Two comparably awful fairy tales may be read here: "Cat Whiskers" and "The Dolorous Draper."
The Master Cat; or, Puss in Boots
by Charles Perrault
First published in 1697 in French; this text courtesy of the www.pitt.eduUniversity of Pittsburgh.
There was a miller whose only inheritance to his three sons was his mill, his donkey, and his cat. The division was soon made. They hired neither a clerk nor an attorney,for they would have eaten up all the poor patrimony. The eldest took the mill, the second the donkey, and the youngest nothing but the cat.
The poor young fellow was quite comfortless for having received so little. "My brothers," said he, "may make a handsome living by joining their shares together; but, for my part, after I have eaten up my cat, and made myself a muff from his skin, I must then die of hunger."
The cat, who heard all this, but pretended otherwise, said to him with a grave and serious air, "Do not be so concerned, my good master. If you will but give me a bag, and have a pair of boots made for me, that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, then you shall see that you are not so poorly off with me as you imagine."
The cat's master did not build very much upon what he said. However, he had often seen him play a great many cunning tricks to catch rats and mice, such as hanging by his heels, or hiding himself in the meal, and pretending to be dead; so he did take some hope that he might give him some help in his miserable condition.
After receiving what he had asked for, the cat gallantly pulled on the boots and slung the bag about his neck. Holding its drawstrings in his forepaws, he went to a place where there was a great abundance of rabbits. He put some bran and greens into his bag, then stretched himself out as if he were dead. He thus waited for some young rabbits, not yet acquainted with the deceits of the world, to come and look into his bag.
He had scarcely lain down before he had what he wanted. A rash and foolish young rabbit jumped into his bag, and the master cat immediately closed the strings, then took and killed him without pity.
Proud of his prey, he went with it to the palace, and asked to speak with his majesty. He was shown upstairs into the king's apartment, and, making a low bow, said to him, "Sir, I have brought you a rabbit from my noble lord, the Master of Carabas"(for that was the title which the cat was pleased to give his master).
"Tell your master," said the king, "that I thank him, and that I am very pleased with his gift."
Another time he went and hid himself in a grain field. He again held his bag open, and when a brace of partridges ran into it, he drew the strings, and caught them both. He presented these to the king, as he had done before with the rabbit. The king, in like manner, received the partridges with great pleasure, and gave him a tip. The cat continued, from time to time for two or three months, to take game to his majesty from his master.
One day, when he knew for certain that the king would be taking a drive along the riverside with his daughter, the most beautiful princess in the world, he said to his master, "If you will follow my advice your fortune is made. All you must do is to go and bathe yourself in the river at the place I show you, then leave the rest to me."
The Marquis of Carabas did what the cat advised him to, without knowing why. While he was bathing the king passed by, and the cat began to cry out, "Help! Help! My Lord Marquis of Carabas is going to be drowned."
At this noise the king put his head out of the coach window, and, finding it was the cat who had so often brought him such good game, he commanded his guards to run immediately to the assistance of his lordship the Marquis of Carabas. While they were drawing the poor Marquis out of the river, the cat came up to the coach and told the king that, while his master was bathing, some rogues had come by and stolen his clothes, even though he had cried out, "Thieves! Thieves!"several times, as loud as he could. In truth, the cunning cat had hidden the clothes under a large stone.
The king immediately commanded the officers of his wardrobe to run and fetch one of his best suits for the Lord Marquis of Carabas.
The king received him very courteously. And, because the king's fine clothes gave him a striking appearance (for he was very handsome and well proportioned), the king's daughter took a secret inclination to him. The Marquis of Carabas had only to cast two or three respectful and somewhat tender glances at her but she fell head over heels in love with him. The king asked him to enter the coach and join them on their drive.
The cat, quite overjoyed to see how his project was succeeding, ran on ahead. Meeting some countrymen who were mowing a meadow, he said to them, "My good fellows, if you do not tell the king that the meadow you are mowing belongs to my Lord Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped up like mincemeat."
The king did not fail to ask the mowers whose meadow it was that they were mowing.
"It belongs to my Lord Marquis of Carabas," they answered altogether, for the cat's threats had frightened them.
"You see, sir,"said the Marquis, "this is a meadow which never fails to yield a plentiful harvest every year."
The master cat, still running on ahead, met with some reapers, and said to them, "My goodfellows, if you do not tell the king that all this grain belongs to the Marquis of Carabas, you shall be chopped up like mincemeat."
The king, who passed by a moment later, asked them whose grain it was that they were reaping.
"It belongs to my Lord Marquis of Carabas," replied the reapers, which pleased both the king and the marquis. The king congratulated him for his fine harvest. The master cat continued to run ahead and said the same words to all he met. The king was astonished at the vast estates of the Lord Marquis of Carabas.
The master cat came at last to a stately castle, the lord of which was an ogre, the richest that had ever been known. All the lands which the king had just passed by belonged to this castle. The cat, who had taken care to inform himself who this ogre was and what he could do, asked to speak with him, saying he could not pass so near his castle without having the honor of paying his respects to him.
