The Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault
persuaded him to come there one day for a walk, showed him the
citizens taking the air and playing with their children; got the
gardeners to testify that these privileges were never abused, and
carried his point by declaring, finally, that "the King's pleasaunce
was so spacious that there was room for all his children to walk
there."_
_Sainte-Beuve, seventy years ago, pleaded that this service to the
children of Paris should be commemorated by a statue of Perrault in
the centre of the Tuileries. The statue has never been erected; and,
to the present day, Paris, so plentifully provided with statues and
pictures of the great men of France, has neither the one nor the other
to show that she appreciates the genius of Perrault. Indeed, there is
no statue of him in existence; and the only painting of him with which
I am acquainted is a doubtful one hung far away in an obscure corner
of the palace of Versailles._
_The close of Perrault's official career marked the beginning of his
period of greatest literary activity. In 1686 he published his long
narrative poem "Saint Paulin Evesque de Nole" with "a Christian Epistle
upon Penitence" and "an Ode to the Newly-converted," which he dedicated
to Bossuet. Between the years 1688 and 1696 appeared the "Parallèle des
Anciens et des Modernes" to which I have already referred. In 1693 he
brought out his "Cabinet des Beaux Arts," beautifully illustrated by
engravings, and containing a poem on painting which even Boileau
condescended to admire. In 1694 he published his "Apologie des Femmes."
He wrote two comedies--"L'Oublieux" in 1691, and "Les Fontanges." These
were not printed till 1868. They added nothing to his reputation.
Between 1691 and 1697 were composed the immortal "Histoires ou Contes du
Temps Passé" and the "Contes en Vers." Toward the end of his life he
busied himself with the "Éloges des Hommes Illustres du Siècle de Louis
XIV." The first of these two stately volumes came out in 1696 and the
second in 1700. They were illustrated by a hundred and two excellent
engravings, including one, by Edelinck, of Perrault himself and another
of his brother Claude. These biographies are written with kindly
justice, and form a valuable contribution to the history of the reign of
the Roi Soleil. I have not exhausted the list of Perrault's writings,
but, to speak frankly, the rest are not worth mentioning._
_He died, aged seventy-five, in 1703, deservedly admired and regretted
by all who knew him. This was not strange. For he was clever, honest,
courteous, and witty. He did his duty to his family, his employer, his
friends, and to the public at large. In an age of great men, but also
of great prejudices, he fought his own way to fame and fortune. He
served all the arts, and practised most of them. Painters, writers,
sculptors, musicians, and men of science all gladly made him free of
their company. As a good Civil Servant he was no politician, and he
showed no leaning whatever toward what was regarded in his time as the
greatest of all professions--that of arms. These two deficiencies, if
deficiencies they be, only endear him the more to us. Every one likes
a man who deserves to enjoy life and does, in fact, enjoy it. Perrault
was such a man. He was more. He was the cause of enjoyment to
countless of his fellows, and his stories still promise enjoyment to
countless others to come._
_It is amazing to remember that Perrault was rather ashamed of his
"Histoires ou Contes du Temps Passé"--perhaps better known as "Les
Contes de ma Mère l'Oye," or "Mother Goose's Tales," from the rough
print which was inserted as a frontispiece to the first collected
edition in 1697. He would not even publish them in his own name. They
were declared to be by P. Darmancour, Perrault's young son. In order
that the secret might be well kept, Perrault abandoned his usual
publisher, Coignard, and went to Barbin. The stories had previously
appeared from time to time, anonymously, in Moetjens' little magazine
the "Recueil," which was published from The Hague. "La Belle au Bois
Dormant" ("Sleeping Beauty") was the first: and in rapid succession
followed "Le Petit Chaperon Rouge" ("Red Riding-Hood"), "Le Maistre
Chat, ou le Chat Botté" ("Puss in Boots"), "Les Fées" ("The Fairy"),
"Cendrillon, ou la Petite Pantoufle de Verre" ("Cinderella"), "Riquet
à la Houppe" ("Riquet of the Tuft"), and "Le Petit Poucet" ("Tom
Thumb")._
_Perrault was not so shy in admitting the authorship of his three
verse stories--"Griselidis," "Les Souhaits Ridicules," and "Peau
d'Asne." The first appeared, anonymously it is true, in 1691; but,
when it came to be reprinted with "Les Souhaits Ridicules" and "Peau
d'Asne" in 1695, they were entrusted to the firm of Coignard and
described as being by "Mr Perrault, de l'Academie Françoise." La
Fontaine had made a fashion of this sort of exercise._
_It would not be fair to assume that P. Darmancour had no connection
whatever with the composition of the stories which bore his name. The
best of Perrault's critics, Paul de St Victor and Andrew Lang among
others, see in the book a marvellous collaboration of crabbed age and
youth. The boy, probably, gathered the stories from his nurse and
brought them to his father, who touched them up, and toned them down,
and wrote them out. Paul Lacroix, in his fine edition of 1886, goes as
far as to attribute the entire authorship of the prose tales to
Perrault's son. He deferred, however, to universal usage when he
entitled his volume "Les Contes en prose de Charles Perrault."_
_"Les Contes du Temps Passé" had an immediate success. Imitators
sprung up at once by the dozen, and still persist; but none of them
has ever rivalled, much less surpassed, the inimitable originals.
