the fairies

Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters.* She and her elder daughter resembled each other so closely, in appearance and character, that when you saw the daughter you would have said that it was the mother. They were both so disagreeable and proud that they were impossible to live with. The younger of the daughters, who for gentleness and good manners was the image of her father, was also as beautiful a girl as you could wish to see. Since like attracts like, the mother was excessively fond of the elder daughter, and had a terrible aversion for the younger. She made her eat in the kitchen and work all the time.

Among other things, the poor child was obliged to go a good half-league from the house twice a day to fetch water, and bring back a great big ewer filled to the top. One day, when she was at the spring,* a poor woman came up to her, and asked if she could have a drink. ‘Of course you can, good mother,’ said this pretty girl, and she rinsed out the ewer, went to fill it at the best spot along the stream, and offered it to the old woman, holding it so that she could drink more easily. When she had had her drink the good woman said to her: ‘You are so fair of face, so good-natured, and so considerate, that I cannot do otherwise than give you a gift’ (for she was a fairy, who had put on the shape of a poor village woman, in order to see how far the young girl’s kindness and politeness would go).

The fairy continued: ‘The gift that I give you is this:* at every word you speak, from your mouth a flower will come, or else a precious stone.’ When the beautiful daughter arrived home, her mother scolded her for coming back so late from the spring. ‘I beg your pardon, mother, for having taken so long,’ said the poor girl; and as she spoke, from her mouth came two roses, two pearls, and two great diamonds. ‘What’s this?’ exclaimed her mother in astonishment; ‘I do believe that those are pearls and diamonds coming from her mouth; how can that be, daughter?’ (which was the fi rst time she had ever called the girl daughter). The poor child told her exactly what had
happened, producing huge quantities of diamonds as she did so.

‘Really, I must send the other daughter,’ said the mother, ‘come along, Florrie, look at what has come from your sister’s mouth when she speaks. Wouldn’t you like to have the same gift? All you have to do is to go and get some water from the spring, and when a poor woman asks for some water to drink, give her some nicely.’ ‘Not likely,’ said the bad-mannered girl, ‘that would be a fine sight, me going to that spring.’ ‘You’ll go at once,’ said the mother, ‘and that’s an order.’ So she went, but grumbling all the time. She took the finest silver jug that there was in the house. As soon as she had arrived at the spring, she saw a lady, magnificently dressed, approaching from the wood, who came up and asked for a drink. She was the fairy who had appeared to her sister, but she had made herself look and dress like a princess, so as to see how far this daughter’s rudeness would go. ‘Do you think I’ve come here just to give you a drink?’ said this proud, rude girl. ‘I’m supposed to have brought a silver jug on purpose, am I, for Madam to drink from? As far as I’m concerned you can drink straight out of the stream, if you want.’ ‘That is not very polite,’ said the fairy, without getting angry. ‘Very well, then; since you are so disobliging, the gift that I give you is this: at every word you say, a toad or a viper will come out of your mouth.’

As soon as her mother saw her, she cried out: ‘Well, daughter?’ ‘Well, mother?’ replied the rude girl, and spat out two vipers and two toads.

‘Oh Heavens!’ exclaimed the mother, ‘what’s happened? This is all because of her sister; I’ll see she pays for it.’ And she rushed off at once to give her a beating. The poor child ran away and escaped into the forest nearby.
The King’s son, who was on his way back from hunting, met her there, and seeing how beautiful she was, he asked her what she was doing all alone, and what had made her cry. ‘Alas, sir! it was my mother, who chased me out of the house.’ The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds coming from her mouth, asked her to explain how this could be. She told him the whole story. The King’s son fell in love with her, and, considering that the gift she had was worth more than any dowry that another girl could have, he took her back to his father’s palace, where he married her. As for her sister, she made herself so hateful that her own mother chased her out of the house, and the wretched girl, after a long time going from place to place without finding anyone to take her in, went off to die at the edge of a wood.

The moral of this tale
If you have gold and jewels galore
You’ll make a great effect, of course;
But gentle words are worth much more,
And move us with much greater force.

Another moral
To be polite and kind, and show respect
Is difficult: some effort must be made;
Sooner or later, though, you’ll be repaid,
And often in a way you don’t expect.

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Bluebeard

Once upon a time there lived a man who possessed fine houses in town and in the country, dishes and plates of silver and gold, furniture all covered in embroidery, and carriages all gilded; but unfortunately the man’s beard was blue, and this made him so ugly and fearsome that all the women and girls, without exception, would run away from him. Nearby there lived a noble lady, who had two daughters of the greatest beauty. The man asked her permission to marry one or other of them, leaving it to her to decide which daughter she would give to him. Neither of them wanted him, and each said that the other one could be his wife, for they could not bring themselves to marry a man with a blue beard. What put them off even more was that he had already been married several times, and nobody knew what had become of the wives.

Bluebeard, in order to get better acquainted, took them and their mother, with three or four of their best friends, and some young men who lived in the neighborhood, to visit one of his country houses, where they stayed for a whole week. They had outings all the time, hunting parties, fishing trips, and banquets; nor did they ever go to sleep, but spent all the night playing practical jokes on one another; and they enjoyed themselves so much that the younger of the two sisters began to think that their host’s beard was not as blue as it had been, and that he was just what a gentleman should be. As soon as they were back in town, it was settled that they should marry. After a month had passed, Bluebeard told his wife that he had to go away for at least six weeks to another part of the country, on an important business matter. He told her to make sure that she enjoyed herself properly while he was away, to invite her friends to stay and to take them out into the country if she wanted to, and not to stint herself wherever she was. ‘Here are the keys of the two big store-rooms,’ he said, ‘the keys for the cupboards with the gold and silver dinner service that is not for every day, and for my strongboxes with my gold and silver coins, and for my jewel-boxes, and here is the master key for all
the rooms. As for this small key here, it will unlock the private room at the end of the long gallery in my apartment downstairs.* You may open everything and go everywhere, except for this private room, where I forbid you to go; and I forbid it to you so absolutely that, if you did happen to go into it, there is no knowing what I might do, so angry would I be.’ She promised to obey his commands exactly; and he kissed her, got into his carriage, and set off on his journey.

Her neighbors and friends came to visit the new bride without waiting to be invited, so impatient were they to see all the expensive things in the house; they had not dared to come while her husband was there, because of his blue beard, which scared them. And off they went to look at the bedrooms, the sittingrooms, and the dressing-rooms, each one finer and more luxurious than the one before. Then they went up to the store-rooms,* and words failed them when they saw how many beautiful
things there were, tapestries, beds, sofas, armchairs, side-tables, dining-tables, and mirrors so tall that you could see yourself from head to foot, some with frames of glass, some of silver, and some of silver-gilt, which were the most beautiful and splendid that they had ever seen. They kept on saying how lucky their friend was and how much they envied her; she, however, took no pleasure in the sight of all this wealth, because of the impatience that she felt to go and open the door to the private room downstairs.

So keen was her curiosity that, without reflecting how rude it was to leave her guests, she went down by a little secret staircase at the back; and she was in such a hurry that two or three times she nearly broke her neck. When the door of the little room was in front of her she stood looking at it for a while, remembering how her husband had forbidden her to open it, and wondering whether something bad might happen to her if she disobeyed, but the temptation was strong and she could not
resist it; so she took the little key and, trembling all over, opened the door. At first she could see nothing, because the shutters were closed. After a few moments, she began to see that the floor was all covered in clotted blood, and that it reflected the bodies of several women, dead, and tied up along the wall (they were the wives whom Bluebeard had married, and whose throats he had cut one after the other). She nearly died of fright, and the key, which she had taken out of the lock, fell out of her
hand.

When she had recovered herself a little, she picked up the key again, and locking the door behind her she went upstairs to her room to try to collect her thoughts, but she was unable to, because the shock had been too great. She noticed that the key was stained with blood, and although she cleaned it two or three times the blood would not go away. However much she washed it, and even scoured it with sand and pumice, the blood stayed on it; it was a magic key, and there was no way of cleaning it
completely: when the blood was removed from one side, it came back on the other.

Bluebeard returned from his journey that very night, saying that while he was still on his way, he had received letters telling him that the business he had gone to arrange had already been settled to his advantage. His wife did all she could to make him believe that she was delighted at his returning so soon. The next day, he asked for his keys back, and she gave them to him, but her hand was trembling so much that he easily guessed what had happened.
‘Why is it’, he asked, ‘that the key to my private room is not here with the others?’
She replied: ‘I must have left it upstairs on my table.’
‘Then don’t forget to give it to me later,’ said Bluebeard.
She made excuses several times, but fi nally she had to bring him the key. Bluebeard examined it, and said to his wife: ‘Why is there blood on this key?’
‘I know nothing about it,’ said the poor woman, as pale as death.

‘You know nothing about it?’ said Bluebeard; ‘but I do: you have tried to get into my private room. Very well, madam, that is where you will go; and there you will take your place, beside the ladies you have seen.’