The ogre received him as civilly as an ogre could do, and invited him to sit down. "I have heard" said the cat, "that you are able to change yourself into any kind of creature that you have a mind to. You can, for example, transform yourself into a lion, an elephant, or the like."
"That is true," answered the ogre very briskly; "and to convince you, I shall now become a lion."
The cat was so terrified at the sight of a lion so near him that he leaped onto the roof, which caused him even more difficulty, because his boots were of no use at all to him in walking on the tiles. However, the ogre resumed his natural form, and the cat came down, saying that he had been very frightened indeed.
"I have further been told," said the cat, "that you can also transform yourself into the smallest of animals, for example, a rat or a mouse. But I can scarcely believe that. I must admit to you that I think that that would be quite impossible."
"Impossible!"cried the ogre. "You shall see!"
He immediately changed himself into a mouse and began to run about the floor. As soon as the cat saw this, he fell upon him and ate him up.
Meanwhile the king, who saw this fine castle of the ogre's as he passed, decided to go inside. The cat, who heard the noise of his majesty's coach running over the drawbridge, ran out and said to the king, "Your majesty is welcome to this castle of my Lord Marquis of Carabas."
"What! my Lord Marquis," cried the king, "and does this castle also belong to you? There can be nothing finer than this court and all the stately buildings which surround it. Let us go inside, if you don't mind."
The marquis gave his hand to the princess, and followed the king, who went first. They passed into a spacious hall, where they found a magnificent feast, which the ogre had prepared for his friends, who were coming to visit him that very day, but dared not to enter, knowing the king was there.
His majesty was perfectly charmed with the good qualities of my Lord Marquis of Carabas, as was his daught
er, who had fallen violently in love with him, and, seeing the vast estate he possessed, said to him, after having drunk five or six glasses, "It will be your own fault, my Lord Marquis, if you do not become my son-in-law."
The marquis, making several low bows, accepted the honor which his majesty conferred upon him, and forthwith, that very same day, married the princess.
The cat became a great lord, and never again ran after mice, except for entertainment.
MORAL: There is great advantage in receiving a large inheritance, but diligence and ingenuity are worth more than wealth acquired from others.
ANOTHER MORAL: If a miller's son can win the heart of a princess in so short a time, causing her to gaze at him with lovelorn eyes, it must be due to his clothes, his appearance, and his youth. These things do play a role in matters of the heart.
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Bonus Prose: " Cat Whiskers" >
From Gory Dragons Galore: A Treasury of Educative and Cautionary Tales for Unformed Youngsters and Others Yet Morally Deficient
Once upon a time there were two children who were very naughty indeed. Their poor mama pleaded with them to behave, but the stubborn youngsters defied her. Reminded yet again to scrub the front step, Liesl would only complain that the hot water hurt her hands, while Pietr, when chopping logs, invariably produced firewood that was rough and unsightly. The laggards instead begged for picture books and sweets, and never once asked
-no matter how their dear mama scolded and spanked them-how best
to relieve her of her obligations.
So it was that the two children, one day cavorting rather than working as they should, happened upon an odd cat that purred and rubbed against their legs. Of course they did not know the cat belonged to a witch and was in fact a dreaded Doppelschläferin—a double through which the witch viewed the world whilst asleep. The cat twitched its whiskers at them and at once bewitched the boy and girl, who without another thought to their duties followed the creature into the forest.
Presently they came to a cottage with a cheery fire and a rosy-cheeked old woman who offered each child a slice of cake and insisted they stay for tea, claiming she was a lonely biddy with few visitors. Well! Sugar, as every adult knows, rots the brains of little ones, and quickly this toxin poisoned Pietr and Liesl. Completely mesmerized by the witch's magic and her noxious treats, the tots uttered a most appalling falsehood: that their mama had died and they had nowhere else to go!
Cackling in delight, the woman insisted they remain with her, baiting her scheme with promises of daily cake and playtime. The siblings agreed, their wee minds utterly blighted; such was the crone's power that they promptly swept the cottage without being either asked or beaten. Building themselves little beds in the attic, they vowed to stay in the cottage all their days.
Oh, how their mama raged when they did not return, thinking the naughty things had simply run off, and she appealed to all the community to find her truant offspring. So it was that several days later a passing villager detected the two enslaved fledglings chortling and singing as they beat the rugs, their expressions dazed. The cat, spying the man, twitched its whiskers, but he withstood that powerful magic and raced away to warn his neighbors.
That night the villagers returned with torches and pitchforks, tying the witch to a stake to burn her and cheering in delight as the cat was tossed into the flames. The children wailed as the spell over them broke, though their minds were so muddled that evermore they could not speak coherently about their enchanted hardship, no matter how diligently their mother worked them, and kept them from stories and music and anything sweet.
Another upbeat story from Gory Dragons Galore.
