RAPUNZEL Original Version
ONCE upon a time there lived a man and his wife who were very unhappy because they
had no children. These good people had a little window at the back of their house, which
looked into the most lovely garden, full of all manner of beautiful flowers and vegetables;
but the garden was surrounded by a high wall,1 and no one dared to enter it, for it
belonged to a witch2 of great power, who was feared by the whole world.
One day the woman stood at the window3 overlooking the garden, and saw there a bed
full of the finest rampion:4 the leaves looked so fresh and green that she longed to eat
them.5 The desire grew day by day, and just because she knew she couldn't possibly get
any, she pined away and became quite pale and wretched. Then her husband grew
alarmed and said:
"What ails you, dear wife?"
"Oh," she answered, "if I don't get some rampion to eat out of the garden behind the
house, I know I shall die."6
The man,7 who loved her dearly, thought to himself, "Come! rather than let your wife die
you shall fetch her some rampion, no matter the cost."8 So at dusk he climbed over the
wall into the witch's garden, and, hastily gathering a handful of rampion leaves, he
returned with them to his wife. She made them into a salad, which tasted so good that
her longing for the forbidden food was greater than ever.9 If she were to know any peace
of mind, there was nothing for it but that her husband should climb over the garden wall
again, and fetch her some more. So at dusk over he got, but when he reached the other
side he drew back in terror, for there, standing before him, was the old witch.10
"How dare you," she said, with a wrathful glance, "climb into my garden and steal my
rampion like a common thief? You shall suffer for your foolhardiness."
"Oh!" he implored, "pardon my presumption; necessity alone drove me to the deed. My
wife saw your rampion from her window, and conceived such a desire for it that she
would certainly have died if her wish had not been gratified." Then the Witch's anger was
a little appeased, and she said:
"If it's as you say, you may take as much rampion away with you as you like, but on one
condition only -- that you give me the child11 your wife will shortly bring into the world.
All shall go well with it, and I will look after it like a mother."12
The man in his terror agreed13 to everything she asked, and as soon as the child was
born the Witch appeared, and having given it the name of Rapunzel,14 which is the same
as rampion, she carried it off with her.
Rapunzel was the most beautiful child15 under the sun. When she was twelve years old16
the Witch shut her up in a tower,17 in the middle of a great wood,18 and the tower had
neither stairs nor doors,19 only high up at the very top a small window.20 When the old
Witch wanted to get in she stood underneath and called out:
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,"21
for Rapunzel had wonderful long hair,22 and it was as fine as spun gold.23 Whenever
she heard the Witch's voice she unloosed her plaits,24 and let her hair fall down out of
the window about twenty yards25 below, and the old Witch climbed up by it.
After they had lived like this for a few years,26 it happened one day that a Prince27 was
riding through the wood and passed by the tower. As he drew near it he heard someone
singing28 so sweetly that he stood still spell-bound, and listened. It was Rapunzel in her
loneliness trying to while away the time by letting her sweet voice ring out into the wood.
The Prince longed to see the owner of the voice, but he sought in vain for a door in the
tower. He rode home, but he was so haunted by the song he had heard that he returned
every day29 to the wood and listened. One day, when he was standing thus behind a tree,
he saw the old Witch approach and heard her call out:
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair."
Then Rapunzel let down her plaits, and the Witch climbed up by them.
"So that's the staircase, is it?" said the Prince. "Then I too will climb it and try my luck."
So on the following day, at dusk, he went to the foot of the tower and cried:
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,"
and as soon as she had let it down the Prince climbed up.30
At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened31 when a man came in, for she had never seen
one before; but the Prince spoke to her so kindly,32 and told her at once that his heart
had been so touched by her singing, that he felt he should know no peace of mind till he
had seen her. Very soon Rapunzel forgot her fear, and when he asked her to marry him33
she consented at once.34 "For," she thought, "he is young and handsome, and I'll
certainly be happier with him than with the old Witch."35 So she put her hand in his and
said:
"Yes, I will gladly go with you, only how am I to get down out of the tower? Every time
you come to see me you must bring a skein of silk with you, and I will make a ladder of
them, and when it is finished I will climb down by it,36 and you will take me away on
your horse."
