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  For this punishment the fairy led them into one of the galleries of her enchanted castle, on whose walls she had painted a mural detailing the history of a great many illustrious women, women who had made themselves famous by their lives of virtue and quiet labour. By the wonderful effects of fairy-art all these figures could actually move, and in fact did so from morning till night; and it was no slight mortification to the two soiled sisters to compare the shining triumphs of heroines such as these with the lamentable situation to which their own unhappy imprudence had reduced them.

  To add to their teeth-gnashing chagrin, the fairy never tired of telling them that if they’d been as well employed as those depicted on the mural, they would never have fallen into the unworthy errors that had brought about their ruin; telling them, too, till they felt like screaming, that idleness was the mother of all vices and the source of all misfortune. She further said that, to prevent them from ever transgressing again as they had, she would keep their hands and minds busy for good. And so she did thereafter, employing the princesses in the coarsest and meanest jobs around her castle, sending them out into the garden, in the very worst weathers, to gather peat and pull up weeds, without regard for the softness of their hands or the bloom of their complexions.

  Lackadaisy all too soon wasted away at having to lead a life so different from her own inclinations, and died of vexation and fatigue. As for Loquatia, who, one night, found a way of escaping from the fairy’s castle, she smashed her skull against a wall and passed away, speechless at last, in the arms of some kindly peasants.

  Finessa’s great good nature caused her to weep a long while over her sisters’ deaths. In the midst of all these troubles, moreover, she was informed that Prince Belavoir had asked for her hand in marriage and that her father had consented to give it, without, I might add, troubling to let her know of his decision; for in those days the desire of the two parties most concerned had the least priority in any marriage plans. Finessa trembled at this news, having reason to fear that Richcraft’s hatred for her might have infected the heart of a brother who had been dear to him and she began to suspect that this young prince wished to marry her only to make of her a sacrifice to his brother’s memory. Beset by these anxieties, she went to consult the wise fairy, her father’s friend, who esteemed her as much as she had despised Lackadaisy and Loquatia.

  But she would reveal nothing to Finessa, saying only this to her: Princess, you are a wise and prudent young woman. You would not hitherto have acted so sagaciously if you had not always kept in mind the truth that mistrust is the mother of safety. Continue to think earnestly on the significance of that maxim and you cannot fail to be happy, without the assistance of any arts of mine.

  Finessa, unable to get anything more out of her, returned to the palace in a state of extreme agitation.

  A few days later the princess was married by an ambassador who was dispatched to her father’s court in the name of Prince Belavoir, and almost at once she set out for the neighbouring kingdom in a magnificent carriage. It was thus that she entered the capital to meet Belavoir, who had come, on his father’s orders, to welcome her to her new home. Everybody was surprised, however, to see how strangely melancholy the prince appeared at the approach of his bride, for whom he’d seemed to show so great a desire; indeed, it was said the king himself had been forced to intervene and insist that he ride out to meet her.

  When Belavoir saw Finessa at last, he was as if tongue-tied by so much beauty and charm. He paid her all the required compliments, but in such a higgledy-piggledy fashion that the courtiers of the two courts, who knew how much wit and gallantry he could command if he pleased, believed him to be so very deeply in love he had quite lost his presence of mind. Meanwhile, the whole town erupted in joy, a joy publicly expressed in fireworks and music: and, after a magnificent supper, preparations were made to conduct the young lovers to their chamber.

  Finessa, who hadn’t forgotten the fairy’s maxim, had already thought out a plan. She had befriended one of the chambermaids who had a key to the closet in her apartment and during supper had secretly given her orders to conceal in that closet a bale of straw, a bladder of sheep’s blood and the insides of a few of the animals which they had eaten that evening. On some pretence or other, the princess then excused herself, went into the closet and hastily made a puppet out of the straw, into which she stuffed the guts and the bladder full of blood – after which she dressed it up in a woman’s nightgown. When she had finished, she returned to the company; and, a little later, she and her spouse were conducted to their wedding chamber. Allowing her as much time as she needed to complete her toilette, the ladies of honour then removed all the candles and retired; whereupon Finessa threw the straw image on to the bed and hid herself away in a corner of the room.

