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By Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann - SMB Digital, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

5 Forgotten Fairy Tales From the Brothers Grimm

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By Elisabeth Jerichau-Baumann - SMB Digital, Public Domain, Wikimedia Commons

For every Little Red Riding Hood, Snow White, or Rapunzel, there are literally dozens of much more obscure—and certainly more bizarre—Grimm's Fairy Tales. Like the one about the Mouse, the Bird, and the Sausage (and no, they don’t walk into a bar). On what would be Wilhelm Grimm's 231st birthday, here are some of the weirder Grimms’ tales that didn’t quite merit the Disney treatment.

1. THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE

A mouse, a bird and a sausage set up house together and for awhile, and things were going well: The bird’s job was to fly into the forest every day and bring back wood; the mouse carried the water, lit the fires, and set the table; the sausage did the cooking, making sure their meals were properly flavored by rolling around in them (of course).

But one day, the bird’s friends in the forest started making fun of him, calling him a poor sap and claiming that he did all the hard work while the others got to stay home and relax. He came home that day and demanded that they try a more equitable system of chores, and they drew lots to determine who did what.

Well, the sausage was tasked with gathering wood, but was gobbled up by a dog when he entered the forest. The mouse was tasked with making the meal, but when she slid through the vegetables like the sausage used to, she got stuck and died. And the bird was supposed to gather the water and light the fires, but somehow he managed to set the house on fire, and then, while trying to draw up a bucket of water from the well to put it out, get tangled in the bucket and pulled into the well himself, where he drowned. The moral of this story appears to be know your place. Also, don’t shack up with a talking cured meat.

2. CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP

A cat convinced a mouse to move in with him, and for a time all was well for the cross-species couple. Until the mouse and the cat decided to put aside a jar of fat for the lean months, storing the jar under the altar at a nearby church. The greedy cat decided one day that he’d just mosy off to the church and have a taste of the fat, giving the mouse some cooked up story about how he was godfather to a kitten and needed to attend the christening. Three times he gets a hankering for the fat, three times he makes up a newborn kitten and a christening, and until finally, the jar is emptied. Then, when the cold wind blows round their domicile, the mouse suggests that it’s time to break into the jar, but of course, when they rock up at the church, the jar is empty. Mousie puts it all together, so the cat eats her. Never, ever trust a cat. Especially if you’re a mouse.

3. RIFFRAFF

So, a rooster and a hen go out carousing, build a carriage out of nutshells, somehow get a duck to harness herself to it, then pick up a hitchhiking pin and needle, who’ve had a few too many at the last pub and are on their way to an inn. This motley crew reaches the inn, and at first, the innkeeper isn’t too keen on letting them stay—they look a bit rough. But they offer him an egg the hen had laid, plus the duck to sweeten the deal, so he agrees.

The next morning, the rooster and the hen wake early, steal back the egg and eat it (cannibals!), stick the pin in the innkeepers towel and the needle in his armchair, then fly away (anyone who’s ever seen Chicken Run knows that’s just not possible). The duck, meanwhile, had scooted off down to the brook.

The innkeeper wakes up and washes his face—earning himself a terrible scratch from the pin in his towel—and finds the eggshells in the kitchen. Hoping to collect himself after his horrible morning, he sits down in his armchair, only to be stabbed in the buttocks by the needle. He swears then and there never to let “riffraff” stay at his inn. By which we assume he means talking tailor’s tools and anthropomorphized fowl. 

4. THE STRANGE FEAST

A blood sausage invited a liver sausage to her house for dinner, and the liver sausage gladly accepted. But when she crossed the threshold of the blood sausage’s abode, she saw a great many strange things: a broom and a shovel fighting on the stairs, a monkey with a wound on his head, and more. The liver sausage was frightened by all of this, of course, and when she entered the blood sausage’s rooms, she told her what she’d seen. The blood sausage pretended not to hear, or just brushed off the liver sausage’s worries, before retreating to the kitchen to check on the meal. While the liver sausage was alone in the room, she heard a voice: “Let me warn you, liver sausage, you’re in a bloody murderous trap. You’d better get out quickly if you value your life!” The voice didn’t have to warn the liver sausage twice—she ran out the door and didn’t stop running until she’d hit the street. When she turned around, she could see the blood sausage high up in the attic window, holding a long, gleaming knife, and shouting, “If I had caught you, I would have had you!”

