As he drew near to the wood where he had left his wife, he heard a

parrot on a tree calling out his name: "Mr. Vinegar, you foolish man,

you blockhead, you simpleton; you went to the fair and laid out all your

money in buying a cow. Not content with that, you changed it for

bagpipes, on which you could not play and which were not worth one-tenth

of the money. You fool, you--you had no sooner got the bagpipes than you

changed them for the gloves, which were not worth one-quarter of the

money; and when you had got the gloves, you changed them for a poor

miserable stick; and now for your forty guineas, cow, bagpipes, and

gloves, you have nothing to show but that poor miserable stick, which

you might have cut in any hedge." On this the bird laughed immoderately,

and Mr. Vinegar, falling into a violent rage, threw the stick at its

head. The stick lodged in the tree, and he returned to his wife without

money, cow, bagpipes, gloves, or stick, and she instantly gave him such

a sound cudgelling that she almost broke every bone in his skin.

157

One of the greatest favorites among nursery

tales is the story of that Jack who showed "an

inquiring mind, a great courage and

enterprise," and who climbed the ladder of

fortune when he mounted his bean-stalk. The

traditional versions of this story are nearly

all crude and unsatisfactory, as are those of

many of the English tales. Joseph Jacobs made a

remarkably fine literary version in his

_English Fairy Tales_ from memories of his

Australian childhood. He materially shortens

the story by omitting the fairy lady, who, he

suggests, was put in "to prevent the tale

becoming an encouragement to theft." He also

made Jack's character more consistent by making

him more sympathetic and kind at the beginning

and less of a "ne'er-do-well," though the

noodle element in the selling of the cow could

not be eliminated. Andrew Lang, in his _Green

Fairy Book_, gives an excellent version of the

story in its most extended form. Both the

versions mentioned introduce, when the giant

comes in, the formula generally associated with

"Jack the Giant Killer":

"Fee-fi-fo-fum,

I smell the blood of an Englishman,

Be he alive, or be he dead,

I'll grind his bones to make my bread."

The version chosen for use here contains the

elements of the story most familiar to past

generations and is probably as near the

commoner oral traditions as it is possible to

secure. It is taken from Miss Mulock's _The

Fairy Book_, a very fine selection of tales,

first published in 1863, and still widely used.

Miss Muloch (Dinah Maria Craik, 1826-1887) is

best known as the author of the popular novel

_John Halifax, Gentleman_.

JACK AND THE BEAN-STALK

In the days of King Alfred there lived a poor woman, whose cottage was

in a remote country village, many miles from London. She had been a

widow some years, and had an only child named Jack, whom she indulged so

much that he never paid the least attention to anything she said, but

was indolent, careless, and extravagant. His follies were not owing to a

bad disposition, but to his mother's foolish partiality. By degrees he

spent all that she had--scarcely anything remained but a cow.

One day, for the first time in her life, she reproached him: "Cruel,

cruel boy! you have at last brought me to beggary. I have not money

enough to purchase even a bit of bread; nothing now remains to sell but

my poor cow! I am sorry to part with her; it grieves me sadly, but we

cannot starve."

For a few minutes Jack felt remorse, but it was soon over, and he began

asking his mother to let him sell the cow at the next village, teasing

her so much that she at last consented. As he was going along he met a

butcher, who inquired why he was driving the cow from home. Jack replied

that he was going to sell her. The butcher held some curious beans in

his hat; they were of various colors, and attracted Jack's attention.

This did not pass unnoticed by the man, who, knowing Jack's easy temper,

thought now was the time to take an advantage of it; and, determined not

to let slip so good an opportunity, asked what was the price of the cow,

offering at the same time all the beans in his hat for her. The silly

boy could not conceal the pleasure he felt at what he supposed so great

an offer. The bargain was struck instantly, and the cow exchanged for a

few paltry beans. Jack made the best of his way home, calling aloud to

his mother before he reached the door, thinking to surprise her.

When she saw the beans, and heard Jack's account, her patience quite

forsook her. She tossed the beans out of the window, where they fell on

the garden-bed below. Then she threw her apron over her head, and cried

bitterly. Jack attempted to console her, but in vain, and, not having

anything to eat, they both went supperless to bed.

Jack awoke early in the morning, and seeing something uncommon darkening

the window of his bed-chamber, ran down stairs into the garden, where he

found some of the beans had taken root and sprung up surprisingly. The

stalks were of an immense thickness, and had twined together until they

formed a ladder like a chain, and so high that the top appeared to be

lost in the clouds.

Jack was an adventurous lad; he determined to climb up to the top, and

ran to tell his mother, not doubting but that she would be equally

pleased with himself. She declared he should not go; said it would break

her heart if he did; entreated and threatened, but all in vain. Jack set

out, and after climbing for some hours reached the top of the

bean-stalk, quite exhausted. Looking around, he found himself in a

strange country. It appeared to be a barren desert; not a tree, shrub,

house, or living creature was to be seen; here and there were scattered

fragments of stone, and at unequal distances small heaps of earth were

loosely thrown together.

Jack seated himself pensively upon a block of stone and thought of his

mother. He reflected with sorrow upon his disobedience in climbing the

bean-stalk against her will, and concluded that he must die of hunger.

However, he walked on, hoping to see a house where he might beg

something to eat and drink. He did not find it; but he saw at a distance

a beautiful lady walking all alone. She was elegantly clad, and carried

a white wand, at the top of which sat a peacock of pure gold.

Jack, who was a gallant fellow, went straight up to her, when, with a

bewitching smile, she asked him how he came there. He told her all about

the bean-stalk. The lady answered him by a question, "Do you remember

your father, young man?"

"No, madam; but I am sure there is some mystery about him, for when I

name him to my mother she always begins to weep and will tell me

nothing."

"She dare not," replied the lady, "but I can and will. For know, young

man, that I am a fairy, and was your father's guardian. But fairies are

bound by laws as well as mortals; and by an error of mine I lost my

power for a term of years, so that I was unable to succor your father

when he most needed it, and he died." Here the fairy looked so sorrowful

that Jack's heart warmed to her, and he begged her earnestly to tell him

more.

"I will; only you must promise to obey me in everything, or you will

perish yourself."

Jack was brave, and, besides, his fortunes were so bad they could not

well be worse,--so he promised.

The fairy continued: "Your father, Jack, was a most excellent, amiable,

generous man. He had a good wife, faithful servants, plenty of money;

but he had one misfortune--a false friend. This was a giant, whom he had

succored in misfortune, and who returned his kindness by murdering him

and seizing on all his property; also making your mother take a solemn

oath that she would never tell you anything about your father, or he

would murder both her and you. Then he turned her off with you in her

arms, to wander about the wide world as she might. I could not help her,

as my power only returned on the day you went to sell your cow.

"It was I," added the fairy, "who impelled you to take the beans, who

made the bean-stalk grow, and inspired you with the desire to climb up

it to this strange country; for it is here the wicked giant lives who

was your father's destroyer. It is you who must avenge him, and rid the

world of a monster who never will do anything but evil. I will assist

you. You may lawfully take possession of his house and all his riches,

for everything he has belonged to your father, and is therefore yours.

Now, farewell! Do not let your mother know you are acquainted with your

father's history; this is my command, and if you disobey me you will

suffer for it. Now go."

Jack asked where he was to go.

"Along the direct road, till you see the house where the giant lives.

You must then act according to your own just judgment, and I will guide

you if any difficulty arises. Farewell!"

She bestowed on the youth a benignant smile, and vanished.

Jack pursued his journey. He walked on till after sunset, when, to his

great joy, he espied a large mansion. A plain-looking woman was at the

door. He accosted her, begging she would give him a morsel of bread and

a night's lodging. She expressed the greatest surprise, and said it was

quite uncommon to see a human being near their house; for it was well

known that her husband was a powerful giant, who would never eat

anything but human flesh, if he could possibly get it; that he would

walk fifty miles to procure it, usually being out the whole day for that

purpose.

This account greatly terrified Jack, but still he hoped to elude the

giant, and therefore he again entreated the woman to take him in for one

night only, and hide him where she thought proper. She at last suffered

herself to be persuaded, for she was of a compassionate and generous

disposition, and took him into the house. First, they entered a fine

large hall, magnificently furnished; they then passed through several

spacious rooms, in the same style of grandeur; but all appeared forsaken

and desolate. A long gallery came next, it was very dark, just light

enough to show that instead of a wall on one side, there was a grating

of iron which parted off a dismal dungeon, from whence issued the groans

of those victims whom the cruel giant reserved in confinement for his

own voracious appetite.

Poor Jack was half dead with fear, and would have given the world to

have been with his mother again, for he now began to doubt if he should

ever see her more; he even mistrusted the good woman, and thought she

had let him into the house for no other purpose than to lock him up

among the unfortunate people in the dungeon. However, she bade Jack sit

down, and gave him plenty to eat and drink; and he, not seeing anything

to make him uncomfortable, soon forgot his fear, and was just beginning

to enjoy himself, when he was startled by a loud knocking at the outer

door, which made the whole house shake.

"Ah! that's the giant; and if he sees you he will kill you and me too,"

cried the poor woman, trembling all over. "What shall I do?"

"Hide me in the oven," cried Jack, now as bold as a lion at the thought

of being face to face with his father's cruel murderer. So he crept into

the oven--for there was no fire near it--and listened to the giant's

loud voice and heavy step as he went up and down the kitchen scolding

his wife. At last he seated himself at the table, and Jack, peeping

through a crevice in the oven, was amazed to see what a quantity of food

he devoured. It seemed as if he never would have done eating and

drinking; but he did at last, and, leaning back, called to his wife in a

voice like thunder:

"Bring me my hen!"

She obeyed, and placed upon the table a very beautiful live hen.

"Lay!" roared the giant, and the hen laid immediately an egg of solid

gold.

"Lay another!" and every time the giant said this the hen laid a larger

egg than before.

He amused himself a long time with his hen, and then sent his wife to

bed, while he fell asleep by the fireside, and snored like the roaring

of cannon.

As soon as he was asleep Jack crept out of the oven, seized the hen, and

ran off with her. He got safely out of the house, and finding his way

along the road he had come, reached the top of the bean-stalk, which he

descended in safety.

His mother was overjoyed to see him. She thought he had come to some ill

end.

"Not a bit of it, mother. Look here!" and he showed her the hen. "Now

lay!" and the hen obeyed him as readily as the giant, and laid as many

golden eggs as he desired.

These eggs being sold, Jack and his mother got plenty of money, and for

some months lived very happily together; till Jack got another great

longing to climb the bean-stalk and carry away some more of the giant's

riches. He had told his mother of his adventure, but had been very

careful not to say a word about his father. He thought of his journey

again and again, but still he could not summon resolution enough to

break it to his mother, being well assured that she would endeavor to

prevent his going. However, one day he told her boldly that he must take

another journey up the bean-stalk. She begged and prayed him not to

think of it, and tried all in her power to dissuade him. She told him

that the giant's wife would certainly know him again, and that the giant

would desire nothing better than to get him into his power, that he

might put him to a cruel death in order to be revenged for the loss of

his hen. Jack, finding that all his arguments were useless, ceased

speaking, though resolved to go at all events. He had a dress prepared

which would disguise him, and something to color his skin. He thought

it impossible for any one to recollect him in this dress.

A few mornings after, he rose very early, and, unperceived by any one,

climbed the bean-stalk a second time. He was greatly fatigued when he

reached the top, and very hungry. Having rested some time on one of the

stones, he pursued his journey to the giant's mansion, which he reached

late in the evening. The woman was at the door as before. Jack addressed

her, at the same time telling her a pitiful tale, and requesting that

she would give him some victuals and drink, and also a night's lodging.

She told him (what he knew before very well) about her husband's being a

powerful and cruel giant, and also that she had one night admitted a

poor, hungry, friendless boy; that the little ungrateful fellow had

stolen one of the giant's treasures; and ever since that her husband had

been worse than before, using her very cruelly, and continually

upbraiding her with being the cause of his misfortune.

Jack felt sorry for her, but confessed nothing, and did his best to

persuade her to admit him, but found it a very hard task. At last she

consented, and as she led the way, Jack observed that everything was

just as he had found it before. She took him into the kitchen, and after

he had done eating and drinking, she hid him in an old lumber-closet.

The giant returned at the usual time, and walked in so heavily that the

house was shaken to its foundation. He seated himself by the fire, and

soon after exclaimed, "Wife, I smell fresh meat!"

The wife replied it was the crows, which had brought a piece of raw meat

and left it at the top of the house. While supper was preparing, the

giant was very ill-tempered and impatient, frequently lifting up his

hand to strike his wife for not being quick enough. He was also

continually upbraiding her with the loss of his wonderful hen.

At last, having ended his supper, he cried, "Give me something to amuse

me--my harp or my money-bags."

"Which will you have, my dear?" said the wife humbly.

"My money-bags, because they are the heaviest to carry," thundered he.

She brought them, staggering under the weight; two bags--one filled with

new guineas, and the other with new shillings. She emptied them out on

the table, and the giant began counting them in great glee. "Now you may

go to bed, you old fool." So the wife crept away.

Jack from his hiding-place watched the counting of the money, which he

knew was his poor father's, and wished it was his own; it would give him

much less trouble than going about selling the golden eggs. The giant,

little thinking he was so narrowly observed, reckoned it all up, and

then replaced it in the two bags, which he tied up very carefully and

put beside his chair, with his little dog to guard them. At last he fell

asleep as before, and snored so loud that Jack compared his noise to the

roaring of the sea in a high wind when the tide is coming in.

At last Jack, concluding all secure, stole out, in order to carry off

the two bags of money; but just as he laid his hands upon one of them,

the little dog, which he had not seen before, started from under the

giant's chair and barked most furiously. Instead of endeavoring to

escape, Jack stood still, though expecting his enemy to awake every

instant. Contrary, however, to his expectation, the giant continued in a

sound sleep, and Jack, seeing a piece of meat, threw it to the dog, who

at once ceased barking and began to devour it. So Jack carried off the

bags, one on each shoulder, but they were so heavy that it took him two

whole days to descend the bean-stalk and get back to his mother's door.