She threw herself at her husband’s feet, weeping and pleading to be forgiven, and all her actions showed how truly she repented being so disobedient. So beautiful was she, and in such distress, that she would have moved the very rocks to pity; but Bluebeard’s heart was harder than rock. ‘You must die, madam,’ he said, ‘this very instant.’
‘If I must die,’ she said, looking at him with her eyes full of tears, ‘give me some time to say my prayers to God.’
‘I will give you ten minutes,’ said Bluebeard, ‘and not a moment longer.’
As soon as she was alone, she called to her sister and said: ‘Sister Anne’ (for that was her name), ‘go up to the top of the tower, I beg you, to see if my brothers are coming, for they promised to come today; and if you can see them, make them a signal to hurry.’

Her sister Anne went to the top of the tower, and the poor woman below cried up to her at every moment: ‘What can you see, sister Anne, sister Anne? Is anyone coming this way?’

And her sister would reply: ‘All I can see is the dust in the sun, and the green of the grass all round.’
Meanwhile, Bluebeard, holding a great cutlass in his hand, shouted as loud as he could to his wife: ‘Come down from there at once, or else I’ll come and fetch you.’
‘Please, just a minute longer,’ his wife answered, and immediately called out, but quietly: ‘What can you see, sister Anne, sister Anne? Is anyone coming this way?’
And her sister Anne replied: ‘All I can see is the dust in the sun, and the green of the grass all round.’
‘Down you come at once,’ Bluebeard was shouting, ‘or I will fetch you down.’
‘I’m coming now,’ his wife kept saying; and then she would call: ‘What can you see, sister Anne, sister Anne? Is anyone coming this way?’
And then her sister Anne replied: ‘I can see a great cloud of dust, and it is coming towards us.’
‘Is that our brothers on their way?’
‘Alas! sister, no; it is only a fl ock of sheep.’
‘Do you refuse to come down?’ shouted Bluebeard.
‘Just a moment more,’ his wife answered, and called out: ‘What can you see, sister Anne, sister Anne? Is anyone coming this way?’
‘I can see,’ she replied, ‘two horsemen riding towards us, but they are still a long way off . . . God be praised,’ she cried a moment later, ‘it’s our brothers; I shall wave to them as hard as I can, so that they will hurry.’

Bluebeard began to shout so loudly that the whole house shook. His poor wife came down, and fell at his feet in tears, with her hair all disheveled. ‘That will not save you,’ cried Bluebeard; ‘you must die.’ And taking her hair in one hand, and raising his cutlass in the air with the other, he was on the point of chopping off her head. The poor woman, turning towards him and looking at him with despair in her eyes, begged him to give her a minute or two to prepare herself for death.
‘No, no,’ he said, ‘commend your soul to God,’ and raising
his arm . . .

At that moment, there was heard such a loud banging at the door that Bluebeard stopped short; the door opened, and at once the two horsemen came in; they drew their swords and ran straight at Bluebeard. He recognized them for his wife’s brothers: one was a dragoon guard, the other a  musketeer;* immediately he ran to escape, but the two brothers went after him so fast that they caught him before he could get out of the front door. They cut him open with their swords, and left him dead. His poor wife was almost as dead as her husband, without even enough strength to get up and embrace her two brothers. It turned out that Bluebeard had no heirs, so that his wife became the mistress of all his riches. She used some to marry her sister Anne to a young gentleman who had loved her for years; some she used to buy captains’ commissions for her two brothers; and the remainder, to marry herself to a man of true worth, with whom she forgot all about the bad time she had had with Bluebeard.

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Ricky the Tuft

Once upon a time there was a Queen and she gave birth to a son, who was so ugly and so misshapen that it seemed doubtful for a long time that he was of human form. A fairy, who was present at the birth, declared that despite this he would still be attractive, because he would be very intelligent. She added that he would even be able, in virtue of a gift which she had just granted to him, to bestow as much intelligence as he had himself on the person he loved best.

All this was some comfort to the poor Queen, who was deeply unhappy at having brought such an ugly little runt into the world. And it is true that as soon as the child began to talk he said all sorts of clever things, while whatever he did had something so ingenious about it that people were delighted. I forgot to say that he was born with a little tuft of hair on his head, so that he was called Ricky the Tuft, Rickett being the family name.*

About seven or eight years later, the Queen of a neighbouring kingdom gave birth to twin girls. The first of them to come into the world was as fair as a summer’s day, and the Queen was overjoyed, so much so that it made people afraid that her excessive happiness might be harmful for her. The fairy who had been present at the birth of Ricky the Tuft was there also, and to moderate the Queen’s joy she told her that the little Princess would lack any intelligence, and would be as stupid as she was beautiful.

This was very distressing for the Queen; but a few moments later she had much greater cause to be unhappy, for when the second daughter was born she was found to be extremely ugly. ‘Do not be upset, ma’am,’ said the fairy; ‘your daughter will have other talents to make up for it, for she will be so intelligent that it will hardly be noticed that she lacks beauty.’ ‘God send that it may be so,’ replied the Queen; ‘but would it not be possible for her sister, who is so beautiful, to be given a little intelligence as well?’
‘As far as intelligence is concerned, madam,’ said the fairy, ‘I can do nothing for her, but as regards beauty I can do everything, and since I will do whatever I can to please you, I shall grant her a gift: she will be able to bestow beauty on any person she may choose.’ As the two princesses grew up, their qualities also increased in perfection, and people everywhere talked of nothing but the elder daughter’s beauty and the young one’s intelligence. However, their defects also worsened with age. The younger Princess became visibly uglier, and day by day the elder grew more stupid. When she was asked something, either she would fail to reply, or else she would say something silly. Besides, she was so clumsy that she could not even arrange a few vases on the mantelpiece without breaking one, or drink a glass of water without spilling half of it over her clothes.

Even though beauty is a great advantage for a young person, the younger Princess was almost always the favourite whenever they were in company together. At first people would go over to the beautiful Princess to see and admire her, but soon they would turn to the intelligent one, to listen to the many entertaining things she would say; and it was surprising to see how, in less than a quarter of an hour, the elder sister had nobody near her, while everyone was standing round the younger one. The elder, despite her great stupidity, noticed this quite clearly, and would willingly have given up all her beauty in order to have half her sister’s intelligence. The Queen, wise though she was, could not prevent herself from reproaching her daughter several times for being so silly, which made the poor Princess
almost die of misery.

One day, when she had gone alone to a wood in order to lament her unhappiness, she saw coming towards her a very ugly little man, most unpleasant to look at, but dressed with great magnificence. It was the young Prince, Ricky the Tuft, who had fallen in love with one of the portraits of her which were to be found everywhere, and had left his father’s kingdom in order to have the pleasure of seeing and talking to her. Delighted to encounter her alone, he greeted her with all the respect and politeness imaginable.

When they had exchanged the usual civilities, he said, having observed that she seemed very sad: ‘I cannot understand, madam, why someone as beautiful as you are should be as unhappy as you appear to be; for, although I am glad to say that I have seen a multitude of beautiful ladies before now, I must admit that I have never seen anyone whose beauty even approaches yours.’ ‘If you say so, Sir,’ replied the Princess; and that was all. ‘Beauty,’ Ricky the Tuft went on, ‘is so great a benefit that it
makes up for everything else; and when you possess it, I cannot see that anything can cause you much unhappiness.’
‘I’d rather be as ugly as you are,’ said the Princess, ‘provided I was clever, than beautiful and stupid like me.’
‘Nothing shows intelligence more clearly, madam, than the belief that one does not possess it, for it is in the nature of this quality that the more intelligence you have, the less you believe
you have.’
‘I couldn’t say, I’m sure,’ said the Princess, ‘but I know I’m very stupid, and it makes me so unhappy I could die.’
‘If that is the only thing that makes you sad, madam, I can easily put an end to your sorrow.’
‘And how can you do that?’ asked the Princess.
‘I have the power, madam,’ said Ricky the Tuft, ‘to give as much intelligence as anyone can have to the person I love the most, and since you, madam, are that person, you can choose whether to have as much intelligence as it is possible to have, on condition that you agree to marry me.’

The Princess was struck dumb with amazement, and made no answer.
‘I can see that you find my proposal disagreeable,’ said Ricky the Tuft, ‘which does not surprise me; but I will give you a whole year in which to decide.’ The Princess had so little intelligence, and at the same time desired so strongly to possess more, that she could not imagine that the end of the year would ever arrive; and so she accepted the proposal that had been made to her. No sooner had she promised Ricky the Tuft that she would marry him, on the same day a year later, than she began to feel quite different from before. She discovered in herself an incredible ability to say whatever she pleased, and to say it in a natural, elegant, and simple manner. At once she began a long conversation
about romantic matters with Ricky the Tuft, and she spoke with such brilliance that Ricky came to think that he had given her more, by way of intelligence, than he had kept for himself
.
When she returned to the palace, the whole court was baffled by the sudden and extraordinary change in her, for now she made as many amazingly witty and sensible remarks as she had previously made silly ones. You would not believe how delighted everyone was at court. The younger sister was the
only one not to be pleased, because she no longer had the advantage of being clever, and appeared in comparison only to be a picture of ugliness.

