Favorite Fairy Tales: The Childhood Choice of Representative Men and Women

When this misfortune happened, the kindly young fairy who had saved the princess by changing her sleep of death into this sleep of a hundred years was twelve thousand leagues away in the kingdom of Mataquin. But being informed of everything, she arrived speedily in a chariot of fire drawn by dragons. The king was somewhat startled by the sight, but nevertheless went to the door of his palace, and, with a mournful countenance, presented her his hand to descend.

The fairy condoled with his majesty, and approved of all he had done. Then, being a fairy of great common-sense and foresight, she suggested that the princess, awakening after a hundred years in this ancient castle, might be a good deal embarrassed, especially with a young prince by her side, to find herself alone. Accordingly, without asking any one’s leave, she touched with her magic wand the entire population of the palace, except the king and queen – governesses, ladies of honor, waiting-maids, gentlemen ushers, cooks, kitchen-girls, pages, footmen, down to the horses that were in the stables and the grooms that attended them – she touched each and all. Nay, with kind consideration for the feelings of the princess, she even touched the little fat lapdog Puffy, who had laid himself down beside his mistress on her splendid bed. He, like all the rest, fell fast asleep in a moment. The very spits that were before the kitchen fire ceased turning, and the fire itself went out, and everything became as silent as if it were the middle of the night, or as if the palace were a palace of the dead.

The king and queen – having kissed their daughter and wept over her a little, but not much, she looked so sweet and content – departed from the castle, giving orders that it was to be approached no more. The command was unnecessary; for in one quarter of an hour there sprung up around it a wood so thick and thorny that neither beasts nor men could attempt to penetrate there. Above this dense mass of forest could only be perceived the top of the high tower where the lovely princess slept.

A great many changes happen in a hundred years. The king, who never had a second child, died, and his throne passed into another royal family. So entirely was the story of the poor princess forgotten, that when the reigning king’s son, being one day out hunting and stopped in the chase by this formidable wood, inquired what wood it was, and what were those towers which he saw appearing out of the midst of it, no one could answer him. At length an old peasant was found who remembered having heard his grandfather say to his father, that in this tower was a princess, beautiful as the day, who was doomed to sleep there for one hundred years, until awakened by a king’s son, her destined bridegroom.

At this the young prince, who had the spirit of a hero, determined to find out the truth for himself. Spurred on by both generosity and curiosity, he leaped from his horse and began to force his way through the thick wood. To his amazement the stiff branches all gave way, and the ugly thorns sheathed themselves of their own accord, and the brambles buried themselves in the earth to let him pass. This done, they closed behind him, allowing none of his suite to follow: but, ardent and young, he went boldly on alone. The first thing he saw was enough to smite him with fear. Bodies of men and horses lay extended on the ground; but the men had faces, not death-white, but red as peonies, and beside them were glasses half filled with wine, showing that they had gone to sleep drinking. Next he entered a large court paved with marble, where stood rows of guards presenting arms, but motionless as if cut out of stone; then he passed through many chambers where gentlemen and ladies, all in the costume of the past century, slept at their ease, some standing, some sitting. The pages were lurking in corners, the ladies of honor were stooping over their embroidery frames, or listening apparently with polite attention to the gentlemen of the court, but all were as silent as statues and as immovable. Their clothes, strange to say, were fresh and new as ever; and not a particle of dust or spider-web had gathered over the furniture, though it had not known a broom for a hundred years. Finally the astonished prince came to an inner chamber, where was the fairest sight his eyes had ever beheld.

A young girl of wonderful beauty lay asleep on an embroidered bed, and she looked as if she had only just closed her eyes. Trembling, the prince approached and knelt beside her. Some say he kissed her, but as nobody saw it, and she never told, we cannot be quite sure of the fact. However, as the end of the enchantment had come, the princess awakened at once, and, looking at him with eyes of the tenderest regard, said, drowsily: “Is it you, my prince? I have waited for you very long.”