When he came he found the cottage deserted. He ran from one room to

another, without being able to find any one. He then hastened into the

village, hoping to see some of the neighbors who could inform him where

he could find his mother. An old woman at last directed him to a

neighboring house, where she was ill of a fever. He was greatly shocked

at finding her apparently dying, and blamed himself bitterly as the

cause of it all. However, at sight of her dear son, the poor woman

revived, and slowly recovered health. Jack gave her his two money-bags.

They had the cottage rebuilt and well furnished, and lived happier than

they had ever done before.

For three years Jack heard no more of the bean-stalk, but he could not

forget it, though he feared making his mother unhappy. It was in vain

endeavoring to amuse himself; he became thoughtful, and would arise at

the first dawn of day, and sit looking at the bean-stalk for hours

together.

His mother saw that something preyed upon his mind, and endeavored to

discover the cause; but Jack knew too well what the consequence would be

should she succeed. He did his utmost, therefore, to conquer the great

desire he had for another journey up the bean-stalk. Finding, however,

that his inclination grew too powerful for him, he began to make secret

preparations for his journey. He got ready a new disguise, better and

more complete than the former; and when summer came, on the longest day

he woke as soon as it was light, and, without telling his mother,

ascended the bean-stalk. He found, the road, journey, etc., much as it

was on the two former times. He arrived at the giant's mansion in the

evening, and found the wife standing, as usual, at the door. Jack had

disguised himself so completely that she did not appear to have the

least recollection of him; however, when he pleaded hunger and poverty

in order to gain admittance, he found it very difficult indeed to

persuade her. At last he prevailed, and was concealed in the copper.

When the giant returned, he said furiously, "I smell fresh meat!" But

Jack felt quite composed, as he had said so before and had been soon

satisfied. However, the giant started up suddenly, and, notwithstanding

all his wife could say, he searched all round the room. Whilst this was

going forward, Jack was exceedingly terrified, wishing himself at home a

thousand times; but when the giant approached the copper, and put his

hand on the lid, Jack thought his death was certain. However, nothing

happened; for the giant did not take the trouble to lift up the lid, but

sat down shortly by the fireside and began to eat his enormous supper.

When he had finished, he commanded his wife to fetch down his harp.

Jack peeped under the copper lid and saw a most beautiful harp. The

giant placed it on the table, said, "Play!" and it played of its own

accord, without anybody touching it, the most exquisite music

imaginable.

Jack, who was a very good musician, was delighted, and more anxious to

get this than any other of his enemy's treasures. But the giant not

being particularly fond of music, the harp had only the effect of

lulling him to sleep earlier than usual. As for the wife, she had gone

to bed as soon as ever she could.

As soon as he thought all was safe, Jack got out of the copper, and,

seizing the harp, was eagerly running off with it. But the harp was

enchanted by a fairy, and as soon as it found itself in strange hands,

it called out loudly, just as if it had been alive, "Master! Master!"

The giant awoke, started up, and saw Jack scampering away as fast as his

legs could carry him.

"Oh, you villain! It is you who have robbed me of my hen and my

money-bags, and now you are stealing my harp also. Wait till I catch

you, and I'll eat you up alive!"

"Very well; try!" shouted Jack, who was not a bit afraid, for he saw the

giant was so tipsy he could hardly stand, much less run; and he himself

had young legs and a clear conscience, which carry a man a long way. So,

after leading the giant a considerable race, he contrived to be first at

the top of the bean-stalk, and then scrambled down it as fast as he

could, the harp playing all the while the most melancholy music, till he

said, "Stop"; and it stopped.

Arrived at the bottom, he found his mother sitting at her cottage door,

weeping silently.

"Here, mother, don't cry; just give me a hatchet; make haste." For he

knew there was not a moment to spare. He saw the giant beginning to

descend the bean-stalk.

However, it was too late--the monster's ill deeds had come to an end.

Jack with his hatchet cut the bean-stalk close off at the root; the

giant fell headlong into the garden, and was killed on the spot.

Instantly the fairy appeared and explained everything to Jack's mother,

begging her to forgive Jack, who was his father's own son for bravery

and generosity, and who would be sure to make her happy for the rest of

her days.

So all ended well, and nothing was ever more heard or seen of the

wonderful bean-stalk.

158

Those wonder stories that concern themselves

with giants or with very little people have

always been favorites with children. Of the

little heroes Tom Thumb has always held the

center of the stage. His adventures in one form

or another are in the folk tales of most

European countries. He has the honor of being

the subject of a monograph by the great French

scholar Gaston Paris. Hans Christian Andersen

turned him into a delightful little girl in his

derivative story of "Thumbelina." The English

version of "Tom Thumb" seems to have been

printed first in ballad form in the seventeenth

century, and later in many chapbook versions in

prose. Its plot takes the form of a succession

of marvelous accidents by land and sea, limited

only by the inventive ingenuity of the

story-teller. "According to popular tradition

Tom Thumb died at Lincoln. . . . There was a

little blue flagstone in the pavement of the

Minster which was shown as Tom Thumb's

monument, and the country folks never failed to

marvel at it when they came to church on the

Assize Sunday; but during some of the modern

repairs which have been inflicted on that

venerable building, the flagstone was displaced

and lost, to the great discomfiture of the

holiday visitants." Thus wrote an ancient and

learned scholar in illustration of the tendency

to give a local habitation and a name to our

favorite fancies. The version of the story

given by Miss Mulock in her _Fairy Book_ is the

one used here. It follows closely the rambling

events of the various chapbook and ballad

versions.

TOM THUMB

In the days of King Arthur, Merlin, the most learned enchanter of his

time, was on a journey; and being very weary, stopped one day at the

cottage of an honest ploughman to ask for refreshment. The ploughman's

wife with great civility immediately brought him some milk in a wooden

bowl and some brown bread on a wooden platter.

Merlin could not help observing that although everything within the

cottage was particularly neat and clean and in good order, the ploughman

and his wife had the most sorrowful air imaginable; so he questioned

them on the cause of their melancholy and learned that they were very

miserable because they had no children.

The poor woman declared with tears in her eyes that she should be the

happiest creature in the world if she had a son, although he were no

bigger than his father's thumb.

Merlin was much amused with the notion of a boy no bigger than a man's

thumb, and as soon as he returned home he sent for the queen of the

fairies (with whom he was very intimate) and related to her the desire

of the ploughman and his wife to have a son the size of his father's

thumb. She liked the plan exceedingly and declared their wish should be

speedily granted. Accordingly the ploughman's wife had a son, who in a

few minutes grew as tall as his father's thumb.

The queen of the fairies came in at the window as the mother was sitting

up in bed admiring the child. Her majesty kissed the infant and, giving

it the name of Tom Thumb, immediately summoned several fairies from

Fairyland to clothe her new little favorite.

"An oak-leaf hat he had for his crown;

His shirt it was by spiders spun;

With doublet wove of thistledown,

His trousers up with points were done;

His stockings, of apple-rind, they tie

With eye-lash plucked from his mother's eye,

His shoes were made of a mouse's skin,

Nicely tann'd with hair within."

Tom was never any bigger than his father's thumb, which was not a large

thumb either; but as he grew older he became very cunning, for which his

mother did not sufficiently correct him, and by this ill quality he was

often brought into difficulties. For instance, when he had learned to

play with other boys for cherry-stones and had lost all his own, he used

to creep into the boys' bags, fill his pockets, and come out again to

play. But one day as he was getting out of a bag of cherry-stones, the

boy to whom it belonged chanced to see him.

"Ah, ha, my little Tom Thumb!" said he, "have I caught you at your bad

tricks at last? Now I will reward you for thieving." Then he drew the

string tight around Tom's neck and shook the bag. The cherry-stones

bruised Tom Thumb's legs, thighs, and body sadly, which made him beg to

be let out and promise never to be guilty of such things any more.

Shortly afterwards Tom's mother was making a batter-pudding, and that

he might see how she mixed it, he climbed on the edge of the bowl; but

his foot happening to slip, he fell over head and ears into the batter.

His mother not observing him, stirred him into the pudding and popped

him into the pot to boil. The hot water made Tom kick and struggle; and

the mother, seeing the pudding jump up and down in such a furious

manner, thought it was bewitched; and a tinker coming by just at the

time, she quickly gave him the pudding. He put it into his budget and

walked on.

As soon as Tom could get the batter out of his mouth he began to cry

aloud, and so frightened the poor tinker that he flung the pudding over

the hedge and ran away from it as fast as he could. The pudding being

broken to pieces by the fall, Tom was released, and walked home to his

mother, who gave him a kiss and put him to bed.

Tom Thumb's mother once took him with her when she went to milk the cow;

and it being a very windy day, she tied him with a needleful of thread

to a thistle, that he might not be blown away. The cow, liking his

oak-leaf hat, took him and the thistle up at one mouthful. While the cow

chewed the thistle, Tom, terrified at her great teeth, which seemed

ready to crush him to pieces, roared, "Mother, mother!" as loud as he

could bawl.

"Where are you, Tommy, my dear Tommy?" said the mother.

"Here, mother, here in the red cow's mouth."

The mother began to cry and wring her hands; but the cow, surprised at

such odd noises in her throat, opened her mouth and let him drop out.

His mother clapped him into her apron and ran home with him.

Tom's father made him a whip of a barley straw to drive the cattle with,

and one day when he was in the field he slipped into a deep furrow. A

raven flying over picked him up with a grain of corn and flew with him

to the top of a giant's castle by the seaside, where he left him; and

old Grumbo, the giant, coming soon after to walk upon his terrace,

swallowed Tom like a pill, clothes and all.

Tom presently made the giant very uncomfortable, and he threw him up

into the sea. A great fish then swallowed him. The fish was soon after

caught, and sent as a present to King Arthur. When it was cut open,

everybody was delighted with little Tom Thumb. The king made him his

dwarf; he was the favorite of the whole court, and by his merry pranks

often amused the queen and the knights of the Round Table.

The king, when he rode on horse-back, frequently took Tom in his hand;

and if a shower of rain came on, he used to creep into the king's

waist-coat pocket and sleep till the rain was over. The king also

sometimes questioned Tom concerning his parents; and when Tom informed

his majesty they were very poor people, the king led him into his

treasury and told him he should pay his friends a visit and take with

him as much money as he could carry. Tom procured a little purse, and

putting a threepenny piece into it, with much labor and difficulty got

it upon his back; and, after travelling two days and nights, arrived at

his father's house.

When his mother met him at the door, he was almost tired to death,

having in forty-eight hours traveled almost half a mile with a huge

silver threepence upon his back. Both his parents were glad to see him,

especially when he had brought such an amazing sum of money with him.

They placed him in a walnut-shell by the fireside and feasted him for

three days upon a hazel-nut, which made him sick, for a whole nut

usually served him for a month.

Tom got well, but could not travel because it had rained; therefore his

mother took him in her hand, and with one puff blew him into King

Arthur's court, where Tom entertained the king, queen, and nobility at

tilts and tournaments, at which he exerted himself so much that he

brought on a fit of sickness, and his life was despaired of.

At this juncture the queen of the fairies came in a chariot, drawn by

flying mice, placed Tom by her side, and drove through the air without

stopping till they arrived at her palace. After restoring him to health

and permitting him to enjoy all the gay diversions of Fairyland, she

commanded a fair wind, and, placing Tom before it, blew him straight to

the court of King Arthur. But just as Tom should have alighted in the

courtyard of the palace, the cook happened to pass along with the king's

great bowl of furmenty (King Arthur loved furmenty), and poor Tom Thumb

fell plump into the middle of it and splashed the hot furmenty into the

cook's eyes. Down went the bowl.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" cried Tom.

"Murder! murder!" bellowed the cook; and away poured the king's nice

furmenty into the kennel.

The cook was a red-faced, cross fellow, and swore to the king that Tom

had done it out of mere mischief; so he was taken up, tried, and

sentenced to be beheaded. Tom hearing this dreadful sentence and seeing

a miller stand by with his mouth wide open, he took a good spring and

jumped down the miller's throat, unperceived by all, even the miller

himself.

Tom being lost, the court broke up, and away went the miller to his

mill. But Tom did not leave him long at rest; he began to roll and

tumble about, so that the miller thought himself bewitched and sent for

a doctor. When the doctor came, Tom began to dance and sing. The doctor

was as much frightened as the miller and sent in great haste for five

more doctors and twenty learned men.

While all these were debating upon the affair, the miller (for they were

very tedious) happened to yawn, and Tom, taking the opportunity, made

another jump and alighted on his feet in the middle of the table. The

miller, provoked to be thus tormented by such a little creature, fell

into a great passion, caught hold of Tom, and threw him out of the

window into the river. A large salmon swimming by snapped him up in a

minute. The salmon was soon caught and sold in the market to a steward

of a lord. The lord, thinking it an uncommonly fine fish, made a present

of it to the king, who ordered it to be dressed immediately. When the

cook cut open the salmon he found poor Tom and ran with him directly to

the king; but the king, being busy with state affairs, desired that he

might be brought another day.

The cook, resolving to keep him safely this time, as he had so lately

given him the slip, clapped him into a mouse-trap and left him to amuse

himself by peeping through the wires for a whole week. When the king

sent for him, he forgave him for throwing down the furmenty, ordered

him new clothes, and knighted him.

"His shirt was made of butterflies' wings;

His boots were made of chicken skins,

His coat and breeches were made with pride,

A tailor's needle hung by his side;

A mouse for a horse he used to ride."