  The prince entered. He sighed three or four times very loudly and plaintively, then drew his sword and ran it through what he imagined was his bride’s body. A moment later, he saw a trickle of blood starting to stain the white bedsheets.

  What have I done? he cried. What! After such a cruel conflict in my mind, after weighing it up and down, asking myself back and forth, as to whether I should keep a promise at the expense of a crime, have I taken away the life of a charming princess I was born to love! Yes, born to love! Her charms ravished me the very instant I saw her, and yet I lacked the power to free myself from a promise that a brother, a brother possessed with rage, had so unworthily exacted from me. Ah heavens! Could anyone dream of punishing a woman for having too much virtue! Well, brother Richcraft, I have satisfied your unjust vengeance; now, by my own death, I shall avenge Finessa in her turn. Yes, beautiful princess, my sword shall -

  In his grief and ecstasy, however, the prince had dropped his sword and had to grope about for it in the darkness: a fortunate accident, for the princess, understanding by his last words that he was about to thrust it through his heart, was determined he should not be guilty of such a folly and cried out from her hiding-place: My good prince, I am not at all dead! The goodness of your disposition made me suspect that you might repent of some promise too quickly made; and by an innocent little stratagem, I have prevented you from committing the very worst of crimes.

  She related to Belavoir her foresight concerning their wedding night and how she had acted upon it by substituting the straw-filled scarecrow. The prince, overjoyed to find his bride still alive, admired that prudence of which she was mistress on all occasions and felt infinitely obliged to her for stopping him from performing an act on which he could not now think without horror. Nor did he understand how he could have been so weak not to see the nullity of any promise exacted by artifice.

  If, though, Finessa, that paragon, hadn’t learned that mistrust is the mother of safety, she would certainly have been killed and her death, too, the cause of Belavoir’s own: then generation upon generation would have mulled over, and perhaps thick, arcane histories written about, the legendary strangeness of the prince’s feelings towards her. That, mercifully, we have been spared! No, it was prudence, happy prudence, that preserved this princely pair from the most dreadful of misfortunes, as also for the sweetest and most felicitous of unions. For I scarcely need add, dear Reader – if you are still at my shoulder – that from that very moment on they lived, as should all of their kind, happily ever after.

  Bearskin

  Translated by Terence Cave

  HENRIETTE-JULIE DE MURAT (Attributed)

  ONCE UPON A time there lived a king and queen who had a daughter; of all the children born to them, she was the only one still living. They named her Hawthorn. Her beauty and charms brought them some consolation for the painful loss of so many young princes. Infinite care was taken over her education, with happy results: by the age of twelve she was as learned as her teachers.

  As she was both clever and uncommonly beautiful, she was sought after by all the kings and princes who happened to be eligible at the time. The king and queen, who adored her, were afraid of losing her, so they
were in no hurry to surrender her to these enthusiastic suitors. Hawthorn, too, was quite happy with her lot, and was afraid of a marriage that would take her away from her dear parents.

  Rumours of Hawthorn’s beauty spread as far as the court of a certain King of the Ogres, who was called Rhinoceros. As he was a monarch of great power, owning vast lands and riches, he had no doubt that he would be granted the princess’s hand the moment he asked for it. He dispatched ambassadors to Hawthorn’s father. They arrived at his court and, on the pretext of renewing a former alliance between the two kingdoms, asked for an audience. At first, people were greatly amused to see such remarkable creatures, and the young princess herself fell into fits of giggles. The king none the less gave the order that they be received with the utmost pomp.

  On the day of the audience, the whole court made the effort to turn out in great splendour; but joy soon changed to sadness when it became known that King Rhinoceros was asking for the hand of Princess Hawthorn.