Charmed with these words, and still more with the tone in which they were uttered, the prince assured her that he loved her more than his life. Nevertheless, he was the most embarrassed of the two; for, thanks to the kind fairy, the princess had plenty of time to dream of him during her century of slumber, while he had never even heard of her till an hour before. For a long time did they sit conversing, and yet had not said half enough. Their only interruption was the little dog Puffy, who had awakened with his mistress, and now began to be exceedingly jealous that the princess did not notice him as much as she was wont to do.

Meantime all the attendants, whose enchantment was also broken, not being in love, were ready to die of hunger after their fast of a hundred years. A lady of honor ventured to intimate that dinner was served; whereupon the prince handed his beloved princess at once to the great hall. She did not wait to dress for dinner, being already perfectly and magnificently attired, though in a fashion somewhat out of date. However, her lover had the politeness not to notice this, nor to remind her that she was dressed exactly like her royal grandmother, whose portrait still hung on the palace walls.

During the banquet a concert took place by the attendant musicians, and considering they had not touched their instruments for a century, they played extremely well. They ended with a wedding march; for that very evening the marriage of the prince and princess was celebrated, and though the bride was nearly one hundred years older than the bridegroom, it is remarkable that the fact would never had been discovered by any one unacquainted therewith.

After a few days they went together out of the castle and enchanted wood, both of which immediately vanished, and were never more beheld by mortal eyes. The princess was restored to her ancestral kingdom, but it was not generally declared who she was, as during a hundred years people had grown so very much cleverer that nobody then living would ever have believed the story. So nothing was explained, and nobody presumed to ask any questions about her, for ought not a prince be able to marry whomsoever he pleases?

Nor – whether or not the day of fairies was over – did the princess ever see anything further of her seven godmothers. She lived a long and happy life, like any other ordinary woman, and died at length, beloved, regretted, but, the prince being already no more, perfectly contented.

LITTLE RED-RIDING-HOOD

ONCE there was a little village maiden, the prettiest ever seen. Her mother was foolishly fond of her, and her grandmother likewise. The old woman made for her a little hood, which became the damsel so well that ever after she went by the name of Little Red-Riding-Hood. One day, when her mother was making cakes, she said, “My child, you shall go and see your grandmother, for I hear she is not well; and you shall take her some of these cakes and a pot of butter.”

Little Red-Riding-Hood was delighted to go, though it was a long walk; but she was a good child, and fond of her kind grandmother. Passing through a wood, she met a great wolf, who was most eager to eat her up, but dared not, because of a woodcutter who was busy hard by. So he only came and asked her politely where she was going. The poor child, who did not know how dangerous it is to stop and speak to wolves, replied, “I am going to see my grandmother, and to take her a cake and a pot of butter, which my mother has sent her.”

“Is it very far from hence?” asked the wolf.

“Oh yes; it is just above the mill which you may see up there – the first house you come to in the village.”

“Well,” said the wolf, “I will go there also, to inquire after your excellent grandmother; I will go one way, and you the other, and we will see who can be there first.”

So he ran as fast as ever he could, taking the shortest road, but the little maiden took the longest; for she stopped to pluck roses in the wood, to chase butterflies, and gather nosegays of the prettiest flowers she could find – she was such a happy and innocent little soul.

The wolf was not long in reaching the grandmother’s door. He knocked, Toc – toc, and the grandmother said, “Who is there?”

“It is your child, Little Red-Riding-Hood,” replied the wicked beast, imitating the girl’s voice; “I bring you a cake and a pot of butter, which my mother has sent you.”

The grandmother, who was ill in her bed, said, “Very well, my dear, pull the string and the latch will open.” The wolf pulled the string – the door flew open; he leaped in, fell upon the poor old woman, and ate her up in less than no time, tough as she was, for he had not tasted anything for more than three days. Then he carefully shut the door, and laying himself down snugly in the bed, waited for Little Red-Riding-Hood, who was not long before she came and knocked, Toc – toc, at the door.

“Who is there?” said the wolf; and the little maiden, hearing his gruff voice, felt sure that her poor grandmother must have caught a bad cold and be very ill indeed.

