The Halcyon Fairy Book

we were in the mountain,” said the Master-maid.
So the Prince knew her again, and you may imagine how delighted he was. He ordered the troll-witch who had rolled the apple to him to be torn in pieces between four-and-twenty horses, so that not a bit of her was left, and then for the first time they began really to keep the wedding, and, weary as they were, the sheriff, the attorney, and the bailiff kept it up too.
Okay, there’s a LOT freaky with this ending. For one thing, we established earlier that the troll-witch was the bride’s sister, right? So she’s expected to party down after her sister was just drawn and quartered? Was this light entertainment before the cheese course? Fine, okay, people routinely get horribly murdered at the end of fairy tales, just to make sure that everything comes out properly, but I’ll point out that a) apparently they now have troll-witches as in-laws, and b) the late troll-witch’s great sin is making the prince forget the Master-maid, whereas the Master-maid herself has killed an old woman, taken her house, beaten three members of the community half to death, and engaged in illicit transportation of fowl. (And probably stole a boat, too. You can’t tell me that she got that boat by legal means! There’s a trail of gilded corpses on the way to that boat, mark my words!)
And the sheriff, the attorney, and the bailiff, who can barely walk and could be forgiven for bursting into uncontrollable screaming at the sight of the Master-maid, are limping through the ceremony as well? Yeeesh. If the troll--witch had still been available to make them forget her, I bet they’d be fighting over that apple like … well … golden chickens.
I give this fairy tale major props for having a competent and empowered heroine, but … well … dude.

The Crystal Casket
Here’s an Italian version of “Snow White” that, in my opinion, focuses on the REALLY important question — namely, what in the name of God was Prince Charming doing mooning after a corpse? (The Disney version really glosses over this point. I will accept that one may wish to kiss one’s dead loved ones one last time, but there’s a far cry between that and riding around kissing random dead girls in the woods.)
There are no dwarves, but there are fairies and an eagle, which is something. There is also an unsettling pre-echo of the whole Real Doll thing. It’s a bit worrisome and gets more so as time goes on.
The original is from Italian Popular Tales translated by Thomas Frederick Crane (Boston: Houghton, Mifflin, and Co., 1885).
THERE was once a widower who had a daughter. This daughter was between ten and twelve years old. Her father sent her to school, and as she was all alone in the world commended her always to her teacher. Now, the teacher, seeing that the child had no mother, fell in love with the father, and kept saying to the girl, “Ask your father if he would like me for a wife.”
This she said to her every day, and at last the girl said, “Papa, the school-mistress is always asking me if you will many her.”
This here is the set-up to a Disney movie all on its own.
The father said, “Eh! my daughter, if I take another wife, you will have great troubles.”
At least he’s aware of it.
But the girl persisted, and finally the father was persuaded to go one evening to the school-mistress’s house. When she saw him she was well pleased, and they settled the marriage in a few days.
Dad’s earlier prescience seems rather weird now. “Well, gonna suck for you. But hey, I’ll get married in a couple days anyway!”
Poor child! How bitterly she had to repent having found a stepmother so ungrateful and cruel to her! She sent her every day out on a terrace to water a pot of basil, and it was so dangerous that if she fell she would go into a large river.
While I try to start out sympathetic to our heroines, I gotta say, a lot of other heroines have to do REAL work. I water my basil occasionally, and it takes about thirty seconds. Basil is not noted for attacking gardeners, pushing them into rivers, or even being particularly frost-hardy. The only way this seems plausible is if it’s a sort of Cat’s Eye inch-around-the-building-on-the-ledge situation, and that renders the basil less than useful for cooking.
One day there came by a large eagle, and said to her, “What are you doing here?” She was weeping because she saw how great the danger was of falling into the stream. The eagle said to her, “Get on my back, and I will carry you away, and you will be happier than with your new mamma.”
This is already much cooler than a pack of dwarves. Do dwarves fly? No, they do not! You never saw Snow White tooling around the treetops on Grumpy’s back, now did you?
After a long journey they reached a great plain, where they found a beautiful palace all of crystal; the eagle knocked at the door and said, “Open, my ladies, open! for I have brought you a pretty girl.”
If this were one of the other types of fairy tales, the next line would be “Fire up the oven!”
When the people in the palace opened the door, and saw that lovely girl, they were amazed, and kissed and caressed her. Meanwhile the door was closed, and they remained peaceful and contented.
Let us return to the eagle, who thought she was doing a spite to the stepmother. One day the eagle flew away to the terrace where the stepmother was watering the basil. “Where is your daughter?” asked the eagle.
Clearly the inching-along-the-ledge thing was exaggerated. If it was really all that bad, you’d move the damn basil to the front porch, but the step-mom is still out on the terrace with a watering can. Also, the eagle appears