  The king, who was listening attentively to the ambassador, was so taken aback by the proposal that he was struck dumb. The ambassador, afraid he might refuse, quickly went on to assure the king that, if he didn’t give his daughter away, Rhinoceros would himself come at the head of a hundred million ogres to lay waste the kingdom and eat the whole royal family.

  The king, who was thoroughly familiar with the behaviour of ogres, had no doubt that the ambassador’s threats would soon be put into effect. He asked for a few days’ grace to prepare his daughter to accept the honour Rhinoceros wished to confer on her, and abruptly broke off the audience.

  The good father was horribly upset, as he did not dare refuse to hand over his daughter. He withdrew into his study and called for her; the princess flew to his side, and when she learnt the cruel fate that was in store for her, she cried out in anguish, threw herself at her father’s feet, and begged him to condemn her to death rather than to such nuptials.

  The king, taking her in his arms and mingling his tears with hers, told her about the threat the ambassador had made. I’m afraid, my dearest daughter, he added, that you’re going to die; we’re all going to die, and you’ll have to face the horror of watching us being devoured by cruel King Rhinoceros.

  The princess was no less dismayed by this idea than by the frightful prospect of marrying Rhinoceros, so she agreed to be his bride, willingly sacrificing herself to save the king, the queen and the whole country. She even went to tell her mother, who was in a piteous state, that she would go to any lengths for her dear parents’ sake, and did everything in her power to reassure her. She watched the preparations for her wedding with a steadfastness that earned universal admiration, and walked to the altar, where the ambassador awaited her, so modestly that everyone cried aloud and sobbed for sheer pity.

  She left with the same unwavering firmness. Her only companion was a young woman of whom she was particularly fond, and who was devoted to her; she was called Corianda.

  As the kingdom of the ogres was many leagues away, the princess had plenty of time to open her heart to Corianda and let her see the full extent of her grief. Corianda was deeply moved by the princess’s misfortunes and offered to share them with her, since she couldn’t console her in any other way. She also promised that she would never abandon her. Hawthorn greatly appreciated the girl’s delicacy and kindness, and felt her sorrow less keenly now that it was shared.

  Corianda hadn’t dared tell the princess that she had gone to look for Fairy Medlar, Hawthorn’s godmother, and inform her of the terrible fate that awaited the princess, and had found the fairy in high dudgeon that she had not been consulted. She had even told Corianda that she would never have anything more to do with Hawthorn’s affairs.

  Corianda decided not to add to her mistress’s troubles by telling her this story, but it remained in her mind, and she secretly lamented the tragic fate of a princess abandoned in this way by her godmother. Meanwhile, the long weary road could not diminish Hawthorn’s beauty. When the ogre saw her, he was utterly amazed, and gave a great cry that shook the island where he lived to its very foundations.

  The princess fainted with terror in Corianda’s arms, and Rhinoceros, who was in the shape of his animal namesake that day, put her on his back with Corianda and ran into his palace, where he locked them both up.

  Then he reverted to his ordinary shape, which was hardly less ghastly than the other, and made great efforts to revive Hawthorn. When she opened her eyes and found herself in the monster’s hairy arms, she was unable to stop herself weeping and crying. The ogre, who didn’t think anyone could find him disagreeable, asked Corianda what was wrong with the princess, and whether anyone thought he would be pleased by such tantrums. Corianda, terrified by the ogre’s anger, replied that it was nothing to worry about: the princess often suffered from the vapours.

  Hawthorn had closed her eyes to spare herself the horror of looking at her hideous spouse, and the ogre, who thought she had fainted again, felt some slight movement of human pity. He went out, ordering Corianda to look after her; she assured him that all the princess needed was a little rest.

  So the ogre left them alone and went off to catch bears, which was his favourite pastime: he meant to catch two or three for Hawthorn’s supper.

