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

by Edited by Maria Tatar

  That very night, Bluebeard returned unexpectedly from his journey and reported that, on the road, he had received letters informing him that the business upon which he had set forth had just been settled to his satisfaction. His wife did everything that she could to make it appear that she was thrilled with his speedy return. The next day, he asked to have the keys back, and she returned them, but with a hand trembling so much that he knew at once what had happened.

  “How is it,” he asked, “that the key to the little room isn’t with the others?”

  “I must have left it upstairs on my dressing table,” she replied.

  “Don’t forget to bring it to me soon,” Bluebeard told her.

  After making one excuse after another, she had to bring him the key. Bluebeard examined it and said to his wife: “Why is there blood on this key?”

  “I have no idea,” answered the poor woman, paler than death.

  “You have no idea,” Bluebeard replied. “But I have an idea. You tried to enter that little room. Well, madam, now that you have opened it, you can go right in and take your place beside the ladies whom you saw there.”

  She threw herself at her husband’s feet, weeping and begging his pardon, with all the signs of genuine regret for disobeying him. She looked so beautiful and was so distressed that she would have melted a heart of stone, but Bluebeard had a heart harder than any rock.

  “You must die, madam,” he declared, “and it will be right away.”

  “Since I must die,” she replied, gazing at him with eyes full of tears, “give me a little time to say my prayers.”

  “I will give you a quarter of an hour,” Bluebeard said, “but not a moment more.”

  When she was alone, she called her sister and said to her: “Sister Anne”—for that was her name—“I implore you to go up to the top of the tower to see if my brothers are on the way here. They told me that they were coming to visit today. If you catch sight of them, signal them to hurry.”

  Sister Anne went up to the top of the tower, and the poor distressed girl cried out to her from time to time: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

  Sister Anne replied: “I see nothing but the sun shining and the green grass growing.”

  In the meantime, Bluebeard took an enormous cutlass in hand and cried out at the top of his voice to his wife: “Come down at once or I’ll go up there!”

  “Just a moment more, I beg you,” his wife replied and at the same time she called out softly: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

  And Sister Anne replied: “I see nothing but the sun shining and the green grass growing.”

  “Come down at once,” Bluebeard called, “or I’ll go up there!”

  “I’m coming,” his wife replied, and then she called: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

  “I can see a great cloud of dust coming this way,” replied Sister Anne.

  “Is it my brothers?”

  “No, oh no, sister, it’s just a flock of sheep.”

  “Are you coming down?” Bluebeard roared.

  “Just one moment more,” his wife replied, and then she called: “Anne, Sister Anne, do you see anyone coming?”

  “I see two horsemen coming this way, but they’re still far away,” she replied. “Thank God,” she shouted a moment later, “it must be our brothers. I’ll signal to them to hurry up.”

  Bluebeard began shouting so loudly that the entire house shook. His poor wife came downstairs, in tears and with disheveled hair. She threw herself at his feet.

  “That won’t do you any good,” said Bluebeard. “Prepare to die.” Then, taking her by the hair with one hand and raising his cutlass with the other, he was about to chop off her head. The poor woman turned to him and implored him with a gaze that had death written on it. She begged for one last moment to prepare herself for death. “No, no,” he said, “prepare to meet your maker.” And lifting his arm …

  Just at that moment there was such a loud pounding at the gate that Bluebeard stopped short. The gate was opened, and two horsemen, swords in hand, dashed in and made straight for Bluebeard. He realized that they were the brothers of his wife: the one a dragoon and the other a musketeer. He fled instantly in an effort to escape. But the two brothers were so hot in pursuit that they trapped him before he could get to the stairs. They plunged their swords through his body and left him for dead. Bluebeard’s wife was as close to death as her husband and barely had the strength to rise and embrace her brothers.

  It turned out that Bluebeard had left no heirs, and so his wife took possession of the entire estate. She devoted a portion of it to arranging a marriage between her sister Anne and a young gentleman with whom she had been in love for a long time. Another portion of it was used to buy commissions for her two brothers. She used the rest to marry herself to a very worthy man, who banished the memory of the miserable days she had spent with Bluebeard.

  Moral

  Curiosity, in spite of its many charms,

  Can bring with it serious regrets;

  You can see a thousand examples of it every day.

  Women succumb, but it’s a fleeting pleasure;

  As soon as you satisfy it, it ceases to be.

  And it always proves very, very costly.

  Another Moral

  If you just take a sensible point of view,

  And study this grim little story,

  You will understand that this tale

  Is one that took place many years ago.

  No longer are husbands so terrible,

  Demanding the impossible,

  Acting unhappy and jealous.

  With their wives they toe the line;

  And whatever color their beards might be,

  It’s not hard to tell which of the pair is master.

  * * *

  †  Charles Perrault, “Le Barbe bleue,” in Histoires ou Contes du temps passé. Avec des Moralités (Paris: Barbin, 1697). Translated for the first edition of this Norton Critical Edition by Maria Tatar. Copyright © 1999 Maria Tatar.

