Angela Carter's Book Of Fairy Tales

by Angela Carter

  The cooks prepared a second meal, and when they had balanced the loaded tray upon Juleidah’s head, they sent two slave girls to hold her by either hand and guide her to the prince’s door. ‘Go,’ said the prince to the two slaves, ‘and you, Juleidah, come.’ Juleidah began to say,

  My eyes are weak, my sight is dim,

  I’m called Juleidah for my coat of skins,

  My ears are deaf, I cannot hear,

  I care for no one far or near.

  But the prince told her, ‘Come and fill my cup.’ As she approached, he drew the dagger that hung at his side and slashed her leather coat from collar to hem. It fell into a heap upon the floor – and there stood the maiden his mother had described, one who could say to the moon, ‘Set that I may shine in your stead.’

  Hiding Juleidah in a corner of the room, the prince sent for the queen. Our mistress cried out when she saw the pile of skins upon the floor. ‘Why, my son, did you bring her death upon your neck? The poor thing deserved your pity more than your punishment!’ ‘Come in, Mother,’ said the prince. ‘Come and look at our Juleidah before you mourn her.’ And he led his mother to where our fine princess sat revealed, her fairness filling the room like a ray of light. The queen threw herself upon the girl and kissed her on this side and on that, and bade her sit with the prince and eat. Then she summoned the qadi to write the paper that would bind our lord the prince to the fair princess, after which they lived together in the sweetest bliss.

  Now we make our way back to the king, Juleidah’s father. When he entered the bridal chamber to unveil his own daughter’s face and found her gone, and when he had searched the city in vain for her, he called his minister and his servants and dressed himself for travel. From country to country he journeyed, entering one city and leaving the next, taking with him in chains the old woman who had first suggested to him that he marry his own daughter. At last he reached the city where Juleidah was living with her husband the prince.

  Now, the princess was sitting in her window when they entered the gate, and she knew them as soon as she saw them. Straightway she sent to her husband urging him to invite the strangers. Our lord went to meet them and succeeded in detaining them only after much pressing, for they were impatient to continue their quest. They dined in the prince’s guest hall, then thanked their host and took leave with the words, ‘The proverb says: “Have your fill to eat, but then up, on to your feet!”’ – while he delayed them further with the proverb, ‘Where you break your bread, there spread out your bed.’

  In the end the prince’s kindness forced the tired strangers to lie in his house as guests for the night. ‘But why did you single out these strangers?’ the prince asked Juleidah. ‘Lend me your robes and head-cloth and let me go to them,’ she said. ‘Soon you will know my reasons.’

  Thus disguised, Juleidah sat with her guests. When the coffee cups had been filled and emptied, she said, ‘Let us tell stories to pass the time. Will you speak first, or shall I?’ ‘Leave us to our sorrows, my son,’ said the king her father. ‘We have not the spirit to tell tales.’ ‘I’ll entertain you, then, and distract your mind,’ said Juleidah. ‘There once was a king,’ she began, and went on to tell the history of her own adventures from the beginning to the end. Every now and then the old woman would interrupt and say, ‘Can you find no better story than this, my son?’ But Juleidah kept right on, and when she had finished she said, ‘I am your daughter the princess, upon whom all these troubles fell through the words of this old sinner and daughter of shame!’

  In the morning they flung the old woman over a tall cliff into the wadi. Then the king gave half his kingdom to his daughter and the prince, and they lived in happiness and contentment until death, the parter of the truest lovers’ divided them.

  THE HARE

  (SWAHILI)

  ne day the hare went to the house of the hunter who was away hunting. He said to the hunter’s wife: ‘Come to my house and live with me; we have meat and vegetables every day.’ The woman went with him, but when she saw the lair of the hare and had eaten grass with him and slept in the open with him, she was not satisfied. She said: ‘I want to go back.’ The hare said: ‘You came here by your own choice.’ The woman did not know the road in the bush, so she said: ‘Come with me and I will cook a nice dinner.’ The hare took her to her house. Then she said: ‘Get me some firewood.’

  The hare went to the forest and collected a load of firewood. The woman lit a fire and put a pot on it. When the water was boiling she put the hare into the pot. When the hunter came home she said: ‘I caught a hare for dinner.’ The hunter never knew what happened.

  MOSSYCOAT

  (ENGLISH GYPSY)

  ere was once a poor ould widder-woman as lived in a little cottage. She’d two daughters; de younger on ’em was about nineteen or twenty, and she was very beautiful. Her mother was busy ivry day, a-spinning of a coat for her.

  A hawker came courting dis girl; came reg’lar he did, and kept on a-bringing of her dis thing and dat. He was in love wid her, and badly wanted her to marry him. But she wasn’t in love wid him; it didn’t fall out like dat; and she was in a puzzlement what she’d best do about him. So one day she ext her mother. ‘Let he come,’ her mother telt her, ‘and git what you can out’n him, while I finish dis coat, after when you won’t have no need ’n him, nor his presents neether. So tell him, girl, as you won’t marry him, unless he gits you a dress o’ white satin with sprigs o’ goold on it as big as a man’s hand; and mind as you tells him it mus’ fit exac’ly.’

  Next time de hawker cam round, and ext her to wed him, de girl telt him just dis, de wery same as her mother’d said. He took stock ’n her size and build, de hawker did; and inside of a week he was back wid de dress. It answered de describance all right, an when de girl went upstairs wid her mother, and tried it on, it fit ’n exac’ly.

  ‘What should I do now, Mother?’ she ext.

  ‘Tell him,’ her mother says, ‘as you won’t marry him unless he gits you a dress med o’ silk de color o’ all de birds o’ de air and as afore, it must fit you exac’ly.’

  De girl telt de hawker dis, and in two or three days he was back at de cottage, wid dis colored silk dress de girl ed exted for; and being as he knowed de size from de t’other un, in course it fit her exac’ly.

  ‘Now what should I do, Mother?’ she ext.

  ‘Tell him,’ her mother says, ‘as you won’t marry him unless he gits you a pair o’ silver slippers as fits you exac’ly.’

  De girl telt de hawker so, and in a few days he called round wid ’em. Her feet was only about three inches long, but de slippers fit her exac’ly; dey was not too tight, neether was dey too loose. Agen de girl ext her mother what she should do now. ‘I can finish de coat tonight,’ her mother said, ‘so you can tell de hawker as you’ll marry him tomorrow, and he’s to be here at 10 o’clock.’ So de girl telt him dis. ‘Think-on, my dear,’ she says, ‘10 o’clock in de morning.’ ‘I’ll be dere, my love,’ he says, ‘by God, I will.’

  That night her mother was at work on de coat till late, but she finished it all right. Green moss and goold thread, dat’s what it was med on; just dem two things. ‘Mossycoat,’ she called it, and give de name to de younger daughter, as she’d med it for. It was a magic coat, she said, a wishing coat, she telt her daughter; when she’d got it on, she telt her she’d only to wish to be somewhere, and she’d be dere dat wery instant, and de same if she wanted to change hersel’ into summat else, like to be a swan or a bee.

  Next morning de mother was up by it was light. She called her younger daughter, and telt her she mus’ now go into de world and seek her fortune, and a handsome fortune it was to be. She was a foreseer, de owld mother was, and know’d what was a-coming. She give her daughter mossycoat to put on, and a goold crown to tek wid her, and she telt her to tek as well de two dresses and de silver slippers she’d had off ’n de hawker. But she was to go in de clo’es as she wore ivery day, her working clo’es dat is. And now she’s re
ady for to start, Mossycoat is. Her mother den tells her she is to wish herself a hundred miles away, and den walk on till she comes to a big hall, and dere she’s to ext for a job. ‘You won’t hev far to walk, my blessed,’ she says – dat’s de mother. ‘And dey’ll be sure to find you work at dis big hall.’

  Mossycoat did as her mother telt her, and soon she foun’ herself in front of a big gentleman’s house. She knocked at de front door and said as she was looking for work. Well, de long and de short of it was as de mistress hersel’ come to see her; and she liked de look ’n her, de lady did.

  ‘What work can you do?’ she ext.

  ‘I can cook, your ladyship,’ said Mossycoat. ‘In fact, I’m in de way o’ being a wery good cook, from what peoples ’es remarked.’

  ‘I can’t give you a job as cook,’ de lady tells her, ‘being as I got one already; but I’d be willing to imploy you to help de cook, if so as you’d be satisfied wid dat.’

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ says Mossycoat. ‘I s’d be real glad ’n de place.’

  So it was settled as she was to be undercook. And after when de lady’d showed her up to her bedroom, she took her to de kitchen, and interdoosed her to de t’other sarvants.

  ‘Dis is Mossycoat,’ she tells ’em, ‘and I’ve engaged her,’ she says, ‘to be undercook.’