Thus dressed and mounted, he rode a-hunting with the king and nobility,

who all laughed heartily at Tom and his prancing steed. As they rode by

a farm-house one day, a cat jumped from behind the door, seized the

mouse and little Tom, and began to devour the mouse; however, Tom boldly

drew his sword and attacked the cat, who then let him fall. The king and

his nobles, seeing Tom falling, went to his assistance, and one of the

lords caught him in his hat; but poor Tom was sadly scratched, and his

clothes were torn by the claws of the cat. In this condition he was

carried home, and a bed of down was made for him in a little ivory

cabinet.

The queen of the fairies came and took him again to Fairyland, where she

kept him for some years; and then, dressing him in bright green, sent

him flying once more through the air to the earth, in the days of King

Thunstone. The people flocked far and near to look at him; and the king,

before whom he was carried, asked him who he was, whence he came, and

where he lived? Tom answered:

"My name is Tom Thumb;

From the fairies I come;

When King Arthur shone,

This court was my home;

In me he delighted;

By him I was knighted.

Did you ever hear of

Sir Thomas Thumb?"

The king was so charmed with this address that he ordered a little chair

to be made, in order that Tom might sit on his table, and also a palace

of gold a span high with a door an inch wide, for little Tom to live in.

He also gave him a coach drawn by six small mice. This made the queen

angry, because she had not a new coach too; therefore, resolving to ruin

Tom, she complained to the king that he had behaved very insolently to

her. The king sent for him in a rage. Tom, to escape his fury, crept

into an empty snail-shell and there lay till he was almost starved;

then, peeping out of the hole, he saw a fine butterfly settle on the

ground. He then ventured out, and getting astride, the butterfly took

wing and mounted into the air with little Tom on his back. Away he flew

from field to field, from tree to tree, till at last he flew to the

king's court. The king, queen, and nobles all strove to catch the

butterfly, but could not. At length poor Tom, having neither bridle nor

saddle, slipped from his seat and fell into a watering-pot, where he was

found almost drowned.

The queen vowed he should be guillotined; but while the guillotine was

getting ready, he was secured once more in a mousetrap. The cat, seeing

something stir and supposing it to be a mouse, patted the trap about

till she broke it and set Tom at liberty.

Soon afterwards a spider, taking him for a fly, made at him. Tom drew

his sword and fought valiantly, but the spider's poisonous breath

overcame him:

"He fell dead on the ground where late he had stood,

And the spider suck'd up the last drop of his blood."

King Thunstone and his whole court went into mourning for little Tom

Thumb. They buried him under a rosebush and raised a nice white marble

monument over his grave, with the following epitaph:

"Here lies Tom Thumb, King Arthur's knight,

Who died by a spider's cruel bite.

He was well known in Arthur's court,

Where he afforded gallant sport;

He rode at tilt and tournament,

And on a mouse a-hunting went.

Alive he fill'd the court with mirth,

His death to sorrow soon gave birth.

Wipe, wipe your eyes, and shake your head,

And cry, 'Alas! Tom Thumb is dead.'"

159

This chapbook form of the famous "Whittington

and His Cat" is the one reprinted by Hartland

in his _English Fairy and Folk Tales_. It goes

back to the early eighteenth century. Sir

Richard Whittington, at least, was a historical

character and served his first term as Lord

Mayor of London in 1397. Like most popular

stories, this one of a fortune due to a cat is

common to all Europe. Mr. Clouston, in the

second volume of his _Popular Tales and

Fictions_, outlines a number of these stories,

and even points out a Persian parallel of an

earlier date than the birth of Sir Richard.

Just how this very prosperous business man of

London, who was never in reality a poor boy,

came to be adopted as the hero of the English

version of this romantic tale has never been

made clear. Probably it was due to the common

tendency of the folk in all lands to attribute

unusual success in any field to other than

ordinary causes. However that may be, it is

certainly true that no story more completely

satisfies the ideal of complete success for

children than this "History of Sir Richard

Whittington." Mr. Jacobs calls attention to the

interesting fact that the chapbook places the

introduction of the potato into England rather

far back!

WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT

In the reign of the famous King Edward III, there was a little boy

called Dick Whittington, whose father and mother died when he was very

young, so that he remembered nothing at all about them and was left a

ragged little fellow, running about a country village. As poor Dick was

not old enough to work, he was very badly off; he got but little for his

dinner and sometimes nothing at all for his breakfast, for the people

who lived in the village were very poor indeed and could not spare him

much more than the parings of potatoes and now and then a hard crust of

bread.

For all this, Dick Whittington was a very sharp boy and was always

listening to what everybody talked about. On Sunday he was sure to get

near the farmers as they sat talking on the tombstones in the churchyard

before the parson was come; and once a week you might see little Dick

leaning against the sign post of the village alehouse, where people

stopped to drink as they came from the next market town; and when the

barber's shop door was open, Dick listened to all the news that his

customers told one another.

In this manner Dick heard a great many very strange things about the

city called London; for the foolish country people at that time thought

that folks in London were all fine gentlemen and ladies, and that there

was singing and music there all day long, and that the streets were all

paved with gold.

One day a large wagon and eight horses, all with bells at their heads,

drove through the village while Dick was standing by the signpost. He

thought that this wagon must be going to the fine town of London; so he

took courage and asked the wagoner to let him walk with him by the side

of the wagon. As soon as the wagoner heard that poor Dick had no father

or mother and saw by his ragged clothes that he could not be worse off

than he was, he told him he might go if he would, so they set off

together.

I could never find out how little Dick contrived to get meat and drink

on the road, nor how he could walk so far, for it was a long way, nor

what he did at night for a place to lie down to sleep in. Perhaps some

good-natured people in the towns that he passed through, when they saw

he was a poor little ragged boy, gave him something to eat; and perhaps

the wagoner let him get into the wagon at night and take a nap upon one

of the boxes or large parcels in the wagon.

Dick, however, got safe to London and was in such a hurry to see the

fine streets paved all over with gold that I am afraid he did not even

stay to thank the kind wagoner, but ran off as fast as his legs would

carry him through many of the streets, thinking every moment to come to

those that were paved with gold, for Dick had seen a guinea three times

in his own little village and remembered what a deal of money it brought

in change; so he thought he had nothing to do but to take up some little

bits of the pavement and should then have as much money as he could wish

for.

Poor Dick ran till he was tired and had quite forgotten his friend the

wagoner; but at last, finding it grow dark and that every way he turned

he saw nothing but dirt instead of gold, he sat down in a dark corner

and cried himself to sleep.

Little Dick was all night in the streets; and next morning, being very

hungry, he got up and walked about and asked everybody he met to give

him a halfpenny to keep him from starving. But nobody stayed to answer

him, and only two or three gave him a halfpenny; so that the poor boy

was soon quite weak and faint for the want of victuals.

At last a good-natured looking gentleman saw how hungry he looked. "Why

don't you go to work, my lad?" said he to Dick.

"That I would, but I do not know how to get any," answered Dick.

"If you are willing, come along with me," said the gentleman, and took

him to a hay-field, where Dick worked briskly and lived merrily till the

hay was made.

After this he found himself as badly off as before; and being almost

starved again, he laid himself down at the door of Mr. Fitzwarren, a

rich merchant. Here he was soon seen by the cook-maid, who was an

ill-tempered creature and happened just then to be very busy dressing

dinner for her master and mistress; so she called out to poor Dick:

"What business have you there, you lazy rogue? There is nothing else but

beggars. If you do not take yourself away, we will see how you will like

a sousing of some dish water; I have some here hot enough to make you

jump."

Just at that time Mr. Fitzwarren himself came home to dinner; and when

he saw a dirty ragged boy lying at the door, he said to him: "Why do you

lie there, my boy? You seem old enough to work. I am afraid you are

inclined to be lazy."

"No, indeed, sir," said Dick to him, "that is not the case, for I would

work with all my heart, but I do not know anybody, and I believe I am

very sick for the want of food."

"Poor fellow, get up; let me see what ails you."

Dick then tried to rise, but was obliged to lie down again, being too

weak to stand, for he had not eaten any food for three days and was no

longer able to run about and beg a halfpenny of people in the street. So

the kind merchant ordered him to be taken into the house, and have a

good dinner given him, and be kept to do what dirty work he was able for

the cook.

Little Dick would have lived very happy in this good family if it had

not been for the ill-natured cook, who was finding fault and scolding

him from morning to night, and besides she was so fond of basting that

when she had no meat to baste she would baste poor Dick's head and

shoulders with a broom or anything else that happened to fall in her

way. At last her ill-usage of him was told to Alice, Mr. Fitzwarren's

daughter, who told the cook she should be turned away if she did not

treat him kinder.

The ill-humor of the cook was now a little amended; but besides this

Dick had another hardship to get over. His bed stood in a garret where

there were so many holes in the floor and the walls that every night he

was tormented with rats and mice. A gentleman having given Dick a penny

for cleaning his shoes, he thought he would buy a cat with it. The next

day he saw a girl with a cat and asked her if she would let him have it

for a penny. The girl said she would and at the same time told him the

cat was an excellent mouser.

Dick hid his cat in the garret and always took care to carry a part of

his dinner to her, and in a short time he had no more trouble with the

rats and mice, but slept quite sound every night.

Soon after this his master had a ship ready to sail; and as he thought

it right that all his servants should have some chance for good fortune

as well as himself, he called them all into the parlor and asked them

what they would send out.

They all had something that they were willing to venture except poor

Dick, who had neither money nor goods, and therefore could send nothing.

For this reason he did not come into the parlor with the rest; but Miss

Alice guessed what was the matter and ordered him to be called in. She

then said she would lay down some money for him from her own purse; but

the father told her this would not do, for it must be something of his

own.

When poor Dick heard this, he said he had nothing but a cat which he

bought for a penny some time since of a little girl.

"Fetch your cat then, my good boy," said Mr. Fitzwarren, "and let her

go."

Dick went up stairs and brought down poor puss, with tears in his eyes,

and gave her to the captain, for he said he should now be kept awake

again all night by the rats and mice.

All the company laughed at Dick's odd venture; and Miss Alice, who felt

pity for the poor boy, gave him some money to buy another cat.

This and many other marks of kindness shown him by Miss Alice made the

ill-tempered cook jealous of poor Dick, and she began to use him more

cruelly than ever and always made game of him for sending his cat to

sea. She asked him if he thought his cat would sell for as much money as

would buy a stick to beat him.

At last poor Dick could not bear this usage any longer, and he thought

he would run away from his place; so he packed up his few things and

started very early in the morning on All-hallows Day, which is the first

of November. He walked as far as Holloway, and there sat down on a

stone, which to this day is called Whittington's stone, and began to

think to himself which road he should take as he proceeded.

While he was thinking what he should do, the Bells of Bow Church, which

at that time had only six, began to ring, and he fancied their sound

seemed to say to him:

"Turn again, Whittington,

Lord Mayor of London."

"Lord Mayor of London!" said he to himself. "Why, to be sure, I would

put up with almost anything now to be Lord Mayor of London and ride in a

fine coach when I grow to be a man! Well, I will go back and think

nothing of the cuffing and scolding of the old cook if I am to be Lord

Mayor of London at last."

Dick went back and was lucky enough to get into the house and set about

his work before the old cook came downstairs.

The ship, with the cat on board, was a long time at sea, and was at last

driven by the winds on a part of the coast of Barbary where the only

people were the Moors, whom the English had never known before.

The people then came in great numbers to see the sailors, who were of

different color from themselves, and treated them very civilly, and when

they became better acquainted were very eager to buy the fine things

that the ship was loaded with.

When the captain saw this, he sent patterns of the best things he had to

the king of the country, who was so much pleased with them that he sent

for the captain to the palace. Here they were placed, as it is the

custom of the country, on rich carpets marked with gold and silver

flowers. The king and queen were seated at the upper end of the room,

and a number of dishes were brought in for dinner. When they had sat but

a short time, a vast number of rats and mice rushed in, helping

themselves from almost every dish. The captain wondered at this and

asked if these vermin were not very unpleasant.

"Oh, yes," said they, "very offensive; and the king would give half his

treasure to be freed of them, for they not only destroy his dinner, as

you see, but they assault him in his chamber and even in bed, so that he

is obliged to be watched while he is sleeping for fear of them."

The captain jumped for joy; he remembered poor Whittington and his cat

and told the king he had a creature on board the ship that would

dispatch all these vermin immediately. The king's heart heaved so high

at the joy which this news gave him that his turban dropped off his

head. "Bring this creature to me," says he; "vermin are dreadful in a

court, and if she will perform what you say, I will load your ship with

gold and jewels in exchange for her."

The captain, who knew his business, took this opportunity to set forth

the merits of Mrs. Puss. He told his majesty that it would be

inconvenient to part with her, as, when she was gone, the rats and mice

might destroy the goods in the ship--but to oblige his majesty he would

fetch her. "Run, run!" said the queen; "I am impatient to see the dear

creature."

Away went the captain to the ship, while another dinner was got ready.

He put puss under his arm and arrived at the palace soon enough to see

the table full of rats.

When the cat saw them, she did not wait for bidding, but jumped out of

the captain's arms and in a few minutes laid almost all the rats and

mice dead at her feet. The rest of them in their fright scampered away

to their holes.

The king and queen were quite charmed to get so easily rid of such

plagues and desired that the creature who had done them so great a

kindness might be brought to them for inspection. The captain called,

"Pussy, pussy, pussy!" and she came to him. He then presented her to the

queen, who started back and was afraid to touch a creature who had made

such a havoc among the rats and mice. However, when the captain stroked

the cat and called, "Pussy, pussy," the queen also touched her and

cried, "Putty, putty," for she had not learned English. He then put her

down on the queen's lap; where she, purring, played with her majesty's

hand and then sang herself to sleep.

The king, having seen the exploits of Mrs. Puss and being informed that

she was with young and would stock the whole country, bargained with the

captain for the whole ship's cargo and then gave him ten times as much

for the cat as all the rest amounted to.

