The Classic Fairy Tales (Second Edition) (Norton Critical Editions)

by Edited by Maria Tatar

  In the meantime, everyone at the palace had woken up exactly when the princess did. They all remembered their duties at the court. Since they were not madly in love, they were all famished. The lady-in-waiting, as hungry as everyone else, grew impatient and announced in a loud voice to the princess that dinner was ready. The prince helped the princess get up from the bed. She was fully dressed, and her clothes were magnificent. But the prince was careful to avoid telling her that she was wearing a dress that looked like his grandmother’s, complete with ruffs. Still she looked beautiful in what she was wearing.

  The prince and the princess walked into a room with mirrors on all sides, and there the stewards served them supper. The violins and oboes played old-fashioned but lovely pieces of music. And after supper the chaplain lost no time and married them in the royal chapel. The maid of honor discreetly drew the curtains around the bed.

  The two did not sleep much. The princess did not need much sleep to begin with, and the prince left at sunrise to return to his city, where his father was anxiously awaiting news of his whereabouts. The prince told his father that he had lost his way in the forest while hunting and that he had spent the night in the hut of a charcoal-burner, who had given him some black bread and cheese for supper.

  The prince’s father was a trusting soul and believed his son, but his mother was not fully convinced. She noticed that he went hunting now nearly every day and that he always made up some story as an excuse for staying away for a couple of days. She was sure that he was keeping a mistress. In fact, he had been living with the princess for over two years and had two children with her. The first was a girl name Aurora, and the second a son called Day, because he was even more beautiful than his sister.

  The queen began telling her son that he should settle down, and she was hoping she could persuade him to tell her the truth. But the prince did not trust her with his secret. Although he loved her, he was also afraid of her, for she belonged to the race of ogres. The king had married her only for her money. There were rumors that she possessed all the desires of an ogress. Whenever she saw little children, she found it hard to restrain herself from pouncing on them. And for that reason, the prince did not breathe a word about his adventures.

  Two years later the king died, and the prince became his heir. He made a public declaration about his marriage and went with pomp and circumstance to fetch his wife. With her two children at her side, the queen made a magnificent entrance.

  Not much later, the king went to war with a neighbor named Emperor Cantalabutte. He told his mother the queen to govern in his absence and to take care of his wife and children. Since he was more than likely to be at war for the entire summer, the queen mother sent her daughter-in-law with her children to a country house in the forest. She was hoping to gratify her horrible urges more easily now that he was away. A few days later, she followed them there, and one evening she said to the steward: “I would like to have little Aurora for dinner tomorrow night.”

  “Ah, madam!” the steward exclaimed.

  “I’m giving you an order,” said the queen, and she spoke those words like an ogre longing to eat fresh meat. “I want her served up with a sauce Robert.”

  The poor man saw that there was no use in arguing with an ogress. He pulled out his knife and made his way to little Aurora’s room. She was about four years old at the time. She skipped over to him, threw her arms around him with a giggle, and asked him for some sweets. He burst into tears, and the knife fell from his hands. He decided to go downstairs into the kitchen court, where he slaughtered a lamb and served it up in such a delicious sauce that his mistress assured him that she had never eaten anything like it. In the meantime he carried off little Aurora and gave her to his wife, who hid her in their lodgings at the far end of the kitchen court.

  A week later, the wicked queen said to the steward, “Now I would like to have little Day for supper.”

  Determined to fool her as he had done before, he did not reply. He went to look for little Day, who was just three years old, and found him with a tiny sword in his hand, fencing with a large monkey. He took the boy over to his wife, who hid him in the same place where his sister was kept. Then he cooked a tender little goat instead of little Day, and the ogress found the meal delicious.

  Everything was going well until one evening the wicked queen said to the steward, “Now I would like to have the queen for supper, with the same sauce you used for the children.”

  This time the poor steward was in despair and felt sure he would not be able to fool her again. The young queen was now twenty years old, not counting the one hundred years she had slept. Her skin was a little tough, but it was fair and beautiful. Where in the world was he going to find an animal that was as tough as she was?

  He decided that the only way to save his own life was to cut the queen’s throat, and he went up to the royal apartment with that plan. He worked up his courage and entered the young queen’s chambers, dagger in hand. But since he did not want to take her by surprise, he decided to tell her that he was carrying out the orders of the queen mother.

  “Do what you have to do!” she said, making her neck as long as possible. “Carry out the orders given to you. Then I will finally be reunited with my children, my poor children, that I loved so much.”

  The young queen was sure that they had died after being carried away with no explanation.

  “No, no, madam!” the poor steward replied, deeply moved. “You shall not die, and you will see your children again. You can find them in my house, where they have been hiding. And I will fool the queen one more time by serving her a young hind in your stead.”

  He took her straight to his own quarters, where there was a tearful reunion, and he then cooked up a hind that the queen ate for supper with just as much gusto as if it had been the young queen. Her cruel urges had been appeased, and she planned to tell the king, when he returned, that some ferocious wolves had devoured his wife and two children.

  One evening, while she was prowling about as usual around the courtyards and poultry yards of the castle to inhale the scent of fresh meat, she overheard little Day crying because his mother was about to give him a slap for being naughty. She could also hear little Aurora begging forgiveness for her brother. The ogress recognized the voices of the queen and her children and was in a rage about being duped. She gave orders in a way that made everyone tremble with fear. “Bring a large copper vat into the middle of the courtyard early tomorrow morning.”

  Once the vat was there the next day, she had it filled up with toads, vipers, adders, and serpents. She was planning to fling the queen, her children, the steward, his wife, and their maidservant into it.

  “Bring them to me with their hands tied behind their backs,” she commanded.

  As they stood before her, the executioners began preparing to throw them into the copper vat. Just then the king, who had not been expected back until later, rode into the courtyard. He had come posthaste. Greatly astonished, he demanded to know the meaning of the horrible spectacle, but no one dared say a word. The ogress, enraged at the sight of the king, flung herself headfirst into the vat and was devoured by the repulsive reptiles she had ordered put in there. The king could not help but feel sorry for her, because she was his mother, after all. But he soon found consolation with his beautiful wife and their two children.

  Moral

  Waiting so long,

  For a man refined and strong,

  Is not at all unusual.

  But it is rare to wait a hundred years.

  Indeed no woman today

  5

  Is that patient for a mate.

  Our tale was meant to show

  That when marriage is deferred,

  It is no less happy than the ones you know.

  Nothing’s lost after a century or so.

  10

  And yet, for lovers whose passion

  Cannot be controlled and who run off,

  Who has the heart to denounce them


  Or to teach them a moral lesson?

  * * *

  †  Charles Perrault, “La Belle au bois dormant,” in Histoires ou Contes du temps passé. Avec des Moralités (Paris: Barbin, 1697). Translated for this Norton Critical Edition by Maria Tatar. Copyright © 2017 by Maria Tatar.

  BROTHERS GRIMM

  Briar Rose†

  Long, long ago there lived a king and a queen. Day after day they said to each other: “Oh, if only we could have a child!” but nothing ever happened. One day, while the queen was bathing, a frog crawled out of the water, crept ashore, and said to her: “Your wish shall be fulfilled. Before a year goes by, you will give birth to a daughter.”

  The frog’s prediction came true, and the queen gave birth to a girl who was so beautiful that the king was beside himself with joy and arranged a great feast. He invited relatives, friends, and acquaintances, and he also sent for the Wise Women of the kingdom, for he wanted to be sure that they would be kindly disposed toward his child. There were thirteen Wise Women in all, but since the king had only twelve golden plates for them to dine on, one of the women had to stay home.

  The feast was celebrated with great splendor, and when it drew to a close, the Wise Women bestowed their magic gifts on the girl. One conferred virtue on her, a second gave her beauty, a third wealth, and on it went until the girl had everything in the world you could ever want. Just as the eleventh woman was presenting her gift, the thirteenth in the group appeared out of nowhere. She had not been invited, and now she wanted her revenge. Without so much as a greeting or even a glance at anyone there, she cried out in a loud voice: “When the daughter of the king turns fifteen, she will prick her finger on a spindle and fall down dead.” And without another word, she turned her back on those assembled and left the hall.

  Everyone was horrified, but just in the nick of time the twelfth of the Wise Women stepped forward. She had not yet made her wish. Although she could not lift the evil spell, she could temper it, and so she said: “The princess will not die, but she will fall into a deep sleep that will last for a hundred years.” The king, who was intent on preventing any harm from coming to his child, sent out an order that every spindle in the entire kingdom was to be burned to ashes.

  As for the girl, all the wishes made by the Wise Women came true, for she was so beautiful, kind, charming, and sensible that everyone who set eyes on her could not help but love her. On the very day that the princess turned fifteen, the king and the queen happened to be away from home, and the girl was left all alone. She wandered around in the castle, poking her head into one room after another, and eventually she came to the foot of an old tower. After climbing up a narrow, winding staircase in the tower, she ended up in front of a little door with a rusty old key in its lock. As she turned the key, the door burst open to reveal a tiny little room, in which an old woman was sitting with her spindle, busily spinning flax.

  “Good afternoon, granny,” said the princess. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m spinning flax,” the old woman replied, and she nodded to the girl.

  “What is that thing bobbing about so oddly?” asked the girl, and she put her hand on the spindle, for she too wanted to spin. The magic spell began to take effect at once, for she had pricked her finger on the spindle.

  The instant she felt the prick on her finger, she slumped down on the bed that was in the room and fell into a deep sleep. The sleep spread through the entire palace. The king and the queen, who had just returned home and were entering the hall, fell asleep too, and their attendants along with them. The horses fell asleep in the stables, the dogs in the courtyard, the doves on the roof, the flies on the walls, and, yes indeed, even the fire flickering in the hearth died down and dozed off, and the roast stopped sizzling, and the cook, who was about to pull the hair of the kitchen boy because he had done something stupid, let go and fell asleep. The wind also died down so that not a leaf was stirring on the trees outside the castle.

