The princess had retired one day to a wood to bemoan her misfortune, when she saw approaching her an ugly little man, of very disagreeable appearance, but clad in magnificent attire.
This was the young prince Ricky of the Tuft. He had fallen in love with her portrait, which was everywhere to be seen, and had left his father’s kingdom in order to have the pleasure of seeing and talking to her.
Delighted to meet her thus alone, he approached with every mark of respect and politeness. But while he paid her the usual compliments he noticed that she was plunged in melancholy.
“I cannot understand, madam,” he said, “how anyone with your beauty can be so sad as you appear. I can boast of having seen many fair ladies, and I declare that none of them could compare in beauty with you.”
“It is very kind of you to say so, sir,” answered the princess; and stopped there, at a loss what to say further.
“Beauty,” said Ricky, “is of such great advantage that everything else can be disregarded; and I do not see that the possessor of it can have anything much to grieve about.”
To this the princess replied:
“ I would rather be as plain as you are and have some sense, than be as beautiful as I am and at the same time stupid.”
“Nothing more clearly displays good sense, madam, than a belief that one is not possessed of it. It follows, therefore, that the more one has, the more one fears it to be wanting.”
“I am not sure about that,” said the princess; “but I know only too well that I am very stupid, and this is the reason of the misery which is nearly killing me.”
“If that is all that troubles you, madam, I can easily put an end to your suffering.”
“How will you manage that?” said the princess.
“I am able, madam,” said Ricky of the Tuft, “to bestow as much good sense as it is possible to possess on the person whom I love the most. You are that person, and it therefore rests with you to decide whether you will acquire so much intelligence. The only condition is that you shall consent to marry me.”
The princess was dumfounded, and remained silent.
“I can see,” pursued Ricky, “that this suggestion perplexes you, and I am not surprised. But I will give you a whole year to make up your mind to it.”
The princess had so little sense, and at the same time desired it so ardently, that she persuaded herself the end of this year would never come. So she accepted the offer which had been made to her. No sooner had she given her word to Ricky that she would marry him within one year from that very day, than she felt a complete change come over her. She found herself able to say all that she wished with the greatest ease, and to say it in an elegant, finished, and natural manner. She at once engaged Ricky in a brilliant and lengthy conversation, holding her own so well that Ricky feared he had given her a larger share of sense than he had retained for himself.
On her return to the palace amazement reigned throughout the Court at such a sudden and extraordinary change. Whereas formerly they had been accustomed to hear her give vent to silly, pert remarks, they now heard her express herself sensibly and very wittily.
The entire Court was overjoyed. The only person not too pleased was the younger sister, for now that she had no longer the advantage over the elder in wit, she seemed nothing but a little fright in comparison.
The king himself often took her advice, and several times held his councils in her apartment.
The news of this change spread abroad, and the princes of the neighboring kingdoms made many attempts to captivate her. Almost all asked her in marriage. But she found none with enough sense, and so she listened to all without promising herself to any.
At last came one who was so powerful, so rich, so witty, and so handsome, that she could not help being somewhat attracted by him. Her father noticed this, and told her she could make her own choice of a husband: she had only to declare herself
Now the more sense one has, the more difficult it is to make up one’s mind in an affair of this kind. After thanking her father, therefore, she asked for a little time to think it over.
In order to ponder quietly what she had better do she went to walk in a wood—the very one, as it happened, where she encountered Ricky of the Tuft.
While she walked, deep in thought, she heard beneath her feet a thudding sound, as though many people were running busily to and fro. Listening more attentively she heard voices. “Bring me that boiler,” said one; then another—“Put some wood on that fire!”
At that moment the ground opened, and she saw below what appeared to be a large kitchen full of cooks and scullions, and all the train of attendants which the preparation of a great banquet involves. A gang of some twenty or thirty spit-turners emerged and took up their positions round a very long table in a path in the wood. They all wore their cook’s caps on one side, and with their basting implements in their hands they kept time together as they worked, to the lilt of a melodious song.
The princess was astonished by this spectacle, and asked for whom their work was being done.
“For Prince Ricky of the Tuft, madam,” said the foreman of the gang; “his wedding is tomorrow.”
At this the princess was more surprised than ever. In a flash she remembered that it was a year to the very day since she had promised to marry Prince Ricky of the Tuft, and was taken aback by the recollection. The reason she had forgotten was that when she made the promise she was still without sense, and with the acquisition of that intelligence which the prince had bestowed upon her, all memory of her former stupidities had been blotted out.
She had not gone another thirty paces when Ricky of the Tuft appeared before her, gallant and resplendent, like a prince upon his wedding day.
“As you see, madam,” he said, “I keep my word to the minute. I do not doubt that you have come to keep yours, and by giving me your hand to make me the happiest of men.”