The captain then took leave of the royal party and set sail with a fair

wind for England, and after a happy voyage arrived safe in London.

One morning when Mr. Fitzwarren had just come to his counting-house and

seated himself at the desk, somebody came tap, tap, at the door. "Who's

there?" says Mr. Fitzwarren.

"A friend," answered the other; "I come to bring you good news of your

ship _Unicorn_." The merchant, bustling up instantly, opened the door,

and who should be seen waiting but the captain with a cabinet of jewels

and a bill of lading, for which the merchant lifted up his eyes and

thanked heaven for sending him such a prosperous voyage.

They then told the story of the cat and showed the rich present that the

king and queen had sent for her to poor Dick. As soon as the merchant

heard this, he called out to his servants:

"Go fetch him--we will tell him of the same;

Pray call him Mr. Whittington by name."

Mr. Fitzwarren now showed himself to be a good man; for when some of his

servants said so great a treasure was too much for him, he answered,

"God forbid I should deprive him of the value of a single penny."

He then sent for Dick, who at that time was scouring pots for the cook

and was quite dirty.

Mr. Fitzwarren ordered a chair to be set for him, and so he began to

think they were making game of him, at the same time begging them not to

play tricks with a poor simple boy, but to let him go down again, if

they pleased, to his work.

"Indeed, Mr. Whittington," said the merchant, "we are all quite in

earnest with you, and I most heartily rejoice in the news these

gentlemen have brought you, for the captain has sold your cat to the

King of Barbary and brought you in return for her more riches than I

possess in the whole world; and I wish you may long enjoy them!"

Mr. Fitzwarren then told the men to open the great treasure they had

brought with them, and said, "Mr. Whittington has nothing to do but to

put it in some place of safety."

Poor Dick hardly knew how to behave himself for joy. He begged his

master to take what part of it he pleased, since he owed it all to his

kindness. "No, no," answered Mr. Fitzwarren, "this is all your own, and

I have no doubt but you will use it well."

Dick next asked his mistress, and then Miss Alice, to accept a part of

his good fortune; but they would not, and at the same time told him they

felt great joy at his good success. But this poor fellow was too

kind-hearted to keep it all to himself; so he made a present to the

captain, the mate, and the rest of Mr. Fitzwarren's servants, and even

to the ill-natured old cook.

After this Mr. Fitzwarren advised him to send for a proper tradesman and

get himself dressed like a gentleman, and told him he was welcome to

live in his house till he could provide himself with a better.

When Whittington's face was washed, his hair curled, and his hat cocked,

and he was dressed in a nice suit of clothes, he was as handsome and

genteel as any young man who visited at Mr. Fitzwarren's; so that Miss

Alice, who had once been so kind to him and thought of him with pity,

now looked upon him as fit to be her sweetheart; and the more so, no

doubt, because Whittington was now always thinking what he could do to

oblige her and making her the prettiest presents that could be.

Mr. Fitzwarren soon saw their love for each other and proposed to join

them in marriage, and to this they both readily agreed. A day for the

wedding was soon fixed; and they were attended to church by the Lord

Mayor, the court of aldermen, the sheriffs, and a great number of the

richest merchants in London, whom they afterwards treated with a very

rich feast.

History tells us that Mr. Whittington and his lady lived in great

splendor and were very happy. They had several children. He was Sheriff

of London, also Mayor, and received the honor of knighthood by Henry V.

The figure of Sir Richard Whittington with his cat in his arms, carved

in stone, was to be seen till the year 1780 over the archway of the old

prison of Newgate that stood across Newgate Street.

160

The next story came from Suffolk, England, and

the original is in the pronounced dialect of

that county. Mr. Jacobs thinks it one of the

best folk tales ever collected. The version

given follows Jacobs in reducing the dialect.

There is enough left, however, to raise the

question of the use of dialect in stories for

children. Some modern versions eliminate the

dialect altogether. It is certain that the

retention of some of the qualities of the

folk-telling makes it more dramatically

effective and appropriate. The original form of

the story may be seen in Hartland's _English

Fairy and Folk Tales_. Teachers should feel

free to use their judgment as to the best form

in which to tell a story to children.

Name-guessing stories are very common, and may

be "a 'survival' of the superstition that to

know a man's name gives you power over him, for

which reason savages object to tell their

names." The Grimm story of "Rumpelstiltskin" is

the best known of many variants (No. 178). "Tom

Tit Tot" has a rude vigor and dramatic force

not in the continental versions, and it will be

interesting to compare it with the Grimm tale.

Jacobs suggests that "it may be necessary to

explain to the little ones that Tom Tit can be

referred to only as 'that,' because his name is

not known until the end."

TOM TIT TOT

Once upon a time there was a woman, and she baked five pies. And when

they came out of the oven, they were that over-baked the crusts were too

hard to eat. So she says to her daughter: "Darter," says she, "put you

them there pies on the shelf, and leave 'em there a little, and they'll

come again."--She meant, you know, the crust would get soft.

But the girl, she says to herself, "Well, if they'll come again, I'll

eat 'em now." And she set to work and ate 'em all, first and last.

Well, come supper-time the woman said, "Go you and get one o' them there

pies. I dare say they've come again now."

The girl went and she looked, and there was nothing but the dishes. So

back she came and says she, "Noo, they ain't come again."

"Not one of 'em?" says the mother.

"Not one of 'em," says she.

"Well, come again or not come again," said the woman, "I'll have one for

supper."

"But you can't if they ain't come," said the girl.

"But I can," says she. "Go you and bring the best of 'em."

"Best or worst," says the girl, "I've ate 'em all, and you can't have

one till that's come again."

Well, the woman she was done, and she took her spinning to the door to

spin, and as she span she sang:

"My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day.

My darter ha' ate five, five pies to-day."

The king was coming down the street, and he heard her sing, but what she

sang he couldn't hear, so he stopped and said, "What was that you were

singing, my good woman?"

The woman was ashamed to let him hear what her daughter had been doing,

so she sang, instead of that:

"My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day.

My darter ha' spun five, five skeins to-day."

"Stars o' mine!" said the king, "I never heard tell of any one that

could do that."

Then he said, "Look you here, I want a wife, and I'll marry your

daughter. But look you here," says he, "eleven months out of the year

she shall have all she likes to eat, and all the gowns she likes to get,

and all the company she likes to keep; but the last month of the year

she'll have to spin five skeins every day, and if she don't I shall kill

her."

"All right," says the woman; for she thought what a grand marriage that

was. And as for the five skeins, when the time came, there'd be plenty

of ways of getting out of it, and likeliest, he'd have forgotten all

about it.

Well, so they were married. And for eleven months the girl had all she

liked to eat and all the gowns she liked to get and all the company she

liked to keep.

But when the time was getting over, she began to think about the skeins

and to wonder if he had 'em in mind. But not one word did he say about

'em, and she thought he'd wholly forgotten 'em.

However, the first day of the last month he takes her to a room she'd

never set eyes on before. There was nothing in it but a spinning-wheel

and a stool. And says he, "Now, my dear, here you'll be shut in

to-morrow with some victuals and some flax, and if you haven't spun

five skeins by the night, your head'll go off." And away he went about

his business.

Well, she was that frightened, she'd always been such a gatless girl,

that she didn't so much as know how to spin, and what was she to do

to-morrow with no one to come nigh her to help her? She sat down on a

stool in the kitchen, and law! how she did cry!

However, all of a sudden she heard a sort of a knocking low down on the

door. She upped and oped it, and what should she see but a small little

black thing with a long tail. That looked up at her right curious, and

that said, "What are you a-crying for?"

"What's that to you?" says she.

"Never you mind," that said, "but tell me what you're a-crying for."

"That won't do me no good if I do," says she.

"You don't know that," that said, and twirled that's tail round.

"Well," says she, "that won't do no harm, if that don't do no good," and

she upped and told about the pies and the skeins and everything.

"This is what I'll do," says the little black thing, "I'll come to your

window every morning and take the flax and bring it spun at night."

"What's your pay?" says she.

That looked out of the corner of that's eyes, and that said, "I'll give

you three guesses every night to guess my name, and if you haven't

guessed it before the month's up you shalt be mine."

Well, she thought she'd be sure to guess that's name before the month

was up. "All right," says she, "I agree."

"All right," that says, and law! how that twirled that's tail.

Well, the next day her husband took her into the room, and there was the

flax and the day's food.

"Now, there's the flax," says he, "and if that ain't spun up this night,

off goes your head." And then he went out and locked the door.

He'd hardly gone when there was a knocking against the window. She upped

and she oped it, and there sure enough was the little old thing sitting

on the ledge.

"Where's the flax?" says he.

"Here it be," says she. And she gave it to him.

Well, come the evening a knocking came again to the window. She upped

and she oped it, and there was the little old thing with five skeins of

flax on his arm.

"Here it be," says he, and he gave it to her. "Now, what's my name?"

says he. "What, is that Bill?" says she. "Noo, that ain't," says he, and

he twirled his tail. "Is that Ned?" says she. "Noo, that ain't," says

he, and he twirled his tail. "Well, is that Mark?" says she. "Noo, that

ain't," says he, and he twirled his tail harder, and away he flew.

Well, when her husband came in, there were the five skeins ready for

him. "I see I shan't have to kill you to-night, my dear," says he;

"you'll have your food and your flax in the morning," says he, and away

he goes.

Well, every day the flax and the food were brought, and every day that

there little black impet used to come mornings and evenings. And all the

day the girl sat trying to think of names to say to it when it came at

night. But she never hit on the right one. And as it got towards the end

of the month, the impet began to look so maliceful, and that twirled

that's tail faster and faster each time she gave a guess.

At last it came to the last day but one. The impet came at night along

with the five skeins, and that said, "What, ain't you got my name yet?"

"Is that Nicodemus?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't," that says. "Is that

Sammle?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't," that says. "A-well, is that

Methusalem?" says she. "Noo, 't ain't that neither," that says.

Then that looks at her with that's eyes like a coal o' fire, and that

says, "Woman, there's only to-morrow night, and then you'll be mine!"

And away it flew.

Well, she felt that horrid. However she heard the king coming along the

passage. In he came, and when he sees the five skeins, says he, "Well,

my dear, I don't see but what you'll have your skeins ready to-morrow

night as well and as I reckon I shan't have to kill you, I'll have

supper in here to-night." So they brought supper and another stool for

him, and down the two sat.

Well, he hadn't eaten but a mouthful or so, when he stops and begins to

laugh.

"What is it?" says she.

"A-why," says he, "I was out a-hunting to-day, and I got away to a place

in the wood I'd never seen before. And there was an old chalk-pit. And I

heard a kind of a sort of humming. So I got off my hobby, and I went

right quiet to the pit, and I looked down. Well, what should there be

but the funniest little black thing you ever set eyes on. And what was

that doing, but that had a little spinning-wheel, and that was spinning

wonderful fast, and twirling that's tail. And as that span that sang:

"Nimmy nimmy not

My name's Tom Tit Tot."

Well, when the girl heard this, she felt as if she could have jumped out

of her skin for joy, but she didn't say a word.

Next day that there little thing looked so maliceful when he came for

the flax. And when night came she heard that knocking against the window

panes. She oped the window, and that come right in on the ledge. That

was grinning from ear to ear, and Oo! that's tail was twirling round so

fast.

"What's my name?" that says, as that gave her the skeins. "Is that

Solomon?" she says, pretending to be afeard. "Noo, 't ain't," that says,

and that came further into the room. "Well, is that Zebedee?" says she

again. "Noo, 't ain't," says the impet. And then that laughed and

twirled that's tail till you couldn't hardly see it.

"Take time, woman," that says; "next guess, and you're mine." And that

stretched out that's black hands at her.

Well, she backed a step or two, and she looked at it, and then she

laughed out and says she, pointing her finger at it:

"Nimmy nimmy not

Your name's Tom Tit Tot."

Well, when that heard her, that gave an awful shriek and away that flew

into the dark, and she never saw it any more.

161

In 1697 the French author Charles Perrault

(1628-1703) published a little collection of

eight tales in prose familiarly known as _The

Tales of Mother Goose_ (_Contes de Ma Mere

l'Oye_). These tales were "The Fairies" ("Toads

and Diamonds"), "The Sleeping Beauty in the

Wood," "Bluebeard," "Little Red Riding Hood,"

"Puss-in-Boots," "Cinderella," "Rique with the

Tuft," and "Little Thumb." Perrault was

prominent as a scholar and may have felt it

beneath his dignity to write nursery tales. At

any rate he declared the stories were copied

from tellings by his eleven-year-old son. But

Perrault's fairies have not only saved him from

oblivion: in countless editions and

translations they have won him immortality. The

charming literary form of his versions,

"Englished by R. S., Gent," about 1730, soon

established them in place of the more somber

English popular versions. It is practically

certain that the name Mother Goose, as that of

the genial old lady who presides over the light

literature of the nursery, was established by

the work of Perrault.

"Little Red Riding Hood," a likely candidate

for first place in the affections of childish

story-lovers, is here given in its "correct"

form. Many versions are so constructed as to

have happy endings, either by having the

woodmen appear in the nick of time to kill the

wolf before any damage is done, or by having

the grandmother and Little Red Riding Hood

restored to life after recovering them from the

"innards" of the wolf. Andrew Lang thinks that

the tale as it stands is merely meant to waken

a child's terror and pity, after the fashion of

the old Greek tragedies, and that the narrator

properly ends it by making a pounce, in the

character of wolf, at the little listener. That

this was the correct "business" in Scotch

nurseries is borne out by a sentence in

Chambers' _Popular Rhymes of Scotland_: "The

old nurse's imitation of the _gnash, gnash_,

which she played off upon the youngest urchin

lying in her lap, was electric."