  She leaves ’em den, de mistress does; and Mossycoat she goes up to her bedroom agen, to unpack her things, and hide away her goold crown and silver slippers, and her silk and satin dresses.

  It goes wi’out saying as de t’other kitchen girls was fair beside theirsels wid jealousy; and it didn’t mend matters as de new girl was a dam’ sight beautifuller nor what any of dem was. Here was dis wagrant i’ rags put above dem, when all she was fit for at best was to be scullery girl. If anybody was to be undercook, it stands to sense it sud’er been one o’ dem as really knowed about things, not dis girl i’ rags and tatters, picked up off ’n de roads. But dey’d put her in her place, dey would. So dey goes on and on, like what women will, till Mossycoat come down ready to start work. Den dey sets on her. ‘Who de devil did she think she was, setting hersel’ above dem? She’d be undercook, would she? No dam’ fear . . . dey relow of dat. What she’d hev to do, and all she was fit for, was to scour de pans, clean de knives, do de grates and suchlike; and all she’d git was dis.’ And down come de skimmer on top of her head pop, pop, pop. ‘Dat’s what you deserves,’ dey tell her, ‘and dat’s what you can expect, my lady.’

  And dat’s how it was wid Mossycoat. She was put to do all de dirtiest work, and soon she was up to de ears in grease, and her face as black as soot. And ivery now and agen, first one and then another o’ de sarvants, ‘ld pop, pop, pop her a-top o’ de head wid de skimmer, till de poor girls’ head was dat sore, she couldn’t hardly bide it.

  Well, it got on, and it got on, and still Mossycoat was at her pans, and knives, and grates; and still de sarvants was pop, pop, popping her on de head wid de skimmer. Now dere was a big dance coming on, as was to last three nights, wid hunting and other sports in de daytime. All de headmost people for miles round was to be dere; and de master, and mistress, and de young master – dey’d niver had but one child – in course dey was a-going. It was all de talk among de sarvants, dis dance was. One was wishing she could be dere; another’d like to dance wid some ’n de young lords; a third ’ld like to see de ladies’ dresses, and so dey went on, all excepting Mossycoat. If only dey’d de clo’es, dey’d be al right, dey thought, as dey considered deirselves as good as high-titled ladies any day. ‘And you, Mossycoat, you’d like to go, wouldn’t you now?’ dey says. ‘A fit person you’d be to be dere in all your rags and dirt,’ dey says, and down comes de skimmer on her head, pop, pop, pop. Den dey laughs at her; which goes to show what a low class o’ people dey was.

  Now Mossycoat, as I’ve said afore, was wery handsome, and rags and dirt couldn’t hide dat. De t’other sarvants might think as it did, but de young master’d hed his eyes on her, and de master and mistress, dey’d al’ays taken partic’lar notice o’ her, on account of her good looks. When de big dance was coming on, dey thought as it’d be nice to ex her to go to it; so dey sent for her to see if she’d like to. ‘No, thank you,’ she says, ‘I’d niver think o’ such a thing. I knows my place better’n dat,’ she says. ‘Besides, I’d greasy all de one side o’ de coach,’ she tells ’em, ‘and anybody’s clo’es as I comed up agen.’ Dey make light on dat, and presses her to go, de master and mistress does. It’s wery kind on ’em, Mossycoat says, but she’s not for going, she says. And she sticks to dat. When she gets back into de kitchen, you may depend on it, de t’other sarvants wants to know why she’d bin sent for. Had she got notice, or what was it? So she telt ’em de master and mistress ’ed ext her would she like to go to the dance wid ’em. ‘What? You?’ dey says, ‘it’s unbelievable. If it had been one o’ we, now, dat’d be different. But you! Why, you’d niver be relowed in, as you’d greasy all the gentlemen’s clo’es, if dere were any as ’ed dance wid a scullery girl; and de ladies, dey’d be forced to howld dere noses w’en dey passed by you, to be sure dey would.’ No, dey couldn’t believe, dey said, as de master and mistress had iver ext her to go to de ball wid ’em. She must be lying, dey said, and down come de skimmer a-top of her head, pop, pop, pop.

  Next night, de master and de mistress and dere son, dis time, ext her to go to de dance. It was a grand affair de night before, dey said, and she sud ev bin dere. It was going to be still grander tonight, dey said, and dey begged of her to come wid ’em, especially de young master. But no, she says, on account of her rags and her grease, and dirt, she couldn’t and she wouldn’t; and even de young master couldn’t persuade her, though it wasn’t for de want o’ trying. The t’other sarvants just didn’t believe her when she telt ’em about her being invited agen to de dance, and about de young master being wery pressing.