They arranged that till the ladder was ready, he was to come to her every evening,
because the old woman was with her during the day. The old Witch, of course, knew
nothing of what was going on, till one day Rapunzel, not thinking37 of what she was
about, turned to the Witch and said:
"How is it, good mother, that you are so much harder to pull up than the young
Prince?38 He is always with me in a moment."
"Oh! you wicked child,"39 cried the Witch. "What is this I hear? I thought I had hidden
you safely from the whole world,40 and in spite of it you have managed to deceive me."41
In her wrath she seized Rapunzel's beautiful hair, wound it round and round her left
hand,42 and then grasping a pair of scissors in her right, snip snap, off it came, and the
beautiful plaits lay on the ground. And, worse than this, she was so hard-hearted that she
took Rapunzel to a lonely desert place,43 and there left her to live in loneliness and
misery.44
But on the evening of the day in which she had driven poor Rapunzel away, the Witch
fastened the plaits on to a hook in the window, and when the Prince came and called out:
"Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
Let down your golden hair,"
she let them down, and the Prince climbed up as usual, but instead of his beloved
Rapunzel he found the old Witch, who fixed her evil,45 glittering eyes on him, and cried
mockingly:
"Ah, ah! you thought to find your lady love, but the pretty bird46 has flown and its song
is dumb; the cat47 caught it, and will scratch out your eyes too. Rapunzel is lost to you
for ever -- you will never see her more."
The Prince was beside himself with grief, and in his despair he jumped48 right down
from the tower, and, though he escaped with his life, the thorns among which he fell
pierced his eyes out.49 Then he wandered, blind and miserable, through the wood,
eating nothing but roots and berries, and weeping and lamenting the loss of his lovely
bride.50 So he wandered about for some years,51 as wretched and unhappy as he could
well be, and at last he came to the desert place where Rapunzel was living. Of a sudden
he heard a voice which seemed strangely familiar to him. He walked eagerly in the
direction of the sound, and when he was quite close, Rapunzel recognised him and fell on
his neck and wept. But two of her tears touched his eyes,52 and in a moment they
became quite clear again, and he saw53 as well as he had ever done. Then he led her to
his kingdom, where they were received and welcomed with great joy, and they lived
happily ever after.54
by The Brothers Grimm
Lang, Andrew, ed. "Rapunzel." The Red Fairy Book. New York: Dover, 1966. (Original
published 1890.) Amazon.com: Buy the book in paperback.
The Fair Angiola
(An Italian Fairy Tale)
ONCE upon a time there were seven women, neighbors, all of whom were seized with a
great longing for some jujubes which only grew in a garden opposite the place where they
all lived, and which belonged to a witch. Now this witch had a donkey that watched the
garden and told the old witch when any one entered. The seven neighbors, however, had
such a desire for the jujubes that they entered the garden and threw the donkey some
nice soft grass, and while he was eating it they filled their aprons with jujubes and
escaped before the witch appeared. This they did several times, until at last the witch
noticed that some one had been in her garden, for many of the jujubes were gone. She
questioned the donkey, but he had eaten the nice grass and noticed nothing. Then she
resolved the third day to remain in the garden herself. in the middle of it was a hole, in
which she hid and covered herself with leaves and branches, leaving only one of her long
ears sticking out. The seven neighbors once more went into the garden and began
picking jujubes, when one of them noticed the witch's ear sticking out of the leaves and
thought it was a mushroom and tried to pick it. Then the witch jumped out of the hole
and ran after the women, all of whom escaped but one. The witch was going to eat her,
but she begged hard for pardon and promised never to enter the garden again. The witch
finally forgave her on the condition that she would give her her child, yet unborn,
whether a boy or girl, when it was seven years old. The poor woman promised in her
distress, and the witch let her go.
Some time after the woman had a beautiful little girl whom she named Angiola. When
Angiola was six years old, her mother sent her to school to learn to sew and knit. on her
way to school she had to pass the garden where the witch lived. One day, when she was
almost seven, she saw the witch standing in her garden. She beckoned to Angiola and
gave her some fine fruits and said: "You see, fair Angiola, I am your aunt. Tell your
mother you have seen your aunt, and she sends her word not to forget her promise."
