2. A hunter of Greek mythology who was carried away for his beauty by the goddess of the dawn.
3. Reference to the golden apple thrown by Eris down among the assembled gods. Inscribed “For the fairest,” it became the prize of beauty in a contest among Hera, Athena, and Aphrodite.
The Three Gowns†
A gentleman and his wife had a daughter named Rosa. The wife had a ring she always wore, and one day she said to her husband, “Take this ring, for I am dying, and whoever can fit it to her finger is the one you must marry.”
The mother died, and within a few days word went out that the wearer of the dead woman’s ring would have the rich widower for a husband. Eligible ladies from all over came to try on the ring. For some it was too big. For others, too small. And all this took many days.
With one thing and another the ring got lost, and it was missing for oh, about a year. In the meantime the gentleman’s daughter had reached the age of marrying. And one day dear little Rosa was sweeping and found the ring. When she tried it on, it fit her exactly.
Her father, who was just returning from a sea voyage, noticed at once that his daughter was wearing the ring. He was enchanted. “You’ll have to marry me,” he said, “because your mother said so.”
The daughter cried out, “Oh, Papa! How can I marry my own father?”
“Never mind. You’ll do it and that’s that.”
“Very well, father. But before I marry you, you’ll have to bring me a gown the color of all the stars in the sky.”
“Why not!” And off he went to find such a gown.
After two or three days he came home carrying the outfit, and poor Rosa was more upset than ever.
“Very well, Papa, but I must have a gown the color of all the fish in the sea.”
He rushed off at once. Three days later, when she saw him coming back with the gown, she started to cry. “Oh, Papa, I can’t get married with only two gowns. I’d have to have three. Bring me one more, and it had better be the color of all the flowers on earth.”
As she required, so he provided. The very next day, there it was, a gown the color of all the flowers on earth. And without pausing to rest he went into town to make arrangements for the wedding.
The moment he was out of sight she tied her clothes together, along with a magic wand she happened to have, and off she ran with the whole bundle, deep into the forest.
After living in the wild for a few days she came upon a young lioness and managed to kill it. She took its skin and put it on. Mind you, whatever she did she always asked the little wand for assistance.
Nearby in a certain kingdom, there was a prince who had gone into the forest to do some shooting. Spotting a dove, he took a pop at it and it started off. The dove flitted from snag to snag with the prince hurrying behind. He stumbled on. Suddenly he caught sight of a lion cub. He said to himself, “I’ll bring this back as a pet for my mother.” He caught it easily and took it home. “Mama!” he cried. “Look what I’ve brought. A young lioness to keep you company.”
The queen took the little lioness into her arms, then tied it to a leg of the stove. She put down a dish of food for it.
The following Saturday the young prince, Juanito, for that was his name, was hosting a ball, and when the hour arrived he tidied himself up. In no time he was on his way. When he’d gone and it began to get dark, the lioness, who spoke only to the queen, said, “I’d love to go to the ball.”
“You must realize,” said the queen, “that if Juanito found a lion in the ballroom he’d have it shot.”
“Why worry? He wouldn’t dream of shooting me.”
“Then go.”
On the way to the ball she asked the wand to give her a horse saddled in gold. She put on her gown the color of all the stars, mounted the horse, and rode off.
When she arrived at the ball, every guest came to the door to see this princess decked out in silver and gold. Juanito had come with his intended, but in his excitement he completely forgot she was there and began to dance with the princess. He was so infatuated that he made her a promise, which she did not reject, and when dawn came he gave her a gold band inscribed with his name. In exchange she gave him a gold band of her own. Then she jumped on her horse and sped away, slipping into the lion’s skin as soon as she was out of view.
Later that morning Juanito came bursting into the palace, telling his mother all about a certain princess he had seen. He chattered on, with the lioness murmuring,
I might imply,
I might deny,
I might imply
That it was I.
The queen picked up the poker from in front of the stove and gave her a whack to shut her up. Juanito continued, “Mama, I must announce another ball for next Saturday.”
He did just that, planning a ball even grander than the one he had held the week before. When the day came, and he’d sped away, the lioness said to the old mother, “How about it? Untie me!”
“God forbid that you shouldn’t go!”
“I’m on my way.”
As soon as she was out the door she instructed the wand, “As pretty as you made me last Saturday, make me prettier tonight. Make the horse nicer, too.” Then she put on her gown the color of all the fish in the sea and rode off.
When she arrived at the dance, there were cries of excitement. And Juanito? He was enraptured. But at the crack of dawn she told him again, just as she’d told him the week before, “It’s late. I must leave at once.” Quick as a wink he gave her a little gold chain, and she gave him some token or other, mounted her horse, and vanished. They all ran to catch up with her but found no trace of her anywhere. And there was Juanito, panting with lovesickness.
Before she got back to the palace she changed into the lion’s skin. When Juanito arrived, all he could say was, “Oh, Mama, I’m dying. That princess was more beautiful than ever,” while the lioness, from her spot next to the stove, chimed in,
I might imply,
I might deny,
I might imply
That it was I.
