy that engulfed German town, Lohr am Main, after it claimed to be the birthplace of the Snow White Legend.

Our episode ends with Mrs. Karswell’s reading a particularly dark and brutal tale about seven dwarves collected by Swiss historian and folklorist Ernst Ludwig Rochholz in his 1856 volume, Swiss Legends of the Aargau.

Animal Ghosts

By boneandsickle | May 16, 2023

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 28:27 — 32.6MB)

Tales of animal ghosts are usually relegated to the periphery of ghost story collections, but in this episode, we showcase this class of apparition. Our stories were collected in a volume from 1915 called Human Animals by Frank Hamel. It covers werewolves, animal transformations through witchcraft, possession by totemic animal spirits, and the phantom animals that haunt lonely roads, ancestral homes, and the storytellers’ imaginations.

The Colony of Cats

By boneandsickle | April 29, 2023

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 28:22 — 32.5MB)

Fairy tales featuring cats are generally pleasant. After our last show about malformed births, we thought, Andrew Lang’s story, “The Colony of Cats” might be a pleasant tonic, albeit one with a bizarre punishment sequence included. Published in 1909 in Lang’s Crimson Fairy Book, this story (read by Mrs. Karswell) seems to be a version of the tales discussed in our July 2022 show, “Heads in a Fountain, Bones in a Bag.” Lang provides no background on his sources, but it’s presented as an Italian tale.

Dark Fairy Tales II: Heads in a Fountain, Bones in a Bag

By boneandsickle | July 26, 2022

Podcast: Play in new window | Download (Duration: 51:21 — 58.8MB)

Dark fairy tale elements including floating heads and bags of bones are featured in a family of tales classified under the Aarne-Thompson system as Type 480, “Kind and Unkind Girls.” Imaginative punishments and rewards for the kind and unkind characters in question are a further interesting element. The girls in these tales are always sisters or stepsisters, and a wicked stepmother (sometimes mother) is part of the formula.

Our first example is the English tale, “The Three Heads of the Well.” The fairy tale bears a strange connection to an earlier 11th-century British legend featuring as its heroine the Byzantine Empress Helena, here portrayed as the daughter of the mythical “Old King Cole” of nursery rhyme fame. Both legend and fairy tale are set to the town of Colchester in Essex, understood to be named for King Cole.

From “The Three Heads of the Well,” we learn that being polite to heads floating out of magic wells serves one well, while rude behavior is strictly punished. A curious element of the narrative is the request made by the floating heads that their hair be combed.

Our next tale, “Three Fairies,” comes from Giambattista Basile’s Il Pentamerone, or Lo cunto de li cunti (“The Tale of Tales), a source used in our previous episode for the story “Penta the Handless.” The tale involves an encounter with fairies living in a fantastic palace hidden deep within a chasm.

Basile’s tales are particularly noteworthy for their extravagant and playful verbiage, illustrated in several lengthy passages read for us by Mrs. Karswell.

In this tale, we learn the value of diplomacy in discussing the hair and scalp conditions of fairies. A second lesson: one must be particularly wary when allowing oneself to be sealed in a barrel.

Our next story, “The Fairies,” comes from perhaps the most famous collection of fairy tales pre-Grimm, Charles Perrault’s 1697 volume Tales of Passed Times, sometimes subtitled Tales of Mother Goose. This French story can be found in certain English-language collections under the title “Diamonds and Toads,” referring to what falls from the mouths of its kind and unkind girls respectively — a blessing or curse depending on the girls’ charity toward fairies disguised as mortals.

The Grimms’ story, “Frau Holle” is introduced with a snippet of the “Frau Holle Lied,” a children’s song describing the grandmotherly (and witch-like) Frau Holle shaking feathers from her featherbed to make the snow in winter, an element from the Grimm story.

As in the Perrault’s “The Fairies” the Kind Sister in “Frau Holle” is sent to fetch water, and ends up not in an enchanted chasm, but falling into an enchanted well, passage to a sort of parallel dimension in which ovens demand their bread be baked, apple trees their fruit be picked, and Frau Holle has all sorts of housework for the heroine to perform. The girl’s unkind sister, however fails miserably when confronted with identical tasks, and we see both the rewarding and punishing side of Holle, an aspect of the story that relates it loosely to the winter mythology of the Frau Holle/Frau Perchta figure I discuss in other shows and my book as inspiration for the Krampus.

The rewards and punishments doled out in “Frau Holle” are likely borrowed from Basile’s “The Three Fairies,” as you might be able to guess from these depictions:

We introduce our next iteration of this tale with a clip is from an English-dubbed version of the 1964 Soviet folklore film Morozko (or Father Frost) by pre-eminent Russian fairy-tale director Alexander Rou. The film weaves its own elaborate story around the bare bones of the classic tale “Father Frost” collected by Alexander Afanasyev in the 1850s. Here, goodness is demonstrated by the Kind Girl’s willingness to endure cold, a particularly Russian virtue.