Angiola went home and told her mother, who was frightened and said to herself: "Ah! the
time has come when I must give up my Angiola." Then she said to the child: "When your
aunt asks you tomorrow for an answer, tell her you forgot your errand." The next day she
told the witch as she was directed. "Very well," she replied, "tell her today, but don't
forget." Thus several days passed; the witch was constantly on the watch for Angiola
when she went to school, and wanted to know her mother's answer, but Angiola always
declared that she had forgotten to ask her. One day, however, the witch became angry
and said: "Since you are so forgetful, I must give you some token to remind you of your
errand." Then she bit Angiola's little finger so hard that she bit a piece out. Angiola went
home in tears and showed her mother her finger. "Ah!" thought her mother, "there is no
help for it. I must give my poor child to the witch, or else she will eat her up in her
anger." The next morning as Angiola was going to school, her mother said to her: "Tell
your aunt to do with you as she thinks best." Angiola did so, and the witch said: "Very
well, then come with me, for you are mine."
So the witch took the fair Angiola with her and led her away to a tower which had no
door and but one small window. There Angiola lived with the witch, who treated her very
kindly, for she loved her as her own child. When the witch came home after her
excursions, she stood under the window and cried: "Angiola, fair Angiola, let down your
pretty tresses and pull me up!" Now Angiola had beautiful full long hair, which she let
down and with which she pulled the witch up.
Now it happened one day when Angiola had grown to be a large and beautiful maiden,
that the king's son went hunting and chanced to come where the tower was. He was
astonished at seeing the house without any door, and wondered how people got in. Just
then the old witch returned home, stood under the window, and called: "Angiola, fair
Angiola, let down your beautiful tresses and pull me up." Immediately the beautiful
tresses fell down, and the witch climbed up by them. This pleased the prince greatly, and
he hid himself near by until the witch went away again. Then he went and stood under
the window and called: "Angiola, fair Angiola, let down your beautiful tresses and pull
me up." Then Angiola let down her tresses and drew up the prince, for she believed it was
the witch. When she saw the prince, she was much frightened at first, but he addressed
her in a friendly manner and begged her to fly with him and become his wife.
She finally consented, and in order that the witch should not know where she had gone
she gave all the chairs, tables, and cupboards in the house something to eat; for they
were all living beings and might betray her. The broom, however, stood behind the door,
so she did not notice it, and give it nothing to eat. Then she took from the witch's
chamber three magic balls of yarn, and fled with the prince. The witch had a little dog
that loved the fair Angiola so dearly that it followed her.
Soon after they had fled, the witch came back, and called: "Angiola, fair Angiola, let
down your beautiful tresses and draw me up." But the tresses were not let down for all
she called, and at last she had to get a long ladder and climb in at the window. When she
could not find Angiola, she asked the tables and chairs and cupboards: "Where has she
fled?" But they answered: "We do not know." The broom, however, called out from the
corner: "The fair Angiola has fled with the king's son, who is going to marry her." Then
the witch started in pursuit of them and nearly overtook them. But Angiola threw down
behind her one of the magic balls of yarn, and there arose a great mountain of soap.
When the witch tried to climb it she slipped back, but she persevered until at last she
succeeded in getting over it, and hastened after the fugitives. Then Angiola threw down
the second ball of yarn, and there arose a great mountain covered all over with nails
small and large. Again the witch had to struggle hard to cross it; when she did she was
almost flayed. When Angiola saw that the witch had almost overtaken them again, she
threw down the third ball, and there arose a mighty torrent. The witch tried to swim
across it, but the stream kept increasing in size until she had at last to turn back. Then in
her anger she cursed the fair Angiola, saying: "May your beautiful face be turned into the
face of a dog!" and instantly Angiola's face became a dog's face.