The King let himself be guided by his elder daughter’s opinions, and sometimes even held a Council in her apartments. Once the news of the change in her had become known, all the young princes of kingdoms nearby made efforts to make her fall in love with them, and almost every one asked her to marry him, but she could find no one among them who was clever enough; and although she listened to them all, she would not commit herself to any of them. However, one of the princes who arrived was so powerful and rich, so intelligent, and so handsome, that she could not prevent herself feeling favourably disposed towards him. Her father observed this, and told her that he would leave the choice of a husband to her, and that she had only to say whom she had chosen.

Now the cleverer you are, the harder you fi nd it to make a firm decision on this matter, and when she had thanked her father the Princess asked him for more time to think about it. By chance she went for a walk, so as to reflect more easily on what to do, in the very wood where she had met Ricky the Tuft. While she was walking, deep in thought, she heard muffled sounds coming from beneath her feet, as if a number of people were busily coming and going. She listened more carefully, and heard a man say:
‘Bring that pot over here’; another said: ‘Give me that saucepan’; and another: ‘Put some more wood on the fi re’. At the same moment, the earth opened before her, and she saw what looked like a great kitchen, full of cooks, scullions, and all the staff needed to prepare a magnificent banquet. A troop of twenty or thirty cooks with meat for roasting came out, and went off into an avenue among the trees, taking their positions around a very long table where, holding their larding-pins* in their hands and
with the tassels on their hats* over their ears, they all began to work, keeping time to the sound of a melodious song.

Astonished at the sight, the Princess asked them whom they worked for. ‘For the Prince, Ricky the Tuft, my lady,’ said the one who seemed to be in charge; ‘it’s his wedding-day tomorrow.’ The Princess, even more surprised than she had been before, remembered all of a sudden that it was a year to the day that she had promised to marry the Prince, Ricky the Tuft, and she felt as if the ground had given way beneath her. The reason why she had not remembered was that at the time when she had
made her promise she had been stupid, but when she acquired her new powers of thought from the Prince she had forgotten all her stupidities. She continued her walk, but had gone only twenty or thirty paces before Ricky the Tuft appeared in front of her, richly dressed and in all his fi nery, every inch a prince who is about to be married.

‘As you can see, madam,’ he said, ‘I have kept my word punctually, and I have no doubt that you are here in order to keep your promise, and make me the happiest of men by giving me your hand in marriage.’ ‘I must tell you frankly,’ replied the Princess, ‘that I have not yet reached a decision on the point, and it is my belief that I may never be able to make the decision that you wish.’
‘You astonish me, madam,’ said Ricky the Tuft.
‘I can well believe it,’ said the Princess, ‘and certainly, if I were dealing with a mere brute, a man without understanding, I should be in a very difficult situation. A princess’s word is her bond, he would say, and I am bound to marry him, because of my promise; but since the person I am addressing is the most intelligent man in the world, I am sure that he will listen to reason. You will recall that, when I was stupid, I still could not bring myself to marry you; how can you expect me today, having the intelligence you gave me, which also makes me more critical of other people than I was before, to take a decision which I was unable to take previously? If you really meant to marry me, it was very wrong of you to take away my stupidity and make me see things more clearly than I did once.’

‘If a man of no intelligence,’ Ricky the Tuft answered, ‘would be justified—as you suggested a moment ago—in blaming you for not keeping your word, how can you expect me not to do the
same in a matter where my entire happiness is at stake? Is it reasonable that those who are intelligent should be in a worse position than those who are not? How can you make such a claim, you who are yourself so intelligent, and so much wanted to be? But allow me to come to the point. Apart from my ugliness, is there anything about me which you find displeasing? Are you dissatisfied with my station in life, my mind, my temperament, or my behaviour?’ ‘By no means,’ replied the Princess; ‘I am attracted by all the things that you have mentioned.’ ‘If that is the case,’ said Ricky the Tuft, ‘I shall be happy, since you have the power to make me the handsomest of men.’ ‘How can that be?’ asked the Princess. ‘It can be,’ replied Ricky the Tuft, ‘if you love me enough to want it to be; and to remove your doubts, madam, you should know that the same fairy who, on the day I was born, gave me the power to bestow intelligence on any person I chose, also gave you the power to bestow good looks on any person whom you loved and to whom you wished to grant such a favour.’ ‘If that is how things stand,’ said the Princess, ‘I wish with all my heart that you should be the handsomest and most attractive prince in all the world; and as far as it lies in my power to do so, I bestow this gift upon you.’ No sooner had she spoken these words, than Ricky the Tuft appeared to her to be the handsomest, best-looking, most attractive man she had ever seen.

Some people affirm that it was not the fairy’s magic which worked this transformation, but love alone. They say that the Princess, having reflected on her lover’s perseverance, his discretion,
and all his good qualities of soul and mind, no longer noticed the deformity of his body or the ugliness of his face; that his humped back appeared to her to be no more than the posture
taken by a proud man who is aware of his importance; and that, though before she had observed him hobbling along most dreadfully, she now perceived only a slight stoop, which she found delightful. They say furthermore that his eyes, which had a squint, seemed to her all the brighter for it, and that these crosseyes were to her mind a sign of passionate love; and finally that his big red nose seemed to her to have a military and heroic air.

However that may be, the Princess immediately promised to marry him, provided that he obtained the consent of the King her father. The King, having been informed that his daughter had a high opinion of Ricky the Tuft, and knowing besides that he was a wise and intelligent prince, accepted him with pleasure as his son-in-law. On the very next day the wedding took place, as Ricky the Tuft had foreseen, and according to the orders that he had given long before.

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Little Red Riding-Hood

Once upon a time, in a village, there lived a little girl, the prettiest you could wish to see. Her mother adored her, and her grandmother adored her even more. This kind lady had a riding-hood* made for her granddaughter; it was red, and it suited her so well that everywhere she went she was called Little
Red Riding-Hood.

One day, when her mother had done some baking, she made some buns,* and said: ‘Go and see how your grandmama is, because I’ve heard she isn’t well. Take her one of these buns, and a little pot of butter.’ Little Red Riding-Hood set off at once to visit her grandmother, who lived in another village. As she was going into a wood, she met Master Wolf, and he wanted very much to eat her up; but he did not dare, because there were some woodcutters in the forest. He asked her where she was going. The poor child, who did not know that it is dangerous to stay and listen to a wolf, told him: ‘I am going to see my grandmother, and I’m taking her a bun and a little pot of butter that my mother is sending me with.’

‘Does she live a long way off?’ asked the Wolf.

‘Oh yes,’ said Little Red Riding-Hood, ‘it’s beyond the mill that you can see ever so far away over there, and it’s the first house you come to in the village.’

‘Well then,’ said the Wolf, ‘I’d like to go and see her too. I’ll go by this path here, and you go by that one, and we’ll see who gets there fi rst.’

The Wolf began to run as hard as he could along his path, which was shorter, while the little girl went by the longer path, and amused herself gathering hazel-nuts, running after butterflies, and making posies out of the fl owers that she saw. The Wolf did not take long to reach the grandmother’s house.

He knocked at the door, rat-a-tat-tat!
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me, your granddaughter, Little Red Riding-Hood,’ said the Wolf, imitating the little girl’s voice, ‘and I’ve brought you a bun and a little pot of butter that Mummy has sent.’

The kind grandmother, who was in bed because she was not feeling very well, called out: ‘Draw the peg back, and the bar will fall.’* The Wolf drew the peg back and the door opened.
He flung himself on the old lady, and ate her all up in less than a moment, because he had not had a meal for more than three days. Then he shut the door, went to lie down in the grandmother’s bed, and waited for Little Red Riding-Hood. In a little while she came, and knocked on the door, rat-a-tat-tat!
‘Who is it?’
Little Red Riding-Hood, hearing the Wolf ’s gruff voice, was frightened at fi rst, but, believing that her grandmother had a cold, she answered: ‘It’s me, your granddaughter, Little Red Riding-Hood, and I’ve brought you a bun and a little pot of butter that Mummy has sent.’

Making his voice a little softer, the Wolf called out: ‘Draw the peg back, and the bar will fall.’ Little Red Riding-Hood drew the peg back and the door opened. When he saw her coming in, the Wolf hid under the bedclothes, and said: ‘Put the bun and the little pot of butter on the chest, and come and get into bed with me.’

Little Red Riding-Hood undressed and got into the bed, where she was very surprised to see what her grandmother looked like without any clothes on, and she said:
‘Oh grandmama, what long arms you have!’
‘All the better to hug you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what long legs you have!’
‘All the better for running with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what big ears you have!’
‘All the better to hear you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what big eyes you have!’
‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’
‘Oh grandmama, what great big teeth you have!’
‘And they are all the better to eat you with!’*
And as he said these words, the wicked Wolf flung himself on Little Red Riding-Hood, and ate her up.