“I will be frank with you,” replied the princess. “I have not yet made up my mind on the point, and I am afraid I shall never be able to take the decision you desire.”
“You astonish me, madam,” said Ricky of the Tuft.
“I can well believe it,” said the princess, “and undoubtedly, if I had to deal with a clown, or a man who lacked good sense, I should feel myself very awkwardly situated. ‘A princess must keep her word,’ he would say, ‘and you must marry me because you promised to!’ But I am speaking to a man of the world, of the greatest good sense, and I am sure that he will listen to reason. As you are aware, I could not make up my mind to marry you even when I was entirely without sense; how can you expect that today, possessing the intelligence you bestowed on me, which makes me still more difficult to please than formerly, I should take a decision which I could not take then? If you wished so much to marry me, you were very wrong to relieve me of my stupidity, and to let me see more clearly than I did.”
“If a man who lacked good sense,” replied Ricky of the Tuft, “would be justified, as you have just said, in reproaching you for breaking your word, why do you expect, madam, that I should act differently where the happiness of my whole life is at stake? Is it reasonable that people who have sense should be treated worse than those who have none? Would you maintain that for a moment—you, who so markedly have sense, and desired so ardently to have it? But, pardon me, let us get to the facts. With the exception of my ugliness, is there anything about me which displeases you? Are you dissatisfied with my breeding, my brains, my disposition, or my manners?”
“In no way,” replied the princess; “I like exceedingly all that you have displayed of the qualities you mention.”
“In that case,” said Ricky of the Tuft, “happiness will be mine, for it lies in your power to make me the most attractive of men.”
“How can that be done?” asked the princess.
“It will happen of itself,” replied Ricky of the Tuft, “if you love me well enough to wish that it be so. To remove your doubts, madam, let me tell you that the same fairy who on the day of my
birth bestowed upon me the power of endowing with intelligence the woman of my choice, gave to you also the power of endowing with beauty the man whom you should love, and on whom you should wish to confer this favor.”
“If that is so,” said the princess, “I wish with all my heart that you may become the handsomest and most attractive prince in the world, and I give you without reserve the boon which it is mine to bestow.”
No sooner had the princess uttered these words than Ricky of the Tuft appeared before her eyes as the handsomest, most graceful and attractive man that she had ever set eyes on.
Some people assert that this was not the work of fairy enchantment, but that love alone brought about the transformation. They say that the princess, as she mused upon her lover’s constancy, upon his good sense, and his many admirable qualities of heart and head, grew blind to the deformity of his body and the ugliness of his face; that his humpback seemed no more than was natural in a man who could make the courtliest of bows, and that the dreadful limp which had formerly distressed her now betokened nothing more than a certain diffidence and charming deference of manner. They say further that she found his eyes shine all the brighter for their squint, and that this defect in them was to her but a sign of passionate love; while his great red nose she found nought but martial and heroic.
However that may be, the princess promised to marry him on the spot, provided only that he could obtain the consent of her royal father.
The king knew Ricky of the Tuft to be a prince both wise and witty, and on learning of his daughter’s regard for him, he accepted him with pleasure as a son-in-law.
The wedding took place upon the morrow, just as Ricky of the Tuft had foreseen, and in accordance with the arrangements he had long ago put in train.
Moral
Here’s a fairy tale for you,
Which is just as good as true.
What we love is always fair,
Clever, deft, and debonair.
Another Moral
Nature oft, with open arms,
Lavishes a thousand charms;
But it is not these that bring
True love’s truest offering.
’Tis some quality that lies
All unseen to other eyes—
Something in the heart or mind
Love alone knows how to find.
LITTLE TOM THUMB
Once upon a time there lived a woodcutter and his wife, who had seven children, all boys. The eldest was only ten years old, and the youngest was seven. People were astonished that the woodcutter had had so many children in so short a time, but the reason was that his wife delighted in children, and never had less than two at a time.
They were very poor, and their seven children were a great tax on them, for none of them was yet able to earn his own living. And they were troubled also because the youngest was very delicate and could not speak a word. They mistook for stupidity what was in reality a mark of good sense.
This youngest boy was very little. At his birth he was scarcely bigger than a man’s thumb, and he was called in consequence “Little Tom Thumb.” The poor child was the scapegoat of the family, and got the blame for everything. All the same, he was the sharpest and shrewdest of the brothers, and if he spoke but little he listened much.
There came a very bad year, when the famine was so great that these poor people resolved to get rid of their family. One evening, after the children had gone to bed, the woodcutter was sitting in the chimney corner with his wife. His heart was heavy with sorrow as he said to her:
“We can no longer feed our children”
“It must be plain enough to you that we can no longer feed our children. I cannot see them die of hunger before my eyes, and I have made up my mind to take them tomorrow to the forest and lose them there. It will be easy enough to manage, for while they are amusing themselves by collecting fagots we have only to disappear without their seeing us.”