Illustration of Father Frost from a 1932 volume

Our last story is the most obscure (and gruesome): “Rattle-Rattle-Rattle and Chink-Chink-Chink” from a 1919 collection by Parker Fillmore called Czechoslovak Fairy Tales. As with several of our stories, a key role is played by an all-knowing housepet who can speak.

We wrap up with a footnote to our first story, “The Three Heads of the Well” and its connection via an Elizabethan play, George Peele’s “The Old Wives’ Tale” to “Willow’s Song” from The Wicker Man (1973), all of which leads us into the bizarre folklore of an aphrodisiac charm known as “cockle bread.”

(NOTE: For details on the 2022 Bone and Sickle shirts and merch mentioned in the show, please visit boneandsickle.com, or go directly to our Etsy shop.)

Dark Fairy Tales I: The Girl with No Hands

By boneandsickle | July 1, 2022

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“The Girl with No Hands” is the name of a a folk-tale motif shared by a number of gruesome fairy stories in which the the amputation of the heroine’s hands allows her to escape death, the Devil, or a repugnant suitor.

(NOTE: For details on the 2022 Bone and Sickle shirts mentioned in the show, please visit boneandsickle.com, or go directly to our Etsy shop.)

We begin our show with a religious legend differing in narrative details but sharing the amputation theme. It’s a medieval story told in Eastern Orthodox lands of the terrible cost of bad manners at a funeral, specifically that of the Virgin Mary. As a further preliminary to our stories, we also offer a quick rundown on the Aarne–Thompson–Uther system of folk-tale classification, in which “The Girl with No Hands” is identified as ATU 706.

The oldest written example of this motif is the Italian story “Biancabella,” from Le piacevoli notti (“The Pleasant Nights”), a book published in two volumes between 1550 and 1553. The author, Giovanni Francesco Straparola, appears to have modeled his collection on Boccaccio’s Decameron as it uses a similar frame-story, Straparola’s involving characters pleasantly passing their nights (hence the title) in the telling of tales. Among the stories Straparola included, is the first version of “Puss in Boots.”

I won’t spoil listeners’ pleasure in hearing Mrs. Karswell read for you the original text but will divulge that its hand-losing heroine Biancabella shares a birth kinship with a serpentine fairy; also, that her hands are sacrificed in an effort to convince her wicked stepmother that her orders to execute her step-daughter have been carried out, and that guilty parties endure in the end a fiery foretaste of hell.

Our second story is “Penta the Handless” from Il Pentamerone (or “The Tale of Tales”) was written about a century later, in 1634, by the Italian poet Giambattista Basile. This collection of stories also makes use of the framing device, having the stories told by a group of courtiers attempting to cheer a melancholy princess. Among the 50 stories included are the first written versions of Cinderella, Rapunzel, Sleeping Beauty, and Hansel and Gretel.

In this story, Penta’s mutilation is self-inflicted as a means of repelling the incestuous advances of her brother. Her royal sibling has an exotic means of expelling her from the kingdom, namely, sealing her in a tarred chest and casting her into the sea (a motif that dates back to the plays of Euripides or even the story of the infant Moses).

Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm provide a relatively late example of this narrative, one however that has provided the ATU #706 with a name:,”The Girl with No Hands.” The story is ncluded in the Grimm’s first 1812 edition of Kinder- und Hausmärchen, i.e., “Grimm’s Fairy Tales.” Our Grimm segment, by the way, begins with a clip from the trailer for the 1962 film The Wonderful World of the Brothers Grimm.

As an oral folk-tale, this German version dispenses with some of the detailed intrigues that mark its two Italian antecedents. Rather than a wicked in-law or brother, it’s the Devil, who tricks a down-on-his-luck miller into doing the gruesome deed. As is frequent in German stories collected by the Grimms, a magical forest-dwelling man also plays a role.

We also briefly discuss a few versions of the story published after Jacob & Wilhelm’s version — other German, Italian, and Hungarian tales which place blame for the amputation not on the Devil but on wicked family members. A gruesome detail included in a few of these mirrors a similarly faux-cannibalistic scene from the Grimms’ original “Snow White.”

We return to Russian for our final story, “The Armless Maiden,” one of the nearly 600 folk tales or skazki contained in the multi-volume Russian Fairy Tales collection compiled by state ethnographer Alexander Afanasyev between 1855 and 1863.

The heroine here is an orphan happily living with her brother until the day her brother takes a bride, as she turns out to be a witch, who is less than happy sharing the household with another female — and has a particularly brutal way of showing it. A strange example of sort Lamarckian evolutionary magic marks this one, with the armless maiden giving birth to a child with silver arms. A particularly gruesome manner of dispatching the sorceress is also a highlight.

We end the show with a Russian musical snippet from an electronic band from Moscow, a duo making music since 2013, under the name IC3PEAK. The song in question rather appropriately begins with the line “I come from a Russian Horror Fairy Tale” and further endears itself with the delightful Baba-Yaga-esque animation of its music video.