THE OPEN ROAD LIBRARY
                         OF JUVENILE LITERATURE


                              FAIRY TALES


                         COMPILED AND EDITED BY
                      MARION FLORENCE LANSING M.A.

                                 VOL. I

                             ILLUSTRATED BY
                            CHARLES COPELAND


                            GINN AND COMPANY
                           BOSTON · NEW YORK
                            CHICAGO · LONDON








PREFACE


Fairy Tales, of which this is the first volume, follows without break
an earlier book, Rhymes and Stories, and is made up chiefly of Märchen,
or nursery tales, with a few drolls, or comic anecdotes. The term
“fairy tale” has been used in its popular sense as including “tales in
which occurs something ‘fairy,’ something extraordinary,—giants,
fairies, dwarfs, speaking animals. It must also be taken to cover tales
in which what is extraordinary is the stupidity of the actors.”

The tales are usually romantic, with a definite plot, but without
emphasis on the point of their being fact or fiction. They do not
locate the hero in history or require a definite time or place, but
begin with “Once upon a time, in a certain town or village,” or with
some equally indefinite introduction. They deal with the supernatural,
and always end well for the hero or heroine. They have usually been
retold from their original traditional form by some skilled
story-teller. Very few are distinctly English, though those from other
lands have been adopted by English-speaking peoples.

Sagas, of which “Jack the Giant Killer” is an example, differ from the
other classes in having definite localities and dates assigned to them.
They have been reserved for Tales of Old England, which immediately
follows in the series. We have been compelled to omit from these
volumes many tales which are worthy favorites, but with at least as
many fairy stories as are here collected every child should be
familiar. The aim has been to give a proportionate representation to
each of the great story-tellers, and to each kind of story, and to
introduce the best examples of the leading motifs of folklore. The
original sources have been sought out in every case,—in English
chapbooks, in collections of 1696 and 1795, in German and Old
French,—and these versions have been carefully and minutely compared
with the best versions of later times and of the present. Besides the
scholarly interest attaching to such research, the practical effect has
been to simplify the stories by dropping off the fanciful additions
made by successive editors and returning to the beautiful simplicity
and the clear, forceful language of these wonderful products of the
story-teller’s art.


M. F. LANSING

Cambridge, Massachusetts








CONTENTS


                                            Page

        Rumpelstiltskin                        1
        Doll-in-the-Grass                      9
        How to tell a Real Princess           14
        The Frog Prince                       17
        Cinderella                            26
        Hans in Luck                          42
        Diamonds and Toads                    56
        Puss in Boots                         62
        Rapunzel                              75
        Beauty and the Beast                  86
        The Steadfast Tin Soldier            108
        Hop-o’-my-Thumb                      118
        “Ainsel”                             139
        Peronella                            141
        Fair Goldilocks                      149

        NOTES                                177








FAIRY TALES


RUMPELSTILTSKIN


There was once a miller who was very poor, but he had a beautiful
daughter. Now it happened that he had occasion to speak with the King,
and in order to appear a person of some consequence he told him that he
had a daughter who could spin straw into gold.

“Now that is an art worth having,” said the King to the miller; “if
your daughter is as skillful as you say, bring her to-morrow to my
palace and I will put her to the test.”

When the girl was brought to him he led her into a room which was full
of straw, and giving her a spinning wheel and spindle he said, “Now set
to work, and if by to-morrow morning early you have not spun this straw
into gold, you shall die.”

Then he locked the door himself, and left her alone in the room.

The poor miller’s daughter sat there, and for the life of her could not
think what to do. She had not the least idea how to turn straw into
gold, and she became more and more unhappy, till at last she began to
cry. Then all at once the door opened, and in came a tiny little man
and said to her, “Good evening, Mistress Miller; why are you crying so
bitterly?”

“Alas!” answered the girl, “I have to spin straw into gold, and I do
not know how to do it.”

“What will you give me,” said the little man, “if I spin it for you?”

“My necklace,” said the girl.

The little man took the necklace, seated himself before the spinning
wheel, and whirr, whirr, whirr, the wheel went round three times, and
the reel was full of gold. Then he put on more straw, and whirr, whirr,
whirr, the wheel went round three turns, and the reel was full a second
time. And so it went on till morning, when all the straw was spun and
the reels were full of gold.

At sunrise the King came to the room, and when he saw the gold he was
astonished and delighted, but his heart was only greedy for more. He
had the miller’s daughter taken into a still larger room full of straw,
and commanded her to spin that, too, in one night, if she valued her
life. The girl did not know what to do, and began to cry; then the door
opened as before, and the little man appeared and said, “What will you
give me if I spin the straw into gold for you?”

“I will give you the ring from my finger,” answered the girl.

The little man took the ring, began to turn the wheel round with a
whirr again, and by morning had spun all the straw into glittering
gold.

The King was pleased beyond measure at the sight, but still he had not
gold enough. He had the miller’s daughter taken into a still larger
room filled with straw, and said, “You must spin this, too, in the
course of the night; but if all this straw is spun into gold by
morning, you shall be my wife.”

“Even though she is only a miller’s daughter,” he thought to himself,
“I could not find a richer wife anywhere in the whole world.”

When the girl was alone the little man came for the third time, and
said, “What will you give me if I spin the straw for you this once
more?”

“I have nothing more that I can give,” answered the girl.

“Then promise me when you are queen to give me your first child.”

“Who knows what may happen before that?” thought the miller’s daughter;
and, besides, she knew no way to help herself out of this difficulty.
So she promised the little man what he asked, and for that he soon spun
the straw into gold once more.

When the King came in the morning and found everything as he had
wished, he took her in marriage, and the miller’s beautiful daughter
became a queen.

A year later she had a beautiful child, and she never gave a thought to
the little man; but all of a sudden one day he walked into her room and
said, “Now give me what you promised.”

The Queen was terrified, and offered the little man all the treasures
of the kingdom if he would only leave her her child.

But the little man said, “No, something living is dearer to me than all
the treasures in the world.”

Then the Queen began to mourn and weep so bitterly that the little man
was sorry for her, and said, “I will give you three days, and if in
that time you can guess my name, you shall keep your child.”

Then the Queen lay awake till morning, thinking over all the names she
had ever heard of, and she sent a messenger over the country to inquire
far and near any other names there might be. When the little man came
the next day she began with Caspar, Melchior, Balthazar, and repeated
all the names she knew; but at each one the little man said, “No,
that’s not my name.”

The next day she sent to inquire the names of all the people in the
neighborhood, and had a long list of the most uncommon and
extraordinary names for the little man when he came.

“Is your name Shortribs, perhaps, or Sheepshanks, or Spindleleg?”

But he always replied, “No, that is not my name.”

The third day the messenger returned and reported: “I have not been
able to find any more new names, but on my way home, as I came to a
high mountain on the edge of the forest, I saw there a little house,
and before the house a fire was burning, and round the fire a
ridiculous little man was hopping and dancing on one leg and crying:


        “‘To-day I brew, to-morrow I bake,
        Next morning I shall the Queen’s child take;
        How glad I am that no one can dream
        That Rumpelstiltskin is my name!’”


You can imagine how delighted the Queen was when she heard the name.
And when the little man came in a little later and asked, “Now, Lady
Queen, what is my name?” she asked first, “Is your name Conrad?”

“No.”

“Is your name Henry?”

“No.”

“Is your name, perhaps, Rumpelstiltskin?”

“The bad fairies told you that! the bad fairies told you that!”
screamed the little man, and in his rage he stamped his right foot so
deep into the ground that his whole leg went in; then, in a passion, he
seized his left foot with both hands and tore himself in two.








DOLL-IN-THE-GRASS


Once upon a time there was a King who had twelve sons. When they were
grown big he told them they must go out into the world to win
themselves wives, but these wives must each be able to spin and weave
and sew a shirt in one day, else he would not have them for
daughters-in-law.

To each he gave a horse and a new suit of clothes, and they went out
into the world to look for their brides. When they had gone a little
way together they said they would not have Boots, their youngest
brother, with them, for he was stupid.

So Boots had to stay behind, and he did not know what to do or where to
turn. He became very downcast, and got off his horse and sat down in
the tall grass to weep. But when he had sat a while, one of the tufts
in the grass began to stir and move, and out of it came a little white
thing. When it came nearer, Boots saw it was a charming little lassie,
“such a tiny bit of a thing.” The lassie went up to him and asked if he
would come down below and see “Doll-in-the-Grass.”

“Yes, I’d be very happy,” he said, and went.

When he got down, there sat Doll-in-the-Grass on a chair. She was the
tiniest little lassie you can imagine, and very, very lovely. She asked
Boots where he was going, and what was his business. So he told her how
there were twelve brothers of them, and how the King had told them each
one must go out into the world and find himself a wife who could spin
and weave and sew a shirt in one day.

“But if you will only say at once that you will be my wife,” said Boots
to Doll-in-the-Grass, “I’ll not go a step farther.”

She was willing, and so she made haste and spun and wove and sewed the
shirt, but it was very, very tiny. It wasn’t more than two inches long.

Boots went off home with it, but when he brought it out he was almost
ashamed of it, it was so small. But the King was pleased with it, and
said he should have her. So Boots set off, glad and happy, to fetch his
little sweetheart.

When he came to Doll-in-the-Grass he wished to take her up before him
on his horse. But she would not have that, for she said she would sit
and drive along in a silver spoon, and that she had two small white
horses to draw her. So off they set, he on his horse and she in her
silver spoon, and the two horses that drew her were two tiny white
mice; but Boots always kept the other side of the road, for he was
afraid lest he should ride over her, she was so little.

When they had gone a little way they came to a great piece of water.
Here Boots’s horse got frightened, and shied across the road and upset
the spoon, and Doll-in-the-Grass tumbled into the water. Then Boots was
in great distress, for he did not know how to get her out again; but in
a little while up came a merman with her, and now she was as tall and
well grown as other men and women, and far lovelier than she had been
before. So he took her up before him on his horse, and rode home.

All Boots’s brothers had come back with their sweethearts, but none had
woven so dainty a little shirt as Doll-in-the-Grass, and none were half
so lovely. When the brothers saw her they were as jealous as jealous
could be of their brother; but the King was so delighted with her that
he gave them a fine wedding feast, and had them live with him in his
palace, and he gave out word that they should follow him on the throne.








HOW TO TELL A REAL PRINCESS


There was once a prince who wanted to marry a princess. But she must be
a real princess, mind you. So he traveled all around the world to find
one, but everywhere there was always something in the way. Not that
there was any lack of princesses, but whether they were real princesses
he could not seem to make out; there was always something that did not
seem quite right. So home he came, quite out of spirits, for he did
wish so much to have a real princess.

One evening a terrible storm came on. It thundered and lightened, and
the rain poured down in torrents; indeed, it was a fearful night. In
the midst of it there came a knocking at the palace gate, and the old
king went out to open it.

It was a princess who stood outside. But, oh, dear! what a state she
was in from the rain and storm! The water was streaming from her hair
and clothes; it ran in at the tips of her shoes and out at the heels;
yet she insisted she was a real princess.

“Very well,” thought the old queen; “that we shall presently see.” She
said nothing, but she went into the bedroom and took off all the
bedding, and then laid a pea on the framework of the bedstead. Having
done this, she took twenty mattresses and laid them upon the pea, and
twenty eider-down quilts on top of the mattresses.

The princess lay upon this bed all night. In the morning she was asked
how she had slept.

“Oh, miserably!” said the princess. “I scarcely closed my eyes the
whole night through. I’m sure I don’t know what was in the bed. I lay
upon something so hard that I am black and blue all over from it. It is
dreadful!”

Now they knew at once that she was a real princess, since through
twenty mattresses and through twenty eider-down quilts she had felt the
pea. None but a real princess could be so sensitive.

So the prince took her for his wife, for he knew that at last in her he
had found a real princess. And the pea was put in the Royal Museum,
where it is still to be seen unless some one has stolen it.

And this, mind you, is a true story.








THE FROG PRINCE


In olden times there lived a King whose daughters were all beautiful,
but the youngest was so lovely that the sun himself wondered at her
beauty every time he looked into her face.

Near to the King’s castle lay a dark, gloomy forest; and in the forest,
under an old linden tree, was a fountain. When the day was very hot the
King’s daughter used to go into the wood and sit down by the side of
the cool fountain. Her favorite amusement, as she sat there, was to
toss a golden ball up into the air and catch it again. Once she threw
it so high that, instead of falling into the hand that she stretched
out for it, it dropped upon the ground and rolled straight into the
water.

The King’s daughter followed it with her eyes as long as she could, but
it disappeared, for the well was so deep that she could not see the
bottom. Then she began to cry bitterly for her ball.

As she sat weeping she heard a voice calling: “What is the matter,
King’s daughter? Your tears would touch the heart of a stone.”

She looked round towards the spot whence the voice came and saw a frog
stretching his thick, ugly head out of the water.

“Oh, it is you, is it, old water-paddler!” she said. “Well, then, I am
crying for the loss of my golden ball which has fallen into the
fountain.”

“Then do not cry any more,” answered the frog; “I can get it for you.
But what will you give me if I bring back your plaything to you?”

“Oh, anything you like, dear frog!” she said. “My dresses, my pearls
and jewels, even the golden crown I wear.”

“No,” answered the frog, “your clothes, your pearls and jewels, or even
your golden crown are nothing to me; but if you will love me and let me
be your companion and playfellow, sit by you at table, eat from your
little golden plate, drink out of your cup, and sleep in your little
bed,—if you will promise me all this, then I will bring you back your
golden ball from the bottom of the fountain.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied, “I promise you anything if you will only bring
me back my ball!”

She was thinking to herself all this while: “What nonsense the silly
frog does talk! He lives in the water with other frogs, and croaks, and
cannot be anybody’s playfellow.”

But the frog, as soon as he had received the promise, ducked his head
under the water and sank down to the bottom. In a little while he came
up again with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the grass. The
King’s daughter was full of joy when she saw her pretty plaything
again, and, catching it up, ran off with it.

“Wait! wait!” cried the frog. “Take me with you; I cannot run as fast
as you.”

But the young Princess would not listen to the frog’s croaking, but ran
home and soon forgot the poor frog, who had to go back to his fountain
again.

The next day, when the Princess was sitting at table with the King and
his courtiers and eating out of her little golden plate, there came a
sound of something creeping up the marble staircase, splish, splash,
splish, splash, and presently there came a knock at the door, and a
voice crying, “Youngest King’s daughter, open to me.”

She ran to see who was outside; but when she opened the door and saw
the frog she shut it again in great haste and sat down at the table
looking very much frightened. The King, seeing that his daughter was
alarmed, said to her: “My child, what is the matter? Is there a giant
outside at the door, wanting to carry you off?”

“Oh, no!” she replied; “it is no giant,—only a great ugly frog.”

“A frog! What can he want with you, my daughter?”

“Yesterday when I was playing with my golden ball by the fountain in
the forest it fell into the water, and because I cried the frog brought
it out for me, and he made me promise that he should come here and be
my companion; but I never thought he could get out of the water to
come. And now he is outside there, and wants to come in to me.”