The moral of this tale
Young children, as this tale will show,
And mainly pretty girls with charm,
Do wrong and often come to harm
In letting those they do not know
Stay talking to them when they meet.
And if they don’t do as they ought,
It’s no surprise that some are caught
By wolves who take them off to eat.

I call them wolves, but you will find
That some are not the savage kind,
Not howling, ravening or raging;
Their manners seem, instead, engaging,
They’re softly-spoken and discreet.
Young ladies whom they talk to on the street
They follow to their homes and through the hall,
And upstairs to their rooms;* when they’re there
They’re not as friendly as they might appear:
These are the most dangerous wolves of all.

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The Sleeping Beauty in the Wood

Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were ever so unhappy, because they had no children; so unhappy I can’t tell you. They went to all the spas to drink the waters there, gave presents to all the saints, went on pilgrimages, and always said their prayers; everything was tried and nothing worked. But at last the Queen did become pregnant, and had a baby daughter. They held a beautiful service for her to be christened; all the fairies they could find in the country were to come
(there were seven of them), to be godmothers for the little Princess, which meant that each would bestow a gift on her, which was the custom for fairies in those days, and then she would be as perfect as you could possibly imagine.

When the christening service was finished, all the guests went back to the royal palace, where a banquet was to be given in honour of the fairies. Each of them had her place laid magnificently at table with a solid gold case, which contained a knife, a fork, and a spoon made out of pure gold, and decorated with diamonds and rubies. But as everyone was sitting down to table, they saw an aged fairy come in, who had not been invited, because for more than fifty years she had never left the tower she lived in, so that she was believed to be dead, or under a spell. The King had a place laid for her at table, but there was no means of giving her a case of solid gold like the others, because only
seven cases had been made, one for each of the seven. The aged fairy believed herself insulted, and muttered threatening words between her teeth. Sitting beside her, one of the younger fairies
heard what she said, and guessed that the gift that she would give to the little Princess might be dangerous for her; so she went and hid behind a tapestry on the wall as soon as the meal was
finished, in order to speak last of all, and prevent if possible any harm that the old fairy might do.
Meanwhile the fairies began to present their gifts to the Princess. The gift that the youngest fairy gave was that she would be the loveliest person in the world; the next one’s gift was that she would be as clever as an angel; the third gift was that she would do everything with all the grace imaginable; the
fourth that she would dance to perfection; the fifth that she would sing like a nightingale; and the sixth, that she would play beautiful music on all kinds of instruments. When it came to the
turn of the very old fairy, whose head was shaking, but not so much from age as from bad temper, she said that the Princess would prick her hand on the point of the spindle on a spinningwheel,
and that she would die.

This terrible gift made the whole company shudder, and they all began to weep. It was then that the younger fairy stepped out from behind the tapestry, and in a loud voice she spoke these words: ‘Oh King and Queen, be reassured; your daughter will not die, although it is not in my power to undo completely what the older fairy has done. The Princess will prick her hand on a spindle, but instead of dying, she will fall into a deep sleep. It will last for a hundred years, and at the end of that time the son of a king will come to waken her.’ In order to try to prevent the disaster announced by the old fairy, the King at once had an edict proclaimed, by which every person was forbidden to spin
wool on a spinning-wheel or keep a spindle at home, on pain of death.

Fifteen or sixteen years went by, and one day, when the King and Queen were on a visit to one of their summer residences, it happened that the Princess, in running about the castle and going from apartment to apartment, went higher and higher up a tower. She came to a tiny attic room and found an old woman sitting alone, spinning wool from her distaff. This good lady had never heard that the King had forbidden everyone to use a spindle. ‘What is it that you are doing there, good woman?’ asked the Princess. ‘I am spinning, my pretty child,’ said the old woman, not knowing who she was talking to. ‘What fun!’ the Princess said then, ‘how do you do it? Give it to me and let me see if I can do it too.’

She took the spindle; and because she was hasty and impulsive, and in any case the fairies’ decree had decided what would happen, no sooner had she done so than she pricked her hand and fell down in a faint. The good woman was very upset and cried out for help; people came from everywhere, and
splashed water on the Princess’s face, loosened her clothes, slapped her wrists, and rubbed her temples with eau-de-cologne; but nothing could revive her. The King had come at once on hearing all the noise, and remembered the fairies’ prediction. He realized that it had to happen, because the fairies had said it would, and ordered that the Princess should be placed in the fi nest apartment in the castle, on a bed embroidered with gold and silver. You would have said she was an angel, she looked so beautiful. Fainting had not taken away the fresh colours from her face; her cheeks were rosy pink and her lips like coral. It was only that her eyes were closed; but you could tell that she was not dead because she could still be heard breathing gently. The King gave orders that she was to be left to sleep in peace until the time for her to be awakened should arrive. The good fairy who, in order to save her life, had condemned her to sleep for a hundred years, was twelve thousand leagues
away in the Kingdom of Matakin when the Princess had her accident, but she was given the news in an instant by a little dwarf with seven-league boots (these were boots in which you could go seven leagues in a single stride). The fairy set off at once and appeared at the castle an hour later in a chariot of fi re drawn by dragons. The King went to help her down from the chariot, and she gave her approval to everything he had done; but, possessing great foresight, she reflected that when the Princess awoke from her sleep she would find things very difficult all alone in the old castle; and this is what she did. With her wand, she touched everyone in the castle except the King and Queen:
governesses, maids of honour, ladies’ maids, gentlemen of the household, stewards, footmen, cooks, scullions, turnspits, guards, pages, doormen; she also touched all the horses in the stables, the ostlers there, the great guard-dogs in the stable-yard, and little Puff, the Princess’s lapdog, who was lying beside her on her bed. As soon as she touched them they all fell asleep, not to wake up until their mistress did, so as to be ready to serve her when they were needed. Even the spits in front of the kitchen fire, all covered with pheasants and partridges, went to sleep, and the fire did too.

This all happened in a moment; fairies did not take long over their work. Then the King and Queen, after having kissed their daughter without awakening her, left the castle. They issued orders that nobody should come near. But the ban was not needed, because within a quarter of an hour so many trees had shot up, large and small, all around the castle park, with brambles and thorns all intertwined, that neither man nor beast could have got through. All that could still be seen was the top of the castle towers, and only from a long way off. No doubt this was another of the fairy’s devices to make sure that the Princess would have nothing to fear from inquisitive visitors while she was asleep.
A hundred years later, the son of the king then ruling, who was
not of the same family as the sleeping Princess, went hunting in
that region. Seeing some towers rising above a tall dense wood,
he asked what they were. Everyone present answered according
to what he had heard tell. Some said that it was an ancient castle
where ghosts were seen to walk; others, that all the witches round
about held their sabbaths there. The commonest opinion was that
it was where an ogre lived, and where he brought all the children
he could catch, in order to eat them in peace without being followed,
since he alone had the power to make his way through the
wood. The Prince did not know what to believe; but then an
elderly peasant began to speak, saying: ‘Your Highness: more
than fi fty years ago, I heard my father say that in the castle there
lay a Princess, who was the most beautiful in the world; she was
to stay asleep for a hundred years, and would be awakened by the
son of a king, for whom she was destined.’ The young Prince
took fi re at the old man’s words: he took it for granted at once that
it was he who would succeed in this splendid adventure, and
inspired by love and glory he resolved to fi nd out at once how
things stood.

He had scarcely taken his fi rst step towards the wood than all
the great trees, brambles and thorns drew aside of themselves to
let him pass. He set out towards the castle, which he could see at
the end of a long avenue ahead, and was a little surprised to see
that none of his servants had been able to follow him; the trees
had closed behind him as soon as he passed. He continued on his
way regardless, for a young and ardent prince is always full
of courage. He came into a great forecourt, where everything
that met his eyes was such as to freeze his blood with fear.
The silence was terrible, and the look of death was all around.
Nothing was to be seen but the bodies of men and animals lying
stretched out, who appeared to be dead. He could tell nonetheless,
from the blotchy noses and fl ushed complexions of the
Swiss guards,* that they were only sleeping, and the dregs of
wine left in their glasses showed clearly enough that they had
fallen asleep in the middle of having a drink.

Through a great court paved with marble he went, up a fl ight
of steps, and entered the guardroom, where the guards were standing
in line, their guns on their shoulders, and snoring with all
their might. He passed through several rooms full of gentlemen
and ladies, all asleep, some standing and some sitting; he came
to a room that was all of gold, and saw on a bed, with its curtains
drawn back to leave it open, the most beautiful sight that he had
ever seen: a Princess who seemed to be about fi fteen or sixteen
years old, and who in her radiant splendour had something
luminous and divine about her. Trembling with wonder and
admiration, he approached and knelt down beside her.

