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

by Edited by Maria Tatar

  Our mother killed us,

  Our father ate us.

  We are not in a coffin,

  We are not in the cemetery.

  At first he did not understand what that meant, but he raised the stone, and saw a great quantity of bones, which began to sing again. He then understood that it was the bones of his children, whom his wife had killed, and whom he had eaten. Then he was so angry that he killed his wife, buried his children’s bones in the cemetery, and stayed alone at his house. From that time he never ate meat, because he believed it would always be his children that he would eat.

  * * *

  †  Louisiana Folktales: Lupin, Bouki, and Other Creole Stories in French Dialect and English Translation, ed. Alcée Fortier (1895; Lafayette: U of Louisiana at Lafayette P, 2011), p. 61.

  CHARLES PERRAULT

  Little Thumbling†

  Once upon a time there lived a woodcutter and his wife who had seven children, all boys. The oldest was ten years old, and the youngest was only seven. Everyone was astonished that the woodcutter had had so many children in so short a time, but his wife didn’t waste any time, and she never had fewer than two at a time.

  These people were very poor. Having seven children was a great burden, because not one of them was able to earn his own living. To their great distress, the youngest was very sickly and did not speak a word. They mistook for stupidity what was in reality the sign of a kind and generous nature.

  This youngest boy was very small. At birth he was hardly larger than a thumb, and as a result he was called “Little Thumbling.” The poor child was the underdog in the family, and he took the blame for anything that went wrong. All the same, he was the wisest and shrewdest of the brothers, and though he may have spoken little, he listened carefully to everything.

  There came a year of misfortune, when hunger was so widespread that these poor people resolved to get rid of their children. One evening, after the children had gone to bed, the woodcutter was sitting by the fire with his wife. His heart was heavy with sorrow when he said to her: “It must be obvious to you that we can no longer feed our children. I can’t bear to watch them die of hunger before my very eyes, and I’ve made up my mind to take them out into the woods tomorrow and to leave them there. It won’t be difficult to leave them behind, for collecting firewood will distract them, and we can disappear without their noticing it.”

  “Oh,” cried the woodcutter’s wife, “do you mean to say that you have the stomach to abandon your own children?” Her husband tried in vain to remind her of their terrible poverty, but she would not give her consent. She was poor, but she was still their mother. In the end, however, when she thought about how distressing it would be to watch them die of hunger, she agreed to the plan and, weeping, went off to bed.

  Little Thumbling heard everything that was said. While lying in bed, he realized that serious things were being discussed, and he got up quietly and slipped under his father’s stool in order to listen without being seen. He went back to bed, but didn’t sleep a wink for the rest of the night, for he was thinking about what to do. In the morning, he got up very early and went to the bank of the river. There he filled his pockets with little white pebbles and returned home.

  The family set out for the woods, and Little Thumbling did not say a word to his brothers about what he had learned. They entered a forest so dense that at ten paces they could not see each other. The woodcutter began his work, and the children started collecting twigs for firewood. The father and mother, seeing them busy at their work, stole gradually away, and then suddenly dashed off along a little side path.

  When the children realized that they were all alone, they began to weep and sob with all their might. Little Thumbling let them cry, since he felt sure that he would be able to get them back home. On the way, he had dropped the little white pebbles that he had been carrying in his pocket.

  “Don’t be afraid, brothers,” he said to them. “Mother and Father have left us here, but I will take you back home again. Just follow me.”

  They fell in behind him, and he took them straight home by the same path they had taken into the forest. At first they were afraid to go into the house. Instead, they leaned against the door to hear what 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 that he had owed them for a long time and that they had despaired of ever getting. This gave them a new lease on life, for the poor creatures had been dying of hunger.

  The woodcutter sent his wife off to the butcher at once, and since it had been such a long time since they had eaten anything, she bought three times more meat than was needed for two people to dine. When they sat down at the table, the woodcutter’s wife said: “Alas! where are our poor children now! They could get a good meal from our leftovers. Mind you, William, it was you who wanted to abandon them. I said over and over again that we would regret it. What are they doing now in the forest? God in heaven, the wolves may already have eaten them! What a monster you are for having abandoned your children.”

  The woodcutter finally lost his patience, for she had repeated more than twenty times that he would regret it and also 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 any less distressed than his wife, but she drove him crazy, and he was of the same opinion as many other people, who like women to say the right thing, but are troubled when they are always right. The woodcutter’s wife burst into tears: “Alas, where are my children now, my poor children?”

  She said it so loudly that the children, who were at the door, heard her words and began to cry out at once: “Here we are! Here we are!”

  She rushed to open the door for them, and, as she kissed them, she said: “How happy I am to see you again, dear children! You must be very tired and very hungry. And you, little Pierrot, how muddy you are! Come and let me wash you!”

  Pierrot was the oldest son, whom she loved more than all the others because he was something of a redhead, and she herself had reddish hair.

  They sat down at the table and ate with an appetite that gave pleasure to their father and mother. They all talked at once as they told of how frightened they had been in the forest.