So she answered, cheerfully, “It is your child, Little Red-Riding-Hood, who brings you a cake and a pot of butter that my mother has sent you.”

Then the wolf, softening his voice as much as he could, said, “Pull the string, and the latch will open.”

So Little Red-Riding-Hood pulled the string and the door opened. The wolf, seeing her enter, hid himself as much as he could under the coverlid of the bed, and said in a whisper, “Put the cake and the pot of butter on the shelf, and then make haste and come to bed, for it is very late.”

Little Red-Riding-Hood did not think so; but, to please her grandmother, she undressed herself and began to get ready for bed, when she was very much astonished to find how different the old woman looked from ordinary.

“Grandmother, what great arms you have!”

“That is to hug you the better, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what great ears you have!”

“That is to hear you the better, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what great eyes you have!”

“That is to see you the better, my dear.”

“Grandmother, what a great mouth you have!”

“That is to eat you up!” cried the wicked wolf; and immediately he fell upon poor Little Red-Riding-Hood, and ate her up in a moment.

THE UGLY DUCKLING

THE country was lovely just then; it was summer! The wheat was golden and the oats still green; the hay was stacked in the rich, low-lying meadows, where the stork was marching about on his long red legs, chattering Egyptian, the language his mother had taught him.

Round about field and meadow lay great woods, in the midst of which were deep lakes. Yes, the country certainly was delicious. In the sunniest spot stood an old mansion surrounded by a deep moat, and great dock leaves grew from the walls of the house right down to the water’s edge, some of them were so tall that a small child could stand upright under them. In among the leaves it was as secluded as in the depths of a forest, and there a duck was sitting on her nest. Her little ducklings were just about to be hatched, but she was nearly tired of sitting, for it had lasted such a long time. Moreover, she had very few visitors, as the other ducks liked swimming about in the moat better than waddling up to sit under the dock leaves and gossip with her.

At last one egg after another began to crack. “Cheep, cheep!” they said. All the chicks had come to life, and were poking their heads out.

“Quack! quack!” said the duck; and then they all quacked their hardest, and looked about them on all sides among the green leaves; their mother allowed them to look as much as they liked, for green is good for the eyes.

“How big the world is to be sure!” said all the young ones; for they certainly had ever so much more room to move about than when they were inside the egg-shell.

“Do you imagine this is the whole world?” said the mother. “It stretches a long way on the other side of the garden, right into the parson’s field; but I have never been as far as that! I suppose you are all here now?” and she got up. “No! I declare I have not got you all yet! The biggest egg is still there; how long is it going to last?” and then she settled herself on the nest again.

“Well, how are you getting on?” said an old duck who had come to pay her a visit.

“This one egg is taking such a long time,” answered the sitting duck, “the shell will not crack; but now you must look at the others; they are the finest ducklings I have ever seen! they are all exactly like their father, the rascal! he never comes to see me.”

“Let me look at the egg which won’t crack,” said the old duck. “You may be sure that it is a turkey’s egg! I have been cheated like that once, and I had no end of trouble and worry with the creatures, for I may tell you that they are afraid of the water. I could not get them into it; I quacked and snapped at them, but it was no good. Let me see the egg! Yes, it is a turkey’s egg! You just leave it alone and teach the other children to swim.”

“I will sit on it a little longer; I have sat so long already that I may as well go on till the Midsummer Fair comes round.”

“Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away.

At last the big egg cracked. “Cheep, cheep!” said the young one and tumbled out; how big and ugly he was! The duck looked at him.

“That is a monstrous big duckling,” she said; “none of the others looked like that; can he be a turkey chick? well, we shall soon find that out; into the water he shall go, if I have to kick him in myself.”

Next day was gloriously fine, and the sun shone on all the green dock leaves. The mother duck with her whole family went down to the moat.

Splash, into the water she sprang. “Quack, quack!” she said, and one duckling plumped in after the other. The water dashed over their heads, but they came up again and floated beautifully; their legs went of themselves, and they were all there, even the big ugly gray one swam about with them.