Just then he knocked at the door a second time, and called:


            “Youngest King’s daughter,
              Open to me.
            Do you not know
              What you promised me,
            Yesterday
              Under the linden tree?
            Youngest King’s daughter,
              Open to me.”


Then the King said: “My daughter, what you have promised, you must do.
Go and open the door for him.”

She went and opened the door, and the frog hopped after her, close to
her feet, and quite up to her chair. There he sat and cried, “Lift me
up beside you.”

She hesitated, till the King commanded her to do it.

When the frog was on the table he said, “Now push your little plate
nearer to me, and we will eat together.”

She did it, but it was easy to see that she did not do it willingly.
The frog seemed to enjoy his dinner very much, but every mouthful she
ate choked her. At last he said, “I have eaten enough, and am tired;
now carry me to your little room, and make your silken bed ready, that
we may sleep together.”

The King’s daughter began to cry, for she was afraid of the cold frog.
She did not like to touch him, and now he wanted to sleep in her
beautiful, neat little bed.

But the King was displeased at her tears, and said, “He who helped you
when you were in trouble must not be despised now.”

So she took up the frog with two fingers, carried him upstairs, and put
him in a corner of her room.

When she got into bed he crept up to her and said: “I am tired, and I
want to go to sleep too. Lift me up, or I will tell your father.”

Then she was very angry, and picked him up and threw him with all her
strength against the wall, saying, “Now will you be quiet, you ugly
frog?”

But as he fell, how surprised she was to see the frog change into a
handsome young Prince with beautiful, friendly eyes! He told her how he
had been bewitched by a wicked fairy, and how no one could have
released him from the spell but herself. He now became, by her father’s
will, her dear companion and her husband.

The young Prince wanted to take her to his own kingdom. So on the
wedding day a splendid carriage drawn by eight white horses with white
plumes on their heads and golden harness drove up to the door. Behind
it stood the servant of the young Prince, the faithful Henry. This
faithful Henry had been so unhappy when his master was changed into a
frog that he had bound three iron bands round his heart to keep it from
breaking with grief and sorrow.

The carriage with the Prince and his bride soon drove away, with Henry
behind. They had only gone a little way when the Prince heard a loud
crack behind him, as if something had broken. He turned round, and
cried, “Henry, the carriage is breaking!”

“No, sir,” he replied, “it is not the carriage, but only the iron bands
which I bound round my heart for fear it should break with sorrow while
you were a frog confined in the fountain. They are breaking now because
of my happiness.”

The Prince and Princess never forgot faithful Henry, who had loved his
master so well while he was in trouble.








CINDERELLA


There was once a gentleman who took for his second wife the proudest
and most haughty lady that was ever seen. She had two daughters who
were exactly like her in character, as in everything else. The
gentleman had likewise a young daughter, but of uncommon sweetness and
gentleness of disposition, which she took from her mother, who was the
best person in the world.

The wedding was hardly over when the stepmother began to give full vent
to her bad temper. She could not bear this young girl, whose good
qualities made her own daughters appear even more hateful in contrast.
She gave her the meanest work in the house to do: it was she who washed
the dishes and tables, and scrubbed the stairs, and cleaned the
chambers of madam and her young lady daughters. She slept at the top of
the house in a garret, on a miserable straw bed, while her sisters were
in rooms with inlaid floors, where they had beds of the newest fashion,
and mirrors in which they could see themselves from head to foot.

All this the poor girl bore patiently. She dared not complain to her
father, who would only have reproved her, for his wife governed him
entirely. When she had done her work she used to go into the chimney
corner and sit among the cinders; so they commonly called her
“Cinder-wench.” The younger sister, who was not so rude and uncivil as
the elder, called her “Cinderella.” But Cinderella, for all her mean
dress, was still a hundred times more beautiful than her sisters,
although they were always dressed magnificently.

It happened that the King’s son gave a ball, to which he invited all
persons of fashion. Our two young ladies were invited, for they were
people of distinction in the country. They were much delighted and were
absorbed in selecting the gowns and headdresses which would best become
them. Here was fresh trial for Cinderella, for it was she who ironed
her sisters’ linen and starched their ruffles. All day long they talked
of nothing but how they should be dressed.

“For my part,” said the elder, “I will wear my red velvet dress with
French trimmings.”

“And I,” said the younger, “shall have only my ordinary skirt; but to
make amends for that I shall wear my gold-flowered mantle and my
diamond necklace, which are very far from being ordinary.”

They sent for the best hairdresser to arrange their hair in the most
stylish way, and bought patches for their cheeks from the most
fashionable maker. They called in Cinderella to consult with them, for
she had good taste. She gave them the best advice she could, and even
offered to arrange their headdresses, a proposal which they were very
ready to accept.

While she was doing this they said to her, “Cinderella, should you not
like to go to the ball?”

“Ah!” replied Cinderella, “you mock me! It is not for me to go to
balls.”

“You are right,” said they; “people might well laugh to see a
cinder-wench at a ball.” Any one but Cinderella might have left their
hair awry, but she was good-humored and did it to perfection.

For almost two days they scarcely ate anything, so transported were
they with joy. They broke a dozen or more laces by drawing them too
tight in their efforts to make themselves look as slender as possible,
and they spent all their time before the mirror.

At last the happy day came; they departed, and Cinderella followed them
with her eyes as long as she could. When she could see them no longer
she began to cry.

Her godmother, seeing her in tears, asked her what was the matter.

“I wish—I w-i-s-h”—but she could not finish for weeping.

Her godmother, who was a fairy, said to her, “You wish you could go to
the ball, do you not?”

“Alas, yes!” said Cinderella, sighing.

“Well,” said her godmother, “be a good girl, and I will see to it that
you go.”

She led her into her chamber, and said to her, “Run into the garden, my
child, and fetch me a pumpkin.”

Cinderella went at once to pick the finest she could find, although she
could not imagine how this pumpkin could help her to go to the ball.

Her godmother scooped out the inside, leaving nothing but the rind;
then she struck it with her wand, and the pumpkin immediately became a
beautiful gilded coach.

She then went to look into the mouse trap, where she found six mice,
all alive. She told Cinderella to lift the door of the trap, and as
each mouse passed out the godmother gave it a little tap with her wand
and it was turned into a fine horse. The six made a splendid team of
six horses of a fine dapple-gray mouse color.

While she was wondering what she should do for a coachman, Cinderella
said, “I will run and see if there is not a rat in the rat trap; we
will turn him into a coachman.”

“You are right,” said her godmother; “go and look.”

Cinderella brought the trap to her, and in it there were three huge
rats. The fairy chose the one which had the largest beard, and,
touching him with her wand, turned him into an imposing coachman with
the finest mustache and whiskers ever seen.

Then she said to Cinderella, “Go into the garden and you will find six
lizards behind the watering pot; bring them to me.”

She had no sooner done this than her godmother changed them into six
footmen, who jumped up at once behind the coach in their laced
liveries, and held on as if they had done nothing else all their lives.

The fairy then said to Cinderella, “Well, here is something in which to
go to the ball; are you not pleased with it?”

“Yes; but am I to go like this,—in these miserable rags?”

Her godmother simply touched her with her wand, and in the same instant
her clothes were changed into apparel of cloth of gold and silver, all
decked with jewels. Then she gave her a pair of the prettiest glass
slippers in the world. Thus attired, she got into the carriage. Her
godmother charged her on no account to stay beyond midnight, and warned
her that, if she stayed one moment longer, her coach would become a
pumpkin again, her horses mice, her footmen lizards, and her clothes
just as they were before. She promised her godmother that she would not
fail to leave the ball before midnight, and set off, almost beside
herself with joy.

The King’s son, when he was told that a great Princess, whom nobody
knew, had arrived, ran out to receive her; he gave her his hand as she
alighted from the coach and conducted her to the hall where the company
was assembled. A deep silence at once fell upon every one; they stopped
dancing and the violins ceased to play, so taken up was every one with
gazing at the marvelous beauty of this unknown arrival. Nothing was
heard but the confused murmur of voices saying, “Ah! how beautiful she
is!”

The King himself, old as he was, could not keep his eyes off her, and
whispered to the Queen that it was a long time since he had seen so
beautiful and so lovely a creature.

All the ladies were taken up with studying her headdress and her
costume, in order to have some made for themselves after the same
pattern the next day,—provided they could find materials which would be
fine enough and work-people clever enough to make them.

The King’s son conducted her to the seat of honor, and soon took her
out to dance with him. She danced with such grace that every one
admired her still more. A fine collation was served, but the young
Prince was so absorbed in gazing at her that he did not touch a morsel.

She seated herself beside her sisters and showed them a thousand
courtesies, sharing with them, among other things, the oranges and
citrons which the Prince had presented to her. This astonished them
very much, for they did not know her.

While they were conversing together Cinderella heard the clock strike a
quarter to twelve. She rose at once, courtesied to the company, and
hastened away as fast as she could.

As soon as she got home she ran to find her godmother, and, after
having thanked her, told her how much she wished to go to the ball the
next day, because the King’s son had begged her to come. While she was
telling her godmother all that had happened at the ball her two sisters
knocked at the door.

Cinderella opened it. “How long you have stayed!” she said, yawning,
rubbing her eyes, and stretching herself as if she had just been
awakened. (She had not, however, had any great desire for sleep since
they left her.)

“If you had been at the ball,” said one of her sisters, “you would not
have been sleepy or bored. There came thither the most beautiful
Princess, the very loveliest ever seen; she paid us a thousand
attentions, and gave us oranges and citrons.”

Cinderella asked the name of this Princess, but they replied that no
one knew it; that the King’s son was very much disturbed by this, and
would give anything in the world to know who she was.

Cinderella smiled and said: “How very beautiful she must be! How
fortunate you are! Could I not see her? Ah, dear Miss Charlotte, do
lend me the yellow gown that you wear every day!”

“Indeed!” said Charlotte, “I should think so! Lend my dress to a dirty
cinder-wench like you! I must be out of my mind indeed if I would do
that.”

Cinderella expected this refusal and was very glad of it, for she would
have been greatly embarrassed if her sister had been willing to lend
her the gown.

The next day the two sisters went to the ball, and so did Cinderella,
but dressed much more magnificently than before. The King’s son was
always by her side, and made all manner of pretty speeches to her. The
young lady was far from being wearied by them, and completely forgot
her godmother’s commands, so that she heard the clock begin to strike
twelve when she had no idea that it was even eleven o’clock yet. She
rose at once, and fled as nimbly as a deer. The Prince followed, but
could not overtake her; but she dropped one of her glass slippers,
which he picked up very carefully.

Cinderella reached home quite out of breath, without either coach or
footmen, and in her old clothes, having nothing left of all her finery
but one of her little glass slippers, the mate of the one which she had
dropped. The guards at the palace gates were questioned as to whether
they had not seen a princess go out, and they replied that they had
seen no one go out but a little ragged girl who looked more like a
peasant than a princess.

When her two sisters returned from the ball Cinderella asked them if
they had had a good time, and if the beautiful lady was there. They
told her Yes, but that she had hurried away as the clock struck twelve,
and in such great haste that she had dropped one of her little glass
slippers, the prettiest in the world. They told, too, how the Prince
had picked it up, and how he had done nothing but look at it all the
rest of the evening, and agreed that he was undoubtedly very much in
love with the beautiful owner of the little slipper.

They spoke truly, for a few days after, the Prince had it proclaimed,
at the sound of the trumpet, that he would marry her whose foot this
slipper fitted exactly. They began to try it on the princesses, then on
the duchesses, and then on all the ladies of the court, but to no
purpose. They brought it to the two sisters, and each one did all she
possibly could to squeeze a foot into the slipper; but neither could
manage to do it. Cinderella, who was watching them and recognized her
slipper, said laughingly, “Let me see if it will not fit me!”

Her sisters burst out laughing, and made fun of her. The gentleman who
was trying on the slipper looked at her earnestly, and finding her very
beautiful, said that it was but fair she should try, and that he had
orders to let every young lady try it on. He made Cinderella sit down,
and putting the slipper to her little foot, he saw that it slipped on
easily and fitted like wax.

The astonishment of the two sisters was great, but it was even greater
when Cinderella pulled from her pocket the other little slipper and put
it on her foot. Thereupon in came her godmother, who, touching
Cinderella’s clothes with her wand, made them become more magnificent
than those which she had worn before.

Now her sisters recognized her as the beautiful stranger whom they had
seen at the ball. They threw themselves at her feet and asked her
forgiveness for all the ill treatment she had received from them.
Cinderella raised them up and, embracing them, said that she forgave
them with all her heart, and begged them to love her always.

She was conducted to the young Prince, dressed as she was. He found her
more beautiful than ever, and a few days later married her. Cinderella,
who was as good as she was beautiful, gave her two sisters apartments
in the palace, and married them that same day to two great lords of the
court.








HANS IN LUCK


Hans had served his master seven years, and at the end of that time he
said to him, “Master, my time is up; now I should like to go home to my
mother, so give me my wages, if you please.”

His master answered, “You have served me faithfully and well, and as
the service has been, so shall the wages be”; and he gave him a lump of
gold as big as his head.

Hans pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wrapped the lump in it,
slung it over his shoulder, and set out on the way home.

As he was trudging painstakingly and laboriously along the road a
horseman came in sight, trotting gayly and briskly along on a spirited
horse.

“Ah,” said Hans aloud, “what a fine thing riding is! There you sit as
comfortable as in a chair; you stumble over no stones, you save your
shoes, and you get over the ground you hardly know how.”

The horseman, overhearing him, stopped and said, “Halloo, Hans! Why do
you go on foot then?”

“I can’t help it,” answered Hans, “for I have this bundle to carry
home. It is gold, to be sure, but I cannot hold my head straight for
it, and it hurts my shoulder, too.”

“I will tell you what,” said the horseman, “we will exchange. I will
give you my horse, and you shall give me your lump.”

“With all my heart,” said Hans; “but I tell you beforehand that you are
taking a good heavy load on yourself.”

The horseman got down, took the gold, and helped Hans up, putting the
bridle into his hands, and said, “Now, when you want to go at a really
good pace, you must click your tongue and cry, ‘Gee up! gee up!’”

Hans was delighted when he found himself sitting on a horse and riding
along so freely and easily. After a while it occurred to him that he
might go still faster, and he began to click with his tongue and cry,
“Gee up! gee up!” The horse broke into a gallop, and before Hans knew
what he was about he was thrown off and was lying in a ditch which
separated the fields from the highroad. The horse would have run away
if it had not been stopped by a peasant who was coming along the road
and driving a cow before him. Hans felt himself all over, and picked
himself up; but he was vexed, and said to the peasant: “This riding on
horseback is no joke, I can tell you, especially when a man gets on a
mare like mine, that kicks and throws one off, so that it is a wonder
one’s neck is not broken. Never again will I ride that animal! Now I
like your cow; you can walk quietly along behind her, and you have her
milk, butter, and cheese, every day, into the bargain. What would I not
give for such a cow!”

“Well, now,” said the peasant, “if it would give you as much pleasure
as all that, I don’t mind exchanging the cow for the horse.”