Since the end of the enchantment had come, the Princess
woke up, and gazing at him with greater tenderness in her eyes
than might have seemed proper at a fi rst meeting, she said: ‘Is
that you, my prince? What a long time you have kept me waiting!’
Delighted at these words, and still more by the tone in
which she said them, the Prince did not know how to express his
gratitude and joy, but he told her that he loved her more than
himself. Although what he said was badly expressed it pleased
her all the more; the greatest love is the least eloquent. Of the
two of them, she was the less tongue-tied, which is not surprising
since she had had the time to think of what she would say;
for it is likely (though history is silent on the matter) that during
her long sleep the good fairy had seen to it that she enjoyed
sweet dreams. Be that as it may,* they spent four hours talking
to each other and still had not said the half of what they
wanted.

In the meantime, the whole palace had awakened with the
Princess. Everyone’s thoughts were on getting back to work, and
since they were not in love, they were all dying of hunger. The
lady-in-waiting, famished like the rest of them, grew impatient,
and said loudly to the Princess that her meal was served. The
Prince helped the Princess to her feet; she was fully dressed and
her clothes were magnifi cent, but he took good care not to tell
her that she was dressed like Grandmother in the old days, with
a starched high collar; it did not make her any the less beautiful.
They went into a hall lined with mirrors, where they had their
supper, and were served by the offi cers of the Princess’s household.
The violins and oboes played old pieces of music, which
were excellent, even though they had not been played for almost
a hundred years. After supper, without wasting time, the High
Chaplain married them in the castle chapel, and the lady-inwaiting
drew the bed-curtain. They slept little, for the Princess
had little need of it, and the Prince left her as soon as it was
morning to return to the town, since his father would be anxious
about him.

The Prince told him that he had got lost in the forest while
out hunting, and that he had spent the night in a hovel belonging
to a charcoal-burner, who had given him cheese and black
bread to eat. The King, who was a good soul, believed him, but
his mother was not convinced. She noticed that he went hunting
almost every day, and always had some excuse to give when he
had slept away from home for two or three nights; so she became
certain that he was carrying on some love-affair, for he lived in
this way with the Princess for more than two whole years, and
had two children with her. The fi rst was a girl, and was named
Dawn; and the second, who was a boy, was called Day, since he
looked even more beautiful than his sister.
The Queen said to her son several times, in the hope of drawing
him out, that one should enjoy oneself in life, but he never
dared to entrust her with his secret; although he loved her, he
was afraid of her, because she came from a family of ogres, and
the King had married her only because of her great wealth.
It was even whispered at court that she herself had ogreish
tendencies, and that when she saw small children going by she
found it almost impossible to prevent herself from jumping on
them, which is why the Prince would never say anything. But
when the King died, which happened after another two years,
and the Prince was in command, he made his marriage public,
and went in a grand procession to fetch the Queen his wife from
her castle. A magnifi cent reception was held for her in the capital,
where she made her entrance into the town accompanied by
her two children.

Some time later, the new King went to war against his neighbour
the Emperor Cantalabutto. He left the government of the
kingdom in the hands of the Queen his mother, asking her to
take special care of his wife and children, for he was to be away
at the war for the whole summer. As soon as he had left, the
Queen Mother sent her daughter-in-law and the children to a
summer residence she had in the forest, so as to satisfy her horrible
desires more easily. She went there herself a few days later,
and said one evening to her steward: ‘Tomorrow evening for
supper, I want to eat little Dawn.’

‘Alas, my lady!’ said the steward.

‘That is my wish,’ said the Queen, and her tone was the tone of
an ogress who wants fresh meat, ‘and I want to eat her with onion
and mustard sauce.’ The poor man, realizing that an ogress was
not to be trifl ed with, took a great knife and went up to little
Dawn’s room. She was then four years old, and came across the
room skipping and laughing to embrace him and ask him for
sweets. Tears came to his eyes, the knife fell from his hands, and
he went down to the farmyard and cut the throat of a small lamb,
which he served up to his mistress with such a good sauce that
she assured him that she had never tasted anything as good. He
had taken away little Dawn at the same time, and gave her to his
wife to hide in their lodgings at the end of the farmyard.
A week later, the wicked Queen said to the steward: ‘I want
to eat little Day for my supper.’ He did not protest, but resolved
to trick her again as he had before. He went to look for little
Day, and found him with a small sword in his hand, practising
fencing against a fat monkey, although he was only three years
old. The steward took him to his wife, who hid him with little
Dawn, and instead of the little boy he served up a tender young
kid, which the ogress found excellent.

Everything had gone well until then, but one evening the
wicked Queen said to the steward: ‘I want to eat the young
Queen, cooked in the same sauce as her children.’ This time the
poor steward despaired of being able to deceive her: the young
Queen was more than twenty years old, not counting the
hundred years when she had been asleep, and her skin was
somewhat tough, although it was fi ne and white. How was he to
fi nd, among the animals kept for eating,* one as tough as that?
He took the decision, in order to save his own life, to cut the
Queen’s throat, and went up to her room with the intention of
getting it over and done with. He worked himself up into a rage
and entered the Queen’s room with his dagger in his hand.
However, he did not want to kill her without any warning, and
told her, with great respect, of the orders he had received from
the Queen Mother.

‘Do your duty,’ she said, stretching out her neck; ‘carry out
the command you have been given. Then I shall see my children
again, my poor children, whom I loved so much.’ She
believed them dead, because, when they were taken away,
nobody had told her anything.
‘No, my lady, no,’ said the poor steward in tears, ‘you will
not die, and I will make sure that you do see your beloved children,
though it will be in my house, where I have hidden them,
and I will deceive the Queen again by giving her a young doe to
eat instead.’ At once he took her to his house, where he left her
to embrace her children and weep with them, and went to prepare
the doe for cooking; the Queen ate it for supper with as
much relish as if it had been the young Queen. She was very
pleased with her cruel deeds, and meant to tell the King, on his
return, that ravening wolves had eaten his wife and the two
children.

One evening, when she was prowling about the castle’s
courtyards and farmyards as usual, in order to catch the scent of
any fresh meat, she heard little Day who was crying in a basement
room, because the Queen his mother had said that she
would have him whipped for being naughty; she could also hear
little Dawn, who was pleading for her brother to be forgiven.
The ogress, recognizing the voices of the young Queen and her
children, was furious to have been tricked.

The next morning she ordered, in a dreadful voice that made
everyone shudder, that a huge cauldron was to be brought into
the middle of the main courtyard and fi lled with toads* and
vipers and snakes of every sort, for the young Queen and her
children to be thrown into it, together with the steward, his
wife, and their maidservant; she had given the order to have
them led out with their hands tied behind their backs.
They were standing there, with the executioners getting
ready to throw them into the cauldron, when the King, who
was not expected so soon, rode into the courtyard; he had
changed horses at every stage for speed. In amazement, he asked
what this horrible spectacle could mean. Nobody dared to
explain. And it was then that the ogress, maddened by what she
saw before her, fl ung herself head fi rst into the cauldron, and
was devoured in an instant by the horrid creatures she had put
there. Despite everything, the King was upset: she was his
mother; but he soon consoled himself with his beautiful wife
and children.

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Cinderella (The Little Slipper Made of Glass)

There was once a gentleman who was widowed, and married again. His second wife was the proudest and haughtiest woman who had ever been seen. She had two daughters, and they were just the same; they resembled her in everything. For his part, the husband had a young daughter, who was amazingly sweet natured and kind, which gifts she got from her mother, who had been the most charming person you could imagine. No sooner was the wedding over than the stepmother gave
free rein to her bad temper. She could not endure the child’s good nature, which made her own daughters appear even more detestable. The worst of the household chores were given to her stepdaughter: it was she who washed the dishes and scrubbed the stairs, she who cleaned out the mistress’s bedroom, and the bedrooms of the young ladies her daughters. She slept right at the top of the house, in an attic, on a dirty mattress, while her sisters in their bedrooms had parquet flooring, beds of the most fashionable design, and looking-glasses in which they could see themselves from head to foot.* The poor girl put up with it all patiently, not daring to complain to her father, who would have scolded her, because he was completely under the thumb of his wife. When she had done all her work, she would go to a corner of the fireplace, and sit among the cinders on the hearth, so that she was commonly known, in the household, as Cinderbum. The
younger stepsister, though, who was not as rude as the elder one, called her Cinderella. Even in her ragged clothes, she looked a hundred times more beautiful than either of her sisters, despite their splendid dresses.

One day it happened that the Prince gave a ball, and he invited everyone who was of good family. Our two fine young ladies were included, because they were very important people in those parts. They felt extremely pleased with themselves, and kept themselves busy choosing dresses and hairstyles to suit them, which meant more trouble for Cinderella: for it was she who ironed her sisters’ clothes and pleated their cuffs. They could talk of nothing but what they were going to wear. The elder one said: ‘I shall put on my red velvet dress and my English lace.’ The younger one said: ‘I shall put on the skirt I always wear, but to
make up for it I shall have my cape with golden flowers and my diamond hairpin, which is something you won’t see every day.’ They sent for the best hairdresser in town, to put their hair into double rows of curls,* and went to the best supplier of beauty spots.* They summoned Cinderella to advise them because she had good taste; the advice she gave was perfect. She even offered to do their hair, which they gladly accepted. While she was doing it, they said: ‘Cinderella, wouldn’t you like to go to the ball?’ ‘For pity, sisters—you are making fun; that kind of thing is not for me.’
‘Quite right—how everyone would laugh, to see Cinderbum going to the ball!’