  BROTHERS GRIMM

  Fitcher’s Bird†

  There was once a sorcerer who would disguise himself as a poor man, then go begging from door to door in order to capture pretty girls. No one knew what he did with them, for they were never seen again.

  One day he appeared at the door of a man who had three beautiful daughters. He looked like a poor, weak beggar and had a basket on his back, as if to collect alms. He asked for something to eat, and when the eldest girl went to the door and was about to hand him a piece of bread, he just touched her and she jumped into his basket. Then he made long legs and rushed off to get her to his house, which was in the middle of a dark forest.

  Everything in the house was splendid. He gave the girl everything she wanted, and said: “My darling, I’m sure you’ll be happy here with me, for you’ll have everything your heart desires.” After a few days went by, he said: “I have to take a journey and must leave you alone for a short while. Here are the keys for the house. You can go anywhere you want and look around at everything, but don’t go into the room that this little key opens. I forbid it under penalty of death.”

  He also gave her an egg and said: “Carry it with you wherever you go, because if it gets lost, something terrible will happen.” She took the keys and the egg and promised to do exactly what he had said. After he left, she went over the house from top to bottom, taking a good look at everything. The rooms glittered with silver and gold, and it seemed to her that she had never before seen such magnificence. Finally she came to the forbidden door and planned to walk right by it, but curiosity got the better of her. She examined the key, and it was just like the others. When she put it in the lock and just turned it a little bit, the door sprang open.

  But what did she see when she entered! In the middle of the room was a large, bloody basin filled with dead people who had been chopped to pieces. Next to the basin was a block of wood with a gleaming ax on it. Sh
e was so horrified that she dropped the egg she was holding into the basin. She took it right out and wiped off the blood, but to no avail, for the stain immediately returned. She wiped it and scraped at it, but it just wouldn’t come off.

  Not much later the man returned from his journey, and the first things he demanded were the keys and the egg. She gave them to him, but she was trembling, and when he saw the red stains, he knew she had been in the bloody chamber. “You entered the chamber against my wishes,” he said. “Now you will go back in against yours. Your life is over.”

  He threw her down, dragged her in by the hair, chopped her head off on the block, and hacked her into pieces so that her blood flowed all over the floor. Then he tossed her into the basin with the others.

  “Now I’ll go and get the second one,” said the sorcerer, and he went back to the house dressed as a poor man begging for alms. When the second daughter brought him a piece of bread, he caught her as he had the first just by touching her. He carried her off, and she fared no better than her sister. Her curiosity got the better of her: she opened the door to the bloody chamber, looked inside it, and when he returned she had to pay with her life.

  The man went to fetch the third daughter, but she was clever and cunning. After handing over the keys and egg, he went away, and she put the egg in a safe place. She explored the house and entered the forbidden chamber. And what did she see! There in the basin were her two sisters, cruelly murdered and chopped to pieces. But she set to work gathering all their body parts and put them in their proper places: heads, torsos, arms, legs. When everything was in place, the pieces began to move and joined themselves together. The two girls opened their eyes and came back to life. Overjoyed, they kissed and hugged each other.

  On his return, the man asked at once for the keys and egg. When he could not find a trace of blood on the egg, he declared: “You have passed the test, and you shall be my bride.” He no longer had any power over her and had to do her bidding. “Very well,” she replied. “But first you must take a basketful of gold to my father and mother, and you must carry it on your own back. In the meantime, I’ll make the wedding arrangements.”

  She ran to her sisters, whom she had hidden in a little room and said: “Now is the time when I can save you. That brute will be the one who carries you home. But as soon as you get home, send help for me.”

  She put both girls into a basket and covered them with gold until they could not be seen. Then she summoned the sorcerer and said: “Pick up the basket and go. But don’t you dare stop to rest along the way. I’ll be looking out of my little window, keeping an eye on you.”

  The sorcerer lifted the basket onto his shoulders and set off with it. But it weighed so much that sweat began to pour down his face. He sat down to rest for a moment, but right away one of the girls cried out from the basket: “I’m looking out my little window, and I see that you’re resting. Get a move on.” He thought his bride was calling to him, and he went on his way. A second time he wanted to sit down, but again the voice called out: “I’m looking out my little window and I see that you’re resting. Get a move on.” Whenever he stopped, the voice called out and he had to move along until finally, gasping for breath and groaning, he carried the basket with the gold and the two girls in it into their parent’s house.

  Back at home the bride was preparing the wedding celebration to which she had invited all the sorcerer’s friends. She took a skull with grinning teeth, crowned it with jewels and a garland of flowers, carried it upstairs and set it down at an attic window, facing out. When everything was ready, she crawled into a barrel of honey, cut open a featherbed and rolled in the feathers until she looked like a strange bird that not a soul would recognize. She left the house and on her way met some wedding guests, who asked:

  “Oh, Fitcher’s feathered bird, where are you from?”

  “From feathered Fitze Fitcher’s house I’ve come.”

  “And the young bride there, what has she done?”

  “She’s swept the house all the way through,

  And from the attic window, she’s looking right at you.”