Hans agreed to this with the greatest delight, and the peasant,
swinging himself upon the horse, rode off in a hurry.

Hans drove his cow peacefully before him, and thought over his lucky
bargain. “If I only have a bit of bread—and I ought never to be without
that—I can have butter and cheese with it as often as I like; if I am
thirsty, I have only to milk the cow and I have milk to drink. What
more could heart desire?”

When he came to an inn he made a halt, and ate with great satisfaction
all the bread he had brought with him for dinner and supper, and spent
his last two farthings for a glass of beer to drink with it. Then he
drove his cow along in the direction of his mother’s village. The heat
grew more and more oppressive as the middle of the day drew near, and
Hans found himself on a wide heath which it would take about an hour to
cross. He was very hot and thirsty.

“This is easily remedied,” thought Hans; “I will milk the cow and
refresh myself with the milk.”

He tied her to a tree, and as he had no pail he put his leather cap
underneath her; but try as hard as he could, not a drop of milk came.
He had put himself in a very awkward position, too, and at last the
impatient beast gave him such a kick on the head that he tumbled over
on the ground and was so dazed that for a long time he could not think
where he was.

Fortunately a butcher came along soon, trundling a wheelbarrow in which
lay a young pig.

“What’s the matter here?” he cried, as he helped Hans up.

Hans told him what had happened. The butcher handed him his flask and
said: “There, take a drink; it will do you good. That cow might well
give no milk; she is an old beast, and only fit at best for the plow or
for the butcher.”

“Dear, dear!” said Hans, running his fingers through his hair, “who
would have thought it! It is an idea to kill the beast and have the
meat. But I do not care much for beef,—it is not juicy enough. Now a
young pig like yours,—that is what would taste good; and then there are
the sausages!”

“Take heed, Hans,” said the butcher; “out of love for you I will
exchange and let you have the pig for the cow.”

“May Heaven reward you for your kindness!” cried Hans, handing over the
cow as the butcher untied the pig from the barrow and put into his hand
the string with which it was tied.

Hans went on again, thinking how everything was turning out just as he
wished; if he did meet with any mishap, it was immediately set right.
Presently a lad overtook him who was carrying a fine white goose under
his arm. They said “Good morning” to each other, and then Hans began at
once to tell of his good luck and how he always made such good
bargains. The lad told him that he was taking the goose to a
christening feast.

“Just lift it,” said he to Hans, holding it up by the wings, “and feel
how heavy it is; it has been fattened up for the last eight weeks.
Whoever gets a taste of it when it is roasted will get a rare bit.”

“Yes,” said Hans, weighing it in one hand, “it is a good weight, but my
pig is no trifle either.”

Meanwhile the lad kept looking suspiciously from one side to the other
and shook his head.

“Look here,” he began, “I’m not so sure it’s all right with your pig.
In the village through which I passed, the mayor himself had just had
one stolen from his sty. I fear—I fear you have got hold of it there in
your hand. They have sent out people to look for it, and it would be a
bad business for you if you were found with it; at the very least, you
would be shut up in the dark hole.”

Honest Hans was very much frightened.

“Alas!” he said, “help me out of this trouble! You are more at home in
these parts than I; take my pig and let me have your goose.”

“I shall run some risk if I do,” answered the lad, “but I will not be
the cause of your getting into trouble.”

So he took the cord in his hand and drove the pig quickly away by a
side path.

Honest Hans, relieved of his anxiety, plodded along towards home with
the goose under his arm. “When I really come to think it over,” he said
to himself, “I have even gained by this exchange: first, there is the
good roast; then the quantity of fat that will drip out of it in
roasting and will keep us in goose fat to eat on our bread for a
quarter of a year; and last of all there are the fine white feathers,
with which I will stuff my pillow, and then I warrant I shall sleep
like a top. How delighted my mother will be!”

As he was going through the last village he came to a knife grinder
with his cart, singing, as his wheel whirred busily around,


        “Scissors and knives I quickly grind,
        While my coat flies out in the wind behind.”


Hans stopped to watch him; at last he spoke to him and said, “You
appear to have a good business, if I may judge by your merry song.”

“Yes,” answered the knife grinder, “this business has a golden bottom.
A good grinder finds money in his pocket whenever he puts his hand in
it. But where did you buy that fine goose?”

“I did not buy it, but took it in exchange for my pig.”

“And the pig?”

“That I got for a cow.”

“And the cow?”

“I took that for a horse.”

“And the horse?”

“For that I gave a lump of gold as big as my head.”

“And the gold?”

“Oh, that was my wages for seven years’ service!”

“You have certainly known how to look after yourself each time,” said
the grinder. “If you can only get on so far as to hear the money jingle
in your pockets whenever you stand up, you will indeed have made your
fortune.”

“How shall I manage that?” said Hans.

“You must become a grinder, like me; nothing in particular is needed
for it but a grindstone,—everything else will come of itself. I have
one of those here; to be sure it is a little worn, but you need not
give me anything for it but your goose. Will you do it?”

“How can you ask?” said Hans. “Why, I shall be the luckiest man in the
world. If I have money every time I put my hand into my pocket, what
more can I have to trouble about?”

So he handed him the goose and took the grindstone in exchange.

“Now,” said the grinder, picking up an ordinary big stone that lay by
the road, “here is another good stone into the bargain. You can hammer
out all your old nails on it and straighten them. Take it with you and
keep it carefully.”

Hans shouldered the stones and walked on with a light heart, his eyes
shining with joy. “I must have been born under a lucky star,” he
exclaimed; “everything happens to me just as I want it.”

Meanwhile, as he had been on his legs since daybreak, he began to feel
tired. He was hungry, too, for in his joy at the bargain by which he
got his cow he had eaten up all his store of food at once, and had had
none since. At last he felt quite unable to go farther, and was forced
to rest every minute or two. Besides, the stones weighed him down
dreadfully. He could not help thinking how nice it would be if he did
not have to carry them any farther.

He dragged himself slowly over to a well in the field, meaning to rest
and refresh himself with a draft of cool water. To keep the stones from
hurting him while he knelt to drink, he laid them carefully on the edge
of the well. Then he sat down, and was about to stoop and drink, but
made a slip which gave the stones a little push, and both of them
rolled off into the water. When Hans saw them sinking to the bottom he
jumped for joy, and knelt down and thanked God, with tears in his eyes,
for having shown him this further favor, and relieved him of the heavy
stones (which were the only things that troubled him) without his
having anything to reproach himself with.

“There is no man under the sun so lucky as I,” he cried out. Then with
a light heart, and free from every burden, he ran on until he reached
his mother’s home.








DIAMONDS AND TOADS


Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters. The elder was
so much like her, both in looks and in character, that whoever saw the
daughter saw the mother. They were both so disagreeable and so proud
that there was no living with them. The younger, who was the image of
her father in courtesy and sweetness of temper, was one of the most
beautiful girls ever seen. As people naturally love those who are like
them, this mother doted upon her elder daughter, and at the same time
conceived a great aversion to the younger. She made her eat in the
kitchen and work continually.

Among other things, the poor child had to go twice a day to draw water
more than a mile and a half from the house, and bring home a large
pitcherful of it. One day when she was at the fountain a poor woman
came to her and asked her to let her drink.

“Oh, yes! with all my heart, Goody,” said the pretty little girl.
Rinsing the pitcher at once, she filled it at the clearest part of the
fountain and gave it to her, holding up the pitcher all the while, that
she might drink the more easily.

Then the good woman said to her, “You are so pretty, so good, and so
courteous, that I cannot help giving you a gift.”

For this was a fairy, who had taken the form of a poor countrywoman to
see how far the civility and good manners of this young girl would go.

“I will give you for a 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 got home, her mother scolded her for staying so
long at the fountain.

“I ask your pardon, mamma,” said the poor girl, “for not making more
haste”; and as she spoke these words there fell from her lips three
roses, three pearls, and four diamonds.

“What do I see here?” said the 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 had ever called her “my child.”

The girl told her frankly all that had happened to her, dropping from
her mouth great numbers of diamonds as she spoke.

“Really,” cried the mother, “I must send my own dear daughter thither.
Fanny! Fanny! look! see what comes out of your sister’s mouth when she
speaks! Would you not like, my dear, to have the same gift? You have
only to go and draw water at the fountain, and when a poor woman asks
you to let her drink, to give it to her very civilly.”

“I should like to see myself going to the fountain to draw water,” said
this ill-bred minx.

“I insist that you go,” said the mother, “and that at once.”

So away she went, taking with her the best silver tankard in the house,
but grumbling all the way.

She no sooner reached the fountain than she saw coming out of the wood
a lady, magnificently dressed, who came up to her and asked for a
drink.

This was the same fairy who had appeared to her sister, but she had now
taken the air and the dress of a princess, to see how far this girl’s
rudeness would go.

“Am I come here,” said the ill-bred, saucy girl, “to serve you with
water, pray? I suppose this silver tankard was brought wholly on
purpose for your ladyship, was it? I should think so! You must drink
out of the fountain, if you want any.”

“You are hardly polite,” answered the fairy, without putting herself in
a passion. “Well, then, since you are so disobliging, I give you for a
gift, that at every word you speak there shall come out of your mouth a
snake or a toad.”

As soon as her mother saw her coming, she cried out, “Well, daughter?”

“Well, mother,” answered the rude girl, throwing out of her mouth a
viper and a toad.

“Oh, mercy!” cried the mother, “what is this I see? It is her sister
who is the cause of 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 near by. The King’s son, as he was returning from hunting, met
her, and seeing how beautiful she was, asked her what she was doing
there all alone, and why she was crying.

“Alas, sir, my mother has turned me out of doors!”

The King’s son, seeing five or six pearls and as many diamonds fall
from her mouth, desired her to tell him how that happened. Then she
told him the whole story.

The King’s son fell in love with her, and, considering that such a gift
was worth more than any marriage portion any one else could bring,
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 out of doors. The miserable girl, after wandering about
without finding any one who would take her in, went away to a corner of
the wood and there died.








PUSS IN BOOTS


Once upon a time there was a miller who, when he died, had nothing to
leave to his three sons but his mill, his ass, and his cat. The
division was soon made. Neither the notary nor the attorney were 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 youngest was quite downcast at having so poor a share.

“My brothers,” said he, “may get their living handsomely enough by
joining their portions together; but as for me, when I have eaten my
cat and made me a muff of his skin, I must die of hunger.”

The cat, who heard all this without appearing to do so, came up to him
and said with a grave and serious air, “Do not thus afflict yourself,
my good master; you have only 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 poor a portion in me as you
imagine.”

Though the cat’s master did not build great hopes on what he said, yet
he had seen him play such cunning tricks to catch rats and mice,—such
as hanging himself by his heels, or hiding himself in the meal to make
believe he was dead,—that he did not altogether despair of his helping
him in his misery. When the cat had what he asked for, he booted
himself very gallantly, and putting his bag about his neck, he took
hold of the two strings with his fore paws, and went into a warren
where there were a great many rabbits. He put bran and parsley into his
bag, and stretching himself out at full length as if he were dead, he
waited for some young rabbits, not yet acquainted with the snares and
tricks of this world, to come and rummage his bag for what he had put
into it.

Scarcely had he lain down before his wish was fulfilled. A rash and
foolish young rabbit jumped headlong into his bag, and Master Puss
immediately drew close the strings, and killed him without mercy. Proud
of his prey, he went with it to the palace and asked to speak with the
King. He was shown upstairs into the King’s apartment, and making a low
bow, said to him: “I have brought you, sire, a rabbit from the warren
of my Lord the Marquis of Carabas [for that was the title which he was
pleased to give his master], which he has commanded me to present to
your Majesty with the assurance of his respect.”

“Tell your master,” said the King, “that I thank him, and that he has
given me great pleasure.”

Another time he went and hid himself among some standing corn, holding
his bag open as before, and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he
drew the strings, and so caught them both. He then went and presented
these to the King, as he had previously done with the rabbit which he
took in the warren. The King in like manner received the partridges
with great pleasure, and ordered his servants to reward him.

In this way the cat continued for two or three months to carry to his
Majesty from time to time game of his master’s taking. One day when he
knew that the King was intending to take the air along the riverside
with his daughter, who was the most beautiful Princess in the world, he
went to his master and said: “If you will follow my advice, your
fortune is made. You have only to go and bathe in the river, just in
the place I shall show you, and leave the rest to me.”

The Marquis of Carabas did what the cat advised, without knowing what
would be the good of doing so. While he was bathing, the King passed
by, and the cat began to cry out with all his might: “Help! help! my
Lord Marquis of Carabas is drowning!”

At this noise the King put his head out of the coach window, and,
seeing it was the cat who had so often brought him presents of game,
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 bathing
there had come by some rogues who ran off with his clothes, though he
had cried out “Thieves! thieves!” several times as loud as he could.

The 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 loaded the marquis with a thousand attentions, and as the fine
clothes he had given him set off his good looks (for he was well made
and comely), the King’s daughter found him very much to her liking, and
the Marquis of Carabas had no sooner cast two or three respectful and
somewhat tender glances in her direction than she fell in love with him
to distraction. The King insisted on his getting into the coach and
taking the ride with them. The cat, overjoyed at seeing how well his
plan was beginning to succeed, ran on before, and coming upon some
countrymen who were mowing a meadow, he said to them, “Good people, if
you do not tell the King, who will presently pass this way, that the
meadow which you are mowing belongs to my Lord Marquis of Carabas, you
shall be chopped as small as herbs for the pot.”

The King did not fail to ask the mowers to whom the meadow they were
mowing belonged.

“To my Lord Marquis of Carabas,” they answered all together, for the
cat’s threat had frightened them.

“You have here a very fine piece of land, my Lord Marquis,” said the
King.

“Yes, sire,” replied the marquis, “this is a meadow which never fails
to yield a plentiful harvest every year.”

The cat, who still went on before, met some reapers, and said to them,
“Good people, if you do not say to the King, who will presently pass
this way, 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, wished to know to whom all that
corn before him belonged.

“To my Lord Marquis of Carabas,” replied the reapers; and the King was
again very well pleased with the marquis.

The cat continued to go before the carriage and say the same words to
every one he met, and the King was astonished at the vast estates of my
Lord Marquis of Carabas.

The cat came at last to a stately castle, the master of which was an
ogre, the richest ever known; for all the lands the King had been
passing through belonged to this castle. The cat, who had taken care to
inform himself who this 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, 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 animals, if you have a mind
to; that you can, for example, transform yourself into a lion or an
elephant.”

“That is true,” answered the ogre roughly; “and to convince you, you
shall see me now become a lion.”

The cat was so terrified at the sight of a lion so near him that he
sprang away, and climbed up on the roof, but not without much
difficulty and danger, as his boots were of no use at all for walking
upon tiles. A little while after, when he saw that the ogre had quitted
the form of a lion, he came down, and owned that he had been a good
deal frightened.

“I have been further informed (but I know not how to believe it),” said
the cat, “that you have also the power of taking the form of the
smallest animals,—for example, that you can change yourself into a rat
or a mouse; but I must own that I hold this to be impossible.”