“No, that is no turkey,” she said; “see how beautifully he uses his legs and how erect he holds himself; he is my own chick! after all, he is not so bad when you come to look at him properly. Quack, quack! Now come with me and I will take you into the world, and introduce you to the duckyard; but keep close to me all the time, so that no one may tread upon you, and beware of the cat!”

Then they went into the duckyard. There was a fearful uproar going on, for two broods were fighting for the head of an eel, and in the end the cat captured it.

“That’s how things go in this world,” said the mother duck; and she licked her bill, for she wanted the eel’s head for herself.

“Use your legs,” said she; “mind you quack properly, and bend your necks to the old duck over there! She is the grandest of them all; she has Spanish blood in her veins and that accounts for her size, and, do you see? she has a red rag round her leg; that is a wonderfully fine thing, and the most extraordinary mark of distinction any duck can have. It shows clearly that she is not to be parted with, and that she is worthy of recognition both by beasts and men! Quack now! don’t turn your toes in, a well brought up duckling keeps his legs wide apart just like father and mother; that’s it, now bend your necks, and say quack!”

They did as they were bid, but the other ducks round about looked at them and said, quite loud: “Just look there! now we are to have that tribe! just as if there were not enough of us already, and, oh dear! how ugly that duckling is, we won’t stand him!” and a duck flew at him at once and bit him in the neck.

“Let him be,” said the mother; “he is doing no harm.”

“Very likely not, but he is so ungainly and queer,” said the biter, “he must be whacked.”

“They are handsome children mother has,” said the old duck with the rag round her leg; “all good looking except this one, and he is not a good specimen; it’s a pity you can’t make him over again.”

“That can’t be done, your grace,” said the mother duck; “he is not handsome, but he is a thorough good creature, and he swims as beautifully as any of the others; nay, I think I might venture even to add that I think he will improve as he goes on, or perhaps in time he may grow smaller! he was too long in the egg, and so he has not come out with a very good figure.” And then she patted his neck and stroked him down. “Besides, he is a drake,” said she; “so it does not matter so much. I believe he will be very strong, and I don’t doubt but he will make his way in the world.”

“The other ducklings are very pretty,” said the old duck. “Now make yourselves quite at home, and if you find the head of an eel you may bring it to me!”

After that they felt quite at home. But the poor duckling which had been the last to come out of the shell, and who was so ugly, was bitten, pushed about, and made fun of both by the ducks and the hens. “He is too big,” they all said; and the turkey-cock, who was born with his spurs on, and therefore thought himself quite an emperor, puffed himself up like a vessel in full sail, made for him, and gobbled and gobbled till he became quite red in the face. The poor duckling was at his wit’s end, and did not know which way to turn; he was in despair because he was so ugly and the butt of the whole duckyard.

So the first day passed, and afterwards matters grew worse and worse. The poor duckling was chased and hustled by all of them; even his brothers and sisters ill-used him, and they were always saying, “If only the cat would get hold of you, you hideous object!” Even his mother said, “I wish to goodness you were miles away.” The ducks bit him, the hens pecked him, and the girl who fed them kicked him aside.

Then he ran off and flew right over the hedge, where the little birds flew up into the air in a fright.

“That is because I am so ugly,” thought the poor duckling, shutting his eyes, but he ran on all the same. Then he came to a great marsh where the wild ducks lived; he was so tired and miserable that he stayed there the whole night.

In the morning the wild ducks flew up to inspect their new comrade.

“What sort of a creature are you?” they inquired, as the duckling turned from side to side and greeted them as well as he could. “You are frightfully ugly,” said the wild ducks; “but that does not matter to us, so long as you do not marry into our family!” Poor fellow! he had no thought of marriage; all he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and to drink a little of the marsh water.

He stayed there two whole days; then two wild geese came, or, rather, two wild ganders; they were not long out of the shell, and therefore rather pert.

“I say, comrade,” they said, “you are so ugly that we have taken quite a fancy to you; will you join us and be a bird of passage? There is another marsh close by, and there are some charming wild geese there; all sweet young ladies, who can say quack! You are ugly enough to make your fortune among them.” Just at that moment, bang! bang! was heard up above, and both the wild geese fell dead among the reeds, and the water turned blood red. Bang! bang! went the guns, and whole flocks of wild geese flew up from the rushes and the shot peppered among them again.