The queen gave her a tap with the coal shovel, and Juanito went on, “But don’t worry. There’s going to be another dance next Saturday.”
As delightful as the first two balls had been, the third, he hoped, would surpass them both. And when the day came he refused to eat. He went early to the ballroom to wait for the princess. When he had gone, just at the stroke of six, the little lioness asked her mistress for permission to follow him, and the dotty old queen threw up her hands and said, “Go ahead, get yourself killed!”
Once on the road, she changed into her gown the color of all the flowers on earth. Her horse was bridled in silver and gold, and as radiant as she had seemed the other two times, she was even more radiant now. Juanito rushed toward her and locked his arm in hers. He swept her into the ballroom. They began to dance. Just to be safe, he doubled the guard at the door so she couldn’t escape. But nothing could stand in her way. When he’d given her a jeweled ring, and she’d handed him a gift in exchange, she suddenly disappeared.
The guards ran after her, but already she was far in the distance. Poor Juanito suffered a fainting spell.
Once more she pulled on the snug little lion’s skin. Later, when Juanito returned to the palace, he went straight to bed, so badly smitten that even a swallow of water wouldn’t go down his throat. His mother was beside herself; Juanito was her only child.
And this went on for a week, then another week. At last the little lioness asked her mistress if she thought the prince might like a few tarts. The prince was asked. He said no, he couldn’t eat a thing. But shouldn’t she make them anyway, just on a chance? No, no, said the queen. Goodness! If he knew that a lioness had made them, why would he touch them?
The lioness said, “Why would he know?”
So the little lioness made three tarts. In one she put the gold band, in another the gold chain, and in the third the jeweled ring. If the prince wouldn’t eat them, at least h
e could cut them open.
The queen brought the tarts to his room, and when he opened the first, there was the gold band. In the second, the gold chain. And in the third, the jeweled ring. The breath of life returned to his body. “Mama, who made these tarts?”
Already the lioness had changed into her gown the color of all the stars in the sky, and when she came into the prince’s room he said to his mama, “This is the princess I told you about.”
He recovered immediately. There were royal feasts and dances. They called in a priest, who performed the wedding. Then Juanito became king. Rosa was queen. And they went right on living with Juanito’s mama.
* * *
† Latin American Folktales: Stories from Hispanic and Indian Traditions, ed. John Bierhorst (New York: Pantheon Books, 2002), pp. 67–71. Copyright © 2002 by John Bierhorst. Used by permission of Pantheon Books, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. All rights reserved.
JOSEPH JACOBS
Catskin†
Well, there was once a gentleman who had fine lands and houses, and he very much wanted to have a son to be heir to them. So when his wife brought him a daughter, bonny as bonny could be, he cared nought for her, and said, “Let me never see her face.”
So she grew up a bonny girl, though her father never set eyes on her till she was fifteen years old and was ready to be married. But her father said, “Let her marry the first that comes for her.” And when this was known, who should be first but a nasty rough old man. So she didn’t know what to do, and went to the hen-wife and asked her advice. The hen-wife said, “Say you will not take him unless they give you a coat of silver cloth.” Well, they gave her a coat of silver cloth, but she wouldn’t take him for all that, but went again to the hen-wife, who said, “Say you will not take him unless they give you a coat of beaten gold.” Well, they gave her a coat of beaten gold, but still she would not take him, but went to the hen-wife, who said, “Say you will not take him unless they give you a coat made of the feathers of all the birds of the air.” So they sent a man with a great heap of peas; and the man cried to all the birds of the air, “Each bird take a pea, and put down a feather.” So each bird took a pea and put down one of its feathers: and they took all the feathers and made a coat of them and gave it to her; but still she would not, but asked the hen-wife once again, who said, “Say they must first make you a coat of catskin.” So they made her a coat of catskin; and she put it on, and tied up her other coats, and ran away into the woods.
So she went along and went along and went along, till she came to the end of the wood, and saw a fine castle. So there she hid her fine dresses, and went up to the castle gates, and asked for work. The lady of the castle saw her, and told her, “I’m sorry I have no better place, but if you like you may be our scullion.” So down she went into the kitchen, and they called her Catskin, because of her dress. But the cook was very cruel to her and led her a sad life.
Well, it happened soon after that the young lord of the castle was coming home, and there was to be a grand ball in honour of the occasion. And when they were speaking about it among the servants, “Dear me, Mrs. Cook,” said Catskin, “how much I should like to go.”
“What! you dirty impudent slut,” said the cook, “you go among all the fine lords and ladies with your filthy catskin? A fine figure you’d cut!” and with that she took a basin of water and dashed it into Catskin’s face. But she only briskly shook her ears, and said nothing.
When the day of the ball arrived Catskin slipped out of the house and went to the edge of the forest, where she had hidden her dresses. So she bathed herself in a crystal waterfall, and then put on her coat of silver cloth, and hastened away to the ball. As soon as she entered all were overcome by her beauty and grace, while the young lord at once lost his heart to her. He asked her to be his partner for the first dance, and he would dance with none other the livelong night.