“Impossible!” cried the ogre; “you shall see.” And at the same instant
he changed himself into a mouse and began to run about the floor.

The moment the cat saw the ogre in this form he sprang 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. Master Puss, hearing the noise of his
Majesty’s coach crossing the drawbridge, ran out, and said to the King,
“Your Majesty is welcome to the castle of my Lord Marquis of Carabas.”

“What! my Lord Marquis,” cried the King, “and is this castle yours
also? There can be nothing finer than this court, and all the stately
buildings that surround it; let us see the interior, if you please.”

The marquis gave his hand to the young Princess, and followed the King
who went before. They entered a spacious hall, where they found a
splendid collation which the ogre had prepared for some friends who
were to visit him that very day, but who dared not enter, hearing that
the King was there. The King was so charmed with the good qualities of
my Lord the Marquis of Carabas, and his daughter had fallen so
violently in love with him, that, seeing the vast estate he possessed,
he said to him at the end of the collation, “It depends only on you, my
Lord Marquis, if you are not my son-in-law.”

The marquis, with low bows, accepted the honor which his Majesty
conferred upon him, and forthwith that very same day married the
Princess.

Puss in Boots became a great lord, and never ran after mice any more
except for his amusement.








RAPUNZEL


Once upon a time there lived a man and his wife who were very sad
because they had no children. These people had a little window at the
back of their house which overlooked a beautiful garden full of fine
flowers and herbs. There was a high wall around this garden, and no one
dared to go into it, because it belonged to a witch of great power, who
was feared by everybody.

One day the woman stood at this window, looking into the garden, and
saw a bed full of the finest rampion. It looked so fresh and green that
she longed to eat some of it. This desire grew every day, and as she
knew that she could not possibly have any of it, she pined away and
looked pale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and said,
“What ails you, dear wife?”

“Ah,” she replied sadly, “if I cannot get some of that nice rampion to
eat out of the garden behind our house, I know that I shall die!”

Her husband, who loved her dearly, thought to himself, “Rather than let
my wife die, I must bring her some rampion, let the cost be what it
may.” So at dusk he climbed over the wall into the witch’s garden,
hastily picked a handful of rampion leaves, and took them back to his
wife.

She made them into a salad, which she ate with great relish. Indeed,
she liked it so very much that the next day she longed for it three
times as much as before. She could have no peace until her husband
descended into the garden and fetched her some more. So as soon as it
was dusk he let himself down again into the garden; but when he had
clambered down and was on the other side of the wall, he was terribly
frightened, for there, standing before him, was the old witch with a
frightful scowl on her face.

“How dare you climb into my garden like a thief and steal my rampion?”
she said, with angry looks. “You shall suffer for it.”

“Ah,” he replied, “be merciful to me this time, I pray you! I am only
here from necessity. My wife saw your rampion from her window, and had
such a desire for it that she would have died if she had not had some
of it to eat.”

Then the witch’s anger cooled a little, and she answered: “If that is
the case, I will let you take away as much rampion as you like, but on
one condition,—that you give me the child that your wife will shortly
bring into the world. All shall go well with it, and I will care for it
like a mother.”

In his anxiety to get away the man agreed to what she asked, and as
soon as the child was born the witch appeared, and having given it the
name of Rapunzel,—which is another name for rampion,—she took it away
with her.

Rapunzel was the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was
twelve years old the witch shut her up in a tower which lay in the
middle of a great forest. This tower had neither stairs nor door,—only
a little window high up at the very top of the wall. When the witch
wanted to enter the tower she stood beneath this window and called:


        “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
        That I may climb without a stair.”


Rapunzel had wonderful hair, long, and as fine as spun gold. When she
heard the voice of the witch she unfastened her braided tresses, wound
them round one of the hooks of the little window, and let them hang
loose. They fell down about twenty yards, so that the witch could
easily climb up by them.

After things had gone on in this way for a year or two, it happened one
day that the King’s son was riding through that part of the forest and
passed by the tower. He heard some one singing so beautifully that he
stood spellbound, listening. It was Rapunzel, who in her solitude and
loneliness was trying to while away the long hours by singing. The
Prince longed to see the sweet singer and climb up to her, but he
searched in vain for a door into the tower. None was to be found. He
rode home, but the song had made such a deep impression on him that he
went every day to the wood and listened. One day, when he was standing
thus behind a tree, he saw the old witch approach and heard her call:


        “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
        That I may climb without a stair.”


Then Rapunzel let down her braids, and the witch climbed up to her.

“So that is the ladder by which one mounts, is it?” said the Prince.
“Then I, too, will climb it and try my luck.”

The next night, when it began to grow dark, he went to the foot of the
tower and cried:


        “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
        That I may climb without a stair.”


The hair fell down at once, and the Prince climbed up by it.

At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man came in, for she
had never seen one before; but the Prince spoke to her very kindly, and
told her that his heart had been so touched by her singing that he
could have no peace until he had seen her. So Rapunzel lost her fear,
and when he asked her to marry him she thought, “He is young and
handsome, and he will certainly love me far more than old Dame Gothel
does”; so she said “Yes,” and put her hand in his.

“I will gladly go with you,” she continued, “but I do not see how I am
to get down out of this tower. When you come, bring with you a skein of
silk each time, and I will weave a ladder out of them; when it is
finished, I will climb down by it, and you shall take me away on your
horse.”

They arranged that until the ladder was ready he should come and see
her every evening, bringing skeins of silk, for the witch came in the
daytime.

The witch knew nothing of all this till one day Rapunzel, not thinking
what she was saying, made this remark: “Tell me, Dame Gothel, how is it
that you are so much harder to pull up than the young Prince? He is
always with me in a moment.”

“Oh, you wicked, wicked child!” cried the witch. “What is this I hear?
I thought I had separated you from the whole world, and yet you have
deceived me.”

In her rage she seized Rapunzel’s beautiful hair, twisted it round and
round her left hand, snatched up a pair of scissors with her right, and
snip, snap, she cut it all off; and the beautiful tresses lay on the
ground. Then she was so hard-hearted that she took poor Rapunzel to a
lonely desert place and there left her to live in utter loneliness and
misery.

But on the evening of the day on which she had carried Rapunzel away
she fastened the braids which she had cut off to a hook by the window,
and when the Prince came and called:


        “Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair,
        That I may climb without a stair,”


she let the hair down. The Prince climbed up, but instead of his
beloved Rapunzel he found the old witch, who looked at him with angry,
wicked eyes, and cried mockingly, “Aha! you thought to fetch your
ladylove, but the pretty bird has flown, and the song is still; the cat
caught it, and will scratch out your eyes too. Rapunzel is lost to
you—you will never see her again.”

The Prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped
right down from the tower. He escaped with his life, but the thorns
into which he fell pierced his eyes out. Then he wandered, blind, about
the forest, eating nothing but roots and berries, and constantly
lamenting and weeping for the loss of his lovely bride. For some years
he wandered about in great misery, and at last he came to the desert
place where Rapunzel was living. Suddenly he heard a voice which seemed
familiar to him. He walked eagerly toward it, and as he came near,
Rapunzel recognized him and fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears
fell upon his eyes, and they became clear again, so that he could see
as well as ever.

Then he led her to his kingdom, where they were welcomed with great
joy, and they lived happily ever after.








BEAUTY AND THE BEAST


There was once a very rich merchant who had three sons and three
daughters. These children had everything money could buy them. The
daughters were all pretty, but the youngest was so very beautiful that
from her childhood she was always called “Beauty.” This made her
sisters very jealous; but they were proud of their wealth and of their
position in society, and took pains to be haughty with any people who
were not as rich as they.

One day the merchant suddenly lost all his fortune. All that he had
left of his vast property was a little house in the country, a long
distance from the town. He told his children that they must go there
now and work for a living. The two eldest replied that they need not
leave town, for they had several lovers who would be glad to marry
them. In this they found they were mistaken; their lovers would not
look at them now. Because of their pride they had not made real
friends, and nobody was very sorry to see them humbled. But every one
pitied Beauty, who had always been kind and friendly to every one.
Indeed, several gentlemen offered to marry her, though they knew she
had not a penny; but she told them she could not think of leaving her
father in his trouble.

When they were settled in the country the merchant and his three sons
set to work to till the fields. Beauty took care of the house. She rose
at four o’clock in the morning, lighted the fires, swept and dusted the
house, and got breakfast for the family. At first she found all this
very hard, for she was not used to it; but she soon grew stronger and
healthier, and prettier than ever. When her work was over she would
read, or play on the harpsichord, or sing as she sat at her spinning
wheel.

Her two sisters did not know what to do with themselves. They would get
up at ten, and idle away the whole day, fretting for the loss of their
fine clothes and gay parties. “Do but see that girl!” they would say to
one another. “What stupid, low tastes she has to be contented with this
kind of life!” But their father thought differently, and loved his
youngest daughter more than ever.

After two years, when they were all beginning to get accustomed to this
new life, something happened to disturb them again. The merchant
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 were much excited at this news, and believed that their
poverty was at an end. The two eldest daughters were wild with joy, and
wanted to set out for town at once. When their father was ready to
start, they begged him to bring them jewels and rings and rich dresses.
Beauty was the only one of the children who had any doubt that this one
ship would bring back their fortune; so, not wishing to trouble her
father, she asked for nothing. But her father noticed her silence, and
inquired, “What shall I bring you, Beauty?”

“Well, dear father,” she said, “since you ask me, I should like to have
you bring me a rose. They do not grow about here, and I am very fond of
them.”

Beauty did not particularly desire a rose, but she did not wish to seem
to blame her sisters by saying she did not want anything.

The merchant set off on his journey, but when he reached the port he
was obliged to go to law about the cargo, and it ended in his returning
home as poor as he came. He was within thirty miles of home when, in
the middle of a large forest, he was overtaken by a heavy snowstorm. He
lost his way, and was beginning to fear he should die of hunger and
cold, when all of a sudden he saw a light at the end of a long avenue
of trees. As he came nearer he found it came from a splendid palace,
the windows of which were blazing with light. He entered the courtyard,
but, to his surprise, did not meet any one. His horse followed him, and
seeing a stable door open, he walked in. The manger was filled with hay
and oats, and the poor beast, who was almost famished, fell to eating
heartily. His master walked toward the palace, and passed through
several splendidly furnished rooms, but still saw nobody. He came to
the dining room, where he found a good fire, and a table plentifully
spread, and set for one person. As he was wet to the skin, he drew near
the fire to dry his clothes, saying to himself, “I hope the master of
the house or his servants will excuse the liberty I am taking; I
suppose it will not be long before some of them appear.”

He waited for some time, and still no one came; at last the clock
struck eleven, and as he was so hungry he could not wait any longer, he
helped himself to some chicken, and drank a little wine. Then he opened
a door at the end of the hall, and found himself in a room with a very
good bed in it. As he was very tired, he closed the door and went to
bed.

It was ten o’clock in the morning before the merchant awoke. As he was
getting up, he was surprised to find a new suit of clothes in place of
his own which were torn and spoiled.

“This palace,” said he to himself, “certainly belongs to some good
fairy who has seen and pitied my misfortunes.”

He looked out of the window, but instead of snowy woods he saw the most
delightful arbors, filled with beautiful blooming flowers.

He returned to the great hall where he had had supper the night before,
and found breakfast ready on a little table. He drank his chocolate,
and then went out to look for his horse. As he was passing under an
arbor of roses, he remembered Beauty’s request to him, and gathered a
branch on which were several roses. Immediately he heard a loud roar,
and saw stalking towards him so frightful a beast that he was ready to
faint with fear.

“You are most ungrateful,” said the beast in a terrible voice. “I saved
your life by admitting you to my palace, and in return you steal my
roses, which I value more than anything in the world. But your
insolence shall not go unpunished; you shall die for it.”

The poor merchant threw himself on his knees before the beast, and
cried: “Pardon me, my lord. I had no intention of offending you by
gathering a rose for one of my daughters, who desired me to bring her
one.”

“I am not a lord, but a beast,” replied the monster. “I hate flattery
and compliments; so do not fancy you can move me by your fine speeches.
You say you have daughters; now I will spare you if you will give me
one of your daughters. If not, promise that you will yourself return in
three months.”

The merchant had no intention of sacrificing one of his daughters, but
he knew that if he agreed to come back he should see his children once
more. So he promised to return, and the beast told him he might set out
when he pleased; “but,” he added, “you need not go empty-handed. Go
back to the room in which you slept, and you will see a great empty
chest; fill it with whatever you like best, and I will have it taken to
your house for you.” Then the beast left him.

“Well,” said the good man to himself, “if I must die, I shall at least
have the comfort of leaving my children provided for.”

He returned to the room, and found there heaps of gold pieces. With
these he filled the chest. Then he went to the stable, took his horse,
and left the palace in a far sadder mood than that in which he had
entered it.

In a few hours he reached home, and his children came running out to
meet him. Instead of embracing them with joy, he gazed at them sadly
and, holding out the branch of roses he had in his hand, said, “Here,
Beauty, take them; you little know how much they have cost your poor
father.”

Then he told them all that had happened to him. The two eldest sisters
began to lament loudly, and to reproach Beauty, saying that it was all
her fault.

“See,” they said, “what comes from her pride. She would not ask for
such things as we did, but wanted to seem wiser than we; so now she
will be the death of our poor father, and yet she does not so much as
shed a tear.”

“Why should I?” said Beauty. “It would be useless, for my father shall
not suffer on my account. As the beast will accept one of the
daughters, I will gladly give myself up in his stead.”

“No, indeed!” said her three brothers; “that shall not be. We will go
and find the monster, and either kill him or perish in the attempt.”

“Do not imagine you can do any such thing,” said the merchant. “I have
seen him and know that his power is too great. But I will not consent
to Beauty’s offer. I am old, and have not long to live, so I can lose
only a few years. I am only sorry for you, my children.”

But Beauty insisted, saying, “Indeed, father, you shall not go to the
palace without me; you cannot hinder me from following you.”

The merchant was so distressed at the thought of losing his daughter
that he quite forgot the chest filled with gold; but at night, when he
retired to his room, he found, to his great surprise, the chest
standing by his bedside. He decided to say nothing of his riches to his
eldest daughters, for he knew they would want to return to town at
once; but he told Beauty his secret, and she then told him that while
he was away two gentlemen came and courted her sisters. She begged her
father to consent to their marriage, and give them their portions, for
she was so sweet-tempered that she wished them to be happy.

When the day came Beauty got ready to set out with her father for the
home of the beast. The horse took the direct road to the palace, and
they arrived there all too soon. As they approached they found the
windows brilliantly lighted as before. The horse went at once to the
stable of his own accord, and the merchant and his daughter went into
the great hall, where they found a table loaded with every dainty and
set with two plates. The merchant had no heart to eat, but Beauty,
trying to appear cheerful, sat down and served both him and herself.
After supper they heard a great noise, and the merchant began to bid
his child a sad farewell. In a moment the beast entered. Beauty was
terrified at the frightful form, but she tried not to show her fear.

“Good evening, Beauty,” said the beast. “Have you come here willingly?”

“Yes,” she faltered.