There was a grand shooting-party, and the sportsmen lay hidden round the marsh; some even sat on the branches of the trees which overhung the water; the blue smoke rose like clouds among the dark trees and swept over the pool.

The water-dogs wandered about in the swamp – splash! splash! The rushes and reeds bent beneath their tread on all sides. It was terribly alarming to the poor duckling. He twisted his head round to get it under his wing, and just at that moment a frightful big dog appeared close beside him; his tongue hung right out of his mouth and his eyes glared wickedly. He opened his great chasm of a mouth close to the duckling, showed his sharp teeth, and – splash! – went on without touching him.

“Oh, thank Heaven!” sighed the duckling, “I am so ugly that even the dog won’t bite me!”

Then he lay quite still while the shot whistled among the bushes, and bang after bang rent the air. It only became quiet late in the day, but even then the poor duckling did not dare to get up; he waited several hours more before he looked about, and then he hurried away from the marsh as fast as he could. He ran across fields and meadows, and there was such a wind that he had hard work to make his way.

Towards night he reached a poor little cottage; it was such a miserable hovel that it could not make up its mind which way to fall even, and so it remained standing. The wind whistled so fiercely round the duckling that he had to sit on his tail to resist it, and it blew harder and harder; then he saw that the door had fallen off one hinge and hung so crookedly that he could creep into the house through the crack, and by this means he made his way into the room. An old woman lived there with her cat and her hen. The cat, which she called “Sonnie,” could arch his back, purr, and give off electric sparks – that is to say, if you stroked his fur the wrong way. The hen had quite tiny short legs, and so she was called “Chuckie-low-legs.” She laid good eggs, and the old woman was as fond of her as if she had been her own child.

In the morning the strange duckling was discovered immediately, and the cat began to purr and the hen to cluck.

“What on earth is that!” said the old woman, looking round; but her sight was not good, and she thought the duckling was a fat duck which had escaped. “This is a capital find,” said she; “now I shall have duck’s eggs if only it is not a drake. We must find out about that!”

So she took the duckling on trial for three weeks, but no eggs made their appearance. The cat was the master of the house and the hen the mistress, and they always spoke of “we and the world,” for they thought that they represented the half of the world, and that quite the better half.

The duckling thought there might be two opinions on the subject, but the cat would not hear of it.

“Can you lay eggs?” she asked.

“No!”

“Will you have the goodness to hold your tongue, then!”

And the cat said, “Can you arch your back, purr, or give off sparks?”

“No.”

“Then you had better keep your opinions to yourself when people of sense are speaking!”

The duckling sat in the corner nursing his ill-humor; then he began to think of the fresh air and the sunshine, an uncontrollable longing seized him to float on the water, and at last he could not help telling the hen about it.

“What on earth possesses you?” she asked. “You have nothing to do; that is why you get these freaks into your head. Lay some eggs or take to purring, and you will get over it.”

“But it is so delicious to float, on the water,” said the duckling; “so delicious to feel it rushing over your head when you dive to the bottom.”

“That would be a fine amusement,” said the hen. “I think you have gone mad. Ask the cat about it, he is the wisest creature I know; ask him if he is fond of floating on the water or diving under it. I say nothing about myself. Ask our mistress yourself, the old woman; there is no one in the world cleverer than she is. Do you suppose she has any desire to float on the water or to duck underneath it?”

“You do not understand me,” said the duckling.

“Well, if we don’t understand you, who should? I suppose you don’t consider yourself cleverer than the cat or the old woman, not to mention me. Don’t make a fool of yourself, child, and thank your stars for all the good we have done you! Have you not lived in this warm room, and in such society that you might have learned something? But you are an idiot, and there is no pleasure in associating with you. You may believe me I mean you well, I tell you home truths, and there is no surer way than that of knowing who are one’s friends. You just see about laying some eggs, or learn to purr, or to emit sparks.”