When it came to parting-time, the young lord said, “Pray tell me, fair maid, where you live.” But Catskin curtsied and said:
“Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,
At the sign of the ‘Basin of Water’ I dwell.”
Then she flew from the castle and donned her catskin robe again, and slipped into the scullery again, unbeknown to the cook.
The young lord went the very next day to his mother, the lady of the castle, and declared he would wed none other but the lady of the silver dress, and would never rest till he had found her. So another ball was soon arranged for, in hope that the beautiful maid would appear again. So Catskin said to the cook, “Oh, how I should like to go!” Whereupon the cook screamed out in a rage, “What, you, you dirty impudent slut! You would cut a fine figure among all the fine lords and ladies.” And with that she up with a ladle and broke it across Catskin’s back. But she only shook her ears, and ran off to the forest, where she first of all bathed, and then put on her coat of beaten gold, and off she went to the ballroom.
As soon as she entered all eyes were upon her; and the young lord soon recognized her as the lady of the “Basin of Water,” and claimed her hand for the first dance, and did not leave her till the last. When that came, he again asked her where she lived. But all that she would say was:
“Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,
At the sign of the ‘Broken Ladle’ I dwell.”
and with that she curtsied, and flew from the ball, off with her golden robe, on with her catskin, and into the scullery without the cook’s knowing.
Next day when the young lord could not find where was the sign of the “Basin of Water,” or of the “Broken Ladle,” he begged his mother to have another grand ball, so that he might meet the beautiful maid once more.
All happened as before. Catskin told the cook how much she would like to go to the ball, the cook called her “a dirty slut,” and broke the skimmer across her head. But she only shook her ears, and went off to the forest, where she first bathed in the crystal spring, and then donned her coat of feathers, and so off to the ballroom.
When she entered everyone was surprised at so beautiful a face and form dressed in so rich and rare a dress; but the young lord soon recognized his beautiful sweetheart, and would dance with none but her the whole evening. When the ball came to an end, he pressed her to tell him where she lived, but all she would answer was:
“Kind sir, if the truth I must tell,
At the sign of the ‘Broken Skimmer’ I dwell;”
and with that she curtsied, and was off to the forest. But this time the young lord followed her, and watched her change her fine dress of feathers for her catskin dress, and then he knew her for his own scullery-maid.
Next day he went to his mother, the lady of the castle, and told her that he wished to marry the scullery-maid, Catskin. “Never,” said the lady, and rushed from the room. Well, the young lord was so grieved at that, that he took to his bed and was very ill. The doctor tried to cure him, but he would not take any medicine unless from the hands of Catskin. So the doctor went to the lady of the castle, and told her her son would die if she did not consent to his marriage with Catskin. So she had to give way, and summoned Catskin to her. But she put on her coat of beaten gold, and went to the lady, who soon was glad to wed her son to so beautiful a maid.
Well, so they were married, and after a time a dear little son came to them, and grew up a bonny lad; and one day, when he was four years old, a beggar woman came to the door, so Lady Catskin gave some money to the little lord and told him to go and give it to the beggar woman. So he went and gave it, but put it into the hand of the woman’s child, who leant forward and kissed the little lord. Now the wicked old cook—why hadn’t she been sent away?—was looking on, so she said, “Only see how beggars’ brats take to one another.” This insult went to Catskin’s heart, so she went to her husband, the young lord, and told him all about her father, and begged he would go and find out what had become of her parents. So they set out in the lord’s grand coach, an
d travelled through the forest till they came to Catskin’s father’s house, and put up at an inn near, where Catskin stopped, while her husband went to see if her father would own her.
Now her father had never had any other child, and his wife had died; he was all alone in the world and sat moping and miserable. When the young lord came in he hardly looked up, till he saw a chair close up to him, and asked him: “Pray, sir, had you not once a young daughter whom you would never see or own?”
The old gentleman said: “It is true; I am a hardened sinner. But I would give all my worldly goods if I could but see her once before I die.” Then the young lord told him what had happened to Catskin, and took him to the inn, and brought his father-in-law to his own castle, where they lived happy ever afterwards.
* * *
† Joseph Jacobs, “Catskin,” in English Fairy Tales (London: David Nutt, 1890).
The Story of the Black Cow†
There was a certain Brahmin whose wife died leaving him one little son. For some time the two lived happily together, but at last the Brahmin married for a second time, and the woman, who had a daughter of her own, was very unkind to her little stepson.
Each day the two children went out together to attend to the cattle, and at night they returned home to eat their food. But the cakes made by the Brahmin’s wife for her stepson were of ashes, with just a little flour mixed in to give them the appearance of food, that the Brahmin might not notice; and the child ate in silence, for he was afraid to complain, yet, when he was alone in the forest he wept from hunger, and a black cow, one of the herd, saw this, and asked him what was the matter.
The boy told her everything, and presently she beat her hoofs upon the ground. As she did so, sweets of all kinds appeared, which the child ate greedily, and shared with his little sister, warning her the while not to mention at home what the black cow had done, lest the stepmother should be angry.
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