“You are very good, and I am greatly obliged to you,” he growled; and
turning to the father, he added: “As for you, old man, you are to go
your way to-morrow morning, and never to return here again. Good night,
merchant. Good night, Beauty.”

“Good night, Beast,” she answered, and the monster withdrew.

Again the merchant tried to persuade Beauty to go back without him, but
she would not hear to it. They went to bed, thinking they should not
close their eyes all night; but as soon as they lay down they fell fast
asleep. Beauty dreamed that a stately and beautiful lady came to her,
and said: “I am very much pleased, dear Beauty, with the goodness you
have shown in giving yourself to save your father. Do not be afraid;
you shall be rewarded. Only do not trust to appearances.”

Beauty told this dream to her father in the morning; but though it
comforted him a little, he wept bitterly when he took leave of his dear
child, for he feared he might never see her again.

When her father was out of sight poor Beauty could not help crying, but
she had made up her mind to be brave, and she proceeded to explore the
various rooms of the palace. What was her surprise when she came to a
door over which was written, “BEAUTY’S ROOM.” She opened it in haste,
and found a magnificently furnished room; but what delighted her most
was a large library, a harpsichord, and several music books. She
concluded that all this would not be provided for her if she had only a
day to live, and she took courage. Her surprise increased when she
opened one of the books and found on the first page, in letters of
gold, these words:


        “Welcome, Beauty! banish fear!
        You are queen and mistress here;
        Speak your wishes, speak your will,—
        You will find them granted still.”


“Alas!” said she, sighing, “there is nothing I wish so much as to see
my father and know what he is doing.”

She happened to turn towards a large mirror that was hanging near her,
and there she saw her father arriving sadly at home. Her sisters came
out to meet him, and in spite of their efforts to look sorrowful, it
was plain that in their hearts they were very glad to see him return
alone. The picture disappeared, and Beauty felt very grateful to the
beast for thus giving her her wish.

At noon she found dinner ready, and was entertained at table with
music, though she could see no player. After dinner she found she was
very sleepy, and went to lie down in her room. She fell asleep
instantly, and dreamed that a handsome young Prince came to her, and
said: “Beauty, you need not be so unhappy here as you expect. All your
wishes will be granted. Only try to find me out, and love me as I love
you, and above all do not trust to appearances.”

In the evening, as she was going to sit down to supper, the beast came
and asked leave to sit with her at table. She was frightened, but tried
not to show it, saying, “That is as you please.”

“No,” replied the beast, “you alone are mistress here. You need only
tell me to go, if my presence troubles you, and I will withdraw at
once. Everything here is yours, and I should be much distressed if you
were not happy.”

Presently he inquired if she did not think him very ugly.

“Yes,” said Beauty, “but I think you are very kind, too.”

They talked for some time, and Beauty found her fear of him almost
gone, when suddenly, just as they were leaving the table, the beast
said, “Beauty, will you marry me?”

Beauty was so startled that she could hardly speak, but she faltered
out, “Oh, no! Beast.”

“Then good night, Beauty,” said the beast, very sadly, and left the
room.

Beauty felt very sorry for him, but she soon went to bed and dreamed of
the unknown prince who had been in her mind all day. This time she
thought he came and said to her: “Ah, Beauty! why are you so unkind to
me? Must I be unhappy always?”

She could not understand it, but when she woke she thought that he must
be in some way in the power of the beast, and began to wonder how she
could help him.

The days passed quickly enough in the lovely palace. Every evening the
beast came to her, and they had entertaining talks together. Beauty
began to look forward to his visits, for she had become accustomed to
his ugliness, and found him very kind and interesting. But one thing
gave her great concern: every night, before he left her, the beast
asked her to become his wife. One night she said to him: “Beast, you
make me unhappy, for I can only offer you friendship. I cannot love
you.”

He begged her at least to promise never to leave him; but Beauty had
seen in the glass that day that her father was sick with grief at the
loss of her. Her sisters were married and her brothers had gone into
the army, so he was all alone. She had so great a longing to see him
that she told the beast that she should die if he refused her leave.

“Indeed, I had rather die of grief for your absence,” replied the
beast, “than that you should be unhappy. You shall be there to-morrow
morning.”

Beauty promised to return in a week, and the beast told her that she
had only to lay her ring on the table before she went to bed, when she
wanted to come back, and she would find herself in the palace.

When she woke the next morning she found herself in her father’s
cottage, and his delight at seeing her soon made him well again. He
sent for her sisters, who came with their husbands. They were both
unhappily married, one to a man who was so vain of his good looks that
he cared nothing for his wife, the other to a man who was so sarcastic
that he tired everybody out with his speeches, and teased his poor wife
most of all. The sisters were so jealous at seeing Beauty so
magnificently dressed, and hearing how kind the beast was to her, that
they laid a plan to detain her longer than the week she had intended to
stay, in hopes that this might make the beast angry, so that he would
devour her. Accordingly, when the week was over, they affected such
grief at her departure that Beauty was touched by their affection and
agreed to stay longer. She could not help reproaching herself for
staying, but she could not make up her mind to wish herself back when
they urged her so strongly.

But on the night of the tenth day she dreamed that she saw the beast
lying half-dead on the grass in the palace garden. Waking in tears, she
reproached herself bitterly for her ingratitude, and rose, put her ring
on the table, and then went back to bed, where she fell asleep again.
When she woke the next morning she was overjoyed to find herself back
at the palace. She put on one of her richest dresses to please him, and
waited impatiently till evening; but nine o’clock struck, and still no
beast appeared. Then Beauty remembered her dream and ran to the garden
to search for him. At last she found the path she had seen in her
dream, and there lay the poor beast senseless on the grass. Forgetting
his ugliness, she threw herself on him in despair, and felt that his
heart was still beating. Then she ran to fetch some water from the
spring, and weeping, poured it on his head. The beast opened his eyes,
and said faintly: “You forgot your promise, and I did not care to live
without you, so I determined to starve myself; but since you are come,
I shall die happy.”

“No, you shall not die, dear Beast!” cried Beauty; “for I love you, and
want you to be my husband.”

She had scarcely spoken these words when a blaze of light streamed from
the palace windows, fireworks were displayed, and triumphant strains of
music sounded. Beauty turned to the beast to inquire what had happened,
but he had disappeared, and in his place stood the Prince of her
dreams, whom she had loved so long. He thanked her for having broken
his enchantment.

“But where is my poor beast?” asked Beauty, anxiously.

“I am he,” replied the Prince. “A wicked fairy condemned me to remain
in that form till some beautiful maiden should love me and consent to
marry me in spite of my ugliness.”

The Prince conducted Beauty to the palace, where they were welcomed by
the stately lady of her dream, who was the mother of the Prince, and
who thanked her for restoring her son to his proper form. She found her
father there, too. The young couple were married the very next day, and
the Prince and his beautiful bride were heartily welcomed by his
subjects, who had long mourned his absence. Beauty and the Prince
reigned happily for many, many, long years.








THE STEADFAST TIN SOLDIER


There were once five and twenty tin soldiers. They were brothers, for
they had all been made out of the same old tin spoon. They all
shouldered their muskets and looked straight before them. Their
uniforms were very smart—red and blue—and very splendid. The first
thing they heard in the world, when the lid was taken off the box in
which they lay, was the words, “Tin soldiers!” These words were spoken
by a little boy, who clapped his hands for joy. The soldiers had been
given him because it was his birthday, and now he was setting them out
on the table.

Each was exactly like the rest, except one, who had but one leg. He had
been cast last of all, and there had not been quite enough tin to
finish him; but he stood as firmly on his one leg as the others on
their two, and it was he whose fortunes became so remarkable.

On the table on which the tin soldiers were being set out were many
other toys, but the nicest of all was a pretty little castle made of
cardboard. Through its tiny windows one could see right into the rooms.
In front of the castle stood little trees, clustering round a small
mirror which was meant to represent a transparent lake. Waxen swans
swam on its surface, and it reflected their images.

All this was very pretty, but prettiest of all was a little lady who
stood at the open door of the castle. She, too, was cut out of
cardboard; but she had on a dress of the finest gauze, with a narrow
blue ribbon over her shoulders like a scarf, fastened in the middle
with a shining tinsel rose. The little lady was stretching out both her
arms (for she was a dancer), and was lifting one leg so high that the
soldier could see nothing of it. He thought that, like himself, she had
but one leg.

“That would be just the wife for me,” thought he, “if she were not so
grand; but she lives in a castle, while I have only a box, and there
are five and twenty of us in that. It would be no place for her. Still,
I must try to make her acquaintance.”

And so he lay down at full length behind a snuffbox on the table, where
he could easily watch the dainty little lady, who continued to stand on
one leg without losing her balance.

When the evening came, all the other tin soldiers were put away in
their box, and the people of the house went to bed. Now the playthings
began to play in their turn. They visited, fought battles, and gave
balls. The tin soldiers rattled in their box, for they wanted to join
the rest; but they could not lift the lid. The nutcrackers turned
somersaults, and the slate-pencil ran about on the slate. There was
such a din that the canary woke and began to speak, and in verse, too.
The only ones who did not stir from their places were the Tin Soldier
and the Lady Dancer. She still stood on tiptoe with outstretched arms,
and he was just as persevering on his one leg; he never once turned his
eyes away from her.

Twelve o’clock struck—crash! up sprang the lid of the snuffbox. There
was no snuff in it, but a little black goblin. You see it was not a
real snuffbox but a Jack-in-the-box.

“Tin soldier,” said the Goblin, “keep thine eyes to thyself. Don’t
stare at what does not concern thee!”

But the Tin Soldier pretended not to hear.

“Very well, you just wait till to-morrow,” said the Goblin.

Next morning, when the children got up, the Tin Soldier was placed on
the window-ledge. Whether it was the Goblin or the wind that did it,
all at once the window flew open, and the Tin Soldier fell head
foremost from the third story to the street below. It was a tremendous
fall. Over and over he turned in the air, till he landed at last on his
head, with his bayonet sticking fast between two paving-stones, while
his one leg stood upright in the air.

The maidservant and the little boy ran down to look for him; but though
they nearly trod on him, they could not find him. If the Soldier had
only called out “Here I am!” they might easily enough have found him;
but he did not think it becoming to cry out for help, because he was in
uniform.

Now it began to rain. Faster and faster came the drops, till it became
a regular downpour. When it was over, two street boys came by.

“Look here!” said one, “here lies a tin soldier. He shall have a sail
in a boat.”

So they made a boat out of an old newspaper, and put the Tin Soldier in
the middle of it, and away he sailed down the gutter, while the two
boys ran along by his side, clapping their hands.

Goodness! how the waves rocked that paper boat, and how swift the
current was! The Tin Soldier became quite giddy, the boat veered round
so quickly; still he moved not a muscle, but looked straight before
him, and held his bayonet firmly.

All at once the boat passed into a drain, and it became as dark as his
own old home in the box.

“Where am I going now?” thought he. “Yes, to be sure, it must be all
that Goblin’s doing. Ah, if the little lady were but sailing with me in
the boat, I would not care if it were twice as dark!”

Just then a great water-rat, that lived under the drain, came out.

“Have you a passport?” asked the rat. “Where is your passport?”

But the Tin Soldier kept silence, and only held his bayonet tighter
than ever. The boat sailed on, but the rat followed. Whew! how he
gnashed his teeth, and shouted to the sticks and straws, “Stop him!
stop him! He hasn’t paid toll! he hasn’t shown his passport!”

But the current became swifter and swifter. Already the Tin Soldier
could see the daylight at the point where the tunnel ended; but at the
same time he heard a rushing, roaring noise, at which a bolder man
might well have trembled. Think! where the tunnel ended, the drain
widened into a great canal. It was as dangerous for the Soldier as
sailing down a mighty waterfall would be for us.

He was now so near it that he could not stop. The boat dashed on, and
the Tin Soldier held himself so stiff and straight that no one might
say of him that he so much as winked an eye. Three or four times the
boat whirled round and round; it was full of water to the brim, and
must certainly sink.

The Tin Soldier stood up to his neck in water. Deeper and deeper sank
the boat, and softer and softer grew the paper; and now the water
closed over the Soldier’s head. He thought of the pretty little dancer
whom he should never see again, and in his ears rang the words of the
song,


        Fare thee well, thou valiant stranger;
        Thou goest into mortal danger.


The paper boat parted in the middle, and the Tin Soldier fell down,
down—but at that moment he was swallowed by a great fish.

Oh, how dark it was inside the fish! darker even than it had been in
the drain, and so narrow! But the Tin Soldier retained his courage; he
lay at full length, shouldering his bayonet as before.

To and fro swam the fish; then he made the strangest movements and
became quite still.

Something like a flash of lightning passed through him, and a voice
said, “Tin Soldier!”

The fish had been caught, taken to market, sold, and bought, and taken
to the kitchen, where the cook had cut it open with a large knife. She
seized the Tin Soldier between her finger and thumb and carried him
into the room where the family sat, and where all were eager to see the
wonderful man who had traveled about in the stomach of a fish; but the
Tin Soldier remained unmoved. He was not at all proud.

They set him upon a table there. But how could so curious a thing
happen,—the Soldier was in the very same room in which he had been
before? He saw the same children; the same toys stood upon the table,
and among them was the castle with the pretty little dancing maiden.
She was still balancing herself on one leg. She, too, was steadfast.
That touched the Tin Soldier’s heart. He could have wept tin tears, but
that would not have been proper. He looked at her, and she looked at
him, but neither spoke a word.

And now one of the little boys took the Tin Soldier and threw him into
the stove. He gave no reason for doing so, but no doubt the Goblin in
the snuffbox had something to do with it.

The Tin Soldier stood now in a blaze of red light. The heat he felt was
terrible: but whether it proceeded from the fire, or from the love in
his heart, he did not know. He saw that the colors were quite gone from
his uniform; but whether that happened on his journey, or had been
caused by grief, no one could say. He looked at the little Lady, she
looked at him, and he felt himself melting; still he stood firm, with
his bayonet on his shoulder. Then suddenly a door flew open, the draft
caught the Dancer, and she flew straight into the stove to the Tin
Soldier, flashed up in a flame, and was gone! Then the Tin Soldier
melted down into a little lump, and in the ashes the maid found him
next day, in the shape of a little tin heart; while of the Dancer
nothing remained save the tinsel rose, and that was burned as black as
a coal.








HOP-O’-MY-THUMB


Once upon a time there was a fagot-maker and his wife who had seven
children, all boys. The eldest was but ten years old, the youngest only
seven.

They were very poor, and their seven children were a great burden to
them, because not one of them was able to earn his own living. What
worried them still more was that the youngest was a delicate little
fellow, who hardly ever spoke a word. They took for stupidity this
silence, which was really a sign of good sense. He was tiny, too; when
he was born he was no bigger than a man’s thumb, so they called him
Hop-o’-my-Thumb.

The poor child was the drudge of the whole household, and always bore
the blame for everything that went wrong. However, he was really the
cleverest and brightest of all the brothers, and if he spoke little, he
heard and thought the more.