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD

Once upon a time there lived in a certain village a little country girl,

the prettiest creature that was ever seen. Her mother was excessively

fond of her; and her grandmother doted on her still more. This good

woman got made for her a little red riding-hood, which became the girl

so extremely well that everybody called her Little Red Riding-Hood.

One day her mother, having made some custards, said to her, "Go, my

dear, and see how thy grandmamma does, for I hear that she has been very

ill; carry her a custard and this little pot of butter."

Little Red Riding-Hood set out immediately to go to her grandmother, who

lived in another village.

As she was going through the wood, she met with Gaffer Wolf, who had a

very great mind to eat her up, but he durst not because of some

fagot-makers hard by in the forest. He asked her whither she was going.

The poor child, who did not know that it was dangerous to stay and hear

a wolf talk, said to him, "I am going to see my grandmamma and carry her

a custard and a little pot of butter from my mamma."

"Does she live far off?" said the wolf.

"Oh! aye," answered Little Red Riding-Hood, "it is beyond the mill you

see there at the first house in the village."

"Well," said the wolf, "and I'll go and see her too. I'll go this way

and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest."

The wolf began to run as fast as he could, taking the nearest way, and

the little girl went by that farthest about, diverting herself by

gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nosegays of such

little flowers as she met with. The wolf was not long before he got to

the old woman's house. He knocked at the door--tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

"Your grandchild, Little Red Riding-Hood," replied the wolf,

counterfeiting her voice, "who has brought you a custard and a pot of

butter sent you by mamma."

The good grandmother, who was in bed because she was somewhat ill, cried

out, "Pull the bobbin and the latch will go up."

The wolf pulled the bobbin and the door opened, and then presently he

fell upon the good woman and ate her up in a moment, for it was above

three days that he had not touched a bit. He then shut the door and went

into the grandmother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding-Hood, who came

some time afterward and knocked at the door--tap, tap.

"Who's there?"

Little Red Riding-Hood, hearing the big voice of the wolf, was at first

afraid, but believing her grandmother had got a cold and was hoarse,

answered, "'Tis your grandchild, Little Red Riding-Hood, who has brought

you a custard and a little pot of butter mamma sends you."

The wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could,

"Pull the bobbin and the latch will go up."

Little Red Riding-Hood pulled the bobbin and the door opened.

The wolf, seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the

bedclothes, "Put the custard and the little pot of butter upon the stool

and come and lie down with me."

Little Red Riding-Hood undressed herself and went into bed, where, being

greatly amazed to see how her grandmother looked in her night-clothes,

she said to her, "Grandmamma, what great arms you have got!"

"That is the better to hug thee, my dear."

"Grandmamma, what great legs you have got!"

"That is to run the better, my child."

"Grandmamma, what great ears you have got!"

"That is to hear the better, my child."

"Grandmamma, what great eyes you have got!"

"It is to see the better, my child."

"Grandmamma, what great teeth you have got!"

"That is to eat thee up."

And saying these words, this wicked wolf fell upon Little Red

Riding-Hood and ate her all up.

162

Because many modern teachers are distressed at

the tragedy of the real story of "Little Red

Riding Hood" as just given, they prefer some

softened form of the tale. The Grimm version,

"Little Red Cap," is generally used by those

who insist on a happy ending. There Little Red

Riding Hood and her grandmother are both

recovered and the wicked wolf destroyed. The

story that follows is from a modern French

author, Charles Marelles, and is given in the

translation found in Lang's _Red Fairy Book_.

In it the events are dramatically imagined in

detail, even if the writer does turn it all

into a sunflower myth at the close.

TRUE HISTORY OF LITTLE GOLDEN HOOD

You know the tale of poor Little Red Riding-Hood, that the wolf deceived

and devoured, with her cake, her little butter can, and her grandmother.

Well, the true story happened quite differently, as we know now. And

first of all, the little girl was called and is still called Little

Golden Hood; secondly, it was not she, nor the good granddame, but the

wicked wolf who was, in the end, caught and devoured.

Only listen.

The story begins something like the tale.

There was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its

season. Her real name was Blanchette, but she was more often called

Little Golden Hood, on account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood,

gold and fire colored, which she always had on. This little hood was

given her by her grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her

age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it was made of a ray of

sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was considered something

of a witch, every one thought the little hood rather bewitched too.

And so it was, as you will see.

One day the mother said to the child: "Let us see, my little Golden

Hood, if you know now how to find your way by yourself. You shall take

this good piece of cake to your grandmother for a Sunday treat

to-morrow. You will ask her how she is, and come back at once, without

stopping to chatter on the way with people you don't know. Do you quite

understand?"

"I quite understand," replied Blanchette gayly. And off she went with

the cake, quite proud of her errand.

But the grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood

to cross before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees

suddenly, "Who goes there?"

"Friend Wolf."

He had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour

her, when at the same moment he perceived some wood-cutters who might

observe him, and he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon Blanchette

he came frisking up to her like a good dog.

"'Tis you! my nice Little Golden Hood," said he. So the little girl

stops to talk with the wolf, whom, for all that, she did not know in the

least.

"You know me, then!" said she. "What is your name?"

"My name is friend Wolf. And where are you going thus, my pretty one,

with your little basket on your arm?"

"I am going to my grandmother to take her a good piece of cake for her

Sunday treat to-morrow."

"And where does she live, your grandmother?"

"She lives at the other side of the wood in the first house in the

village, near the windmill, you know."

"Ah! yes! I know now," said the wolf. "Well, that's just where I'm

going. I shall get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of

legs, and I'll tell her you're coming to see her; then she'll wait for

you."

Thereupon the wolf cuts across the wood, and in five minutes arrives at

the grandmother's house.

He knocks at the door: toc, toc.

No answer.

He knocks louder.

Nobody.

Then he stands up on end, puts his two fore paws on the latch, and the

door opens.

Not a soul in the house.

The old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and had gone

off in such haste that she had left her bed unmade, with her great

night-cap on the pillow.

"Good!" said the wolf to himself, "I know what I'll do."

He shuts the door, pulls on the grandmother's night-cap down to his

eyes; then he lies down all his length in the bed and draws the

curtains.

In the meantime the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little

girls do, amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies,

watching the little birds making their nests, and running after the

butterflies which fluttered in the sunshine.

At last she arrives at the door.

Knock, knock.

"Who is there?" says the wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.

"It's me, granny, your Little Golden Hood. I'm bringing you a big piece

of cake for your Sunday treat to-morrow."

"Press your finger on the latch; then push and the door opens."

"Why, you've got a cold, granny," said she, coming in.

"Ahem! a little, my dear, a little," replies the wolf, pretending to

cough. "Shut the door well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the

table, and then take off your frock and come and lie down by me; you

shall rest a little."

The good child undresses, but observe this:--she kept her little hood

upon her head. When she saw what a figure her granny cut in bed, the

poor little thing was much surprised.

"Oh!" cries she, "how like you are to friend Wolf, grandmother!"

"That's on account of my night-cap, child," replies the wolf.

"Oh! what hairy arms you've got, grandmother!"

"All the better to hug you, my child."

"Oh! what a big tongue you've got, grandmother!"

"All the better for answering, child."

"Oh! what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, grandmother!"

"That's for crunching little children with!" And the wolf opened his

jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.

But she put down her head, crying, "Mamma! mamma!" and the wolf only

caught her little hood.

Thereupon, oh, dear! oh, dear! he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw

as if he had swallowed red-hot coals.

It was the little fire-colored hood that had burnt his tongue right down

his throat.

The little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to

have in former times, in the stories, for making one's self invisible or

invulnerable.

So there was the wolf with his throat burned, jumping off the bed and

trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the

country were at his heels.

Just at this moment the grandmother arrives, returning from the town

with her long sack empty on her shoulder.

"Ah, brigand!" she cries, "wait a bit!" Quickly she opens her sack wide

across the door, and the maddened wolf springs in head downward.

It is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post. For

the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties it in

the well, where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is drowned.

"Ah, scoundrel! you thought you would crunch my little grandchild! Well,

to-morrow we will make her a muff of your skin, and you yourself shall

be crunched, for we will give your carcass to the dogs."

Thereupon the grandmother hastened to dress poor Blanchette, who was

still trembling with fear in the bed.

"Well," she said to her, "without my little hood where would you be now,

darling?" And, to restore heart and legs to the child, she made her eat

a good piece of her cake, and drink a good draught of wine, after which

she took her by the hand and led her back to the house.

And then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had

happened?

It was the mother.

But Blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more

stop to listen to a wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.

And Blanchette, the Little Golden Hood, kept her word. And in fine

weather she may still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood,

the color of the sun.

But to see her you must rise early.

163

The next Perrault story is given in the

traditional English form made by "R. S., Gent."

Perrault met the popular taste of his time for

"morals" by adding more or less playful ones in

verse to his stories. Here is a prose rendering

of a portion of the _Moralite_ attached to

"Puss-in-Boots": "However great may be the

advantage of enjoying a rich inheritance coming

down from father to son, industry and ingenuity

are worth more to young people as a usual thing

than goods acquired without personal effort."

In relation to this moral, Ralston says, "the

conclusion at which an ordinary reader would

arrive, if he were not dazzled by fairy-land

glamor, would probably be that far better than

either tact and industry on a master's part is

the loyalty of an unscrupulous retainer of an

imaginative turn of mind. The impropriety of

this teaching is not balanced by any other form

of instruction. What the story openly

inculcates is not edifying, and it does not

secretly convey any improving doctrine." But on

the other hand it may be argued that the

"moral" passes over the child's head. Miss

Kready, in her _Study of Fairy Tales_ (p. 275),

makes a very elaborate and proper defense of

"Puss-in-Boots" as a story for children. There

is delight in its strong sense of adventure, it

has a hero clever and quick, there is loyalty,

love, and sacrifice in Puss's devotion to his

master, the tricks are true to "cat-nature,"

there are touches of nature beauty, a simple

and pleasing plot, while we should not forget

the delightful Ogre and his transformations

into Lion and Mouse. The story is found in many

forms among many different peoples. Perhaps the

great stroke of genius which endears Perrault's

version is in the splendid boots with which his

tale provides the hero so that briers may not

interfere with his doings. (Extended studies of

this tale and its many parallels may be found

in Lang's _Perrault's Popular Tales_; in

McCulloch's _Childhood of Fiction_, chap. viii;

in an article by Ralston in the _Nineteenth

Century_, January, 1883, reprinted in _Living

Age_, Vol. CLVI, p. 362.)

PUSS-IN-BOOTS

There was once a miller who left no more estate to the three sons he had

than his mill, his ass, and his cat. The partition was soon made.

Neither the clerk nor the attorney was sent for. They would soon have

eaten up all the poor patrimony. The eldest had the mill, the second the

ass, and the youngest nothing but the cat.

The poor young fellow was quite comfortless at having so poor a lot. "My

brothers," said he, "may get their living handsomely enough by joining

their stocks together; but for my part, when I have eaten up my cat and

made me a muff of his skin, I must die with hunger."

The cat, who heard all this, but made as if he did not, said to him with

a grave and serious air; "Do not thus afflict yourself, my good master;

you have nothing else to do but to give me a bag and get a pair of

boots made for me, that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles,

and you shall see that you have not so bad a portion of me as you

imagine."

Though the cat's master did not build very much upon what he said, he

had, however, often seen him play a great many cunning tricks to catch

rats and mice; as when he used to hang by the heels, or hide himself in

the meal and make as if he were dead; so he did not altogether despair

of his affording him some help in his miserable condition.

When the cat had what he asked for, he booted himself very gallantly;

and putting his bag about his neck, he held the strings of it in his two

fore paws and went into a warren where was a great abundance of rabbits.

He put bran and sow-thistles into his bag, and, stretching himself out

at length as if he had been dead, he waited for some young rabbits, not

yet acquainted with the deceits of the world, to come and rummage his

bag for what he had just put into it.

Scarce was he lain down but he had what he wanted. A rash and foolish

young rabbit jumped into his bag, and master Puss, immediately drawing

close the strings, took and killed him without pity. Proud of his prey,

he went with it to the palace and asked to speak with his majesty. He

was shown upstairs into the king's apartment, and, making a low

reverence, said to him: "I have brought you, sir, a rabbit of the warren

which my noble lord, the Marquis of Carabas" (for that was the title

which Puss was pleased to give his master), "has commanded me to present

to your majesty from him."

"Tell thy master," said the king, "that I thank him and that he gives me

a great deal of pleasure."

Another time he went and hid himself among some standing corn, holding

still his bag open; and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he drew

the strings and so caught them both. He went and made a present of these

to the king, as he had done before of the rabbit which he took in the

warren. The king in like manner received the partridges with great

pleasure and ordered him some money.

The cat continued for two or three months thus to carry his majesty,

from time to time, game of his master's taking. One day in particular,

when he knew for certain that he was to take the air along the riverside

with his daughter, the most beautiful princess in the world, he said to

his master: "If you will follow my advice, your fortune is made. You

have nothing else to do but go and wash yourself in the river, in that

part I shall show you, and leave the rest to me." The Marquis of Carabas

did what the cat advised him to, without knowing why or wherefore.

While he was washing, the king passed by, and the cat began to cry out

as loud as he could, "Help, help! my lord Marquis of Carabas is going to

be drowned." At this noise the king put his head out of his

coach-window, and, finding it was the cat who had so often brought him

such good game, he commanded his guards to run immediately to the

assistance of his lordship, the Marquis of Carabas.

While they were drawing the poor marquis out of the river, the cat came

up to the coach and told the king that while his master was washing

there came by some rogues, who went off with his clothes though he had

cried out, "Thieves, thieves," as loud as he could. This cunning cat had

hidden them under a great stone. The king immediately commanded the

officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch one of his best suits for the

lord Marquis of Carabas.