The prince was very sorrowful and said: "How can I take you home to my parents? They
would never allow me to marry a maiden with a dog's face." So he took her to a little
house, where she was to live until the enchantment was removed. He himself returned to
his parents; but whenever he went hunting he visited poor Angiola. She often wept
bitterly over her misfortunes, until one day the little dog that had followed her from the
witch's said: "Do not weep, fair Angiola. I will go to the witch and beg her to remove the
enchantment." Then the little dog started off and returned to the witch and sprang up on
her and caressed her. "Are you here again, you ungrateful beast?" cried the witch, and
pushed the dog away. "Did you leave me to follow the ungrateful Angiola?" But the little
dog caressed her until she grew friendly again and took him up on her lap. "Mother," said
the little dog, "Angiola sends you greeting; she is very sad, for she cannot marry the
prince." "That serves her right," said the witch. "Why did she deceive me? She can keep
her dog's face now!" But the dog begged her so earnestly, saying that poor Angiola was
sufficiently punished, that at last the witch gave the dog a flask of water, and said: "Take
that to her and she will become the fair Angiola again." The dog thanked her, ran off with
the flask, and brought it safely to poor Angiola. As soon as she washed in the water, her
dog's face disappeared and she became beautiful again, more beautiful even than she had
been before. The prince, full of joy, took her to the palace, and the king and queen were
so pleased with her beauty that they welcomed her, and gave her a splendid wedding,
and all remained happy and contented.
Crane, Thomas Frederick. Italian Popular Tales. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company,
1885. Amazon.com: Buy the book in hardcover or paperback.
The Lady of Shalott
by Alfred, Lord Tennyson
(1842 edition)
On either side the river lie Long fields of barley and of rye, That clothe the wold and
meet the sky; And thro' the field the road runs by To many-tower'd Camelot; And
up and down the people go, Gazing where the lilies blow Round an island there
below, The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Little breezes dusk and shiver Thro' the wave that
runs for ever By the island in the river Flowing down to Camelot. Four gray walls,
and four gray towers, Overlook a space of flowers, And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
By the margin, willow veil'd, Slide the heavy barges trail'd By slow horses; and
unhail'd The shallop flitteth silken-sail'd Skimming down to Camelot: But who
hath seen her wave her hand? Or at the casement seen her stand? Or is she known in
all the land, The Lady of Shalott?
Only reapers, reaping early In among the bearded barley, Hear a song that echoes
cheerly From the river winding clearly, Down to tower'd Camelot: And by the
moon the reaper weary, Piling sheaves in uplands airy, Listening, whispers " 'Tis the
fairy Lady of Shalott."
PART II
There she weaves by night and day A magic web with colours gay. She has heard a
whisper say, A curse is on her if she stay To look down to Camelot. She knows not
what the curse may be, And so she weaveth steadily, And little other care hath she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving thro' a mirror clear That hangs before her all the year, Shadows of the
world appear. There she sees the highway near Winding down to Camelot: There
the river eddy whirls, And there the surly village-churls, And the red cloaks of
market girls, Pass onward from Shalott.
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad, An abbot on an ambling pad, Sometimes a curly
shepherd-lad, Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad, Goes by to tower'd Camelot;
And sometimes thro' the mirror blue The knights come riding two and two: She
hath no loyal knight and true, The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights To weave the mirror's magic sights, For often thro'
the silent nights A funeral, with plumes and lights And music, went to Camelot:
Or when the moon was overhead, Came two young lovers lately wed: "I am half
sick of shadows," said The Lady of Shalott.
PART III
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun
came dazzling thro' the leaves And flamed upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir
Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled
on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott.
The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the
golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down to Camelot: And
from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his
armour rung, Beside remote Shalott.
All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather The
helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode
down to Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright,
Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over still Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode
down to Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal
mirror, "Tirra lirra," by the river Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom, She made three paces thro' the room, She saw the
water-lily bloom, She saw the helmet and the plume, She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide; The mirror crack'd from side to side; "The
curse is come upon me," cried The Lady of Shalott.
PART IV
In the stormy east-wind straining, The pale yellow woods were waning, The broad
stream in his banks complaining Heavily the low sky raining Over tower'd
Camelot; Down she came and found a boat Beneath a willow left afloat, And
round about the prow she wrote 'The Lady of Shalott'.
And down the river's dim expanse Like some bold seer in a trance, Seeing all his own
mischance-- With a glassy countenance Did she look to Camelot. And at the
closing of the day She loosed the chain, and down she lay; The broad stream bore
her far away, The Lady of Shalott.