There came now a very bad year, and the famine was so great that these
poor people felt obliged to get rid of their children. One evening,
when the children had gone to bed and the fagot-maker was sitting with
his wife at the fire, he said to her, with his heart ready to burst
with grief: “You see plainly that we can no longer give our children
food, and I cannot bear to see them die of hunger before my eyes. I am
resolved to lose them in the forest to-morrow. This may very easily be
done, for while they are amusing themselves in tying up fagots we have
only to slip away and leave them without their taking any notice.”

“Ah!” cried out his wife; “do you think you could really take out your
children and lose them?”

In vain did her husband remind her of their extreme poverty, she would
not consent to it; she was poor, but she was their mother. At last,
when she reflected what a grief it would be to her to see them die of
hunger, she consented, and went weeping to bed.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb heard all they had said; for when he heard, as he lay
in bed, that they were talking of their affairs, he got up softly and
slipped under his father’s stool, to hear without being seen. He went
to bed again, but did not sleep a wink all the rest of the night,
thinking of what he should do. He got up early in the morning, and went
to the bank of a brook, where he filled his pockets full of small white
pebbles, and then went back home.

They all set out, but Hop-o’-my-Thumb did not say a word to any of his
brothers about what he had heard.

They went into a very thick forest, where they could not see one
another ten paces apart. The fagot-maker began to cut wood, and the
children to gather up the sticks to make fagots. When their father and
mother saw them busy at their work, they slipped away from them little
by little, and then made their escape all at once by a winding bypath.

When the children found that they were alone they began to cry
bitterly. Hop-o’-my-Thumb let them cry on, knowing very well how he
could get home again; for, as he came, he had dropped the little white
pebbles he had in his pockets all along the way. Then he said to them,
“Do not be afraid, my brothers; father and mother have left us here,
but I will lead you home again,—only follow me.”

They followed him, and he brought them home through the forest by the
very same way by which they had come. At first they dared not go in,
but stood outside the door to listen to what their father and mother
were saying.

Just as the fagot-maker and his wife reached home, the lord of the
manor sent them ten crowns, which he had owed them for a long time, and
which they had never expected to get. This gave them new life, for the
poor people were almost famished with hunger. As it was a long while
since they had eaten, the woman bought as much meat as would satisfy
six or eight persons. When they had satisfied their hunger she said:
“Alas! where are our poor children now? they would make a good feast of
what we have left here. It was you, William, who wished to lose them; I
told you we should repent of it. What are they doing now in the forest?
Alas! perhaps the wolves have already eaten them up! You are very cruel
to have lost your children in this way.”

The fagot-maker grew very impatient at last, for she repeated more than
twenty times that they should repent of it, and that she had told him
so. He threatened to beat her if she did not hold her tongue. The
fagot-maker was, perhaps, even more sorry than his wife, but she teased
him, and he could not endure her telling him that she was in the right
all the time. She wept bitterly, saying, “Alas! where are my children
now,—my poor children?”

She said this once so very loud that the children, who were at the
door, heard her and cried out all together, “Here we are! here we are!”

She ran quickly to let them in, and said, as she embraced them: “How
happy I am to see you again, my dear children! You must be very tired
and very hungry. And you, little Peter, you are dirt all over! Come in
and let me get you clean again.”

Peter was her eldest boy, whom she loved more than all the rest,
because he had red hair like her own.

They sat down to table, and ate with an appetite which pleased both
father and mother, to whom they told—speaking all at once—how
frightened they had been in the forest. The good people were delighted
to see their children once more, and this joy continued while the ten
crowns lasted; but when the money was all gone they fell back again
into their former anxiety, and resolved to lose their children
again,—and that they might be the surer of doing it, they decided to
take them much farther off than before.

They could not talk of this so secretly but that they were overheard by
Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who counted on getting out of the difficulty as he had
done before; but though he got up very early the next morning to go and
pick up some little pebbles, he could not carry out his plan, for he
found the house-door double-locked. He did not know what to do; but a
little later, when his father had given each of them a piece of bread
for their breakfast, it came into his head that he could make his bread
do instead of pebbles, by dropping crumbs all along the way as they
went, so he put it into his pocket.

Their father and mother led them into the thickest and gloomiest part
of the forest, and then, stealing away into a bypath, left them there.
Hop-o’-my-Thumb did not worry himself very much at this, for he thought
he could easily find the way back by means of his bread that he had
scattered all along as he came; but he was very much surprised when he
could not find a single crumb,—the birds had come and eaten them all.

They were now in great trouble, for the farther they went the more they
went wrong and the deeper they got into the forest. Night came on, and
with it a high wind which frightened them desperately. They fancied
they heard on every side the howling of wolves coming to eat them up.
They hardly dared to speak or turn their heads. Then there came a heavy
rain, which wetted them to the very skin. Their feet slipped at every
step, and they fell into the mud, getting themselves so covered with
dirt that they could not even get it off their hands.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb climbed to the top of a tree to see if he could
discover anything. Searching on every side, he saw at last a glimmering
light, like that of a candle, but a long way off, and beyond the
forest. He came down, but when he was upon the ground he could not see
it. This discouraged him very much; but finally, when he had been
walking for some time with his brothers towards that side on which he
had seen the light, he caught sight of it again as he came out of the
wood.

They came at last to the house where this candle was, although not
without many frights, for they lost sight of it every time they came
into a hollow—which was very often. They knocked at the door and a kind
woman came to open it. She asked them what they wanted, and
Hop-o’-my-Thumb told her they had lost their way in the forest, and
begged to stay and sleep there for charity’s sake. When the woman saw
how pretty they were she began to weep, and said to them: “Alas, poor
children, you do not know what kind of a place you have come to! Do you
know that this house belongs to a cruel ogre who eats up little
children?”

“Alas! dear madam,” answered Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who was trembling in
every limb, as were his brothers, too, “what shall we do? The wolves of
the forest will surely devour us if you refuse us shelter here, and so
we would rather the gentleman should eat us. Perhaps he will have pity
on us if you are so kind as to entreat him for us.”

The ogre’s wife, who believed that she could hide them from her husband
till morning, let them come in, and had them warm themselves at a very
good fire, before which a whole sheep was being roasted for the ogre’s
supper.

As they were beginning to get warm, they heard three or four great raps
at the door: this was the ogre, who was coming home. His wife hurried
the children under the bed to hide them, and then went to open the
door. The ogre at once asked if supper was ready and the wine drawn,
and sat down at the table. The sheep was raw still, but he liked it all
the better for that. But in a minute or two he sniffed about to the
right and to the left, saying, “I smell fresh meat, I smell fresh
meat.”

“What you smell,” said his wife, “must be the calf which I have just
killed and dressed.”

“I smell fresh meat, I tell you once more,” said the ogre, looking
crossly at his wife, “and there is something here which I do not
understand.”

As he spoke these words, he got up from the table, and went straight to
the bed.

“Ah,” said he, “that is how you thought to cheat me! Wretch! I do not
know why I do not eat you up too; it is well for you that you are old
and tough. Here is game which comes just in season to entertain three
ogres, friends of mine, who are to pay me a visit in a day or two.”

With that he dragged them out from under the bed one by one. The poor
children fell upon their knees and begged for pardon; but they had to
deal with the most cruel of ogres, who, far from having any pity for
them, had already devoured them with his eyes, and now told his wife
they would be dainty morsels when she served them up with a good sauce.

He then fetched a great knife and began to sharpen it on a great
whetstone which he held in his left hand; and all the while he came
nearer and nearer to the poor children. He had already taken hold of
one of them when his wife said to him: “Why do you need to do it at
this time of night? Is not to-morrow time enough?”

“Hold your prating!” said the ogre; “they will grow more tender if they
are kept a little while after they are killed.”

“But you have so much meat already,” replied his wife; “here are a
calf, two sheep, and half a pig.”

“You are right,” said the ogre. “Give them all a good supper, that they
may not get thin, and put them to bed.”

The good woman was overjoyed at this, and gave them a good supper; but
they were so afraid that they could not eat a bit. As for the ogre, he
sat down again to drink, well pleased that he had such a feast with
which to treat his friends. He drank a dozen glasses more than usual,
which went to his head and soon obliged him to go to bed.

The ogre had seven daughters, who were still little children. These
young ogresses had all of them very fine complexions, because they ate
raw meat like their father; but they had small gray eyes, quite round,
hooked noses, wide mouths, and very long, sharp teeth, set very far
apart from each other. They were not very wicked yet, but they gave
promise of becoming so, for they had already bitten little children.

They had been put to bed early, all seven in one great bed, each with a
crown of gold upon her head. There was another bed of the same size in
the room, and in this the ogre’s wife put the seven little boys, and
then went to bed herself along with her husband.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb took notice that the ogre’s daughters all had crowns of
gold on their heads, and he was so afraid lest the ogre should repent
his not killing them, that he got up about midnight, and, taking his
brothers’ caps and his own, went very softly and put them on the heads
of the seven little ogresses. But he first took off their crowns of
gold, and put them on his own head and his brothers’, so that the ogre
might take them for his daughters, and his daughters for the little
boys whom he wanted to kill.

Everything turned out just as he had thought; for the ogre, waking
about midnight, began to feel sorry that he had put off killing the
boys till morning, when he might have done it overnight, so he jumped
up quickly out of bed, taking his great knife.

“Let us see,” said he, “how our little rogues are getting on, and do
the job up at once!”

He groped his way up to his daughters’ room, and went to the bed where
the little boys lay, all fast asleep except Hop-o’-my-Thumb, who was
terribly afraid when he found the ogre fumbling about his head, as he
had done about his brothers’. When he felt the golden crowns, he said,
“Truly, I should have done a pretty piece of work last night; it is
perfectly evident that I drank too much wine then.”

Next he went to the bed where the girls lay, and when he felt the boys’
caps, he said, “Ah, my merry lads, here you are! let us get to work.”

And saying these words, without more ado he cut the throats of all his
seven daughters. Well pleased with what he had done, he went back to
bed again.

As soon as Hop-o’-my-Thumb heard the ogre snore, he waked his brothers
and told them to put on their clothes quickly and follow him. They
stole down softly into the garden and got over the wall. They ran
almost all night, trembling all the while, and without knowing where
they were going.

The ogre, when he woke, said to his wife, “Go up and dress those young
rascals who came here last night.”

The ogress was very much surprised at this goodness of her husband, not
dreaming of the manner in which she was to dress them; but, thinking he
had ordered her to go up and put on their clothes, she went up, and was
horrified when she saw her daughters all dead. She fell in a faint.

The ogre, fearing that his wife would be too long in doing what he had
ordered, went up himself to help her. He was no less amazed than his
wife at this frightful spectacle.

“Ah! what have I done?” he cried. “But the wretches shall pay for it,
and that instantly.”

He threw a pitcher of water upon his wife’s face, and as soon as she
came to herself he said, “Bring me quickly my seven-league boots, that
I may go and catch them.”

He went out into the country, and after running in all directions he
turned at last into the very road where the poor children were, not
more than a hundred paces from their father’s house, to which they were
running. They espied the ogre, who went at one step from mountain to
mountain, and over rivers as easily as the narrowest brooks.
Hop-o’-my-Thumb, seeing a hollow rock near the place where they were,
made his brothers hide in it, and crowded into it himself, watching
always to see what would become of the ogre.

The ogre, who found himself very tired with his long and fruitless
journey (for seven-league boots are very tiring to wear), had a great
mind to rest himself, and happened to sit down upon the very rock where
the little boys had hidden themselves. As he was completely worn out,
he fell asleep, and began to snore so frightfully that the poor
children were no less afraid of him than when he held up his great
knife and was going to cut their throats. Hop-o’-my-Thumb was not so
much frightened as his brothers. He told them to run quickly home,
while the ogre was sleeping, and not to worry about him. They took his
advice and soon got home safely.

Hop-o’-my-Thumb then went up to the ogre, pulled off his boots gently,
and put them on his own legs. They were very long and large, but as
they were fairy boots they had the gift of becoming big or little
according to the legs of those who wore them; so they fitted his feet
and legs as well as if they had been made on purpose for him.

As soon as Hop-o’-my-Thumb had made sure of the ogre’s seven-league
boots, he went to the palace and offered his services to carry orders
from the King to his army,—which was a great way off,—and to bring back
the quickest accounts of the battle they were just at that time
fighting with the enemy. He thought he could be of more use to the King
than all his mail coaches, and so might make his fortune in this
manner. He succeeded so well that in a short time he had made money
enough to keep himself, his father and mother, and his six brothers
(without their having to tire themselves out with working), for all the
rest of their lives. He then went home to his father’s house, where he
was welcomed with great joy. As the great fame of his boots had been
talked of at court by this time, the King sent for him, and employed
him on the greatest affairs of state; so that he became one of the
richest men in the kingdom.

And now let us see what became of the ogre. He slept so soundly that he
never knew that his boots were gone; but he fell from the corner of the
rock where Hop-o’-my-Thumb and his brothers had left him, and bruised
himself so badly from head to foot that he could not stir. So he was
forced to stretch himself out at full length and wait for some one to
come and help him.

Now a good many fagot-makers passed near the place where the ogre lay,
and when they heard him groan they went up to ask him what was the
matter. But the ogre had eaten so many children in his lifetime that he
had grown so very big and fat, that these men could not have carried
even one of his legs; so they were forced to leave him there. At last
night came on, and then a large serpent came out of a wood near by and
stung him, so that he died in great pain.

As soon as Hop-o’-my-Thumb heard of the ogre’s death, he told the
King—whose great favorite he had become—all that the good-natured
ogress had done to save the lives of himself and his brothers. The King
was so much pleased at what he heard that he asked Hop-o’-my-Thumb what
favor he could bestow on her. Hop-o’-my-Thumb thanked his Majesty, and
desired that the ogress might have the noble title of Duchess of
Draggletail given to her, which was no sooner asked than granted. The
ogress then came to court, and lived happily for many years, enjoying
the vast fortune she found in the ogre’s chests. As for
Hop-o’-my-Thumb, he grew more witty and brave every day till at last
the King made him the greatest lord in the kingdom, and set him over
all his affairs.








“AINSEL”


Mistress Lindsay, a widow, and her son Alan, who was a little boy then,
lived in a cottage near Rothley. One winter’s night Alan refused to go
to bed with his mother, saying, “I wish to sit up for a little while
longer, for I am not a bit sleepy.”

His mother told him that if he sat up by himself the old fairy wife
would most certainly come and take him away. But the boy laughed at
this, and his mother went to bed, leaving him sitting by the fire.

He had not been there long, watching the fire and enjoying its cheerful
warmth, when a bonny little figure, about the size of a child’s doll,
hopped down the chimney and alighted on the hearth. The little fellow
was somewhat startled at first, but the fairy’s smile as it danced to
and fro before him soon overcame his fears. At last he inquired, “What
do they call thee?”

“Ainsel,” [1] replied the little thing, tossing its wee head.

After a bit it turned to Alan with the same question, “And what do they
call thee?”

“My Ainsel,” answered Alan.

So they began playing together like any two children. Their gambols
went on till the fire began to grow dim. But when Alan took up the
poker to stir it, a hot cinder fell accidentally upon the foot of his
playmate. Her tiny voice was instantly raised to a most terrific yell,
and Alan had scarcely time to crouch into the box bed behind his mother
before the voice of the old fairy wife was heard shouting: “Who’s done
it? Who’s done it?”

“Hoots! it was ‘my Ainsel’!” answered the tiny fairy.

“Why, then,” said her mother, as she kicked her up the chimney, “what’s
all this noise for? There’s no one to blame but thine Ainsel.”








PERONELLA


Once upon a time there was a Queen so old and ugly, so bent down under
the weight of years and infirmities, that she grew weary of life,
unless her youth could be renewed to her. A fairy who had been present
at her birth now paid the Queen a visit, and told her that if she could
find a young girl willing to change places with her Majesty,—to give
her bloom and youth in exchange for the Queen’s old age and
scepter,—then the fairy by one wave of her wand would fulfill their
desire.

The Queen was delighted, for she would much rather be poor, young, and
healthy, than a rich queen who was too old and infirm to enjoy life.
She therefore ordered the strictest search to be made throughout her
dominions for a young girl who would be willing to give her youth in
exchange for age, infirmities, and riches. It was not long before
several discontented and ambitious girls came to accept the offer; but
when they saw how feeble and helpless the old Queen was, how she could
eat nothing but gruels and soups, how wrinkled and withered she was,
how many times she said over the same thing, and how she tottered about
bent double over her cane, they said they preferred their own
conditions, poor and humble as they were, to the riches and the hundred
years of her Majesty.

Afterwards there came some persons of a still more ambitious nature; to
these the Queen promised grand titles and high honors. At first they
were very willing; but when they had stayed a short time with her
Majesty, they left the room, shaking their heads and saying, “Of what
use would all the Queen possesses be to us, since we should then be so
disfigured and so ugly that we should be ashamed to show ourselves to
any one?”

At length a young maiden from a country village presented herself. She
was exceedingly beautiful, and declared herself willing to accept the
crown in exchange for her youth. Her name was Peronella. At first the
Queen was very angry at her presumption, for the girl was very poor;
but, after all, what did that matter when the Queen’s purpose was to
grow young again? She proposed to Peronella to divide the kingdom with
her.

“You shall have one half, and I the other,” said she. “Surely that is
enough for you, who are but a poor country girl.”

“No,” replied Peronella, “that will not satisfy me at all; I will have
the whole, or I will remain a country girl, strong and beautiful and
active, while you keep your wrinkles and your hundred years.”

“But,” said the Queen, “what shall I do if I give away my whole
kingdom?”

“Do?” said Peronella. “Your Majesty will laugh and dance and sing as I
do”; and she laughed and danced and sung before her.

The Queen, who could do nothing like this, asked Peronella how she
would amuse herself if she were Queen, for she knew nothing of all the
infirmities of age.

“I really cannot be quite sure what I would do,” answered Peronella,
“but I have a great mind to try the experiment, for every one says it
is such a fine thing to be a queen.”

While the Queen and Peronella were coming to an agreement, the fairy
entered the room, and said to the country girl, “Are you willing to
make the trial, and see what it is like to be a queen, extremely rich,
and a hundred years old?”

“I have no objection,” said Peronella.

In a single instant her skin became wrinkled, her hair turned gray, her
teeth dropped out, her back was bent double, and she felt herself
become helpless, and crippled, and ill-natured; she was already a
hundred years old. The fairy touched a bell, and a crowd of officers
and courtiers trooped in, all richly dressed, to do homage to the Queen
and fulfill her will. A sumptuous repast was set before her, but she
had not the least appetite, and, besides, she could eat nothing but
soups and gruels; she did not know what to say, or how to behave, and
was ashamed of the figure she must be making, especially as she sat
where she could see herself in a looking-glass, and know all the time
how very ugly she was.

In the meanwhile the real Queen stood in a corner, smiling all the time
to see how fresh and comely she had become. Her hair was beautiful, her
skin was soft and rosy, her teeth were white and firm, and her figure
was strong and tall. She could skip about as nimbly as a deer; but she
was dressed in a coarse, rough, short petticoat, and her cap and apron
were poor and torn. She scarcely dared move in such clothes as these,
and the guards, who never allowed such countrified, ragged-looking
people within the palace gates, pushed her about with the greatest
rudeness. Peronella, who was watching her, now said: “I see it is quite
dreadful to you not to be queen, and it is still more so to me to be
one. Pray, take your crown again, and give me my ragged petticoat.”

The change was immediately made: the Queen grew old again, and
Peronella was as young and blooming as she had been before. Hardly had
this taken place when each began to repent of her haste and to wish she
had tried a little longer. But it was now too late; the fairy required
them to remain forever in their own conditions. The Queen cried all day
long over her aches and pains, saying: “Alas, if I were but Peronella!
I should, it is true, sleep in a poor cottage and live on potatoes, but
I should dance with the shepherds under a shady elm to the music of a
flute. Of what use is a bed of down to me, since it gains me neither
sleep nor ease; or so many attendants, since they cannot make me
comfortable?”

So the Queen’s fretfulness increased her pain; nor could the twelve
physicians, who constantly attended her, be of the least service. She
died about two months later.

Peronella was dancing with her companions on the fresh grass by the
side of a flowing stream when the news of the Queen’s death reached
her. She said to them, “How fortunate I was in preferring my own humble
lot to that of the Queen!”

Shortly after, Peronella was wooed by three suitors, who wanted to
marry her. One was an old man, peevish and cross, a man of high
distinction but so jealous that he would never let her out of his
sight. The second was handsome and of good family, but improvident and
wasteful; he would be careless of his wife’s comfort. The third was a
young shepherd of her own rank, who loved her dearly and could give her
a good, simple home in her own pretty village. Peronella was tempted by
the riches of the first and the good looks and promises of the second,
but she remembered how miserable she had been as queen. She married the
shepherd, and they lived a simple, happy life for many, many long
years.








FAIR GOLDILOCKS


There was once a King’s daughter who was so beautiful that nothing in
the world could be compared with her. And because she was so beautiful,
and because her hair was finer than spun gold and fell in waves to her
feet, she was called Princess Goldilocks. She always wore a crown of
flowers; her dresses were embroidered with diamonds and pearls; and
every one who saw her loved her.

In a neighboring country there lived a young King who was not married,
and who was very handsome and very rich. When he heard all that was
said about fair Goldilocks, before he had ever seen her, he fell so
deeply in love with her that he could neither eat nor drink for
thinking of her. He determined to send an ambassador to ask for her
hand in marriage. He had a splendid coach made for his ambassador, and
giving him more than a hundred horses and a hundred servants, he
charged him well to bring the Princess back with him.

After the ambassador had departed nothing else was talked of at the
court but his mission. The King felt so sure of Goldilocks’s consent
that he set his people to making beautiful dresses for her, and
splendid furniture for her suite of rooms. Meanwhile the ambassador
reached her court and delivered his message. But either the Princess
did not happen to be in a good humor that day, or the offer did not
suit her fancy, for she told the ambassador that she thanked the King,
but she had no desire to marry. The ambassador left the Princess’s
court feeling very much cast down at his failure. He was bringing back
all the gifts that the King had sent her, for the Princess was too well
brought up to accept the pearls and diamonds when she was refusing the
King; but, in order not to give offense, she kept a little package of
English pins.

When the ambassador reached the King’s capital, where the King was
waiting impatiently, every one was in great distress because he had not
brought fair Goldilocks back with him. The King wept like a child, and
no one could console him.

Now there was at the court a young man who was handsomer and more
gifted than any one else in the kingdom. Because of his grace and his
ready wit he was called Charming. Every one liked him except a few
people who were jealous of him because the King showed him favor and
made him his confidant. One day Charming was with some people who were
talking about the ambassador’s return and were saying that his visit
did not seem to have done much good. Without thinking very much what he
was saying, Charming remarked, “If the King had sent me to Princess
Goldilocks I am sure she would have come back with me.”

Then these telltales ran straight to the King and said: “Your Majesty,
what do you think Charming has been saying? That if he had been sent to
Princess Goldilocks he would have brought her back with him. Did you
ever hear of such impudence? He thinks he is handsomer than you, and
that she would have fallen so deeply in love with him that she would
have followed him anywhere.”

The King was beside himself with anger.

“Ha, ha!” said he; “so this spoiled youngster laughs at my misfortune,
does he, and thinks himself better than his King? Go and put him in my
great tower, and let him die of hunger.”

The King’s guards went to fetch Charming, who had quite forgotten his
idle speech, and dragged him off to prison with all kinds of violence.
The poor boy had only a little straw for his bed, and he would have
died had it not been for a little stream which flowed through the
tower, at which he could get water to cool his parched tongue. One day
when he was in despair he cried aloud: “What can I have done to offend
the King? He has not a more faithful subject than I. I have never done
a thing to harm him.”

The King happened to be passing near the tower and heard the voice of
his former favorite. He stopped to listen, in spite of the efforts of
Charming’s enemies, who tried to persuade him to have nothing to do
with the traitor. But the King said: “Let me alone. I want to hear what
he is saying.”

At the sound of Charming’s laments, tears filled the King’s eyes, and
he opened the tower door and called to him. Charming came forward in a
pitiable state, and, throwing himself at the King’s feet, said, “What
have I done, sire, to deserve this cruel treatment?”

“You mocked me and my ambassador,” said the King. “You said that if you
had been sent for Princess Goldilocks you would have brought her back.”

“It is true, your Majesty,” replied Charming. “I should have told her
so much about you and your good qualities that she would not have been
able to refuse you. But I cannot see what there is in that to displease
you.”

When the King considered it from this point of view he could not see
anything in it to make him angry, and began to frown fiercely on those
who had made him believe ill of his favorite. He took the boy away with
him, repenting deeply the wrong he had done him. When he had seen to it
that Charming had a good supper, he called him to his private room and
said: “Charming, I am as much in love as ever with fair Goldilocks; her
refusal has made no difference in my feelings. But I do not know how to
gain her consent. I should like to send you to see if you could
succeed.”

Charming replied that he was ready to fulfill his King’s least wish,
and would set out the next morning.

“But wait,” said the King; “I want to provide you with a fine escort.”

“There is no need of that,” answered Charming. “I want only a good
horse, and letters from you.”

The King was delighted at his willingness to start so soon, and
provided him with what he needed. It was on a Monday morning that he
started out alone, thinking always, as he went, how he should persuade
Princess Goldilocks to marry the King. In his pocket he carried a
writing tablet, and whenever a happy thought occurred to him he
dismounted from his horse and sat down under the trees to write it, so
that he might be sure not to forget anything which might be of use in
his speech to the Princess.

One morning, when he had started early, as he was crossing a great
meadow he had a capital idea. So he sprang from his horse and sat down
under a willow tree by a little stream. When he had written it down he
began to look about him and admire the pretty place where he had
stopped. Then he saw a great golden carp panting and gasping on the
grass. In leaping after little flies, it had jumped too far, and was
lying on the bank, almost dead. Charming was sorry for it, and though
he might have carried it away for his dinner, he picked it up gently
and put it back into the stream. It sank to the bottom, drinking in the
cool, refreshing water, and then, swimming gayly up to the bank, it
said: “Charming, I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. But
for you I should have died. By this act you have saved my life; one day
I will repay you.”

With these words it plunged into the water again, leaving Charming
greatly surprised at its politeness.

Another day, as he was going on his way, he saw a raven in great
distress. The poor bird was being pursued by a great eagle. It would
soon have been caught and eaten up, had not Charming quickly taken his
bow and arrow and shot the eagle dead. The raven perched joyfully on a
tree.

“Charming,” said he, “it was very generous of you to come to the aid of
a poor raven. I shall not be ungrateful. Some day I will repay you.”

Charming thought this was very kind of the raven, and went on his way.

Before sunrise one morning, when it was so dark that he could hardly
see his way, he heard an owl crying out as though it were in distress.

“Hark!” he said; “that owl seems to be in great trouble. It must be
caught in a snare.”

So he began to hunt about, and soon found a great net spread by some
fowlers.

“What a pity it is that men do nothing but torment and persecute poor
creatures that never do them any harm!” he said; and taking out his
knife he cut the cords. The owl flitted away, but came back quickly and
said: “Charming, I need not tell you what a great service you have done
me. At daybreak the fowlers would have come and caught me. Without your
help I should have been killed. I am grateful, and one day I will repay
you.”

These were the three chief adventures that happened to Charming on his
journey. He made all possible speed to reach the palace of fair
Goldilocks. When he arrived there he dressed himself with the greatest
care in a suit of rich brocade, and put on a hat with scarlet and white
plumes. Over his shoulder he threw an embroidered scarf. He carried on
his arm a little basket in which was a pretty little dog that he had
bought on the way. He looked so handsome and gay when he presented
himself at the palace gate that the guards paid him great respect, and
sent in haste to announce to Princess Goldilocks that Charming,
ambassador of her neighbor the King, desired to see her.

“Charming,” repeated the Princess; “the name promises well. I am sure
that he is handsome, and that every one likes him.”

“Indeed, that is true,” said all her maids of honor at once; “we saw
him from the window of the garret where we were spinning flax, and we
could do nothing but look at him as long as he was in sight.”

“So that’s the way you spend your time, is it,” replied the
Princess,—“gazing out of the window at handsome strangers? Go quickly,
and get me my blue satin embroidered dress. Let one of you comb my
hair, and another make me fresh garlands of flowers. Get me my
high-heeled shoes and my fan, and tell them to sweep my hall and my
throne. I want him to find me in truth ‘Fair Goldilocks.’”

All the maidens rushed this way and that to make the Princess ready.
They were in such a hurry that they ran into and hindered one another.
However, at last the Princess passed into her gallery of mirrors to
make sure that everything was as it should be. Then she mounted her
throne of gold and ebony and ivory, and told her ladies to take their
guitars, and to play and sing softly.

Charming was led into the audience room, and stood so dazzled with
admiration that at first he could not speak. Presently he took courage,
and delivered his speech, eloquently pleading with the Princess to
spare him the unhappiness of returning without her.

“Sir Charming,” answered she, “all the reasons which you have given me
are very good, and I assure you I should take more pleasure in obliging
you than in obliging any one else; but you must know that a month ago,
as I was walking by the river with my ladies, I took off my glove, and
as I did so a ring slipped from my finger and rolled into the river.
This ring was more precious to me than my kingdom, and you may imagine
how distressed I was to lose it. I vowed then never to listen to any
proposal of marriage unless the ambassador first brought me back my
ring. So now you see what you have before you; for if you talked to me
for fifteen days and fifteen nights you could not make me change my
mind.”

Charming was very much surprised by this answer, but he bowed low to
the Princess and begged her to accept the embroidered scarf and the
little dog he had brought with him. But she said she did not wish any
presents, and bade him think of what she had just told him.

When he got back to his room he went to bed without eating any supper,
and his little dog, who was called Frolic, would not eat any either,
but came and lay down beside him. All night long Charming tossed back
and forth sighing.