Anyone but Cinderella would have done their hair all askew, but she was good by nature and did it very nicely. They were in such transports of happiness that they ate nothing for almost two days, and more than a dozen laces got broken while they were being laced into their corsets to make their waists look
thinner.

At last the happy day arrived; they set off, and Cinderella watched them on their way for as long as she could; seeing them no longer, she began to cry.
Her godmother saw that she was all in tears, and asked what the matter was.

‘I wish . . . I wish . . .’; but she was crying so much that she could not finish. Her godmother, who was a fairy, said: ‘You wish you could go to the ball—is that it?’

‘Alas!—yes,’ said Cinderella with a sigh.

‘Very well; will you be a good girl?’ said her godmother; ‘then I shall see that you go.’

She took Cinderella to her room, and said: ‘Go into the garden and fetch me a pumpkin.’

Cinderella went at once to pick the best one she could find, and took it to her godmother, but could not guess how the pumpkin would get her to the ball. Her godmother scooped out the inside, and when only the skin was left, she tapped it with her wand, and suddenly the pumpkin was transformed into a beautiful golden
coach. Then she went to look in the mousetrap, and found six mice all alive. She told Cinderella to lift the trap-door a tiny bit, and as each of the mice ran out, she touched it with her wand, and the mouse changed instantly into a beautiful horse, which made a fine team of six horses, with prettily dappled mouse-grey coats.

As she was puzzled about what to turn into a coachman, Cinderella said: ‘I’ll go and see if there is a rat in the rat-trap—then we could make a coachman out of him.’ ‘That’s a good idea,’ said her godmother; ‘go and see.’ Cinderella brought her the trap; there were three big rats in it. The fairy chose the one with the longest whiskers, and when she touched him he turned into a great fat coachman, with one of the finest moustaches that had ever been seen. Then she said: ‘Go out into the garden, and behind the watering-can you will find six lizards; bring them here.’ No sooner had she brought them in than her godmother changed them into six footmen, their uniforms covered in gold braid, and they immediately got up behind the coach and held on, as if they had never done anything else all their lives.

Then the fairy said to Cinderella: ‘Well, that is what you need to get you to the ball; aren’t you pleased?’

‘Yes I am; but must I go like this, in these horrid clothes?’

Her godmother just touched her with her wand, and her clothes were changed at once into a dress made from cloth of gold and silver, gleaming with jewels. Next she gave her a pair of slippers made of glass, as pretty as could be. When she was all dressed up, Cinderella stepped into her coach. Her godmother told her that she must take care, above all else, not to be out later than midnight, and warned her that if she stayed at the ball even a moment longer, her coach would change back into a pumpkin, her horses into mice, her footmen into lizards, and her dress into dirty old rags. She promised her godmother faithfully that she
would leave the ball before midnight, and set off hardly able to contain herself for joy.

When the King’s son was told that a great princess whom nobody knew had arrived, he hurried to welcome her. He offered her his hand to help her out of her coach, and took her into the ballroom where all the guests were. A great silence fell; the dancers stopped their dancing, the musicians stopped their music, so eagerly were they gazing at the great beauty of the unknown girl. The only thing that could be heard was a murmur of voices exclaiming: ‘How beautiful she is!’ Even the King, old though he was, could not stop looking at her, and said quietly to the Queen that it was a long time since he had seen so beautiful and charming a girl. All the women were studying her hair and her dress, so that next day they could look the same themselves, provided they could find cloth sufficiently fine and dressmakers sufficiently skilled.

The King’s son saw her to a place of honour; then he asked her to dance. She danced so gracefully that she was admired even more. A splendid supper was brought in, but the young Prince ate nothing, because he was so busy looking at her. She went to sit next to her two sisters, and paid them all sorts of attentions;
she gave them a share of the oranges and sweet citrons* that she had been given by the Prince, which surprised them very much, since they did not know who she was. While they were talking, Cinderella heard the clock strike a quarter to midnight: at once she made a deep curtsey to all the guests, and went away as quickly as she could.

As soon as she was back home, Cinderella went to find her godmother, and when she had thanked her, she said that what she really wanted was to go to the ball again, on the next evening, because the Prince had asked her. While she was busy telling her godmother about everything that had happened at the ball, her
two sisters knocked on the door. Cinderella went to open it. ‘What a long time you have been!’ she said, and yawned and  stretched herself, rubbing her eyes as if she had only just woken up; all the same, she had not been the slightest bit sleepy since she had last seen them. ‘If you had come to the ball,’ said one of the sisters, ‘you wouldn’t have found it boring: a beautiful princess was there, the most beautiful you could ever see; to us she was politeness itself, and she gave us oranges and citrons.’ Cinderella was beside herself with joy, and asked what the princess was called; but they told her that nobody knew her name, which had made the King’s son very unhappy, and that he would give everything he possessed to know who she was.

Cinderella smiled and said: ‘She was very beautiful, then, was she? Goodness, how lucky you are! I wish I could see her.
Oh please, Miss Javotte, lend me your yellow dress that you wear for everyday.’ ‘Surely,’ said Miss Javotte, ‘you don’t expect me to agree to that? Lend my dress to an ugly Cinderbum like you? I’d have to be out of my mind.’ Cinderella was expecting to be refused, and she was glad, because it would have made things very diffi cult for her if her sister had agreed to lend her the dress. The next evening the two sisters went to the ball again, and Cinderella also, in a dress that was even more gorgeous than the fi rst time. The King’s son was always at her side, and paid her compliments all the evening. The young lady herself was far from being bored, and she forgot what her godmother had told her, so that she heard the clock strike the first stroke of midnight when she thought it was not yet eleven o’clock: she got to her feet and ran away as fast as a young deer. The Prince went after her and could not catch her; but one of her glass slippers fell off, and he very carefully picked it up.

Cinderella arrived back home quite out of breath, without her carriage or her footmen, and dressed in her old clothes: nothing remained of all her magnificent things, except for one little slipper, the pair of the one which had fallen off. The guards at the palace gate were asked if they had seen a princess leaving;
they said that nobody had been seen leaving except a shabbily dressed girl, who looked more like a peasant than a lady. When her two sisters came back from the ball, Cinderella asked them if they had enjoyed themselves just as much, and whether the beautiful lady had been there. They said that she had, but that she had run away when midnight struck, and in such haste that she had dropped one of her little glass slippers, which was as pretty as could be; that the Prince had picked it up, that throughout the rest of the ball he had done nothing but look at it, and that he must surely be deeply in love with the beautiful
girl to whom it belonged.

They were right in what they said, because a few days later the Prince had an announcement made, to the sound of trumpets, that he would marry the person whose foot the slipper fitted. To start with they tried it on princesses; then on duchesses; and then on all the other ladies of the court, but all to no purpose.
They brought it to the two sisters at their house, and they did everything they could to get their feet into the slipper, but they could not do it. Cinderella was watching, and recognizing her slipper she laughed and said: ‘Let me see if it fits me!’ Her sisters began to giggle and make fun of her. The gentleman who was fitting the slipper looked carefully at Cinderella and, finding her very beautiful, said that she was right to ask, and that his orders were to see that the slipper was tried on every girl there was. He asked Cinderella to sit down, and when he brought the slipper to her foot he saw that it went on as easily as if it had been moulded to fit.

The two sisters were completely amazed, and even more when Cinderella took the other little slipper out of her pocket and put it on. At that moment her godmother arrived, and touching Cinderella’s clothes with her wand she made them even more splendid than all her other dresses. Then the two sisters recognized her for the beauty that they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet and asked her pardon for all that she had suffered when they had treated her so badly. Cinderella made them get up, embraced them, told them that she forgave them with all her heart, and said that she begged them to love her kindly always. She was taken to the young Prince, dressed as she was in all her fi ne clothes: he thought that she was more beautiful than ever, and a few days later he married her. Cinderella, who was as good-natured as she was beautiful, arranged for her two sisters to live in the palace, and married them on the same day to two great lords at the Court.

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Puss in Boots

Amiller who had three children left nothing for them to inherit, except for the mill, a donkey, and a cat. These bequests did not take long to share out, and neither the solicitor nor the notary* were called in: their fees would soon have eaten up the whole of the miserable inheritance. The eldest son got the mill, the middle one the donkey, and the youngest got only the cat. The young man was inconsolable at being left so meagre a bequest. ‘My brothers,’ he said, ‘will be able to make a decent living if they work together; but as for me, once I’ve eaten my cat and made his fur into a muff to keep my hands warm, I shall just have to starve to death.’