Lying, robed in snowy white That loosely flew to left and right-- The leaves upon her
falling light-- Thro' the noises of the night She floated down to Camelot: And as
the boat-head wound along The willowy hills and fields among, They heard her
singing her last song, The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy, Chanted loudly, chanted lowly, Till her blood was
frozen slowly, And her eyes were darken'd wholly, Turn'd to tower'd Camelot. For
ere she reach'd upon the tide The first house by the water-side, Singing in her song
she died, The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony, By garden-wall and gallery, A gleaming shape she floated
by, Dead-pale between the houses high, Silent into Camelot. Out upon the wharfs
they came, Knight and burgher, lord and dame, And round the prow they read her
name, The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? and what is here? And in the lighted palace near Died the sound of
royal cheer; And they cross'd themselves for fear, All the knights at Camelot: But
Lancelot mused a little space; He said, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend
her grace, The Lady of Shalott."
Petrosinella
(An Italian Fairy Tale)
So great is my desire to keep the Princess amused, that the whole of the past night,
when all were sound asleep and nobody stirred hand or foot, I have done nothing but
turn over the old papers of my brain, and ransack ail the closets of my memory,
choosing from among the stories which that good soul Mistress Chiarella Usciolo, my
uncle's grandmother (whom Heaven take to glory!) used to tell, such as seemed most
fitting to relate to you; and unless I have put on my spectacles upside down, I fancy
they will give you pleasure; or, should they not serve, as armed squadrons, to drive
away tedium from your mind, they will at least be as trumpets to incite my companions
here to go forth to the field, with greater power than my poor strength possesses, to
supply by the abundance of their wit the deficiencies of my discourse.
THERE was once upon a time a woman named Pascadozzia, who was in the family way;
and as she was standing one day at a window, which looked into the garden of an ogress,
she saw a beautiful bed of parsley, for which she took such a longing that she was on the
point of fainting away; and being unable to resist her desire, she watched until the ogress
went out, and then plucked a handful of it. But when the ogress came home, and was
going to cook her pottage, she found that some one had been at the parsley, and said, "Ill
luck to me but I'll catch this long-fingered rogue, and make him repent it, and teach him
to his cost that every one should eat off his own platter, and not meddle with other folks'
cups."
The poor woman went again and again down into the garden, until one morning the
ogress met her, and in a furious rage exclaimed, "Have I caught you at last, you thief, you
rogue! prithee do you pay the rent of the garden, that you come in this impudent way and
steal my plants? by my faith, but I'll make you do penance without sending you to
Rome!"
Poor Pascadozzia, in a terrible fright, began to make excuses, saying that neither from
gluttony nor the craving of hunger had she been tempted by the devil to commit this
fault, but from her being pregnant, and the fear she had lest the child should be born
with a crop of parsley on its face; and she added that the ogress ought rather to thank
her, for not having given her sore eyes.
"Words are but wind," answered the ogress; "I am not to be caught with such prattle; you
have closed the balance-sheet of life, unless you promise to give me the child you bring
forth, girl or boy, whichever it may be."
Poor Pascadozzia, in order to escape the peril in which she found herself, swore with one
hand upon another to keep the promise: so the ogress let her go free. But when her time
was come, Pascadozzia gave birth to a little girl, so beautiful that she was a joy to look
upon, who, from having a fine sprig of parsley on her bosom, was named Petrosinella.
And the little girl grew from day to day, until when she was seven years old her mother
sent her to school; and every time she went along the street and met the ogress, the old
woman said to her, "Tell your mother to remember her promise." And she went on
repeating this message so often, that the poor mother, having no longer patience to listen
to the music, said one day to Petrosinella, "If you meet the old woman as usual, and she
reminds you of the hateful promise, answer her, "Take it!"
When Petrosinella, who dreamt of no ill, met the ogress again, and heard her repeat the
same words, she answered innocently as her mother had told her; where upon the
ogress, seizing her by her hair, carried her off to a wood, which the horses of the Sun
never entered, not having paid the toll to the pastures of those Shades. Then she put the
poor girl into a tower, which she caused to arise by her art, and which had neither gate
nor ladder, but only a little window, through which she ascended and descended by
means of Petrosinella's hair, which was very long, as the sailor is used to run up and
down the mast of a ship.