The king caressed him after a very extraordinary manner; and as the fine

clothes he had given him extremely set off his good mien (for he was

well made and very handsome in his person), the king's daughter took a

secret inclination to him, and the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast

two or three respectful and somewhat tender glances, but she fell in

love with him to distraction. The king would needs have him come into

his coach and take part of the airing. The cat, quite overjoyed to see

his project begin to succeed, marched on before, and meeting with some

countrymen who were mowing a meadow, he said to them, "Good people, you

who are mowing, if you do not tell the king, who will soon pass this

way, that the meadow you mow belongs to my lord Marquis of Carabas, you

shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot."

The king did not fail asking of the mowers to whom the meadow they were

mowing belonged: "To my lord Marquis of Carabas," answered they, all

together, for the cat's threats had made them terribly afraid.

"You see, sir," said the marquis, "this is a meadow which never fails to

yield a plentiful harvest every year."

The master-cat, who went still on before, met with some reapers, and

said to them, "Good people, you who are reaping, if you do not tell the

king, who will presently go by, that all this corn belongs to the

Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot."

The king, who passed by a moment after, would needs know to whom all

that corn, which he then saw, did belong. "To my lord Marquis of

Carabas," replied the reapers; and the king was very well pleased with

it, as well as the marquis, whom he congratulated thereupon. The

master-cat, who went always before, said the same words to all he met;

and the king was astonished at the vast estates of my lord Marquis of

Carabas.

Master Puss came at last to a stately castle, the owner of which was an

ogre, the richest that had ever been known, for all the lands which the

king had then gone over belonged to this castle. The cat, who had taken

care to inform himself who the ogre was and what he could do, asked to

speak with him, saying he could not pass so near his castle without

having the honor of paying his respects to him.

The ogre received him as civilly as an ogre could do and made him sit

down. "I have been assured," said the cat, "that you have the gift of

being able to change yourself into all sorts of creatures you have a

mind to. You can, for example, transform yourself into a lion, or

elephant, and the like."

"This is true," answered the ogre very briskly, "and to convince you,

you shall see me now become a lion."

Puss was so sadly terrified at the sight of a lion so near him that he

immediately got into the gutter, not without abundance of trouble and

danger, because of his boots, which were of no use at all to him in

walking upon the tiles. A little while after, when Puss saw that the

ogre had resumed his natural form, he came down and owned he had been

very much frightened.

"I have been, moreover, informed," said the cat, "but I know not how to

believe it, that you have also the power to take on you the shape of the

smallest animals; for example, to change yourself into a rat or a mouse;

but I must own to you, I take this to be impossible."

"Impossible!" cried the ogre, "you shall see that presently," and at the

same time changed himself into a mouse, and began to run about the

floor. Puss no sooner perceived this but he fell upon him and ate him

up.

Meanwhile, the king, who saw, as he passed, this fine castle of the

ogre's, had a mind to go into it. Puss, who heard the noise of his

majesty's coach running over the drawbridge, ran out and said to the

king, "Your Majesty is welcome to this castle of my lord Marquis of

Carabas."

"What! my lord Marquis!" cried the king, "and does this castle also

belong to you? There can be nothing finer than this court and all the

stately buildings which surround it; let us go into it, if you please."

They passed into a spacious hall, where they found a magnificent

collation which the ogre had prepared for his friends, who were that

very day to visit him, but dared not to enter, knowing the king was

there. His majesty was perfectly charmed with the good qualities of my

lord Marquis of Carabas, as was his daughter, who had fallen in love

with him; and seeing the vast estate he possessed, said to him while

they sat at the feast, "It will be owing to yourself only, my lord

Marquis, if you are not my son-in-law." The marquis, making several low

bows, accepted the honor which his majesty conferred upon him, and

forthwith, that very same day, married the princess.

Puss became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more, but only

for his diversion.

164

Perrault attached to the next story this moral:

"Diamonds and dollars influence minds, and yet

gentle words have more effect and are more to

be esteemed. . . . It is a lot of trouble to be

upright and it requires some effort, but sooner

or later it finds its reward, and generally

when one is least expecting it." English

versions are usually given the title "Toads and

Diamonds," though Perrault's title was simply

"The Fairies" ("Les Fees"). Lang calls

attention to the fact that the origin of the

story is "manifestly moral." He thinks "it is

an obvious criticism that the elder girl should

have met the fairy first; she was not likely to

behave so rudely when she knew that politeness

would be rewarded." It would be interesting for

a story-teller to test the effect of relating

the incidents in the order suggested by Lang.

TOADS AND DIAMONDS

There was once upon a time a widow who had two daughters. The oldest was

so much like her in face and humor that whoever looked upon the daughter

saw the mother. They were both so disagreeable and so proud that there

was no living with them. The youngest, who was the very picture of her

father for courtesy and sweetness of temper, was withal one of the most

beautiful girls that was ever seen. As people naturally love their own

likenesses, this mother ever doted on her eldest daughter and at the

same time had a sad aversion for the youngest. She made her eat in the

kitchen and work continually.

Among other things, this poor child was forced twice a day to draw water

above a mile and a half from the house, and bring home a pitcher full of

it. One day as she was at this fountain there came to her a poor woman,

who begged of her to let her drink. "Oh, yes, with all my heart,

Goody," said this pretty little girl; and rinsing the pitcher, she took

up some water from the clearest place of the fountain and gave it to

her, holding up the pitcher all the while that she might drink the

easier.

The good woman having drunk, said to her, "You are so very pretty, my

dear, so good and so mannerly, that I cannot help giving you a

gift"--for this was a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor country

woman to see how far the civility and good manners of this pretty girl

would go. "I will give you for gift," continued the fairy, "that at

every word you speak, there shall come out of your mouth either a flower

or a jewel."

When this pretty girl came home, her mother scolded at her for staying

so long at the fountain. "I beg your pardon, mamma," said the poor girl,

"for not making more haste"; and, in speaking these words, there came

out of her mouth two roses, two pearls, and two large diamonds.

"What is it I see there?" said her mother quite astonished. "I think I

see pearls and diamonds come out of the girl's mouth! How happens this,

my child?"--This was the first time she ever called her her child.

The poor creature told her frankly all the matter, not without dropping

out infinite numbers of diamonds. "In good faith," cried the mother, "I

must send my child thither. Come hither, Fanny. Look what comes out of

your sister's mouth when she speaks! Would you not be glad, my dear, to

have the same gift given to you? You have nothing else to do but go draw

water out of the fountain, and when a certain poor woman asks you to let

her drink, to give it her very civilly."

"It would be a very fine sight, indeed," said this ill-bred minx, "to

see me go draw water!"

"You shall go, hussy," said the mother, "and this minute." So away she

went, but grumbling all the way and taking with her the best silver

tankard in the house.

She was no sooner at the fountain than she saw coming out of the wood a

lady most gloriously dressed, who came up to her and asked to drink.

This was, you must know, the very fairy who appeared to her sister, but

who had now taken the air and dress of a princess to see how far this

girl's rudeness would go. "Am I come hither," said the proud, saucy

maid, "to serve you with water, pray? I suppose the silver tankard was

brought purely for your ladyship, was it? However, you may drink out of

it, if you have a fancy."

"You are not over and above mannerly," answered the fairy, without

putting herself in a passion. "Well, then, since you have so little

breeding and are so disobliging, I give you for gift, that at every word

you speak there shall come out of your mouth a snake or a toad."

So soon as her mother saw her coming, she cried out, "Well, daughter."

"Well, mother," answered the pert hussy, throwing out of her mouth two

vipers and two toads.

"Oh, mercy!" cried the mother, "what is it I see? Oh, it is that wretch,

her sister, who has occasioned all this; but she shall pay for it"; and

immediately she ran to beat her. The poor child fled away from her and

went to hide herself in the forest, not far from thence.

The king's son, then on his return from hunting, met her, and seeing her

so very pretty, asked her what she did there alone, and why she cried.

"Alas, sir! my mamma has turned me out of doors." The king's son, who

saw five or six pearls, and as many diamonds, come out of her mouth,

desired her to tell him how that happened. She thereupon told him the

whole story; and so the king's son fell in love with her; and,

considering with himself that such a gift was worth more than any

marriage-portion whatsoever in another, he conducted her to the palace

of the king his father and there married her.

As for her sister, she made herself so much hated that her own mother

turned her off; and the miserable girl, having wandered about a good

while without finding anybody to take her in, went to a corner in the

wood and there died.

165

"Cinderella" is one of the world's greatest

romantic stories. Its theme is a favorite in

all folk literature. Young and old alike have

never tired of hearing of the victories won by

the deserving in the face of all sorts of

obstacles. Perrault in his verse moral observes

that "while beauty is a rare treasure for a

woman, yet a winning manner, or personality, is

worth even more." Still further, as if

conscious of the part influence plays in the

world, he says that "while it is doubtless a

great advantage to have wit and courage,

breeding and good sense, and other such natural

endowments, still they will be of no earthly

use for our advancement unless we have, to

bring them into play, either godfathers or

godmothers." One should not, however, take too

seriously any moralizing over a fairy story

whether by Perrault or another.

In one of the most thorough studies of a single

folk tale, Miss Roalfe Cox's _Cinderella_, with

an introduction by Andrew Lang, some three

hundred and fifty variants of the story have

been analyzed. The thing that marks a

Cinderella story is the presence in it of the

"slipper test." The finest versions are those

by Perrault and the Grimms, and they are almost

equally favorites with children. The Perrault

form as found in the old English translation is

given here for reasons stated by Ralston in his

study of the Cinderella type: "But Perrault's

rendering of the tale naturalised it in the

polite world, gave it for cultured circles an

attraction which it is never likely to lose. . . .

It is with human more than with mythological

interest that the story is replete, and

therefore it appeals to human hearts with a

force which no lapse of time can diminish. Such

supernatural machinery as is introduced,

moreover, has a charm for children which older

versions of the tale do not possess. The

pumpkin carriage, the rat coachman, the lizard

lacqueys, and all the other properties of the

transformation scene, appeal at once to the

imagination and the sense of humor of every

beholder." (_Nineteenth Century_, November,

1879.)

CINDERELLA, OR THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER

Once there was a gentleman who married, for his second wife, the

proudest and most haughty woman that was ever seen. She had, by a former

husband, two daughters of her own humor, who were indeed exactly like

her in all things. He had likewise, by another wife, a young daughter,

but of unparalleled goodness and sweetness of temper, which she took

from her mother, who was the best creature in the world.

No sooner were the ceremonies of the wedding over but the step-mother

began to show herself in her colors. She could not bear the good

qualities of this pretty girl; and the less because they made her own

daughters appear the more odious. She employed her in the meanest work

of the house; she scoured the dishes and tables, and cleaned madam's

room and the rooms of misses, her daughters; she lay up in a sorry

garret, upon a wretched straw-bed, while her sisters lay in fine rooms,

with floors all inlaid, upon beds of the very newest fashion, and where

they had looking-glasses so large that they might see themselves at

their full length, from head to foot.

The poor girl bore all patiently, and dared not tell her father, who

would have rattled her off, for his wife governed him entirely. When she

had done her work, she used to go into the chimney corner and sit down

among cinders and ashes, which made her commonly called Cinder-wench;

but the youngest, who was not so rude and uncivil as the eldest, called

her Cinderella. However, Cinderella, notwithstanding her mean apparel,

was a hundred times handsomer than her sisters, though they were always

dressed very richly.

It happened that the king's son gave a ball, and invited all persons of

fashion to it. Our young misses were also invited, for they cut a very

grand figure among the quality. They were mightily delighted at this

invitation, and wonderfully busy in choosing out such gowns, petticoats,

and head-clothes as might best become them. This was a new trouble to

Cinderella, for it was she who ironed her sisters' linen and plaited

their ruffles. They talked all day long of nothing but how they should

be dressed. "For my part," said the eldest, "I will wear my red velvet

suit with French trimmings."

"And I," said the youngest, "shall only have my usual petticoat; but

then, to make amends for that, I will put on my gold flowered manteau

and my diamond stomacher, which is far from being the most ordinary one

in the world." They sent for the best tire-woman they could get to make

up their head-dresses, and they had their patches from the very best

maker.

Cinderella was likewise called up to them to be consulted in all these

matters, for she had excellent notions and advised them always for the

best; nay, and offered her service to dress their heads, which they were

very willing she should do. As she was doing this, they said to her,

"Cinderella, would you not be glad to go to the ball?"

"Ah!" said she, "you only jeer at me; it is not for such as I am to go

thither."

"Thou art in the right of it," replied they; "it would make the people

laugh to see a cinder-wench at a ball."

Any one but Cinderella would have dressed their heads awry, but she was

very good, and dressed them perfectly well. They were almost two days

without eating, so much they were transported with joy. They broke above

a dozen of laces in trying to be laced up close, that they might have a

fine slender shape, and they were continually at their looking-glass. At

last the happy day came. They went to court, and Cinderella followed

them with her eyes as long as she could, and when she had lost sight of

them, she fell a-crying.

Her godmother, who saw her all in tears, asked her what was the matter.

"I wish I could--I wish I could--"; she was not able to speak the rest,

being interrupted by her tears and sobbing.

This godmother of hers, who was a fairy, said to her, "Thou wishest thou

couldest go to the ball. Is it not so?"

"Y--es," cried Cinderella with a great sigh.

"Well," said her godmother, "be but a good girl, and I will contrive

that thou shalt go."

Then she took her into her chamber and said to her, "Run into the garden

and bring me a pumpkin." Cinderella went immediately to gather the

finest she could get, and brought it to her godmother, not being able to

imagine how this pumpkin could make her go to the ball. Her godmother

scooped out all the inside of it, having left nothing but the rind;

which done, she struck it with her wand, and the pumpkin was instantly

turned into a fine coach, gilded all over with gold.