The cat, who could understand what he said, but pretended not to, said in a calm and serious manner: ‘You mustn’t be upset, Master; all you need to do is give me a bag, and have a pair of boots made for me to walk among the brambles, and you will see that you are not as badly provided for as you believe.’ The cat’s master did not expect much to come of this, but he had seen the cat play so many cunning tricks when catching rats and mice,*such as to play dead by hanging upside down by his feet or burying himself in fl our, that he had some hope that the cat might help him in his wretched plight. When the cat had been given what he had asked for, he dressed up smartly in his boots and, putting the bag round his neck, he took hold of the tie-strings in his two front paws. Then he set off for a warren where there were plenty of rabbits. In his bag he put bran and sow-thistles,* and then waited, stretching himself out as if he were dead, for some young rabbit, still ignorant of this world’s trickery, to come and poke its nose into it in order to eat the food he had put there. Scarcely had he lain down than he got what he wanted: a silly young rabbit went into the bag, and instantly Master Cat, pulling the strings tight, caught and killed it without mercy.

Full of pride at his catch, he went to visit the King in his palace, and asked to speak to him. He was shown up to His Majesty’s apartments, where he entered and said, bowing low before the King: ‘Sire, I have here a rabbit from a warren, which My Lord the Marquis of Carabas’ (this was the name which he saw fit to
give his master) ‘has commanded me to present to you on his behalf.’

‘Tell your master,’ said the King, ‘that I thank him, and that I am well pleased.’

On another occasion, he went into a cornfi eld and hid himself, holding his bag open again; two partridges went into it, he pulled the string tight, and caught the pair of them. Then he went to present them to the King, as he had with the rabbit. The King was again pleased to accept the two partridges, and tipped him some money. The cat continued in this way for two or three months, from time to time taking game from his master’s hunting-grounds to the King.

One day, he found out that the King would be going for a drive along the river in his coach, with his daughter, the most beautiful princess in the world, and he said to his master: ‘If you follow my advice, your fortune will be made. All you have to do is to go bathing in the river, at a place that I will show you, and then leave everything to me.’ The Marquis of Carabas did as his cat suggested, not knowing what his purpose was. While he was bathing, the King passed by, and the cat began to shout at the top of his voice: ‘Help! help! My Lord the Marquis of Carabas is drowning down here!’ At his cries, the King put his head to the window, and recognizing the cat who had so often brought him game, he ordered his guards to hurry to the rescue of His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas.

While they were getting the poor Marquis out of the river, the cat went up to the coach, and told the King that, while his master was bathing, some thieves had come and stolen his clothes, even though he had shouted ‘Stop thief !’ as loud as he could (the cat, the rascal, had hidden them under a large stone). The King at once ordered the Gentlemen of the Royal Wardrobe to go and fetch one of his fi nest suits for His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas. The King treated him with great kindness, and since the fi ne clothes which he had just been given added to his good looks (for he was handsome and well-built), the King’s daughter found him much to her liking. The Marquis had only to throw a glance at her two or three times with great respect and a little tenderness for her to fall madly in love with him. The King invited him to get into the coach and join them on their outing.

The cat, delighted to see that his plan was beginning to succeed,went on ahead, and having met some labourers with scythes cutting grass in a meadow he said to them: ‘Good people mowing the grass: unless you tell the King that His Lordship, the Marquis of Carabas, is the owner of this meadow you are mowing,
you will all be chopped up, as fi ne as sausagemeat.’

The King did not fail to ask the peasants who owned the meadow they were cutting. ‘It belongs to His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas,’ they said with one voice, for they were scared by the threat that the cat had made.

‘It’s a fi ne estate you have here,’ said the King to the Marquis of Carabas. ‘Indeed, Sire,’ answered the Marquis, ‘and that meadow produces an abundant crop every year.’

Master Cat, still going on ahead, met some labourers harvesting, and said to them: ‘Good people harvesting the corn: unless you tell the King that His  Lordship, the Marquis of Carabas, is the owner of all these cornfi elds, you will all be chopped up, as fi ne as sausagemeat.’

The King came past a moment later, and asked who owned all the cornfi elds he could see. ‘His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas,’ replied the harvesters, and the King again congratulated the Marquis. Master Cat, still going ahead of the coach, said the same thing to everyone he met, and the King was astonished to see how much land was owned by His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas.

Eventually, Master Cat arrived at a fi ne castle owned by an ogre, who was as rich as could be, because all the lands that the King had passed through were part of the castle estate. The cat, who had taken care to fi nd out who this ogre was, and what he had the power to do, asked to speak to him, saying that he did not like to pass so near his castle without having the honour of paying his respects. The Ogre received him as politely as an ogre is able to, asking him if he would like to rest a while.

‘I have been told,’ said the cat, ‘that you have the gift of turning yourself into all kinds of animals, for instance, that you could change into a lion or an elephant.’

‘That’s quite true,’ replied the Ogre roughly, ‘and to prove it, watch me turn into a lion.’ The cat was so scared to see a lion standing before him that immediately he sprang up on the roof, which was quite diffi cult and dangerous because of his boots, which were no good for climbing over tiles. Some time later,
seeing that the Ogre had gone back to his original shape, the cat came down, admitting that he had been really frightened. ‘I have also been told,’ he said, ‘but I can scarcely believe it, that you also have the power of taking the shape of tiny little animals, for instance of turning into a rat or a mouse, but I must confess that I think it quite impossible.’

‘Impossible?’ retorted the Ogre; ‘just wait and see’; and in a moment he changed himself into a mouse, which began to run about the fl oor. No sooner had the cat seen it than he jumped on it and ate it up.

Meanwhile the King had seen the Ogre’s fi ne castle as he went by, and thought that he would like to go inside. The cat, hearing the noise made by the coach as it passed over the drawbridge, ran to meet it, and said to the King: ‘Welcome, Your Majesty, to the castle of His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas.’ ‘My goodness, Marquis!’ exclaimed the King, ‘is this castle yours as well?—I can’t imagine anything fi ner than this courtyard with all its buildings around it. Let us see what is inside, please.’

The Marquis offered his hand to the young Princess, and following the King, who went fi rst, they entered a great hall, where they found a magnifi cent banquet. The Ogre had had it set out for his friends, who should have been coming to see him on that very day, but, because they knew the King was there, dared not come in.

The King, delighted by the good qualities of His Lordship the Marquis of Carabas, just like his daughter, who loved him to distraction, said to the Marquis, seeing the great riches that he possessed, and after he had drunk fi ve or six glasses of wine: ‘If you want to be my son-in-law, my Lord Marquis, you have only
to say the word.’ The Marquis bowed deeply, and accepted the honour that the King had done him; and that very day he married the Princess. The cat became a great lord, and never chased a mouse again, except to please himself.

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The Hedgehog and the Doves

It is told that a hedgehog made his home by the side of a palm tree which was the haunt of a ringdove and his mate who nested there and enjoyed an easy life. The hedgehog said to himself: ‘The ringdove and his mate eat the fruits of this palm tree, but I can find no way to do that and so I shall have to trick them.’ He then dug out a hole for himself at the foot of the tree where he and his mate went to live. Beside it he made a chapel for prayer, where he went by himself, pretending to be a devout ascetic, who had abandoned earthly things. When the ringdove saw him at his devotions, he felt pity for him because of his extreme asceticism and he asked how many years he had spent like this. ‘Thirty years,’ replied the hedgehog. ‘What do you eat?’ asked the dove. ‘Whatever falls from the tree.’ ‘What do you wear?’ ‘Spikes, whose roughness is of use to me.’ ‘And how did you choose this place of yours rather than somewhere else?’ ‘I chose it at random,’ said the hedgehog, ‘in order to guide those who are astray and to teach the ignorant.’ ‘I didn’t think that you were like this,’ said the dove, ‘but I now feel a longing for your kind of life.’ The hedgehog replied: ‘I’m afraid that what you say is the opposite of what you do. You are like the farmer who at harvest time neglects to sow again, saying: “I am afraid that the days may not bring me what I want, and I shall have begun by wasting my money thanks to sowing too soon.” Then, when harvest time comes round again and he sees people at work reaping, he regrets the opportunity that he lost by holding back and he dies of grief and sorrow.’

The dove asked him: ‘What should I do to free myself of worldly attachments and devote myself solely to the worship of my Lord?’ ‘Begin to prepare yourself for the life to come,’ said the hedgehog, ‘and content yourself with eating only enough for your needs.’ ‘How am I to do that?’ asked the dove. ‘I am a bird and I cannot leave this tree which provides me with my food, and even if I could, I don’t know where else to settle.’ The hedgehog said: ‘You can knock down enough fruit from the tree to last you and your mate for a year. Then you can settle in a nest underneath the tree, seeking right guidance. Afterwards, go to the fruit that you have knocked down, take it all away and store it up to eat in times of want. When you have finished the fruits and you find the waiting long, make do with bare sufficiency.’ ‘May God give you a good reward for the purity of your intentions,’ said the dove, ‘in that you have reminded me of the afterlife and given me right guidance.’