  The good people were overjoyed to have their children back with them again, but the pleasure lasted only as long as the ten crowns. When the money was spent, they lapsed back into their previous despair. Once again they decided to abandon the children, and to make sure they would not fail this time, they took them much farther away than the first time. But they were not able to talk about it quietly enough to escape being heard by Little Thumbling, who made up his mind to get out of this difficulty just as he had on the previous occasion. Although he rose early in the morning to go and collect his little stones, this time he could not carry out his plan because he found the door to the house had a double lock on it.

  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 instead of the stones, by scattering crumbs along the path they were taking. He tucked his piece tightly into his pocket.

  The father and mother took the children into the deepest and darkest part of the forest, and as soon as they arrived there, they slipped off on a side path and abandoned them. This did not cause Little Thumbling much distress, for he was sure that he would be able to find the way back by following the bread crumbs he had scattered on the path. But to his dismay he could not find a single crumb. Birds had come along and eaten them all up.

  They were in real trouble now, for with every step they went further astray and plunged deeper and deeper into the forest. Night fell, and a strong wind began to blow, making them feel anxious and scared. Everywhere they seemed to hear the howling of wolves that were coming toward them to eat them up. They hardly dared to talk with each other or even to turn their heads. Then it began raining so heavily that they were soaked to th
e bone. At every step they tripped and fell into the mud, getting up again all covered with mud and not knowing what to do with their hands.

  Little Thumbling climbed to the top of a tree to take a look around. Surveying the area, he could see a little light that looked like a candle far away on the other side of the forest. He climbed down the tree and was disappointed to find that, once back on the ground, he couldn’t see the light any more. After walking some distance in the direction of the light, however, he caught a glimpse of it, as they were about to leave the forest. At last they reached the house where the light was burning, not without a good deal of anxiety, for they lost sight of it every time they had to go down into a hollow. They knocked at the door, and a good woman opened the door. She asked them what they wanted.

  Little Thumbling explained that they were poor children who had lost their way in the forest and who had come begging for a night’s lodging. Noticing what lovely children they were, the woman began to weep: “Alas, my poor children! Don’t you realize where you are? Haven’t you heard that this house belongs to an ogre who eats little children?”

  “Alas, Madam!” answered Little Thumbling, who was trembling as visibly as his brothers. “What shall we do? If you don’t take us in, the wolves in the forest will surely devour us this very night. Since that’s the case, we might as well be eaten by your husband. If you plead for us, maybe he will take pity on us.”

  The ogre’s wife, who thought she might be able to hide them from her husband until the next morning, let them come in and warm themselves by a roaring fire, where a whole sheep was cooking on the spit for the ogre’s supper. Just as the boys were beginning to get warm, they heard three or four loud knocks at the door. The ogre had returned. His wife hid the boys quickly under the bed and went to open the door.

  The ogre asked right away whether supper was ready and whether the wine had been drawn. Then he sat down to eat dinner. Blood was still dripping from the sheep, but it seemed all the better for that. He sniffed to the right, then to the left, insisting that he could smell fresh meat. His wife said: “You must be smelling the calf that I just dressed.”

  “I’ll tell you again that I smell fresh meat,” the ogre responded, looking at his wife suspiciously, “and there’s something going on here that I don’t get.”

  At that he got up from the table and went straight to the bed. “Aha!” he said. “So that’s how you deceive me, you cursed woman! I don’t know what’s stopping me from eating you too! It’s lucky for you that you’re an old beast! I’m expecting three ogre friends for a visit in the next few days, and this excellent game will come in handy to entertain them!”

  He pulled the children out from under the bed, one after another. The poor things fell to their knees, begging for mercy, but they were dealing with the cruelest of all ogres. Far from feeling pity for them, he was already devouring them with his eyes. He told his wife that if she cooked them up with a tasty sauce, they would make dainty morsels. He went to get a big knife, which he sharpened on a long stone in his left hand as he began walking toward the poor children. He had already grabbed one of them when his wife said to him: “Why are you doing this now? Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

  “Hold your tongue,” replied the ogre. “They will be all the more tender.”

  “But you already have plenty of meat on your plate,” his wife countered. “There’s a calf, two sheep, and half a pig.”

  “You’re right,” said the ogre. “Give them a good supper to eat so they won’t lose any weight and put them to bed.”

  The good woman was overjoyed and brought them a tasty supper, but the boys were so terrified that they couldn’t eat a thing. As for the ogre, he went back to his drinking, thrilled at the prospect of having such a treat to regale his friends. He drank a dozen glasses more than usual, and had to go to bed early, for the wine had gone to his head.

  Now the ogre had seven daughters who were still just little children. These ogresses all had the loveliest complexions, because, like their father, they ate fresh meat. But they had little grey eyes, which were completely round, crooked noses, and very large mouths, with long and dreadfully sharp teeth, set far apart. They were not yet terribly vicious, but they showed great promise, for already they were in the habit of killing little children to suck their blood.