  As soon as he had gone, the princess burst into tears, threw her arms round Corianda’s neck, and begged her friend to save her. Moved by Hawthorn’s distress, the poor girl racked her brains for a solution. Her eye fell on a pile of bearskins that the ogre had been saving up to wear in the winter (he was a dreadful miser), and she suggested that the princess should hide in one of them. Hawthorn agreed, once Corianda had assured her that she shouldn’t worry about leaving her alone to face the ogre’s fury.

  So Corianda chose the finest of the skins and set to work to sew the princess into it. But – wonders will never cease! – hardly had the skin touched Hawthorn than it stuck to her of its own accord, and she became, to all appearances, the most beautiful she-bear in the world.

  Corianda attributed this unhoped-for turn of events to Fairy Medlar, and said as much to the princess, who happily concurred – for, despite her transformation, she had retained her powers of speech, as well as all her mental faculties.

  Her faithful companion opened the doors and let out the pretty bear, who was impatient to be free; Corianda was sure the fairy would guide her, just as she had brought about the transformation.

  As soon as her mistress was out of sight, thoughts of her own predicament overwhelmed her; but an hour later, she heard the ogre come in, and pretended to be fast asleep.

  Where’s that girl Hawthorn? roared Rhinoceros in a voice of thunder. Corianda made a show of waking up. She rubbed her eyes and said she had no idea where the princess had gone. What? said the ogre. Has she gone out? That’s impossible: only I have the key. Yes, yes, said Corianda, pretending to believe the ogre had done away with her; it’s your fault, you’ve eaten her, and you’ll be severely punished for it. She was the daughter of a famous king, the most beautiful girl in the world, and far too good to marry an ogre: just wait and see what will happen to you.

  The ogre was quite taken aback by this accusation and the reproachful cries with which it was accompanied. He swore that he had not eaten the princess and fell into such a rage that Corianda’s pretence of grief soon turned into genuine fear, for the ogre threatened to eat her herself if she didn’t stop. So she did stop, and pretended to look for the princess; this had the effect of calming Rhinoceros’s rage somewhat. Indeed, he went on looking for her, with Corianda at his side, for a whole week; but Medlar had done her job well. She had invisibly guided the pretty bear’s steps to the sea-shore, and there the unhappy princess found an abandoned boat. But it’s easy to see that, without the fairy’s help, Hawthorn would have perished many times over; for no sooner had she climbed in than the boat began to move away from the shore.

  Terrified, despite her past misfortunes, by her present danger, and seeing no remedy, she lay down and fell a
sleep. When she awoke, she found herself by the bank of a fair meadow decked out with brightly coloured flowers: it was a sight to delight the eye. The she-bear, feeling the boat come to a stop, jumped into the meadow and gave thanks to the gods and the fairies for bringing her without mishap to such a beautiful country.

  Once she had performed this duty, her first concern was to find something to live on, for she was extremely hungry. She made her way through the meadow and into a magnificent forest, where she found a rock hollowed out to form a cave; next to it there was a pretty spring that flowed down into the meadow, and some huge oak-trees covered in acorns. The bear was not yet accustomed to such food, and scorned it at first; but her hunger became more pressing, and she made herself eat some. She found them very good. Then, having quenched her thirst at the spring, she decided to hide in the cave by day, in order to avoid any unfortunate encounters, and only to come out at night. Another thing helped her to make up her mind: while drinking from the spring, she had seen herself reflected in its crystal surface. Her horrible bear’s face had frightened her, and she almost regretted losing her own. However, she was consoled by the thought that she would otherwise have been forced to stay with Rhinoceros, and this enabled her to see her situation and her grisly features in a calmer light. As she was no fool, she realised that ugliness is not such a great misfortune, since beauty may only lead to trouble. The bear continued these moral meditations as she lay in her cave: she found in them a source of true wisdom, and she began to be content with her lot.