Every few years a new and sumptuous edition appears in France. The
best are probably those by Paul Lacroix and André le Fèvre._
_The stories soon crossed the Channel; and a translation "by Mr
Samber, printed for J. Pote" was advertised in the "Monthly Chronicle"
of 1729. "Mr Samber" was presumably one Robert Samber of New Inn, who
translated other tales from the French, for Edmond Curl the
bookseller, about this time. No copy of the first edition of his
Perrault is known to exist. Yet it won a wide popularity, as is shown
by the fact that there was a seventh edition published in 1795, for J.
Rivington, a bookseller, of Pearl Street, New York._
_No English translation of Perrault's fairy tales has attained
unquestioned literary pre-eminence. So the publishers of the present
book have thought it best to use Samber's translation, which has a
special interest of its own in being almost contemporary with the
original. The text has been thoroughly revised and corrected by Mr J.
E. Mansion, who has purged it of many errors without detracting from
its old-fashioned quality. To Mr Mansion also is due the credit for
the translation of the "Les Souhaits Ridicules" and for the adaptation
of "Peau d'Asne." "Griselidis" is excluded from this book for two good
reasons; firstly, because it is an admitted borrowing by Perrault from
Boccaccio; secondly, because it is not a 'fairy' tale in the true
sense of the word._
_It is, perhaps, unnecessary for me to add anything about Mr Clarke's
illustrations. Many of the readers of this book will be already
familiar with his work. Besides, I always feel that it is an
impertinence to describe pictures in their presence. Mr Clarke's speak
for themselves. They speak for Perrault too. It is seldom, indeed,
that an illustrator enters so thoroughly into the spirit of his text.
The grace, delicacy, urbanity, tenderness, and humour which went to
the making of Perrault's stories must, it seems, have also gone in
somewhat similar proportions to the making of these delightful
drawings. I am sure that they would have given pleasure to Perrault
himself._
_THOMAS BODKIN_
_Little Red Riding-Hood_
Little Red Riding-Hood
Once upon a time, there lived in a certain village, a little country
girl, the prettiest creature was ever seen. Her mother was excessively
fond of her; and her grand-mother doated on her much more. This good
woman got made for her a little red riding-hood; which became the girl
so extremely well, that every body called her Little Red Riding-Hood.
One day, her mother, having made some girdle-cakes, said to her:
"Go, my dear, and see how thy grand-mamma does, for I hear she has
been very ill, carry her a girdle-cake, and this little pot of
butter."
Little Red Riding-Hood set out immediately to go to her grand-mother,
who lived in another village. As she was going thro' the wood, she met
with Gaffer Wolf, who had a very great mind to eat her up, but he
durst not, because of some faggot-makers hard by in the forest.
He asked her whither she was going. The poor child, who did not know
that it was dangerous to stay and hear a Wolf talk, said to him:
"I am going to see my grand-mamma, and carry her a girdle-cake, and a
little pot of butter, from my mamma."
"Does she live far off?" said the Wolf.
"Oh! ay," answered Little Red Riding-Hood, "it is beyond that mill
you see there, at the first house in the village."
"Well," said the Wolf, "and I'll go and see her too: I'll go this way,
and you go that, and we shall see who will be there soonest."
The Wolf began to run as fast as he could, taking the nearest way; and
the little girl went by that farthest about, diverting herself in
gathering nuts, running after butterflies, and making nosegays of such
little flowers as she met with. The Wolf was not long before he got to
the old woman's house: he knocked at the door, _tap, tap_.
"Who's there?"
"Your grand-child, Little Red Riding-Hood," replied the Wolf,
counterfeiting her voice, "who has brought you a girdle-cake, and a
little pot of butter, sent you by mamma."
The good grand-mother, who was in bed, because she found herself
somewhat ill, cry'd out:
"Pull the peg, and the bolt will fall."
The Wolf pull'd the peg, and the door opened, and then presently he
fell upon the good woman, and ate her up in a moment; for it was above
three days that he had not touched a bit. He then shut the door, and
went into the grand-mother's bed, expecting Little Red Riding-Hood,
who came some time afterwards, and knock'd at the door, _tap, tap_.
"Who's there?"
Little Red Riding-Hood, hearing the big voice of the Wolf, was at
first afraid; but believing her grand-mother had got a cold, and was
hoarse, answered:
"'Tis your grand-child, Little Red Riding-Hood, who has brought you a
girdle-cake, and a little pot of butter, mamma sends you."
The Wolf cried out to her, softening his voice as much as he could,
"Pull the peg, and the bolt will fall."
Little Red Riding-Hood pulled the peg, and the door opened. The Wolf
seeing her come in, said to her, hiding himself under the bedclothes:
"Put the cake, and the little pot of butter upon the bread-bin, and
come and lye down with me."
Little Red Riding-Hood undressed herself, and went into bed; where,
being greatly amazed to see how her grand-mother looked in her
night-cloaths, she said to her:
"Grand-mamma, what great arms you have got!"
"That is the better to hug thee, my dear."
"Grand-mamma, what great legs you have got!"
"That is to run the better, my child."
"Grand-mamma, what great ears you have got!"
"That is to hear the better, my child."
"Grand-mamma, what great eyes you have got!"
"It is to see the better, my child."
"Grand-mamma, what great teeth you have got!"
"That is to eat thee up."
And, saying these words, this wicked Wolf fell upon poor Little Red
Riding-Hood, and ate her all up.
_The Moral_