Author commentary on "Cat Whiskers" Sottocenere" from The Encyclopedia of Lax More on Doppelschläferins
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Author Commentary: "Cat Whiskers" >
A few years ago, I gave a lecture on fairy tales. I'd selected the topic because I thought it would be straightforward and easy. Ha! It turns out there are libraries of books written on fairy tales, whole academic subspecialties on fairy tales, graduate-school departments of fairy tales ... So I learned a lot about fairy tales ... certainly more than I ever thought I would. But that's okay, because I like them a lot, and I certainly (as Princess Ben and now Wisdom's Kiss show) like writing them and tweaking them and turning them upside down.
It turns out (so I learned) that fairy tales have a number of "rules," if you will, and one of them is that a fairy tale almost always has a moral—a life lesson—woven into the story. Sometimes, as in the work of Charles Perrault, this moral is explicit, but even if it's not written down, it's always there. This is one difference between fairy tales and fantasy novels, which often focus more on bopping and magic than personal betterment.
In a well-written fairy tale, the moral is inserted as neatly as a sugarcoated pill so that the reader absorbs it almost subconsciously. To use the example of "Puss in Boots," it's that hard work and good clothes take one further than inherited wealth does. But not every fairy tale is written well, and far too many authors view stories as a way to instruct and improve children, however odious the instruction might be. The Victorians were especially bad (or good, I suppose) at composing tales smothered in moralism, but presses still churn out such masterpieces as "The Homework Fairy Teaches Jack." Gack.
In "Cat Whiskers," I created as horrible a fairy tale as I could imagine. Given that the Germans fairy-tale-wise have always been depressing if not downright creepy, I used the sorts of names found in the Brothers Grimm, and a typical Grimm-ish ending. Like much bad kid lit, the story is written from the point of view of an adult—the mother, no less (How many books have you ever read where the mother is part of the adventure? Quick answer: zero)—with no sympathy for the children's perspective or needs. When I read "Cat Whiskers" aloud to my kids, they were speechless; I'm still not sure if it was the moral or the writing generally that appalled them. Frankly, I'm afraid to ask.
To anyone who takes "Cat Whiskers" seriously, let me be clear: this is a joke. I get it. If you approve of this parenting style, you're definitely doing something wrong.
Why mothers should never be in adventures
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Full text of "Cat Whisker's"
Full text of "The Dolorous Draper"
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Bonus Prose: "The Dolorous Draper" >
From Gory Dragons Galore: A Treasury of Educative and Cautionary Tales for Unformed Youngsters and Others Yet Morally Deficient
Once upon a time a dragon lived in the mountains of Sottocenere. He lived with his mother, in a cave overlooking a tiny valley where people tended their cows and made their cheese and had sense enough to keep away from dragons.
All day long the dragon would lie on a boulder outside his cave, watching the villagers far below (he was a young dragon, and so had excellent eyesight), and when night fell, he would watch them still. Sometimes when the evenings were warm and the villagers felt safe, they left their shutters open, and the dragon could observe them eating dinner. He particularly liked to watch the burgomaster. How glorious that dinner looked! The table set with china plates and candles, the plates spread upon a pristine white tablecloth.
Oh, the dragon yearned for a tablecloth. The candles were lovely, and the china, yes, but most of all he wanted that snowy cloth. The food looked far more delicious - so much better than the cattle and stringy mountain sheep he and his mother ate off the floor of their cave, surrounded by bones and the few scraps of treasure they'd salvaged or stolen from other, wealthier dragons.
His mother, when he worked up the courage to voice this dream, scoffed at him. "A dragon doesn't need tablecloths!"she sneered. "A cloth doesn't change the taste at all. Besides, cloth isn't treasure. It isn't valuable—not like gold."
"Not even silk?" he asked tentatively. "Not even damask?"
"Nothing like gold," she sniffed. And that was the end of that.
So the drag
on returned to his boulder, still dreaming of banquets spread on damask. And there he might have remained, full of unfilled longing, were it not for the arrival in the village of a cloth merchant, or as they used to call them, a draper.
The man appeared pushing a heavy cart laden with the most beautiful fabrics: silks and woolens, fine linens and sheer voiles, cotton grown in far-off lands and damasks woven in intricate detail, some colored with borders offruit or ornaments, and others milky white.
Intently the dragon witnessed the man's approach, and at once the beast flew down to the village entrance, transforming himself into a fat matron with a purse of coins. "Have you a tablecloth?"he asked the draper, affecting disinterest and hoping the man could not hear the pounding of his black dragon heart.
"But of course,"the man answered, displaying several so lovely that the dragon nearly swooned.Yet he was still a dragon through and through, and so haggled for some time over a price for the loveliest one (so the dragon felt, anyway) and with feigned reluctance handed the man his dragon gold before hurrying off with his treasure.
Woe for the draper, for he was not from Sottocenere and had no experience with the dangers of dragons, nor knowledge that dragon gold is cursed. Instead, he promptly visited the local brewer and purchased an enormous bucket of beer. (The brewer wasn't so bright either, accepting that dragon gold, but there's never been much to say for Sottocenere brewers.) The draper then settled himself beneath a shady tree and drank so much of the beer that he fell into a deep, deep slumber.