Say what now…?

5. HURLEBURLEBUTZ

Once upon a time, a king was lost in a deep forest when, suddenly, a small white dwarf appeared to him. The dwarf told the king he’d help him find his way out of the forest in return for the king’s youngest daughter. The king, finding himself afraid in the deep, dark wood, agreed. The dwarf delivered the king safely back to his castle and told him he’d be back in a week for his daughter. 

Now, of course the king was sad—his youngest was his favorite. But his daughters, once he’d told them the deal, said not to worry, we’ll soon get rid of the dwarf. A week later, the daughters found an unsuspecting cowherd’s daughter, kitted her out in pretty clothes and told her to go with the first person who came to fetch her. That person was a fox, who said, “Sit down on my furry tail, Hurleburlebutz! Off to the forest!” Off they went, but when the fox ordered the cowherd’s daughter to pick lice out of his fur and she readily agreed, he knew he had the wrong lady. Back to the castle with you! A week later, the fox came back and this time, it was the gooseherd’s daughter he took with him to the forest; another attempted delousing, and he knew he had the wrong lady. Back to the castle!

The third time the fox returned, the king gave over his daughter and the fox carried her into the forest. This time, when he demanded a delousing, she cried, “I’m a king’s daughter and yet I must delouse a fox!” He knew he had the right bride, so he transformed himself back into the little white dwarf from the beginning of the story. The couple lived together happily for awhile, until one day, the dwarf said, “I’ve got to go away, but three white doves will soon come flying here. When they swoop down to the ground, catch the middle one. Once you’ve got it, cut off its head right away. But pay attention and make sure you’ve got the middle dove, or it’ll be disaster.” The doves came, the princess caught the middle one, hacked off its head and poof! A handsome prince appeared! Turns out, the white dwarf had been under a nasty fairy’s spell and this whole complicated charade was the only way to lift it. Obviously.

Now in truth, this one isn’t really all that different from, say, Cinderella or Snow White. But in terms of narrative and plot, you have to wonder—what the…?

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The Charming English Fishing Village That Inspired Dracula
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Whitby as seen from the top of the 199 Steps
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The train departed King's Cross at 10:25 a.m. on July 29, 1890. Bram Stoker settled wearily into the carriage for the six-hour journey to Whitby, the fashionable and remote seaside village in North Yorkshire. The sooty sprawl of London gave way to green grids of farmland and pasture, and then windswept moors blanketed in heather and wild roses.

Stoker needed this holiday. The 42-year-old manager of London's Lyceum Theatre had just finished an exhausting national tour with his employer, the celebrated but demanding actor Henry Irving. The unrelenting task of running the business side of Irving's many theatrical enterprises for the past decade had left Stoker with little time for himself. When the curtains fell at the end of each night's performance, he may have felt that the energy had been sucked out of him.

Now he looked forward to a three-week getaway where he would have time to think about his next novel, a supernatural tale that harnessed the sources of Victorian anxiety: immigration and technology, gender roles and religion. In ways he didn't foresee, the small fishing port of Whitby would plant the seeds for a vampire novel that would terrify the world. Stoker started out on an innocent and much-deserved vacation, but ended up creating Dracula.

A photo of Bram Stoker
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As Stoker emerged from the train station in Whitby, the sounds and smell of the sea would have restored him after the long trip. He loaded his trunk into a horse-drawn cab for the journey up the West Cliff, where new vacation apartments and hotels served the crowds of holidaymakers. He checked into a flat at 6 Royal Crescent, a half-circle of elegant Georgian-style townhomes that faced the ocean.