  ‘Hark to her!’ they says, ‘What’ll de upstart say next? And all dam’ lies,’ dey says. Den one o’ dem, wid a mouth like a pig-trough, and legs like a cart horse, catches hold o’ de skimmer, and down it comes, pop, pop, pop, on Mossycoat’s head.

  Dat night, Mossycoat decided as she’d go to de dance, in right proper style, all on her own, and wi’out nobody knowing it. De first thing she does is to put all de t’other sarvants into a trance; she just touches each on ’em, unnoticed, as she moves about, and dey all falls asleep under a spell as soon as she does, and can’t wake up agen on deir own; de spell has to be broke by somebody wid de power, same as she has through her magic coat, or has got it some other way. Next Mossycoat has a real good wash: she’d niver been relowed to afore, sin’ she’d bin at de hall as the other sarvants was retermined to mek and to keep her as greasy and dirty as dey could. Den she goes upstairs to her bedroom, throws off her working clo’es and shoes, and puts on her white satin dress wid de gowld sprigs, her silver slippers, and her gowld crown. In course, she had mossy coat on underneath. So as soon as she was ready, she jus’ wished hersel’ at de dance, and dere she was, wery near as soon as de wish was spoke. She did jus’ feel hersel’ rising up and flying through de elements but only for a moment. Den she was in de ballroom.

  De young master sees her standing dere, and once he catched sight on her he can’t tek his eyes off her; he’d niver seen anybody as han’some afore, or as beautifully dressed. ‘Who is she?’ he exes his mother; but she doesn’t know, she tells him.

  ‘Can’t you find out, Mother?’ he says. ‘Can’t you go and talk to her?’ His mother sees as he’ll niver rest till she does, so she goes and interdooses hersel’ to de young lady, and exes her who she is, where she comes from, and such as dat; but all she could git out’n her was as she come from a place where dey hit her on de head wid de skimmer. Den presently, de young master he goes over and interdooses hissel’, but she doesn’t tell him her name nor nothing; and when he exes her to hev a dance wid him, she says no, she’d rather not. He stops aside of her though, and keeps exing her time and agen, and at d
e finish she says as she will, and links up wid him. Dey dances once, up and down de room; den she says she must go. He presses her to stop, but it’s a waste o’ breath; she’s retermined to go, dere and den.

  ‘All right,’ he says – dere was nothing else he could say – ‘I’ll come and see you off.’ But she jus’ wished she was at home, and dere she was. No seeing of her off for de young master, dere warn’t, she jus’ went from his side in de twinkle of an eye, leaving him standing dere gaping wid wonderment. Thinking she might be in de hall, or de porch, a-waiting of her carriage, he goes to see, but dere’s no sign on her anywheres inside or out, and nobody as he exed seen her go. He went back to de ballroom, but he can’t think of nothing or nobody but her and all de time he’s a-wanting to go home.

  When Mossycoat gets back home, she meks sure as all de t’other sarvants is still in a trance. Den she goes up and changes into her working get-up; and after when she’d done dat, she come down into de kitchen agen, and touches each ’n de sarvants. Dat wakens ’em, as you might say; anyway, dey starts up, wondering whatever time o’ day it is, and how long dey bin asleep. Mossycoat tells ’em, and drops a hint as she may have to let de mistress know. Dey begs on her not to let on about ’em, and most’n ’em thinks to give her things if she won’t. Owld things, dey was, but wid a bit o’ wear in ’em still – a skirt, a pair o’ shoes, stockings, stays, and what not. So Mossycoat promises as she won’t tell on ’em. An’ dat night, dey don’t hit her on de head wid de skimmer.

  All next day de young master is unrestful. He can’t settle his mind to nothing but de young lady as he’d fell in love wid last night at de wery first sight ’n her. He was wondering all de time would she be dere agen tonight, and would she vanish de same as she done last night; and thinking how he could stop her, or catch up wid her if she was for doing dis a second time. He must find out where she lives, he thinks, else how’s he to go on after when de dance is over. He’d die, he tells his mother, if he can’t git her for his wife; he’s dat madly in love wid her. ‘Well,’ says his mother, ‘I thought as she was a nice modest girl, but she wouldn’t say who or what she was, or where she come from, except it was a place where dey hit her on de head wid de skimmer.’