  She met the bridegroom, who was walking back home very slowly. He too asked:

  “Oh, Fitcher’s feathered bird, where are you from?”

  “From feathered Fitze Fitcher’s house I’ve come.”

  “And my young bride there, what has she done?”

  “She’s swept the house all the way through,

  And from the attic window, she’s looking right at you.”

  The bridegroom looked up and saw the decorated skull. He thought it was his bride, nodded, and waved to her. But when he got to the house with his guests, the brothers and relatives who had been sent to rescue the bride were already there. They locked the doors to the house so that no one could escape. Then they set fire to it so that the sorcerer and his crew burned to death.

  * * *

  †  Jacob Grimm and Wilhelm Grimm, “Fitchers Vogel,” in Kinder- und Hausmärchen, 7th ed. (Berlin: Dieterich, 1857; first published: Berlin: Realschulbuchhandlung, 1812). Translated for the first edition of this Norton Critical Edition by Maria Tatar. Copyright © 1999 by Maria Tatar.

  BROTHERS GRIMM

  The Robber Bridegroom†

  There was once a miller who had a beautiful daughter, and when she was grown, he wanted to make sure that she was provided for and well married. He thought: “If the right kind of suitor comes along and asks for her hand, I shall give her to him.”

  Not much later a suitor turned up who seemed to be rich, and since the miller could find nothing wrong with him, he promised him his daughter. But the girl didn’t care for him as a girl should care for her betrothed, and she didn’t trust him. Whenever she looked at him or thought of him, her heart filled with dread.

  One day he said to her: “You’re engaged to me, and yet you’ve never once visited me.”

  The girl replied: “I don’t know where you live.”

  The bridegroom answered: “My house is out in the dark forest.”

  The girl made excuses and claimed that she couldn’t find the way there. But the bridegroom said: “Next Sunday you have to come to my place. I’ve already invited the guests, and I’ll put ashes on the path so that you can find your way through the woods.”

  When Sunday came and the girl was supposed to leave, she became dreadfully frightened without knowing why, and she filled both her pockets with peas and lentils to mark the way. At the entrance to the woods she found the trail of ashes and followed it, but at every step she threw some peas on the ground, first to the right and then to the left. She walked almost the entire day until she got to the middle of the forest, where it was the gloomiest. There she saw a house standing by itself, but she didn’t like the look of it because it seemed dark and spooky. She walked in. It was deadly silent, and no one was around. Suddenly a voice cried out:

  “Turn back, turn back, my pretty young bride,

  In a house of murderers you’ve arrived.”

  The girl looked up and saw that the voice was coming from a bird in a cage hanging on the wall. Once again it cried out:

  “Turn back, turn back, my pretty young bride,

  In a house of murderers you’ve arrived.”

  The beautiful bride went all over the house from one room to the next, but it was completely empty and not a soul could be found in it. Finally she went down to the cellar, where she found a woman as old as the hills, her head bobbing up and down.

  “Can you tell me if my betrothed lives here?” asked the girl.

  “Oh, you poor child!” said the old woman. “How did you get here? This is a den of murderers. You think you’re a bride about to be married, but the only wedding you’ll celebrate is one with death. Look over here! I had to heat up this big pot of water for them. When you get into their hands, they’ll show no mercy and chop you into pieces, cook you, and eat you, for they are cannibals. You’re lost unless I take pity on you and try to save you.”

  T
he old woman hid her behind a big barrel, where no one could see her. “Be still as a mouse,” she said. “Don’t stir and don’t move or it’ll be the end of you. At night, when the robbers are sleeping, we’ll escape. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time.”

  No sooner had she spoken than the ungodly crew returned home, dragging another maiden in with them. They were drunk and paid no attention to her screams and sobs. They gave her wine to drink, three glasses full, one white, one red, one yellow, and soon her heart burst in two. They tore off her fine clothes, put her on a table, chopped her beautiful body into pieces, and sprinkled them with salt.

  The poor girl was trembling and shaking from her hiding place behind the barrel, for she now understood what the robbers had in store for her. One of them caught sight of a gold ring on the little finger of the murdered girl, and when he couldn’t pull it off right away, he took an ax and chopped the finger off. The finger went flying through the air up over the barrel and landed right in the girl’s lap. The robber took a candle and wanted to go looking for it but couldn’t find it. Another of the robbers asked: “Have you looked over there behind that big barrel?” Just then the old woman called out: “Come and eat! You can look again tomorrow. The finger isn’t going to go running off.”

  “The old woman’s right,” the robbers said, and they put an end to their search and sat down to eat. The old woman put a few drops of a sleeping potion into their wine, and soon they retired to the cellar where they were snoring away in their sleep.

  When the bride heard them snoring, she came out from behind the barrel and made her way over the sleeping bodies arranged in rows on the ground. She was terrified that she might wake one of them up, but God guided her footsteps. The old woman went up the stairs with her, opened the door, and they ran as fast as they could from the den of murderers. The wind had scattered the ashes, but the peas and lentils had sprouted and showed the way in the moonlight. The two walked all night long. In the morning they reached the mill, and the girl told her father about everything that had happened.