He often felt invigorated by the seashore: "He's finally on a holiday, away from the hustle and bustle of London, the Lyceum Theatre, and Henry Irving's dominance over him," Dacre Stoker, a novelist and the author's great-grandnephew, tells Mental Floss. "The ocean and the seaside play into Bram's life, and, I believe, in stimulating his imagination."

Stoker's wife Florence and their 10-year-old son Noel would join him the following week. Now was his chance to explore Whitby on his own.

The East Cliff with Tate Hill Pier in the foreground
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"A curious blend of old and new it is," wrote a travel correspondent for the Leeds Mercury. The River Esk divided the town into two steep halves known as the West and East Cliffs. Down a tangle of paths from the brow of the West Cliff, Stoker found himself on the town's famed beach, where people gathered to watch the many vessels at sea or walked along the gentle surf. At the end of the beach was the Saloon, the nucleus of Whitby's social whirl.

"The enterprising manager engages the best musical and dramatic talent procurable, whilst on the promenade a selected band of professional musicians gives performances daily," wrote Horne's Guide to Whitby. Holidaymakers could purchase a day pass to the Saloon and enjoy afternoon tea, tennis, and endless people-watching.

Next to the Saloon, the West Pier featured a long promenade parallel to the river and a three-story building containing public baths, a museum with a collection of local fossils, and a subscription library. Shops selling fish and chips, ice cream, and Whitby rock lined the winding streets. Visitors could watch all kinds of fishing vessels discharging their daily catch, and even hop aboard a boat for a night's "herringing" with local fishermen.

Whitby's East Cliff had a more mysterious atmosphere. Across the town's single bridge, tightly packed medieval cottages and jet factories leaned over the narrow cobbled streets, "rising one above another from the water side in the most irregular, drunken sort of arrangement conceivable," the Leeds Mercury reported.

Above the ancient Tate Hill Pier, a stone stairway of 199 steps (which pallbearers used when they carried coffins) led up the cliff to St. Mary's parish church and its graveyard full of weathered headstones. Towering over the whole scene—and visible from nearly any spot in town—were the ruins of Whitby Abbey, a 13th-century pile of Gothic arches that had been built upon the remains of a 7th-century monastery.

"I think [Stoker] was struck by the setting. He's thinking, 'This is perfect. I have the ships coming in, I've got the abbey, a churchyard, a graveyard'," Dacre Stoker says. "Maybe it was by chance, but I think it just became that perfect scene."

Whitby Abbey
Whitby Abbey
Daverhead/iStock

In Dracula, chapters six through eight kick the narrative into frightening action. By then, real estate agent Jonathan Harker has traveled to Transylvania to negotiate Dracula's purchase of a London property and become the vampire's prisoner. His fiancée Mina Murray, her friend Lucy Westenra, and Lucy's mother have traveled to Whitby for a relaxing holiday, but Mina remains troubled by the lack of letters from Jonathan. She confides her worries and records the strange scenes she witnesses in her journal.

On the afternoon of his arrival, according to a modern account compiled by historians at the Whitby Museum, Stoker climbed the 199 Steps to St. Mary's churchyard and found a bench in the southwest corner. The view made a deep impression on Stoker, and he took note of the river and harbor, the abbey's "noble ruin," the houses "piled up one over the other anyhow." In his novel, Mina arrives in late July on the same train as Stoker, mounts the 199 Steps, and echoes his thoughts:

"This is to my mind the nicest spot in Whitby, for it lies right over the town, and has a full view of the harbor ... It descends so steeply over the harbor that part of the bank has fallen away, and some of the graves have been destroyed. In one place part of the stonework of the graves stretches out over the sandy pathway far below. There are walks, with seats beside them, through the churchyard; and people go and sit there all day long looking at the beautiful view and enjoying the breeze. I shall come and sit here very often myself and work."