  Soon a hedge of briars began to grow all around the castle. Every year it grew higher until one day it surrounded the entire place. It had grown so thick that you could not even see the banner on the turret of the castle. Throughout the land, stories circulated about the beautiful Briar Rose, for that was the name given to the slumbering princess. From time to time a prince would try to force his way through the hedge to get to the castle. But no one ever succeeded, because the briars clasped each other as if they were holding hands, and the young men who tried, got caught in them and couldn’t pry themselves loose. They died an agonizing death.

  After many, many years had passed, another prince appeared in the land. He heard an old man talking about a briar hedge that was said to conceal a castle where a wondrously beautiful princess named Briar Rose had been sleeping for a hundred years, and with her the king, the queen, and the entire court. The old man had learned from his grandfather that many other princes had tried to make their way through the briar hedge, but they had gotten caught on the briars and perished in horrible ways. The young man said: “I am not afraid. I am going to find that castle so that I can see the beautiful Briar Rose.” The kind old man did his best to discourage the prince, but he refused to listen.

  It so happened that the period of one hundred years had just ended, and the day on which Briar Rose was to awaken had arrived. When the prince approached the briar hedge, he found nothing but big, beautiful flowers. They opened to make a path for him and to let him pass unharmed; then they closed behind him to form a hedge.

  In the courtyard the horses and the spotted hounds were lying in the same place fast asleep, and the doves were roosting with their little heads tucked under their wings. The prince made his way into the castle and saw how the flies were fast asleep on the walls. The cook was still in the kitchen, with his hand up in the air as if he were about to grab the kitchen boy, and the maid was still sitting at a table with a black hen that she was about to pluck.

  The prince walked along a little farther, over to the great hall, where he saw the entire court fast asleep, with the king and the queen sleeping right next to their thrones. He continued on his way, and everything was so quiet that he could hear his own breath. Finally he reached the tower, and he opened up the door to the little room in which Briar Rose was sleeping. There she lay, so beautiful that he could not take his eyes off her, and he bent down to kiss her.

  No sooner had the prince touched Briar Rose’s lips than she woke up, opened her eyes, and smiled sweetly at him. They went down the stairs together. The king, the queen, and the entire court were now all awake too, and they were all staring at each other in amazement. The horses in the courtyard stood up and shook themselves. The hounds jumped to their feet and wagged their tails. The doves pulled their heads out from under their wings, looked around, and flew off into the fields. The flies began crawling on the walls. The fire in the kitchen flickered, flared up, and began cooking the food again. The roast started to sizzle. The cook slapped the boy so hard that he let out a screech. The maid finished plucking the hen.

  The wedding of Briar Rose and the prince was celebrated in great splendor, and the two lived out their days in happiness.

  * * *

  †  Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, “Dornröschen,” in Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 7th ed. (Berlin: Dieterich, 1857; first published: Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1812). Translated for this Norton Critical Edition by Maria Tatar. Copyright © 2017 by Maria Tatar.

  GABRIEL GARCIA MÁRQUEZ

  Sleeping Beauty and the Airplane†

  She was beautiful and lithe, with soft skin the color of bread and eyes like green almonds, and she had straight black hair that reached to her shoulders, and an aura of antiquity that could just as well have been Indonesian as Andean. She was dressed with subtle taste: a lynx jacket, a raw silk blouse with very delicate flowers, natural linen trousers, and shoes with a narrow stripe the color of bougainvillea. “This is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” I thought when I saw her
pass by with the stealthy stride of a lioness while I waited in the check-in line at Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris for the plane to New York. She was a supernatural apparition who existed only for a moment and disappeared into the crowd in the terminal.

  It was nine in the morning. It had been snowing all night, and traffic was heavier than usual in the city streets, and even slower on the highway, where trailer trucks were lined up on the shoulder and automobiles steamed in the snow. Inside the airport terminal, however, it was still spring.

  I stood behind an old Dutch woman who spent almost an hour arguing about the weight of her eleven suitcases. I was beginning to feel bored when I saw the momentary apparition who left me breathless, and so I never knew how the dispute ended. Then the ticket clerk brought me down from the clouds with a reproach for my distraction. By way of an excuse, I asked her if she believed in love at first sight. “Of course,” she said. “The other kinds are impossible.” She kept her eyes fixed on the computer screen and asked whether I preferred a seat in smoking or nonsmoking.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said with intentional malice, “as long as I’m not beside the eleven suitcases.”

  She expressed her appreciation with a commercial smile but did not look away from the glowing screen.

  “Choose a number,” she told me: “Three, four, or seven.”

  “Four.”

  Her smile flashed in triumph.

  “In the fifteen years I’ve worked here,” she said, “you’re the first person who hasn’t chosen seven.”