The dove and his mate then worked hard, knocking down dates until there were none left on the tree. The hedgehog was delighted to find this food; he filled his lair with the fruit and stored it up to serve as his provisions, saying to himself that if the dove and his mate needed food, they would ask him for it. ‘They will covet what I have,’ he said, ‘relying on my godly asceticism. Then, when they hear my advice and my admonitions, they will come up close to me and I can catch them and eat them. I shall then have this place to myself and I shall get enough to eat from the fruit that falls.’ After the dove and his mate had knocked down all the dates, they flew down from the tree and found that the hedgehog had removed them all to his lair. ‘Virtuous hedgehog,’ said the dove, ‘you sincere admonisher, we have not found any trace of the dates and we don’t know of any other fruit on which we can live.’ ‘It may be that the wind blew them away,’ said the hedgehog, ‘but to turn away from sustenance to the Provider of sustenance is the essence of salvation. He Who created the opening in the mouth will not leave it without food.’

On he went, giving these admonitions and making a show of piety dressed in elaborate speech, until the doves approached trustingly and tried to go in through the entrance of his lair. They were sure that he would not deceive them, but he jumped up to guard the entrance, gnashing his teeth. When the dove saw his deception unveiled, he exclaimed: ‘What a difference there is between tonight and yesterday! Don’t you know that the victims of injustice have a Helper? Take care not to practise trickery and deceit lest you suffer the same fate as the two tricksters who schemed against the merchant.’ ‘How was that?’ the hedgehog asked. THE DOVE SAID:

I heard that there was a wealthy merchant from a city called Sindah. He got together goods which he packed into bales and he left on a trading trip to visit a number of cities. He was followed by two swindlers who loaded up what wealth and goods they had and then accompanied him, pretending to be merchants. When they halted at the first stage, they agreed with each other to use cunning in order to take his goods, but each man planned to deceive and betray the other, saying to himself: ‘Were I to betray my companion, all would be well with me and I could take all this wealth.’ With these evil intentions towards one another, each of them produced food which had been poisoned before offering it to his companion. They both ate the food and both died. They had been sitting talking with the merchant, but after they had left him and been away for some time, he went in search of them to see what had happened, only to find them dead. He then realized that they were scoundrels who had been trying to double-cross him. Their cunning recoiled on their own heads, while the merchant not only escaped but took all that they had with them.

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The Sparrow and the Eagle

I have heard that a sparrow was flying over a field of sheep. He looked down and as he was there watching, a great eagle swooped down on one of the young lambs and, seizing it in his talons, flew off with it. When the sparrow saw this, he fluttered his wings and said proudly: ‘I can do the same kind of thing,’ trying to be like something greater than him. He flew off immediately and came down on a fat, woolly ram, whose coat was matted because he had been sleeping on urine and dung, as a result of which it had become sticky. When the sparrow settled on the ram’s back, he clapped his wings, but his feet stuck in the wool, and although he tried to fly off, he could not get free. While all this was going on, the shepherd had been watching, seeing first what had happened with the eagle and then what had happened to the sparrow. He came up angrily to the sparrow, seized him and pulled out his wing feathers. He then tied a string round his legs and took him off and threw him to his children. ‘What is this?’ one of them asked. The shepherd replied: ‘This is one who tried to imitate a superior and so was destroyed.’

‘This is what you are like, fox, and I warn you against trying to be like one who is stronger than you, lest you perish. This is what I have to say to you, so go off in peace.’ Despairing of winning the friendship of the crow, the fox went back, groaning in sorrow and gnashing his teeth in regret. When the crow heard the sound of his weeping and groaning and saw his distress and sorrow, he asked what had come over him to make him gnash his teeth. ‘It is because I see that you are a greater cheat than I am,’ said the fox, and he then ran off, going back to his earth.

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The Falcon and the Birds of Prey

The falcon was a headstrong tyrant in the days of his youth, spreading fear among the birds and beasts of prey. None were safe from his evildoing and there were many instances of his injustice and tyranny, it being his habit to harm all other birds. With the passing of the years, his powers weakened and his strength diminished. He grew hungry and the loss of his strength meant that he had to exert himself more. He decided to go to where the birds met, in order to eat what they left over. After having relied on strength and power, he now got his food by trickery.

‘This is like you, fox: you may not have strength, but you have not lost your powers of deceit. I have no doubt that when you ask to become my companion, this is a trick on your part to get food. I am not one to put out my hand to clasp yours. God has given me strength in my wings, caution in my soul and clear sight. I know that whoever tries to be like someone stronger than himself finds himself in difficulties and may be destroyed. I am afraid that if you try to resemble someone stronger than yourself, what happened to the sparrow may happen to you.’ ‘What did happen to the sparrow?’ asked the fox. ‘By God, tell me the story.’ THE CROW SAID:

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The Flea and the Mouse

It is said that a mouse once lived in the house of a rich and important merchant. One night a flea went for shelter to that merchant’s bed, where he found a soft body. As he was thirsty, he drank from the man’s blood. The merchant, in pain, woke from his sleep, sat up and called to his maids and a number of his servants. They hurried up to him and set to work looking for the flea, who, in turn, realizing what was happening, fled away. He came across the mouse’s hole and went in, but when the mouse saw him, she asked: ‘What has made you come to me, when you are not of the same nature or the same species as I, and you cannot be sure that I will not treat you roughly, attack you or harm you?’ The flea said to her: ‘I have fled into your house, escaping certain death, in order to seek refuge with you. There is nothing that I covet here; you will not have to leave because of any harm that I might do you and I hope to be able to reward you with all kinds of benefits for the service that you are doing me. You will be thankful when you discover what these words of mine will bring about.’ When the mouse heard what the flea had to say, she said: ‘If things are as you say, then you can rest here in peace. The rain of security will fall on you; you will only experience what will bring you joy and nothing will happen to you that will not also happen to me. I offer you my friendship. Feel no regret for the opportunity you have lost to suck the merchant’s blood and don’t be sorry for the nourishment that you used to get from him. Content yourself with what you can find to live on, as that will be safer for you. The following lines of poetry that I once heard were written by a preacher, who said:

I have followed the path of contentment and solitude,
And passed my time according to circumstance,
With a crust of bread and water to drink,
Coarse salt and shabby clothes.
If God grants me prosperity, well and good;
If not, I am content with what He gives.’

When the flea heard what the mouse had to say, he said: ‘Sister, I have listened to your advice; I shall do what you tell me, as I cannot disobey you, and I shall follow this virtuous course until the end of my days.’ ‘Good intentions are enough for true friendship,’ replied the mouse. The two became firm friends and after that the flea would go to the merchant’s bed at night but would only take enough blood for his needs, while by day he would shelter in the mouse’s hole.

It happened that one night the merchant brought home a large number of dinars. He began to turn them over and over and, hearing the sound, the mouse put her head out of her hole and started to gaze at the dinars, until the merchant put them under a pillow and fell asleep. The mouse then said to the flea: ‘Don’t you see the chance that we have been given and what an enormous bit of luck this is? Can you think of a plan to allow us to get as many of these as we want?’ ‘It’s no use trying to get hold of something unless you can do it,’ said the flea. ‘If you’re not strong enough, then weakness will lead you into danger and, even if you use all your cunning, you will not get what you want, like the sparrow that picks up the grain but falls into the trapper’s net and is caught. You don’t have the strength to take the dinars and carry them out of the house, and neither have I. I couldn’t even lift a single one of them. So do what you want about them yourself.’

The mouse said: ‘I have made seventy ways out of this hole of mine from which I can leave if I want and I have prepared a safe place for treasures. If you can get the merchant out of the room by some means, then I’m sure that I can succeed if fate helps me.’ ‘I’ll undertake to get him out,’ said the flea, and he then went to the merchant’s bed and gave him a fearful bite, such as he had never experienced before. The flea then took refuge in a place of safety and, although the merchant woke up and looked for him, he didn’t find the flea and so went back to sleep on his other side. The flea then bit him even more savagely, and in his agitation the merchant left his bedroom and went out to a bench by the house door, where he slept without waking until morning. The mouse then set about moving the dinars until there were none left, and in the morning the merchant was left to suspect everyone around him.

The fox then said to the crow: ‘You must know, O far-sighted, intelligent and experienced crow, that I have only told you this story so that you may get the reward for your kindness to me just as the mouse was rewarded for her kindness to the flea. You can see how he repaid her and gave her the most excellent of rewards.’ The crow replied: ‘The doer of good has the choice of doing good or not, as he wants, but it is not obligatory to do good to someone who tries to attach himself to you by cutting you off from others. This is what will happen to me if I befriend you, who are my enemy. You are a wily schemer, fox; creatures of your kind cannot be counted on to keep their word and no one can rely on those who are not to be trusted to do that. I heard recently that you betrayed a companion of yours, the wolf, and that you schemed against him until, thanks to your treacherous wiles, you brought about his death. You did this in spite of the fact that he was of the same species as you and you had been his companion for a long time. You did not spare him, so how can I trust in your sincerity? If this is how you act with a friend of your own race, what will you do with an enemy of a different species? Your position in regard to me is like that of the falcon with the birds of prey.’ ‘How was that?’ asked the fox. THE CROW REPLIED:

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