The churchyard gave Stoker a number of literary ideas. The following day, Stoker chatted there with three leathery old Greenland fisherman who likely spoke in a distinct Yorkshire dialect. They told Stoker a bit of mariner's lore: If a ship's crew heard bells at sea, an apparition of a lady would appear in one of the abbey's windows. "Then things is all wore out," one of the sailors warned.

Stoker ambled between the headstones that sprouted from the thick carpet of grass. Though most of the markers' names and dates had been erased by the wind, he copied almost 100 into his notes. Stoker used one of them, Swales, as the name of the fisherman with a face that is "all gnarled and twisted like the bark of an old tree," who begins talking with Mina in the churchyard. Mina asks him about the legend of the lady appearing in the abbey window, but Swales says it's all foolishness—stories of "boh-ghosts an' barguests an' bogles" that are only fit to scare children.

St. Mary's churchyard
St. Mary's churchyard, which Mina calls "the nicest spot in Whitby."
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For the first few days in August, Stoker was occupied by the summer's social calendar. He likely enjoyed dinner with friends arriving from London, and went to church on Sunday morning. On the 5th, Stoker's wife and son joined him at 6 Royal Crescent. The next several days may have been spent at the Saloon, promenading on the pier, and making social calls, as it was the custom for newly arrived visitors to visit with acquaintances in town.

But Whitby's infamous weather had the ability to turn a sunny day somber in an instant. August 11 was a "grey day," Stoker noted, "horizon lost in grey mist, all vastness, clouds piled up and a 'brool' over the sea." With Florence and Noel perhaps staying indoors, Stoker set off for the East Cliff again and chatted with a Coast Guard boatman named William Petherick. "Told me of various wrecks," Stoker jotted. During one furious gale, a "ship got into harbor, never knew how, all hands were below praying."

The ship was the Dmitry, a 120-ton schooner that had left the Russian port of Narva with a ballast of silver sand. The ship encountered a fierce storm as it neared Whitby on October 24, 1885, and aimed for the harbor.

"The 'Russian' got in but became a wreck during the night," according to a copy of the Coast Guard's log, which Petherick delivered to Stoker. The crew survived. In a picture taken by local photographer Frank Meadow Sutcliffe just a few days after the storm, the Dmitry is shown beached near Tate Hill Pier with its masts lying in the sand.

'The Wreck of the Dmitry' (1885), by Frank Meadow Sutcliffe
The Wreck of the Dmitry (1885), by Frank Meadow Sutcliffe
Courtesy of the Sutcliffe Gallery

Petherick's account gave Stoker the means for his vampire's arrival in England, the moment when the mysterious East disrupts the order of the West. Mina pastes a local newspaper article describing a sudden and ferocious storm that hurled Dracula's ship, the Demeter from Varna, against Tate Hill Pier. The Coast Guard discovered the crew had vanished and the captain was dead. Just then, "an immense dog sprang up on deck and … making straight for the steep cliff … it disappeared in the darkness, which seemed intensified just beyond the focus of the searchlight," the article in Mina's journal reads. The dog was never seen again, but townsfolk did find a dead mastiff that had been attacked by another large beast.

Mina describes the funeral for the Demeter's captain, which Stoker based on scenes from an annual celebration he watched on August 15 called the Water Fete. In reality, thousands of cheerful spectators lined the quays as a local band and choir performed popular songs and a parade of gaily decorated boats sailed up the river, with banners fluttering merrily in the breeze, according to the Whitby Gazette's report. But through Mina, Stoker transformed the scene into a memorial:

"Every boat in the harbor seemed to be there, and the coffin was carried by captains all the way from Tate Hill Pier up to the churchyard. Lucy came with me, and we went early to our old seat, whilst the cortege of boats went up the river to the Viaduct and came down again. We had a lovely view, and saw the procession nearly all the way."

The final week of Stoker's holiday elicited some of the most important details in Dracula. On August 19, he bought day passes to Whitby's museum library and the subscription library. In the museum's reading room, Stoker wrote down 168 words in the Yorkshire dialect and their English meanings from F.K. Robinson's A Glossary of Words Used in the Neighborhood of Whitby, which later formed the bulk of Mr. Swales's vocabulary in his chats with Mina.