Now it happened one day, when the ogress had left the tower, that Petrosinella put her
head out of the little window, and let loose her tresses in the sun; and the son of a prince
passing by saw those two golden banners, which invited all souls to enlist under the
standard of Love; and beholding with amazement in the midst of those gleaming waves a
siren's face, that enchanted all hearts, he fell desperately in love with such wonderful
beauty; and sending her a memorial of sighs, she de creed to receive him into favour.
Matters went on so well with the prince, that there was soon a nodding of heads and a
kissing of hands, a winking of eyes and bowing, thanks and offerings, hopes and
promises, soft words and compliments. And when this had continued for several days,
Petrosinella and the prince became so intimate that they made an appointment to meet,
and agreed that it should be at night, when the Moon plays at hide with the Stars; and
that Petrosinella should give the ogress some poppy-juice, and draw up the prince with
her tresses. So when the appointed hour came, the prince went to the tower, where
Petrosinella, letting fall her hair at a given signal, he seized it with both his hands, and
cried, " Draw up!" And when he was drawn up, he crept through the little window into
the chamber.
The next morning, before the Sun taught his steeds to leap through the hoop of the
Zodiac, the prince descended by the same golden ladder, to go his way home. And having
repeated these visits many times, a gossip of the ogress, who was for ever prying into
things that did not concern her, and poking her nose into every corner, got to find out the
secret, and told the ogress to be upon the look-out, for that Petrosinella made love with a
certain youth, and she suspected that matters would go further; adding, that she saw
what was going on, and feared they would be off and away before May. The ogress
thanked her gossip for the information, and said she would take good care to stop up the
road; and as to Petrosinella, it was moreover impossible for her to escape, as she had laid
a spell upon her, so that, unless she had in her hand the three gallnuts which were in a
rafter in the kitchen, it would be labour lost to at tempt to get away.
Whilst they were talking thus together, Petrosinella, who stood with her ears wide open,
and had some suspicion of the gossip, overheard all that passed. And when Night had
spread out her black garments to keep them from the moth, and the prince had come as
usual, she made him climb on to the rafters and find the gallnuts, knowing well what
effect they would have, as she had been enchanted by the ogress. Then, having made a
rope-ladder, they both descended to the ground, took to their heels, and scampered off
towards the city. But the gossip happening to see them come out, set up a loud halloo,
and began to shout and make such a noise that the ogress awoke; and seeing that
Petrosinella had fled, she descended by the same ladder, which was fastened to the
window, and set off running after the lovers, who, when they saw her coming at their
heels faster than a horse let loose, gave themselves up for lost. But Petrosinella,
recollecting the gallnuts, quickly threw one on the ground, and lo! instantly a Corsican
bulldog started up,-O mother, such a terrible beast!-which with open jaws and barking
loud flew at the ogress as if to swallow her at a mouthful. But the old woman, who was
more cunning and spiteful than the devil, put her hand into her pocket, and pulling out a
piece of bread, gave it to the dog, which made him hang his tail and allay his fury. Then
she turned to run after the fugitives again; but Petrosinella, seeing her approach, threw
the second gallnut on the ground, and lo! a fierce lion arose, who, lashing the earth with
his tail, and shaking his mane, and opening wide his jaws a yard apart, was just
preparing to make a slaughter of the ogress; when, turning quickly back, she stripped the
skin off an ass that was grazing in the middle of a meadow, and ran at the lion, who,
fancying it a real jackass, was so frightened that he bounded away as fast as he could.
The ogress, having leaped over this second ditch, turned again to pursue the poor lovers,
who, hearing the clatter of her heels and seeing the cloud of dust that rose up to the sky,
conjectured that she was coming again. But the old woman, who was every moment in
dread lest the lion should pursue her, had not taken off the ass's skin; and when
Petrosinella now threw down the third gallnut, there sprang up a wolf, who, without
giving the ogress time to play any new trick, gobbled her up just as she was, in the shape
of a jackass. So the lovers, being now freed from danger, went their way leisurely and
quietly to the kingdom of the prince, where, with his father's free consent, he took
Petrosinella to wife; and thus, after all these storms of fate, they experienced the truth,
that
"One hour in port, the sailor freed from fears
Forgets the tempests of a hundred years."
Basile, Giambattista. "Petrosinella." The Pentamerone, or The Story of Stories. John
Edward Taylor, translator. London: David Bogue, 1850.
Prunella
Note: Andrew Lang's source for this tale was unidentified. It may be Italian, but his
source is unknown.
