Der Struwwelpeter: Heinrich Hoffmann’s Deadly Book For Naughty Children

Just look at him! There he stands,
With his nasty hair and hands.
See! His nails are never cut;
They are grim’d as black as soot;
And the sloven, I declare,
Never once has combed his hair;
Anything to me is sweeter
Than to see this Struwwelpeter.

– Der Struwwelpeter (Shaggy-Peter or Shockheaded Peter), written and illustrated by Heinrich Hoffmann, 1845

 

Having looked and failed to find a book to give his three-year-old son for Christmas, German physician Heinrich Hoffmann (1809–1894) wrote one. In 1845, he published Lustige Geschichten und drollige Bilder mit 15 schön kolorierten Tafeln für Kinder von 3–6 Jahren (Funny Stories and Droll Pictures with 15 Beautifully Colored Plates for Children Ages 3 to 6), a collection of ten narrative poems he’d also illustrated under the nom-de-plume ‘Reimerich Kinderlieb’.

Hoffmann’s tales warned of the unpleasant consequences of bad or disrespectful behaviour. In 1858, the book was first published under the title Der Struwwelpeter (Slovenly Peter). Struwwelpeter is a rambunctious young boy who refuses to cut his fingernails or comb his hair. And because of it everyone hates him.

 

 

Much as with Edward Gorey’s work (and do check out his Gashlycrumb Tinies, an alphabet of death), the stories are laced with a strong sense of danger, looking menace and pain.

Little Friederich, who torments animals and people, is mauled by a dog. Suppen-Kaspar won’t eat the soup. He starves to death. Pauline disobeys her parents and plays with matches. She accidentally sets herself to fire, burning to death. Fliegenden Robert goes outside during stormy weather and is carried off by the wind. A boy keeps sucking his thumb. His mum tells him to stop. But he alway sticks it back in his mouth. A man, possibly a tailor appears, and cuts off the lad’s thumbs with a pair of shears. He can still suck his thumbs, of course, but runs the risk of swallowing them.  And like so much Medieval literature, there’s a killer rabbit who turns the tables on the hunter, fires and tosses him down a well.

 

 

“I took the notebook out of my pocket; a little boy is quickly drawn with the pencil and now tells how the rascal does not let his hair or nails be cut,” Hoffmann explained. “Look, here he is, ugh, Struwwelpeter!… I drew the pictures easily and fluidly, and the childish verses obediently fitted one after the other in cheeky rhymes, and so the whole thing was finished.”

– Heinrich Hoffmann

 

 

 

The Rather Sad Story with the Box of Matches (below)

Little Paula was alone at home;
The parents were both out.
As she now jumped around the room
With a light heart and singing and carrying on,
She saw suddenly before her stands
A matchbox, nice to look at.
“Ah,” she says, “ah, how lovely and fine!
This must be an excellent toy.
I’ll strike a match against the box,
Just as Mother has often done.”

And Minz and Maunz, the cats,
Raise up their paws.
They menace with the paws:
“The father has forbidden it!
Me-ow! me-oh! me-ow! me-oh!
Leave it alone! Otherwise you’ll light yourself on fire!”

Little Paula doesn’t listen to the cats;
The match burns high and bright,
It flickers jolly, crackles loud,
Just like you can see in the picture.
Little Paula however pleased herself a lot,
And jumped back and forth in the room.

Yet Minz and Maunz, the cats,
Raise up their paws.
They menace with the paws;
“The mother has forbidden it!
Me-ow! me-oh! me-ow! me-oh!
Throw it away! Otherwise you’ll light yourself on fire!”

Uh-oh! the flame catches the dress,
The apron burns, it lights all over.
It burns the hand, it burns the hair,
It burns the whole child, even.

And Minz and Maunz, they scream
Quite pitifully, the two of them:
“Come on! Come on! Who will quickly help?
The whole child is on fire!
Me-ow! me-oh! me-ow! me-oh!
Help! the child has set herself on fire!”

All is burnt, whole and quite,
The poor child, with her skin and hair;
Only a handful of ash remains,
And both shoes, pretty and fine.

And Minz and Maunz, the little ’uns,
They sit there and cry:
“Me-ow! me-oh! me-ow! me-oh!
Where are the poor parents? where?”
And their tears flow
Like a little brook in the meadows.

 

 

 

 

Via: Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin