Walter Benjamin on the Vampires, Ghosts, and Ghoulies in J. P. Lyser’s Abendländische Tausend und Eine Nacht (1838-1839)

Illustrated half title for Lyser, Abendlandsiche Tausend und Eine Nacht (v.1 Cotsen 30170).

The fairy tale illustrations of Johann Peter Lyser (1804-1870) were praised by the probing  German-Jewish media theorist and cultural critic Walter Benjamin in his essay “Old Children’s Books” published  in the Illustrierte Zeitung in 1924 (Lyser is also famous for his sketches of composers Beethoven, Mendelsohn, and Schumann.)  Benjamin had this to say about the illustrations of the  Abendländische Tausend und Eine Nacht [Thousand and One Nights of the West].

The cheap sensationalism that forms the background against which this original art developed can be seen most strikingly in the many volumes of Thousand and One Nights of the West with its original lithographs.  This is an opportunistic hodgepodge of fairy tale, saga, legend, and horror story, which was assembled from dubious sources and published in Meissen in the 1830s by F. W. Goedsche (Translation by Rodney Livingstone).

Benjamin didn’t single out any of the plates for their “cheap sensationalism” but he might have had ones like these three in mind.  The ghost of Hamlet’s father is suitably spectral in his theatrical shroud, but the horrid creatures in the backgrounds of the other two plates are even more eyecatching. Lyser’s vampire in a kilt (it would take too long to explain the Scottish dress) has summoned a most peculiar assortment of birds of ill omen and spirits.  The libertine Don Juan appears on the verge of tumbling off the hillock into the unloving embraces of serpents, skeletons, monkeys, cats, and who will escort him to hell.I wonder how the Abendlandische Tausend und Eine Nacht was received by reviewers…  Nightmarish imaginings like Lyser’s usually get a rise out of critics, some of whom overlook that some children adore being terrified within relatively safe confines of a book.

 

Have Fairies Always Had Wings? The Iconography of a Magical Being

Everyone knows–or ought to–that fairies can fly.  All the thoroughly modern tooth fairies illustrated in this summer’s post about “Rewriting the Tooth Fairy’s Job Description,” no matter what they were wearing, had wings.  These magical beings may not have acquired this essential power until relatively late in their history.

Unfortunately, fairies frequently disguise themselves when they need to test mortals.  In Perrault’s “La fee”–often known in English as “Diamonds and Toads”–the cruel stepmother sends her detested stepdaughter to the well to draw water for the family.  The kind girl stops to give a poor old woman (a fairy transformed beyond recognition) a drink before hurrying back home with the the full pitcher. The illustration does not blow the fairy’s cover then or at the end of the story, so the reader has no idea what she really looks like.  Maybe she has wings, maybe she doesn’t…

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My guess is that she probably didn’t.  Here is one of the earliest pictures I have ever seen of fairies in the wood cut frontispiece to a selection of original fairy tales by Mme. d’Aulnoy published by Ebenezer Tracy in 1716, just a few years after they were first translated into English.  (Cotsen 25203).   A group of tiny fairies are dancing in a ring before their king and queen, who are, rather incongruously, the size of human beings (the bird and insect in the upper left and right also were not drawn to the expected scale). The dancers are wearing brimmed hats with steeple crowns, the kind that Mother Goose and witches wear, but they have no wings.

The book was owned by a George Jones who wrote his name in the back of the book.  George tried to copy a portion of the frontispiece on its blank side.  He, or whoever the artist was, had some trouble drawing the fairies, but they don’t any wings.

Cotsen 25203.

William Blake, who claimed to have seen a fairy funeral, ought to be a reliable source. The Tate holds a charming  drawing ca. 1786 of the fairies dancing in a ring before their  king Oberon and his queen Titania, in which everyone is wingless. 

A little over ten years later, the French illustrator of  Perrault’s “Peau d’ane” in an edition of 1798.  The girl with the donkey’s skin thrown over the blue dress must be the heroine, so the fairy has to be the lady in the rose gown with the billowing yellow scarf descending in a cloud.  No wings necessary seems a reasonable explanation.

But in forty years, there has been a major change in the representation of the appearance and attributes of fairies.  The fairy Cri-Cri shown in the frontispiece of  Fairy Tales, Consisting of Seven Delightful Stories (London: T. Hughes, 1829;  Cotsen 33142) has gauzy pink wings and an accessory that is clearly some kind of wand.

It is impossible to mistake the fairy in the Walter Crane illustration below.  Her blue chiton harmonizes perfectly with her gorgeous (and very prominent) wings.

Lucy Crane, The Baby’s Bouquet: A Fresh Bunch of Old Rhymes and Tunes. Illustrated by Walter Crane. London: George Routledge & Sons 1878 (Cotsen 21153).

Why did the appearance of fairies change so dramatically?  I strongly suspect it was the  influence of the popular theater in London, but it will take an enterprising enterprising scholar to establish a more precise history of fairy wings…