“Ah!” cried the woodcutter’s wife, “do you mean to say you are capable of letting your own children be lost? ”
In vain did her husband remind her of their terrible poverty; she could not agree. She was poor, but she was their mother. In the end, however, reflecting what a grief it would be to see them die of hunger, she consented to the plan, and went weeping to bed.
Little Tom Thumb had heard all that was said. Having discovered, when in bed, that serious talk was going on, he had got up softly, and had slipped under his father’s stool in order to listen without being seen. He went back to bed, but did not sleep a wink for the rest of the night, thinking over what he had better do. In the morning he rose very early and went to the edge of a brook. There he filled his pockets with little white pebbles and came quickly home again.
They all set out, and little Tom Thumb said not a word to his brothers of what he knew.
They went into a forest which was so dense that when only ten paces apart they could not see each other. The woodcutter set about his work, and the children began to collect twigs to make fagots. Presently the father and mother, seeing them busy at their task, edged gradually away, and then hurried off in haste along a little narrow footpath.
In the morning he went to the edge of the brook
When the children found they were alone they began to cry and call out with all their might. Little Tom Thumb let them cry, being confident that they would get back home again. For on the way he had dropped the little white stones which he carried in his pocket all along the path.
“Don’t be afraid, brothers,” he said presently; “our parents have left us here, but I will take you home again. Just follow me.”
They fell in behind him, and he led them straight to their house by the same path which they had taken to the forest. At first they dared not go in, but placed themselves against the door, where they could hear everything their father and mother were saying.
Now the woodcutter and his wife had no sooner reached home than the lord of the manor sent them a sum of ten crowns which had been owing from him for a long time, and of which they had given up hope. This put new life into them, for the poor creatures were dying of hunger.
The woodcutter sent his wife off to the butcher at once, and as it was such a long time since they had had anything to eat, she bought three times as much meat as a supper for two required.
When they found themselves once more at table, the woodcutter’s wife began to lament.
“Alas! where are our poor children now?” she said; “they could make a good meal off what we have over. Mind you, William, it was you who wished to lose them: I declared over and over again that we should repent it. What are they doing now in that forest? Merciful heavens, perhaps the wolves have already eaten them! A monster you must be to lose your children in this way!”
On the way he had dropped the little white stones from his pocket
At last the woodcutter lost patience, for she repeated more than twenty times that he would repent it, and that she had told him so. He threatened to beat her if she did not hold her tongue.
It was not that the woodcutter was less grieved than his wife, but she browbeat him, and he was of the same opinion as many other people, who like a woman to have the knack of saying the right thing, but not the trick of being always in the right.
“Alas!” cried the woodcutter’s wife, bursting into tears, “where are now my children, my poor children?”
She said it once so loud that the children at the door heard it plainly. Together they all cried out:
“Here we are! Here we are!”
She rushed to open the door for them, and exclaimed, as she embraced them:
“How glad I am to see you again, dear children! You must be very tired and very hungry. And you, Peterkin, how muddy you are—come and let me wash you!”
This Peterkin was her eldest son. She loved him more than all the others because he was inclined to be redheaded, and she herself was rather red.
They sat down at the table and ate with an appetite which it
did their parents good to see. They all talked at once, as they recounted the fears they had felt in the forest.
The good souls were delighted to have their children with them again, and the pleasure continued as long as the ten crowns lasted. But when the money was all spent they relapsed into their former sadness. They again resolved to lose the children, and to lead them much further away than they had done the first time, so as to do the job thoroughly. But though they were careful not to speak openly about it, their conversation did not escape little Tom Thumb, who made up his mind to get out of the situation as he had done on the former occasion.
When the children found they were alone they began to cry
But though he got up early to go and collect his little stones, he found the door of the house doubly locked, and he could not carry out his plan.
He could not think what to do until the woodcutter’s wife gave them each a piece of bread for breakfast. Then it occurred to him to use the bread in place of the stones, by throwing crumbs along the path which they took, and he tucked it tight in his pocket.
Their parents led them into the thickest and darkest part of the forest, and as soon as they were there slipped away by a side path and left them. This did not much trouble little Tom Thumb, for he believed he could easily find the way back wherever he walked. But to his dismay he could not discover a single crumb. The birds had come along and eaten it all.
They were in sore trouble now, for with every step they strayed further, and became more and more entangled in the forest. Night came on and a terrific wind arose, which filled them with dreadful alarm. On every side they seemed to hear nothing but the howling of wolves which were coming to eat them up. They dared not speak or move.
In addition it began to rain so heavily that they were soaked to the skin. At every step they tripped and fell on the wet ground, getting up again covered with mud, not knowing what to do with their hands.
Perrault's Fairy Tales (Dover Children's Classics) Page 5