She then went to look into her mouse-trap, where she found six mice, all

alive, and ordered Cinderella to lift up a little the trap-door. Then

she gave each mouse, as it went out, a little tap with her wand, and the

mouse was that moment turned into a fair horse. All together the mice

made a very fine set of six horses of a beautiful mouse-colored

dapple-gray. Being at a loss for a coachman, "I will go and see," said

Cinderella, "if there be never a rat in the rat-trap, that we may make a

coachman of him."

"Thou art in the right," replied her godmother; "go and look."

Cinderella brought the trap to her, and in it there were three huge

rats. The fairy made choice of one of the three, which had the largest

beard, and, having touched him with her wand, he was turned into a fat,

jolly coachman, who had the smartest whiskers that eyes ever beheld.

After that her godmother said to her, "Go again into the garden and you

will find six lizards behind the watering pot; bring them to me." She

had no sooner done so, than the fairy turned them into six footmen, who

skipped up immediately behind the coach, with their liveries all

bedecked with gold and silver, and clung as close behind each other as

if they had done nothing else their whole lives. The fairy then said to

Cinderella, "Well, you see here an equipage fit to go to the ball with.

Are you not pleased with it?"

"Oh, yes," cried she, "but must I go thither as I am, in these filthy

rags?" Her godmother only just touched her with her wand, and at the

same instant her clothes were turned into cloth of gold and silver, all

beset with jewels. This done, she gave her a pair of glass slippers, the

prettiest in the whole world.

Being thus decked out, she got up into her coach; but her godmother,

above all things, commanded her not to stay till after midnight, telling

her that if she stayed at the ball one moment longer, her coach would be

a pumpkin again, her horses mice, her coachman a rat, her footmen

lizards, and her clothes just as they were before.

She promised her godmother she would not fail of leaving the ball before

midnight; and then away she drives, scarce able to contain herself for

joy. The king's son, who was told that a great princess, whom nobody

knew, was come, ran out to receive her. He gave her his hand as she

alighted from the coach, and led her into the hall among all the

company. There was immediately a profound silence. They left off

dancing, and the violins ceased to play, so attentive was every one to

contemplate the singular beauties of this unknown new-comer. Nothing was

then heard but a confused noise of, "Ha! how handsome she is! Ha! how

handsome she is!" The king himself, old as he was, could not help ogling

her and telling the queen softly that it was a long time since he had

seen so beautiful and lovely a creature. All the ladies were busied in

considering her clothes and head-dress, that they might have some made

next day after the same pattern, provided they could meet with such fine

materials and as able hands to make them.

The king's son conducted her to the most honorable seat and afterwards

took her out to dance with him. She danced so very gracefully that they

all more and more admired her. A fine collation was served up, whereof

the young prince ate not a morsel, so intently was he busied in gazing

on her. She went and sat down by her sisters, showing them a thousand

civilities, giving them part of the oranges and citrons which the prince

had presented her with; which very much surprised them, for they did not

know her. While Cinderella was thus amusing her sisters, she heard the

clock strike eleven and three quarters, whereupon she immediately made a

courtesy to the company and hasted away as fast as she could.

Being got home, she ran to seek out her godmother; and having thanked

her, she said she could not but heartily wish she might go next day to

the ball, because the king's son had desired her. As she was eagerly

telling her godmother whatever had passed at the ball, her two sisters

knocked at the door, which Cinderella ran and opened. "How long you have

stayed!" cried she, gaping, rubbing her eyes, and stretching herself as

if she had been just awakened out of her sleep; she had not, however,

any manner of inclination to sleep since they went from home.

"If thou hadst been at the ball," said one of her sisters, "thou

wouldest not have been tired with it. There came thither the finest

princess, the most beautiful ever seen with mortal eyes. She showed us a

thousand civilities and gave us oranges and citrons." Cinderella seemed

very indifferent in the matter; indeed, she asked them the name of the

princess, but they told her they did not know it and that the king's son

was very uneasy on her account and would give all the world to know who

she was.

At this Cinderella, smiling, replied, "She must then be very beautiful

indeed! How happy have you been! Could not I see her? Ah! dear Miss

Charlotte, do lend me your yellow suit of clothes, which you wear every

day."

"Ay, to be sure," cried Miss Charlotte, "lend my clothes to such a dirty

cinder-wench as thou art! Who's the fool then?" Cinderella indeed

expected some such answer and was very glad of the refusal, for she

would have been sadly put to it if her sister had lent her what she

asked for jestingly.

The next day the two sisters were at the ball, and so was Cinderella,

but dressed more magnificently than before. The king's son was always by

her side and never ceased his compliments and amorous speeches to her;

to whom all this was so far from being tiresome that she quite forgot

what her godmother had recommended to her, so that she at last counted

the clock striking twelve when she took it to be no more than eleven.

She then rose up and fled as nimble as a deer. The prince followed, but

could not overtake her. She left behind one of her glass slippers, which

the prince took up most carefully. She got home, but quite out of

breath, without coach or footmen, and in her old cinder clothes, having

nothing left of all her finery but one of the little slippers, fellow to

that she dropped. The guards at the palace gate were asked if they had

not seen a princess go out. They said they had seen nobody go out but a

young girl very meanly dressed, who had more the air of a poor country

wench than a gentlewoman.

When the two sisters returned from the ball, Cinderella asked them if

they had been well diverted and if the fine lady had been there. They

told her yes, but that she hurried away immediately when it struck

twelve and with so much haste that she dropped one of her little glass

slippers, the prettiest in the world, which the king's son had taken up;

that he had done nothing but look at her all the time of the ball, and

that most certainly he was very much in love with the beautiful person

who owned the little glass slipper.

What they said was very true, for a few days after, the king's son

caused to be proclaimed by sound of trumpets that he would marry her

whose foot this slipper would just fit. They whom he employed began to

try it on upon the princesses, then the duchesses, and all the court,

but in vain. It was brought to the two sisters, who did all they

possibly could to thrust their foot into the slipper, but they could not

effect it. Cinderella, who saw all this and knew her slipper, said to

them, laughing, "Let me see if it will not fit me!"

Her sisters burst out laughing and began to banter her. The gentleman

who was sent to try the slipper looked earnestly at Cinderella, and

finding her very handsome, said it was but just that she should try, and

that he had orders to let every one make trial. He obliged Cinderella to

sit down, and putting the slipper to her foot, he found it went in very

easily and fitted her as if it had been made of wax. The astonishment

her two sisters were in was excessively great, but still abundantly

greater when Cinderella pulled out of her pocket the other slipper and

put it on her foot. Thereupon in came her godmother, who having touched,

with her wand, Cinderella's clothes, made them richer and more

magnificent than any of those she had before.

And now her two sisters found her to be that fine beautiful lady whom

they had seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet to beg

pardon for all the ill treatment they had made her undergo. Cinderella

took them up, and as she embraced them, cried that she forgave them with

all her heart and desired them always to love her. She was conducted to

the young prince, dressed as she was. He thought her more charming than

ever, and a few days after, married her. Cinderella, who was no less

good than beautiful, gave her two sisters lodgings in the palace, and

that very same day matched them with two great lords of the court.

166

The hero of the next story is often known as

Drakesbill, which easily becomes Bill Drake.

The version that follows is a translation from

the French of Charles Marelles as given by Lang

in his _Red Fairy Book_. It has a raciness not

in those softened versions in which one friend

gets into a pocket, another under a wing, and

so on. The persistent energy of the little

hero, his resourcefulness in difficulty, his

loyal friends, the unexpected honor that comes

as recognition of his success, the humor that

pervades every character and incident, make

this one of the most delightful of children's

stories.

DRAKESTAIL

Drakestail was very little, that is why he was called Drakestail; but

tiny as he was he had brains, and he knew what he was about, for having

begun with nothing he ended by amassing a hundred crowns. Now the king

of the country, who was very extravagant and never kept any money,

having heard that Drakestail had some, went one day in his own person to

borrow his hoard, and, my word, in those days Drakestail was not a

little proud of having lent money to the king. But after the first and

second year, seeing that he never even dreamed of paying the interest,

he became uneasy, so much so that at last he resolved to go and see his

majesty himself, and get repaid. So one fine morning Drakestail, very

spruce and fresh, takes the road, singing: "Quack, quack, quack, when

shall I get my money back?"

He had not gone far when he met friend Fox, on his rounds that way.

"Good-morning, neighbor," says the friend; "where are you off to so

early?"

"I am going to the king for what he owes me."

"Oh! take me with thee!"

Drakestail said to himself: "One can't have too many friends." Aloud

says he, "I will, but going on all fours you will soon be tired. Make

yourself quite small, get into my throat--go into my gizzard, and I will

carry you."

"Happy thought!" says friend Fox.

He takes bag and baggage, and, presto! is gone like a letter into the

post.

And Drakestail is off again, all spruce and fresh, still singing:

"Quack, quack, quack, when shall I have my money back?"

He had not gone far when he met his lady friend, Ladder, leaning on her

wall.

"Good-morning, my duckling," says the lady friend, "whither away so

bold?"

"I am going to the king for what he owes me."

"Oh! take me with thee!"

Drakestail said to himself: "One can't have too many friends." Aloud

says he: "I will, but then with your wooden legs you will soon be tired.

Make yourself quite small, get into my throat--go into my gizzard, and I

will carry you."

"Happy thought!" says my friend Ladder, and nimble, bag and baggage,

goes to keep company with friend Fox.

And "Quack, quack, quack," Drakestail is off again, singing and spruce

as before. A little further he meets his sweetheart, my friend River,

wandering quietly in the sunshine.

"Thou, my cherub," says she, "whither so lonesome, with arching tail, on

this muddy road?"

"I am going to the king, you know, for what he owes me."

"Oh! take me with thee!"

Drakestail said to himself: "One can't have too many friends." Aloud

says he: "I will, but you who sleep while you walk will soon get tired.

Make yourself quite small, get into my throat--go into my gizzard, and I

will carry you."

"Ah! happy thought!" says my friend River.

She takes bag and baggage, and glou, glou, glou she takes her place

between friend Fox and my friend Ladder.

And "Quack, quack, quack," Drakestail is off again singing.

A little further on he meets comrade Wasp's-nest, maneuvering his wasps.

"Well, good-morning, friend Drakestail," said comrade Wasp's-nest,

"where are we bound for, so spruce and fresh?"

"I am going to the king for what he owes me."

"Oh! take me with thee!"

Drakestail said to himself, "One can't have too many friends." Aloud

says he: "I will, but then with your battalion to drag along, you will

soon be tired. Make yourself quite small, go into my throat--get into my

gizzard, and I will carry you."

"By Jove! that's a good idea!" says comrade Wasp's-nest.

And left file! he takes the same road to join the others with all his

party. There was not much room, but by closing up a bit they managed.

And Drakestail is off again singing.

He arrived thus at the capital, and threaded his way straight up the

High Street, still running and singing, "Quack, quack, quack, when shall

I get my money back?" to the great astonishment of the good folks, till

he came to the king's palace.

He strikes with the knocker: "Toc! toc!"

"Who is there?" asks the porter, putting his head out of the wicket.

"'Tis I, Drakestail. I wish to speak to the king."

"Speak to the king! That's easily said. The king is dining, and will not

be disturbed."

"Tell him that it is I, and I have come he well knows why."

The porter shuts his wicket and goes up to say it to the king, who was

just sitting down to dinner with a napkin round his neck, and all his

ministers.

"Good, good!" said the king, laughing. "I know what it is! Make him come

in, and put him with the turkeys and chickens."

The porter descends.

"Have the goodness to enter."

"Good!" says Drakestail to himself, "I shall now see how they eat at

court."

"This way, this way," says the porter. "One step further. There, there

you are."

"How? what? in the poultry-yard?"

Fancy how vexed Drakestail was!

"Ah! so that's it," says he. "Wait! I will compel you to receive me.

Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?" But turkeys and

chickens are creatures who don't like people that are not as themselves.

When they saw the new-comer and how he was made, and when they heard him

crying too, they began to look black at him.

"What is it? What does he want?"

Finally they rushed at him all together, to overwhelm him with pecks.

"I am lost!" said Drakestail to himself, when by good luck he remembers

his comrade friend Fox, and he cries:

"Reynard, Reynard, come out of your earth,

Or Drakestail's life is of little worth."

Then friend Fox, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out,

throws himself on the wicked fowls, and quick! quack! he tears them to

pieces; so much so that at the end of five minutes there was not one

left alive. And Drakestail, quite content, began to sing again, "Quack,

quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?"

When the king, who was still at table, heard this refrain, and the

poultry-woman came to tell him what had been going on in the yard, he

was terribly annoyed.

He ordered them to throw this tail of a drake into the well, to make an

end of him.

And it was done as he commanded. Drakestail was in despair of getting

himself out of such a deep hole, when he remembered his lady friend

Ladder.

"Ladder, Ladder, come out of thy hold,

Or Drakestail's days will soon be told."

My friend Ladder, who was only waiting for these words, hastens out,

leans her two arms on the edge of the well; then Drakestail climbs

nimbly on her back, and hop! he is in the yard, where he begins to sing

louder than ever.

When the king, who was still at table and laughing at the good trick he

had played his creditor, heard him again reclaiming his money, he became

livid with rage.

He commanded that the furnace should be heated, and this tail of a drake

thrown into it, because he must be a sorcerer.

The furnace was soon hot, but this time Drakestail was not so afraid; he

counted on his sweetheart, my friend River.

"River, River, outward flow,

Or to death Drakestail must go."

My friend River hastens out, and errouf! throws herself into the

furnace, which she floods, with all the people who had lighted it; after

which she flowed growling into the hall of the palace to the height of

more than four feet.

And Drakestail, quite content, begins to swim, singing deafeningly,

"Quack, quack, quack, when shall I get my money back?"

The king was still at table, and thought himself quite sure of his game;

but when he heard Drakestail singing again, and when they told him all

that had passed, he became furious and got up from the table brandishing

his fists.

"Bring him here, and I'll cut his throat! Bring him here quick!" cried

he.