One of the words was "barguest," a term for a "terrifying apparition," which also refers specifically to a "large black dog with flaming eyes as big as saucers" in Yorkshire folklore, whose "vocation appears to have been that of a presage of death," according to an account from 1879.

"I do think Stoker meant for that connection," John Edgar Browning, visiting lecturer at the Georgia Institute of Technology and expert in horror and the gothic, tells Mental Floss. "Moreover, he probably would have meant for the people of Whitby in the novel to make the connection, since it was they who perceived Dracula's form as a large black dog."

Downstairs, Stoker checked out books on Eastern European culture and folklore, clearly with the aim of fleshing out the origins of his vampire: Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, a travelogue titled On the Track of the Crescent, and most importantly, William Wilkinson's An Account of the Principalities of Wallachia and Moldovia: with Various Observations Relating to Them.

The library building where Stoker discovered Dracula
The library building where Stoker discovered Dracula
Courtesy of Dacre Stoker

From the latter book, Stoker wrote in his notes, "P. 19. DRACULA in Wallachian language means DEVIL. Wallachians were accustomed to give it as a surname to any person who rendered himself conspicuous by courage, cruel actions, or cunning."

The Wilkinson book gave Stoker not just the geographical origin and nationality for his character, but also his all-important name, redolent of mystery and malice. "The moment Stoker happened upon the name of 'Dracula' in Whitby—a name Stoker scribbled over and over on the same page on which he crossed through [the vampire's original name] 'Count Wampyr,' as if he were savoring the word's three evil syllables—the notes picked up tremendously," Browning says.

By the time Stoker and his family returned to London around August 23, he had developed his idea from a mere outline to a fully fledged villain with a sinister name and unforgettable fictional debut.

"The modernization of the vampire myth that we see in Dracula—and that many contemporary reviewers commented upon—may not have happened, at least to the same degree, without Stoker's visit to Whitby," Browning says. "Whitby was a major catalyst, the contemporary Gothic 'glue', as it were, for what would eventually become the most famous vampire novel ever written."

Bram Stoker visited Whitby only once in his life, but the seaside village made an indelible mark on his imagination. When he finally wrote the scenes as they appear in Dracula, "He placed all of these events in real time, in real places, with real names of people he pulled off gravestones. That's what set the story apart," Dacre Stoker says. "That's why readers were scared to death—because there is that potential, just for a moment, that maybe this story is real."

Additional source: Bram Stoker's Notes for Dracula: A Facsimile Edition, annotated and transcribed by Robert Eighteen-Bisang and Elizabeth Miller

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This Harry Potter Candle Melts to Reveal Your Hogwarts House—and Smells Amazing
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Warner Bros.

As it gets darker and colder outside, the thought of lighting a candle in your room and curling up with a good book becomes more appealing. A sorting hat candle from the Muggle Library Candles Etsy store makes the perfect companion to whatever Harry Potter book you happen to be re-reading for the hundredth time this season. According to the Cleveland news outlet WKYC, the candle slowly reveals your Hogwarts house as it burns.

From the outside, the item looks like a normal white candle. But when lit, the outer layer of plain wax melts away, allowing the colorful interior to poke through. The candles come in one of four concealed colors: red for Gryffindor, blue for Ravenclaw, yellow for Hufflepuff, and green for Slytherin. The only way to know which house you’re destined to match with is by purchasing a candle and putting it to use. According to the label, the scent evokes “excitement, fear, and nervousness.” The smell can also be described as lemon with sandalwood, vanilla, and patchouli.

Due to its viral popularity, the Fort Worth, Texas-based Etsy store has put all orders on hold while working to get its current batch of shipments out to customers. You can follow Muggle Library Candles on Instagram for updates on the sorting candle, as well as other Harry Potter-themed candles in their repertoire, like parseltongue and free elf.

[h/t WKYC]

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