THERE was once upon a time a woman who had an only daughter. When the child was
about seven years old she used to pass every day, on her way to school, an orchard where
there was a wild plum tree, with delicious ripe plums hanging from the branches. Each
morning the child would pick one, and put it into her pocket to eat at school. For this
reason she was called Prunella. Now, the orchard belonged to a witch. One day the witch
noticed the child gathering a plum, as she passed along the road. Prunella did it quite
innocently, not knowing that she was doing wrong in taking the fruit that hung close to
the roadside. But the witch was furious, and next day hid herself behind the hedge, and
when Prunella came past, and put out her hand to pluck the fruit, she jumped out and
seized her by the arm.
'Ah ! you little thief !' she exclaimed. 'I have caught you at last. Now you will have to pay
for your misdeeds.'
The poor child, half dead with fright, implored the old woman to forgive her, assuring
her that she did not know she had done wrong, and promising never to do it again. But
the witch had no pity, and she dragged Prunella into her house, where she kept her till
the time should come when she could have her revenge.
As the years passed Prunella grew up into a very beautiful girl. Now her beauty and
goodness, instead of softening the witch's heart, aroused her hatred and jealousy.
One day she called Prunella to her, and said: 'Take this basket, go to the well, and bring it
back to me filled with water. If you don't I will kill you.'
The girl took the basket, went and let it down into the well again and again. But her work
was lost labour. Each time, as she drew up the basket, the water streamed out of it. At
last, in despair, she gave it up, and leaning against the well she began to cry bitterly,
when suddenly she heard a voice at her side saying 'Prunella, why are you crying ?'
Turning round she beheld a handsome youth, who looked kindly at her, as if he were
sorry for her trouble.
'Who are you,' she asked, 'and how do you know my name ?'
'I am the son of the witch,' he replied, 'and my name is Bensiabel. I know that she is
determined that you shall die, but I promise you that she shall not carry out her wicked
plan. Will you give me a kiss, if I fill your basket ?'
'No,' said Prunella, 'I will not give you a kiss, because you are the son of a witch.'
'Very well,' replied the youth sadly. 'Give me your basket and I will fill it for you.' And he
dipped it into the well, and the water stayed in it. Then the girl returned to the house,
carrying the basket filled with water. When the witch saw it, she became white with rage,
and exclaimed 'Bensiabel must have helped you.' And Prunella looked down, and said
nothing.
'Well, we shall see who will win in the end,' said the witch, in a great rage.
The following day she called the girl to her and said:
'Take this sack of wheat. I am going out for a little; by the time I return I shall expect you
to have made it into bread. If you have not done it I will kill you.' Having said this she left
the room, closing and locking the door behind her.
Poor Prunella did not know what to do. It was impossible for her to grind the wheat,
prepare the dough, and bake the bread, all in the short time that the witch would be
away. At first she set to work bravely, but when she saw how hopeless her task was, she
threw herself on a chair, and began to weep bitterly. She was roused from her despair by
hearing Bensiabel's voice at her side saying: 'Prunella, Prunella, do not weep like that. If
you will give me a kiss I will make the bread, and you will be saved.'
'I will not kiss the son of a witch,' replied Prunella.
But Bensiabel took the wheat from her, and ground it, and made the dough, and when
the witch returned the bread was ready baked in the oven.
Turning to the girl, with fury in her voice, she said 'Bensiabel must have been here and
helped you;' and Prunella looked down, and said nothing.
'We shall see who will win in the end,' said the witch, and her eyes blazed with anger.
Next day she called the girl to her and said: 'Go to my sister, who lives across the
mountains. She will give you a casket, which you must bring back to me.' This she said
knowing that her sister, who was a still more cruel and wicked witch than herself, would
never allow the girl to return, but would imprison her and starve her to death. But
Prunella did not suspect anything, and set out quite cheerfully. On the way she met
Bensiabel.
'Where are you going, Prunella ?' he asked.
'I am going to the sister of my mistress, from whom I am to fetch a casket.'
'Oh poor, poor girl !' said Bensiabel. 'You are being sent straight to your death. Give me a
kiss, and I will save you.'
But again Prunella answered as before, 'I will not kiss the son of a witch.'