“How am I to find a ring that fell into the river a month ago?” he
said. “It is useless to try. She has chosen to set me a task which she
knows will be impossible.” And he sighed again.

Frolic heard him and said: “My dear master, do not despair; you are
always lucky, you know, and, besides, you are too good not to be happy.
Let us go down to the river as soon as it is day.”

Charming only petted the dog a little and said nothing, but after a
while he fell asleep.

At dawn Frolic began to jump about, and awoke his master. They went
down to the river together, and wandered up and down. Charming was
thinking sadly of starting for home when he heard some one calling,
“Charming! Charming!”

He looked all about, and thought he must be dreaming, for he could not
see anybody. He walked on, and again the voice called, “Charming!
Charming!”

“Who is calling me?” he said.

Frolic, who was running along close to the water’s edge, cried out,
“All that I can see is a golden carp.”

And there, to be sure, was the great carp, and it spoke to Charming,
saying: “You saved my life in the meadow by the willow tree, and I
promised to repay you. See, dear Charming, here is Princess
Goldilocks’s ring.”

Charming stooped down and took the ring from the carp’s mouth, thanking
it over and over again. Then he and little Frolic went straight to the
palace. Some one told the Princess that he was asking to see her.

“Ah, poor boy!” she said; “he has come to say good-by. He has doubtless
decided that it is impossible to do what I asked.”

But in came Charming, and presented the ring to her, saying: “Princess,
I have done your bidding. Will it please you to accept the King, my
master, as your husband?”

When the Princess saw her ring brought back to her unhurt, she was so
astonished that she thought she must be dreaming.

“Surely, Sir Charming,” she said, “you must be the favorite of some
fairy, or you could never have found it.”

“Madam,” he replied, “I know no fairy, but I had a great desire to obey
your wishes.”

“Then, since you are so willing,” said she, “you must do me another
service; otherwise I will never marry. Not far from here there is a
Prince called Galifron, who is determined to marry me. When I refused
he uttered most terrible threats that he would lay waste my kingdom.
But how could I accept him? He is a giant, taller than a tower, and
thinks no more of eating a man than a monkey does of eating chestnuts.
He talks so loud that those who are near him become deaf. I told him I
did not wish to marry, but he has never ceased to persecute me and to
kill my subjects. So, before I listen to your proposal, you must kill
him and bring me his head.”

Charming was somewhat startled by this proposal, but he answered: “Very
well, Princess Goldilocks, I will fight this Galifron. I believe I
shall be beaten, but I will die a brave man.”

The Princess was frightened at this. She told Charming everything she
could think of to prevent him from undertaking the adventure, but it
was all in vain. He withdrew to arm himself properly, and then, taking
little Frolic with him, he mounted his horse and set out for Galifron’s
country. Every one he met told him what a terrible giant Galifron was,
and how nobody dared to go near him. The more he heard about him the
more frightened he became. Frolic tried to encourage him by saying:
“Dear master, while you are fighting the giant, I will go at him and
bite his legs. Then when he stoops down to drive me off, you can kill
him.”

Charming admired the little dog’s spirit, but knew his help would not
amount to much.

At last he drew near to the giant’s castle. All roads leading to it
were covered with bones of men the giant had killed. Before long he saw
Galifron coming through the wood. His head was higher than the tallest
trees, and he was striding along, singing in a terrible voice:


        “Bring out children for me to eat;
        They are the nicest kind of meat.
        The more you bring, the better ’twill be,
        For all in the world would not satisfy me.”


Then Charming began to sing to the same tune:


        “Come and look upon bold Charming;
        He does not think you very alarming.
        Although he is not as big as you,
        He’s come a giant to subdue.”


When Galifron heard these words he looked all around and soon caught
sight of Charming, standing sword in hand. He flew into a terrible
rage, and aimed a blow at Charming with his heavy iron club, which
would certainly have killed him if it had hit him; but at that moment a
raven perched on the giant’s head and pecked out both his eyes. The
giant struck out blindly in every direction, but Charming easily
avoided his blows, and wounded him so severely with his sword that he
fell to the ground. Then he cut off the giant’s head, while the raven,
who was perched on a tree near by, said: “You see I have not forgotten
the service you did me in killing the eagle. To-day I think I have
fulfilled my promise to repay you.”

“It is I who am the debtor to you for your timely help,” replied
Charming, “and I am very grateful to you.”

Then he mounted his horse and rode off with the head of Galifron.

When he came to the town every one ran after him, crying: “Here comes
brave Charming! He has killed the giant!”

The Princess heard the shouts, but she did not dare to ask what had
happened for fear she should be told that Charming had been killed. But
soon Charming came in with the giant’s head, the very sight of which
frightened her, although she knew that Galifron would never trouble her
again.

“Princess,” said Charming, “I have killed your enemy. I hope you will
no longer refuse the King my master.”

“I must,” said fair Goldilocks, “unless you can bring me some water
from the Grotto of Darkness. This is a very deep cavern, about six
leagues long. The entrance is guarded by two dragons with fire coming
out of their eyes and mouths. When you get inside the gate you go down
into an immense hole, full of toads and adders and snakes. At the
bottom of this hole is a little cave, in which rises the Fountain of
Beauty and Health. It is some of this water that I must have; it has
wonderful power for those who bathe in it. If you are beautiful, you
will always remain so; if you are ugly, you become fair. If you are
young, you never grow old, and if you are old, you become young. You
see, Charming, that I really could not leave my kingdom without
carrying some of this water with me.”

“Princess,” he said, “you are so beautiful that you can never have any
need of this water; but I am an unhappy ambassador whose death you
desire. I will go in search of what you wish, though I know I shall
never return.”

The Princess showed no sign of taking back her request, so Charming set
out with his little dog, Frolic, for the Grotto of Darkness. Every one
he met on the way said: “What a pity to see so handsome a youth
throwing away his life so recklessly! He is going to the grotto alone;
but if he had a hundred men with him he could never succeed. Why does
the Princess demand such impossible things?”

He seemed to pay no attention to them, and went right along, but he was
very sad at heart. At last he came to the top of a mountain from which
he had been told one could see the Grotto of Darkness, and he looked
about to find it. He saw a hideous rock, black as ink, out of which a
thick smoke was coming. In a moment one of the fiery dragons appeared.
Its body was yellow and green; it had great claws, and a long tail that
lay in a hundred coils. Fire was shooting out from its mouth and eyes.
When Frolic saw the dragon he was so frightened that he did not know
where to hide. Charming, who was resolved to die in the attempt if need
be, drew his sword, and took out the flask which Princess Goldilocks
had given him to fill with the water of beauty. As he started for the
cavern he said to Frolic: “I feel sure that I shall die in the attempt
to get this water. When I do not come back to you, go and tell the
Princess that I have died in the effort to fulfill her wishes. Then go
to the King my master and tell him of my adventures.”

As he was speaking he heard a voice calling, “Charming! Charming!”

“Who calls me?” he said.

Then he noticed an owl sitting in a hollow tree, who said to him: “You
saved my life when I was in the net, and I promised to repay you. Now I
can do it. Give me your flask. I know all the paths through the Grotto
of Darkness, and I will fetch the water of beauty for you.”

Charming was delighted to give him the flask, and the owl flew into the
cavern without any difficulty, and in less than a quarter of an hour
returned with the flask full to the brim. Charming thanked him with all
his heart, and joyfully set out for the town.

He went straight to the palace and presented the flask to Princess
Goldilocks, who had nothing more to say. She thanked Charming, and
ordered that preparations should be made for her departure, and they
soon set out together. The Princess found Charming so delightful a
companion that she sometimes said to him: “Why did we ever leave my
kingdom? I could have made you King, and we should have been happy
together.”

But Charming answered: “I could not have done anything so displeasing
to my master for all the kingdoms of the earth, though I think you
lovelier than the sun.”

At last they reached the King’s chief city, and he came out to meet
Princess Goldilocks, bringing magnificent presents. The marriage was
celebrated with great rejoicings. But Goldilocks was so fond of
Charming that she could not be happy unless he was near her, and his
praises were always on her lips.

“If it had not been for Charming,” she would say to the King, “I should
never have been here. You ought to be very grateful to him, for he did
most impossible things to win me. Besides, he got me water from the
Fountain of Beauty, so that I can never grow old, but shall be
beautiful always.”

Then Charming’s enemies, who envied him his good fortune, said to the
King: “You don’t seem to be jealous, but you have good reason to be.
The Queen seems to talk and think of no one but Charming, and how much
he did to gain her. As if anybody you had sent could not have done just
as much!”

“Now I come to think of it, I believe you are right,” said the King.
“Let him be chained hand and foot and thrown into the tower.”

So they took Charming, and as a reward for having served the King so
well he was shut up in the tower, where he saw no one but the jailer
who brought him black bread and water once a day. But little Frolic
stayed to comfort him, and brought him all the news.

When Goldilocks heard of Charming’s disgrace she threw herself at the
King’s feet and begged him to set Charming free; but the more she wept
and pleaded the more angry the King became, thinking that she loved
Charming. At last she saw that it was of no use to plead any more; but
she was very sad.

The King took it into his head that perhaps she did not think him
handsome enough. So he thought he would bathe his face with the water
from the Fountain of Beauty, which was in a flask on a shelf in the
Queen’s room. She had put it there so that she might look at it often.
Now it happened that one of the housemaids in chasing a spider had
knocked the flask off the shelf. It had broken and all the water had
been spilled. She swept up the pieces in great haste, and was at her
wits’ end what to do, when she remembered that she had seen in the
King’s room a flask just like this, filled with clear water. Without
saying a word to any one, she fetched that and placed it on the Queen’s
shelf.

Now the liquid in the King’s flask was what was used in the kingdom for
getting rid of unruly nobles. Instead of having their heads cut off,
these nobles had their faces bathed with this water, and they fell
asleep and never woke up. So one evening the King, thinking to make
himself handsome, took the flask and bathed his face in the water. Then
he fell asleep and never woke up again.

Little Frolic was the first to find out what had happened, and he ran
to tell Charming, who told him to go to Princess Goldilocks and beg her
not to forget the poor prisoner. All the court was in great confusion
because of the King’s death, but Frolic made his way through the crowd
and said to the Queen, “Madam, do not forget poor Charming.”

She remembered all he had done and suffered for her, and without saying
a word to any one she went straight to the tower, and with her own
hands took off Charming’s chains. Then, placing a crown upon his head
and the royal mantle on his shoulders, she said, “Come, dear Charming,
I make you King, and take you for my husband.”

Charming threw himself at her feet and thanked her.

Every one was delighted that he should be King. The wedding, which took
place at once, was the prettiest ever seen, and Prince Charming and
Princess Goldilocks lived happily ever after.








NOTES


In his critical edition of “Perrault’s Popular Tales,” Andrew Lang has
said that “all the incidents of popular tales, like the bits of glass
in a kaleidoscope, may be shaken into a practically limitless number of
combinations.” All that can be done in a book of this size is to choose
the best of these combinations. The notes below indicate parallels
where the resemblance between tales is close and where a version
originally foreign has practically superseded the early English
rendering.

Page 1. Rumpelstiltskin. Source: “Kinder- und Hausmärchen,” by Jacob
Grimm (1785–1863) and Wilhelm Grimm (1786–1859). These German brothers
made a large and valuable collection of fairy tales, gathering them
from oral tradition and retelling them. English Parallel: “Tom Tit
Tot.” This is the best of a group of stories involving the task of
guessing a name, with which is here combined the demand by a
supernatural being for a human child.

Page 9. Doll-in-the-Grass. Source: “Popular Tales from the Norse,” by
George W. Dasent (Edinburgh, 1859), who translated it from the Norse
collection of Peter Christen Asbjörnsen and Jörgen Moe. Parallels:
Grimm’s “The Three Feathers,” and Madame D’Aulnoy’s “The White Cat”
(Fairy Tales, Vol. II). In each of these stories sons are sent out to
seek their fortune and return at last with wives.

Page 14. How to tell a Real Princess. Source: “Stories and Tales,” by
Hans Christian Andersen (1805–1875), a collection of tales by one of
the greatest story-tellers in the world. He originated many plots, and
retold even familiar tales in a style that made them distinctly his
own.

Page 17. The Frog Prince. Source: Grimm. English Parallel: “The Well at
the World’s End.” One of the oldest stories in Germany. Sometimes
called “Iron Henry.”

Page 26. Cinderella. Source: “Contes de Ma Mère l’Oye,” by Charles
Perrault (1628–1703), published in France in 1697. The best English
translation was printed in 1795 under the title, “Tales of Passed
Times, by Mother Goose.... Written in French by M. Perrault, and
Englished by R. S. Gent.” Our versions follow as closely as is
consistent with modern English the quaint language of this book.
Appearing as they did at a time when French society was reacting
against its own extravagances, these simple, fresh stories became
instantly popular. They were published under the name of Perrault’s
little boy, and many critics think that “the naïveté and popular
traditional manner of telling” are due to him, while they recognize the
polish of style and skill of selection of his literary father.
Parallels: Many; but, as Mr. Lang says, “here we can distinctly see how
the taste and judgment of Perrault altered an old and barbarous
detail,” by substituting the fairy godmother for the friendly beast of
earlier tales, and also by beautifying the stepmother incident.

Page 42. Hans in Luck. Source: Grimm.

Page 56. Diamonds and Toads. Source: Perrault, under the title of “Les
Fées.” Parallel: A universal tale with many variants, both in the motif
of politeness rewarded, and in the incident of the adventures of the
good and bad sisters or brothers.

Page 62. Puss in Boots. Source: Perrault. Mr. Lang sums up the plot as
that of “a young man brought from poverty to the throne by the aid of a
matchmaking and ingenious beast,” and remarks that “Puss is a perfectly
unscrupulous adventurer for no reason but the fun of the thing.”

Page 75. Rapunzel. Source: Grimm.

Page 86. Beauty and the Beast. Source: The original tale, as told by
Madame Villeneuve (died in 1755), occupies two hundred pages of the
“Cabinet des Fées,” Vol. 26 (1787). The framework and much of the text
of our abridged version are taken from a chapbook, published in Glasgow
by Francis Orr & Sons, which is in the Harvard Library.

Page 108. The Steadfast Tin Soldier. Source: Hans Andersen’s “Wonder
Stories Told for Children.”

Page 118. Hop-o’-my-Thumb. Source: Perrault. “A tale which has signs of
great antiquity.”

Page 139. “Ainsel.” Source: T. Keightley’s “Fairy Mythology.”
Parallels: A tale widely current in England with many slight
variations. Cf. the outwitting of Polyphemus by Ulysses in the Odyssey.

Page 141. Peronella. Source: “A Fairy-Book,” Harper & Brothers, 1836.
Parallels: Many tales of wishes fulfilled. A traditional tale of long
standing in England.

Page 149. Fair Goldilocks. Source: Madame D’Aulnoy, a Frenchwoman who
wrote many fairy tales. French text in “Cabinet des Fées,” Vol. 2
(1787); English translation consulted under the title “The Fair One
with Golden Locks” in “Queen Mab ... written by the Countess D’Aulnoy,
London, 1770.”








FOOTNOTE


[1] That is, ownself.