And quickly two footmen ran to fetch Drakestail.

"At last," said the poor chap, going up the great stairs, "they have

decided to receive me."

Imagine his terror when on entering he sees the king as red as a turkey

cock, and all his ministers attending him standing sword in hand. He

thought this time it was all up with him. Happily he remembered that

there was still one remaining friend, and he cried with dying accents:

"Wasp's nest, Wasp's nest, make a sally,

Or Drakestail nevermore may rally."

Hereupon the scene changes.

"Bs, bs, bayonet them!" The brave Wasp's-nest rushes out with all his

wasps. They threw themselves on the infuriated king and his ministers,

and stung them so fiercely in the face that they lost their heads, and

not knowing where to hide themselves they all jumped pell-mell from the

window and broke their necks on the pavement.

Behold Drakestail much astonished, all alone in the big saloon and

master of the field. He could not get over it.

Nevertheless, he remembered shortly what he had come for to the palace,

and improving the occasion, he set to work to hunt for his dear money.

But in vain he rummaged in all the drawers; he found nothing; all had

been spent.

And ferreting thus from room to room he came at last to the one with the

throne in it, and feeling fatigued, he sat himself down on it to think

over his adventure. In the meanwhile the people had found their king and

his ministers with their feet in the air on the pavement, and they had

gone into the palace to know how it had occurred. On entering the

throne-room, when the crowd saw that there was already someone on the

royal seat, they broke out in cries of surprise and joy:

"The King is dead, long live the King!

Heaven has sent us down this thing."

Drakestail, who was no longer surprised at anything, received the

acclamations of the people as if he had never done anything else all his

life.

A few of them certainly murmured that a Drakestail would make a fine

king; those who knew him replied that a knowing Drakestail was a more

worthy king than a spendthrift like him who was lying on the pavement.

In short, they ran and took the crown off the head of the deceased, and

placed it on that of Drakestail, whom it fitted like wax.

Thus he became king.

"And now," said he after the ceremony, "ladies and gentlemen, let's go

to supper. I am so hungry!"

167

The story of "Beauty and the Beast," while very

old in its ruder forms, is known to us in a

fine version which comes from the middle of the

eighteenth century. Madame de Villeneuve, a

French writer of some note and a follower of

Perrault in the field of the fairy tale,

published in 1740 a collection of stories

(_Contes Marins_) supposed to be told by an old

woman during a voyage to St. Domingo. Among

these was "Beauty and the Beast" in a

long-winded style extending to more than 250

pages. In 1757, a greatly abridged form of this

version was published by Madame de Beaumont,

who was then living in England and who wrote

many spirited tales designed for children. Her

stories are full of the didactic element, and

"Beauty and the Beast" is no exception to the

rule. These "edifying commonplaces," however,

are so sound and fit into the story so

naturally that the reader does not suffer from

their presence. The artificial character of the

story is easily felt in contrast to the natural

qualities of a folk version. The plot has all

the perfection of a finished piece of literary

art, and for this quality especially Madame de

Beaumont's abridgement has always been heartily

and rightly admired.

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

Once upon a time, in a far-off country, there lived a merchant who had

been so fortunate in all his undertakings that he was enormously rich.

As he had, however, six sons and six daughters, he found that his money

was not too much to let them have everything they fancied, as they were

accustomed to do.

But one day a most unexpected misfortune befell them. Their house caught

fire and was speedily burned to the ground, with all the splendid

furniture, the books, pictures, gold, silver, and precious goods it

contained; and this was only the beginning of their troubles. Their

father, who had until this moment prospered in all ways, suddenly lost

every ship he had upon the sea, either by dint of pirates, shipwreck, or

fire. Then he heard that his clerks in distant countries, whom he had

trusted entirely, had proved unfaithful, and at last from great wealth

he fell into direst poverty.

All that he had left was a little house in a desolate place at least a

hundred leagues from the town in which he had lived, and to this he was

forced to retreat with his children, who were in despair at the idea of

leading such a different life. Indeed, the daughters at first hoped that

their friends, who had been so numerous while they were rich, would

insist on their staying in their houses now they no longer possessed

one. But they soon found that they were left alone, and that their

former friends even attributed their misfortunes to their own

extravagance, and showed no intention of offering them any help. So

nothing was left for them but to take their departure to the cottage,

which stood in the midst of a dark forest, and seemed to be the most

dismal place upon the face of the earth.

As they were too poor to have any servants, the girls had to work hard,

like peasants, and the sons, for their part, cultivated the fields to

earn their living. Roughly clothed, and living in the simplest way, the

girls regretted unceasingly the luxuries and amusements of their former

life; only the youngest tried to be brave and cheerful. She had been as

sad as anyone when the misfortune first overtook her father, but, soon

recovering her natural gayety, she set to work to make the best of

things, to amuse her father and brothers as well as she could, and to

try to persuade her sisters to join her in dancing and singing. But they

would do nothing of the sort, and because she was not as doleful as

themselves they declared that this miserable life was all she was fit

for. But she was really far prettier and cleverer than they were;

indeed, she was so lovely that she was always called Beauty. After two

years, when they were all beginning to get used to their new life,

something happened to disturb their tranquillity. Their father received

the news that one of his ships, which he had believed to be lost, had

come safely into port with a rich cargo.

All the sons and daughters at once thought that their poverty was at an

end and wanted to set out directly for the town, but their father, who

was more prudent, begged them to wait a little, and though it was

harvest-time and he could ill be spared, determined to go himself first

to make inquiries. Only the youngest daughter had any doubt but that

they would soon be as rich as they were before, or at least rich enough

to live comfortably in some town where they would find amusement and gay

companions once more. So they all loaded their father with commissions

for jewels and dresses which it would have taken a fortune to buy; only

Beauty, feeling sure that it was of no use, did not ask for anything.

Her father, noticing her silence, said: "And what shall I bring for you,

Beauty?"

"The only thing I wish for is to see you come home safely," she

answered.

But this reply vexed her sisters, who fancied she was blaming them for

having asked for such costly things. Her father was pleased, but as he

thought that at her age she certainly ought to like pretty presents, he

told her to choose something.

"Well, dear father," said she, "as you insist upon it, I beg that you

will bring me a rose. I have not seen one since we came here, and I love

them so much."

So the merchant set out and reached the town as quickly as possible, but

only to find that his former companions, believing him to be dead, had

divided between them the goods which the ship had brought; and after six

months of trouble and expense he found himself as poor as when he

started, having been able to recover only just enough to pay the cost

of the journey. To make matters worse, he was obliged to leave the town

in terrible weather, so that by the time he was within a few leagues of

his home he was almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. Though he knew

it would take some hours to get through the forest, he was so anxious to

be at his journey's end that he resolved to go on; but night overtook

him, and the deep snow and bitter frost made it impossible for his horse

to carry him any further. Not a house was to be seen. The only shelter

he could get was the hollow trunk of a great tree, and there he crouched

all the night, which seemed to him the longest he had ever known. In

spite of his weariness the howling of the wolves kept him awake, and

even when at last the day broke he was not much better off, for the

falling snow had covered up every path and he did not know which way to

turn.

At length he made out some sort of track, and though at the beginning it

was so rough and slippery that he fell down more than once, it presently

became easier and led him into an avenue of trees which ended in a

splendid castle. It seemed to the merchant very strange that no snow had

fallen in the avenue, which was entirely composed of orange-trees,

covered with flowers and fruit. When he reached the first court of the

castle he saw before him a flight of agate steps, and went up them and

passed through several splendidly furnished rooms. The pleasant warmth

of the air revived him and he felt very hungry; but there seemed to be

nobody in all this vast and splendid palace whom he could ask to give

him something to eat. Deep silence reigned everywhere, and at last,

tired of roaming through empty rooms and galleries, he stopped in a room

smaller than the rest, where a clear fire was burning and a couch was

drawn up cozily, close to it. Thinking that this must be prepared for

some one who was expected, he sat down to wait till he should come and

very soon fell into a sweet sleep.

When his extreme hunger wakened him after several hours he was still

alone, but a little table, upon which was a good dinner, had been drawn

up close to him, and as he had eaten nothing for twenty-four hours he

lost no time in beginning his meal, hoping that he might soon have an

opportunity of thanking his considerate entertainer, whoever it might

be. But no one appeared, and even after another long sleep, from which

he awoke completely refreshed, there was no sign of anybody, though a

fresh meal of dainty cakes and fruit was prepared upon a little table at

his elbow. Being naturally timid, the silence began to terrify him, and

he resolved to search once more through all the rooms; but it was of no

use. Not even a servant was to be seen; there was no sign of life in the

palace! He began to wonder what he should do, and to amuse himself by

pretending that all the treasures he saw were his own, and considering

how he would divide them among his children. Then he went down into the

garden, and though it was winter everywhere else, here the sun shone,

and the birds sang, and the flowers bloomed, and the air was soft and

sweet. The merchant, in ecstasies with all he saw and heard, said to

himself:

"All this must be meant for me. I will go this minute and bring my

children to share all these delights."

In spite of being so cold and weary when he reached the castle, he had

taken his horse to the stable and fed it. Now he thought he would saddle

it for his homeward journey, and he turned down the path which led to

the stable. This path had a hedge of roses on each side of it, and the

merchant thought he had never seen or smelled such exquisite flowers.

They reminded him of his promise to Beauty, and he stopped and had just

gathered one to take to her when he was startled by a strange noise

behind him. Turning round he saw a frightful beast, which seemed to be

very angry and said in a terrible voice: "Who told you that you might

gather my roses? Was it not enough that I allowed you to be in my palace

and was kind to you? This is the way you show your gratitude, by

stealing my flowers! But your insolence shall not go unpunished."

The merchant, terrified by these furious words, dropped the fatal rose,

and throwing himself on his knees cried: "Pardon me, noble sir. I am

truly grateful to you for your hospitality, which was so magnificent

that I could not imagine that you would be offended by my taking such a

little thing as a rose." But the beast's anger was not lessened by this

speech.

"You are very ready with excuses and flattery," he cried; "but that will

not save you from the death you deserve."

"Alas!" thought the merchant, "if my daughter Beauty could only know

what danger her rose has brought me into!"

And in despair be began to tell the beast all his misfortunes and the

reason of his journey, not forgetting to mention Beauty's request.

"A king's ransom would hardly have procured all that my other daughters

asked," he said, "but I thought that I might at least take Beauty her

rose. I beg you to forgive me, for you see I meant no harm."

The beast considered for a moment, and then he said in a less furious

tone:

"I will forgive you on one condition--that is, that you will give me one

of your daughters."

"Ah!" cried the merchant, "if I were cruel enough to buy my own life at

the expense of one of my children's, what excuse could I invent to bring

her here?"

"No excuse would be necessary," answered the beast. "If she comes at all

she must come willingly. On no other condition will I have her. See if

any one of them is courageous enough and loves you well enough to come

and save your life. You seem to be an honest man, so I will trust you to

go home. I give you a month to see if either of your daughters will come

back with you and stay here, to let you go free. If neither of them is

willing you must come alone, after bidding them good-by forever, for

then you will belong to me. And do not imagine that you can hide from

me, for if you fail to keep your word I will come and fetch you!" added

the beast grimly.

The merchant accepted this proposal, though he did not really think any

of his daughters would be persuaded to come. He promised to return at

the time appointed, and then, anxious to escape from the presence of the

beast, he asked permission to set off at once. But the beast answered

that he could not go until the next day.

"Then you will find a horse ready for you," he said. "Now go and eat

your supper and await my orders."

The poor merchant, more dead than alive, went back to his room, where

the most delicious supper was already served on the little table which

was drawn up before a blazing fire. But he was too terrified to eat, and

only tasted a few of the dishes, for fear the beast should be angry if

he did not obey his orders. When he had finished he heard a great noise

in the next room, which he knew meant that the beast was coming. As he

could do nothing to escape his visit, the only thing that remained was

to seem as little afraid as possible; so when the beast appeared and

asked roughly if he had supped well, the merchant answered humbly that

he had, thanks to his host's kindness. Then the beast warned him to

remember their agreement and to prepare his daughter exactly for what

she had to expect.

"Do not get up to-morrow," he added, "until you see the sun and hear a

golden bell ring. Then you will find your breakfast waiting for you

here, and the horse you are to ride will be ready in the court-yard. He

will also bring you back again when you come with your daughter a month

hence. Farewell. Take a rose to Beauty, and remember your promise."

The merchant was only too glad when the beast went away, and though he

could not sleep for sadness, he lay down until the sun rose. Then, after

a hasty breakfast, he went to gather Beauty's rose and mounted his

horse, which carried him off so swiftly that in an instant he had lost

sight of the palace, and he was still wrapped in gloomy thoughts when it

stopped before the door of the cottage.

His sons and daughters, who had been very uneasy at his long absence,

rushed to meet him, eager to know the result of his journey, which,

seeing him mounted upon a splendid horse and wrapped in a rich mantle,

they supposed to be favorable. But he hid the truth from them at first,

only saying sadly to Beauty as he gave her the rose:

"Here is what you asked me to bring you. You little know what it has

cost."

But this excited their curiosity so greatly that presently he told them

his adventures from beginning to end, and then they were all very

unhappy. The girls lamented loudly over their lost hopes, and the sons

declared that their father should not return to this terrible castle,

and began to make plans for killing the beast if it should come to fetch

him. But he reminded them that he had promised to go back. Then the

girls were very angry with Beauty and said it was all her fault, and

that if she had asked for something sensible this would never have

happened, and complained bitterly that they should have to suffer for

her folly.

Poor Beauty, much distressed, said to them:

"I have indeed caused this misfortune, but I assure you I did it

innocently. Who could have guessed that to ask for a rose in the middle

of summer would cause so much misery? But as I did the mischief it is

only just that I should suffer for it. I will therefore go back with my

father to keep his promise."