'Nevertheless, I will save your life,' said Bensiabel, for I love you better than myself. Take
this flagon of oil, this loaf of bread, this piece of rope, and this broom. When you reach
the witch's house, oil the hinges of the door with the contents of the flagon, and throw
the loaf of bread to the great fierce mastiff, who will come to meet you. When you have
passed the dog, you will see in the courtyard a miserable woman trying in vain to let
down a bucket into the well with her plaited hair. You must give her the rope. In the
kitchen you will find a still more miserable woman trying to clean the hearth with her
tongue; to her you must give the broom. You will see the casket on the top of a cupboard,
take it as quickly as you can, and leave the house without a moment's delay. If you do all
this exactly as I have told you, you will not be killed.'
So Prunella, having listened carefully to his instructions, did just what he had told her.
She reached the house, oiled the hinges of the door, threw the loaf to the dog, gave the
poor woman at the well the rope, and the woman in the kitchen the broom, caught up the
casket from the top of the cupboard, and fled with it out of the house. But the witch
heard her as she ran away, and rushing to the window called out to the woman in the
kitchen: 'Kill that thief, I tell you !'
But the woman replied: 'I will not kill her, for she has given me a broom, whereas you
forced me to clean the hearth with my tongue.'
Then the witch called out in fury to the woman at the well: 'Take the girl, I tell you, and
fling her into the water, and drown her !'
But the woman answered: 'No, I will not drown her, for she gave me this rope, whereas
you forced me to use my hair to let down the bucket to draw water.'
Then the witch shouted to the dog to seize the girl and hold her fast; but the dog
answered: 'No, I will not seize her, for she gave me a loaf of bread, whereas you let me
starve with hunger.'
The witch was so angry that she nearly choked, as she called out: 'Door, bang upon her,
and keep her a prisoner.'
But the door answered: 'I won't, for she has oiled my hinges, so that they move quite
easily, whereas you left them all rough and rusty.'
And so Prunella escaped, and, with the casket under her arm, reached the house of her
mistress, who, as you may believe, was as angry as she was surprised to see the girl
standing before her, looking more beautiful than ever. Her eyes flashed, as in furious
tones she asked her, 'Did you meet Bensiabel ?'
But Prunella looked down, and said nothing.
'We shall see,' said the witch, 'who will win in the end. Listen, there are three cocks in the
hen-house; one is yellow, one black, and the third is white. If one of them crows during
the night you must tell me which one it is. Woe to you if you make a mistake. I will
gobble you up in one mouthful.'
Now Bensiabel was in the room next to the one where Prunella slept. At midnight she
awoke hearing a cock crow.
'Which one was that ?' shouted the witch.
Then, trembling, Prunella knocked on the wall and whispered: 'Bensiabel, Bensiabel, tell
me, which cock crowed?'
'Will you give me a kiss if I tell you ?' he whispered back through the wall.
But she answered 'No.'
Then he whispered back to her: 'Nevertheless, I will tell you. It was the yellow cock that
crowed.'
The witch, who had noticed the delay in Prunella's answer, approached her door calling
angrily: 'Answer at once, or I will kill you.'
So Prunella answered: 'It was the yellow cock that crowed.'
And the witch stamped her foot and gnashed her teeth.
Soon after another cock crowed. 'Tell me now which one it is,' called the witch. And,
prompted by Bensiabel, Prunella answered: 'That is the black cock.'
A few minutes after the crowing was heard again, and the voice of the witch demanding
'Which one was that?'
And again Prunella implored Bensiabel to help her. But this time he hesitated, for he
hoped that Prunella might forget that he was a witch's son, and promise to give him a
kiss. And as he hesitated he heard an agonised cry from the girl: 'Bensiabel, Bensiabel,
save me! The witch is coming, she is close to me, I hear the gnashing of her teeth!'
With a bound Bensiabel opened his door and flung himself against the witch. He pulled
her back with such force that she stumbled, and falling headlong, dropped down dead at
the foot of the stairs.
Then, at last, Prunella was touched by Bensiabel's goodness and kindness to her, and she
became his wife, and they lived happily ever after.
Lang, Andrew, ed. "Prunella." The Grey Fairy Book. New York: Dover, 1967. (Original
published 1900.)
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