  They had gone to bed early, and all seven were in one large bed, each wearing a crown of gold upon her head. In that same room was another bed of the same size. The ogre’s wife had put the seven boys into it. Then she lay down next to her husband and went to sleep.

  Little Thumbling was afraid that the ogre might suddenly regret not having cut the throats of the boys that evening. Having noticed that the ogre’s daughters all had golden crowns upon their heads, he got up in the middle of the night and gently put his own cap and those of his brothers on their heads, after having removed the crowns of gold and put them on his own and on his brothers’ heads. In this way, the ogre would take them for his daughters and his daughters for the boys whom he wanted to eat.

  Everything worked just as Little Thumbling had predicted. The ogre, waking up at midnight, regretted having postponed until tomorrow what he could have done that night. He leaped headlong out of bed and grabbed a knife, saying: “Now then, let’s see how the little rascals are faring. I won’t make the same mistake twice!”

  He stole his way up to the room where his daughters were sleeping and walked over to the bed with the seven little boys, who were all asleep except for Little Thumbling. When the ogre’s hand moved from the heads of each of his brothers to his own head, Thumbling was paralyzed with fear.

  “Well, well,” said the ogre, when he felt the golden crowns. “I almost made a mess of this job! It’s obvious that I had a little too much to drink last night!”

  He went straight to the bed where his daughters were sleeping, and after feeling the boys’ little caps, he cried: “Aha, here are the little rascals. Now let’s get down to work!”

  At that, without a moment’s hesitation, he cut the throats of his seven daughters. Completely satisfied with his work, he got back into bed and lay down next to his wife.

  As soon as Little Thumbling heard the ogre snoring, he woke his brothers up and told them to get dressed fast and to follow him. They crawled quietly down to the garden and jumped over the walls. They ran almost all night, trembling with fear and having no idea where they were going.

  When the ogre woke up, he said to his wife: “Go upstairs and dress those little rascals who were here last night.”

  The wife was surprised by her husband’s good will, never once suspecting the manner in which he was ordering her to have them dressed. She thought that he was telling her to go and put on their clothes. When she got upstairs, she was horrified to find her seven daughters with their throats cut, bathed in blood. She fainted instantly (the first resort of almost all women in similar circumstances). The ogre, fearing that his wife was taking too long to carry out his orders, went upstairs to help her. He was no less horrified than his wife at the terrible spectacle that met his eyes.

  “What have I done?” he shouted. “I will make those wretches pay, and it will be now.”

  He threw a jugful of water in his wife’s face, and after reviving her, said: “Fetch me my seven-league boots so that I can catch those boys.”

  He got right down to it and, after having run far and wide in all directions, he came to the road the poor children were traveling. They were not more than a hundred steps from their father’s house when they saw the ogre striding from one mountain to the next, and stepping across rivers as though they were nothing but little brooks. Little Thumbling, who noticed a cave in some rocks close to where they were, hid his six brothers there and squeezed inside, always keeping an eye on the ogre’s movements.

  Now the ogre was feeling exhausted after having traveled so far in vain (for seven-league boots are very fatiguing to their owner), and he wanted to rest for a while. By chance, he happened to sit down on
the very rock beneath which the boys were concealed. Since he could go no farther, he fell asleep after a while and began snoring so dreadfully that the poor children were no less frightened than when he had put his long knife to their throats. Little Thumbling was not as alarmed, and he told his brothers to race at once to the house while the ogre was still sleeping so soundly. They were not to worry about him. The brothers took his advice and got home fast.

  Little Thumbling went over to the ogre and gently pulled off his boots and put them on his own feet. The boots were very roomy and very long, but since they were enchanted, they had the power to become larger or smaller according to the feet wearing them. As a result they fit his feet and his ankles as if they had been made just for him. He went straight to the ogre’s house, where he found the ogre’s wife weeping over her murdered daughters.

  “Your husband,” said Little Thumbling, “is in great danger, for he has been captured by a band of thieves who have sworn to kill him if he does not hand over all his gold and silver. Just as they were putting a dagger to his throat, he caught sight of me and begged me to come to you and to alert you to the plight he is in. He said that you should give me everything he has of value, without holding back anything, otherwise he’ll be slain without mercy. Since time is of the essence, he wanted me to take his seven-league boots, to make haste, and also to show you that I am no impostor.”

  The ogre’s wife was terribly frightened and immediately gave Thumbling everything she had, for the ogre had always been a very good husband, even though he ate little children. Loaded down with the ogre’s entire wealth, Little Thumbling returned to his father’s house, where he was welcomed with open arms.

  Many people do not agree about this last adventure and claim that Little Thumbling never stole money from the ogre, just the seven-league boots about which he had no qualms, since they had been used to chase little children. These people insist that they are in a position to know, having been wined and dined at the woodcutter’s cottage. They claim that when Little Thumbling put on the ogre’s boots, he went to the court, where he knew there was great anxiety about the army and about the outcome of a battle being fought two hundred leagues away. They say that Little Thumbling went to look for the king and told him that if he was interested he could get news of the army before the day was out. The king promised him a large sum of money if he were to succeed.