Hello and welcome to Fairy Tale Friday. Are you
sitting comfortably? Good. Then I’ll begin.
This week we are looking a version entitled The True
History of Little Golden Hood by French writer Charles
Marelles. It is said he was dismayed at the unhappy ending of his countryman
Charles Perrault’s tale and so he wrote a version of his own in 1888. It was
published in 1890 by Andrew Lang in his Red
Fairy Book.
I really like this tale as it is less about being a
victim and more about being empowered, which is pretty impressive for 1888. Admittedly,
Little Golden Hood is a bit dozy and feckless at the start but is saved by her
wise Granny who has cleverly thought to put a magic spell on the child’s hood.
Then when confronted with the wolf, doesn’t get eaten, but captures him a sack
like “a letter in the post” and throws him down the well with the intention of turning his pelt into a muff and feeding his bones to the dogs. Little Golden Hood is hysterical
at this point and calling out for her mother, but Granny gives her a bit of
cake and wine to help her calm down. It ends with her learning her lesson (as
in the Grimm’s tale) but one rather thinks the lesson is less to always be obedient,
but rather to grow up to be wise badass like her Granny.
The True Story of Little
Golden Hood
YOU know
the tale of poor Little Red Riding-hood, that the Wolf deceived and devoured,
with her cake, her little butter can, and her Grandmother; well, the true story
happened quite differently, as we know now. And first of all, the little girl
was called and is still called Little Golden-hood; secondly, it was not she,
nor the good grand-dame, but the wicked Wolf who was, in the end, caught and
devoured.
Only
listen.
The
story begins something like the tale.
There
was once a little peasant girl, pretty and nice as a star in its season. Her
real name was Blanchette, but she was more often called Little Golden-hood, on
account of a wonderful little cloak with a hood, gold-and fire-coloured, which
she always had on. This little hood was given her by her Grandmother, who was
so old that she did not know her age; it ought to bring her good luck, for it
was made of a ray of sunshine, she said. And as the good old woman was
considered something of a witch, everyone thought the little hood rather
bewitched too.
And
so it was, as you will see.
One
day the mother said to the child: 'Let us see, my little Golden-hood, if you
know now how to find your way by yourself. You shall take this good piece of
cake to your Grandmother for a Sunday treat to-morrow. You will ask her how she
is, and come back at once, without stopping to chatter on the way with people
you don't know. Do you quite understand?'
'I
quite understand,' replied Blanchette gaily. And off she went with the cake,
quite proud of her errand.
But
the Grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big wood to cross
before getting there. At a turn of the road under the trees, suddenly 'Who goes
there?'
'Friend
Wolf.'
He
had seen the child start alone, and the villain was waiting to devour her; when
at the same moment he perceived some wood- cutters who might observe him, and
he changed his mind. Instead of falling upon Blanchette he came frisking up to
her like a good dog.
'
'Tis you! my nice Little Golden-hood,' said he. So, the little girl stops to
talk with the Wolf, who, for all that, she did not know in the least.
'You
know me, then!' said she; 'what is your name?'
'My
name is friend Wolf. And where are you going thus, my pretty one, with your
little basket on your arm?'
'I
am going to my Grandmother, to take her a good piece of cake for her Sunday
treat to-morrow.'
'And
where does she live, your Grandmother?'
'She
lives at the other side of the wood, in the first house in the village, near
the windmill, you know.'
'Ah!
yes! I know now,' said the Wolf. 'Well, that's just where I'm going; I shall
get there before you, no doubt, with your little bits of legs, and I'll tell
her you're coming to see her; then she'll wait for you.'
Thereupon
the Wolf cuts across the wood, and in five minutes arrives at the Grandmother's
house.
He
knocks at the door: toc, toc.
No
answer.
He
knocks louder.
Nobody.
Then
he stands up on end, puts his two fore-paws on the latch and the door opens.
Not
a soul in the house.
The
old woman had risen early to sell herbs in the town, and she had gone off in
such haste
that she had left her bed unmade, with her great night-cap on the
pillow.
'Good!'
said the Wolf to himself, 'I know what I'll do.'
He
shuts the door, pulls on the Grandmother's night-cap down to his eyes, then he
lies down all his length in the bed and draws the curtains.
In
the meantime, the good Blanchette went quietly on her way, as little girls do,
amusing herself here and there by picking Easter daisies, watching the little
birds making their nests, and running after the butterflies which fluttered in
the sunshine.
At
last she arrives at the door.
Knock,
knock.
'Who
is there?' says the Wolf, softening his rough voice as best he can.
'It's
me, Granny, your little Golden-hood. I'm bringing you a big piece of cake for
your Sunday treat to-morrow.'
'Press
your finger on the latch, then push and the door opens.'
'Why,
you've got a cold, Granny,' said she, coming in.
'Ahem!
a little, a little . . .' replies the Wolf, pretending to cough. 'Shut the door
well, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, and then take off your
frock and come and lie down by me: you shall rest a little.'
The
good child undresses but observe this! She kept her little hood upon her head.
When she saw what a figure her Granny cut in bed, the poor little thing was
much surprised.
'Oh!'
cries she, 'how like you are to friend Wolf, Grandmother!'
'That's
on account of my night-cap, child,' replies the Wolf.
'Oh!
what hairy arms you've got, Grandmother!'
'All
the better to hug you, my child.'
'Oh!
what a big tongue you've got, Grandmother!'
'All
the better for answering, child.'
'Oh!
what a mouthful of great white teeth you have, Grandmother!'
'That's
for crunching little children with! 'And the Wolf opened his jaws wide to
swallow Blanchette.
But
she put down her head crying:
'Mamma!
Mamma!' and the Wolf only caught her little hood.
Thereupon,
oh dear! oh dear! he draws back, crying and shaking his jaw as if he had
swallowed red-hot coals.
It
was the little fire-coloured hood that had burnt his tongue right down his
throat.
The
little hood, you see, was one of those magic caps that they used to have in
former times, in the stories, for making oneself invisible or invulnerable.
So
there was the Wolf with his throat burnt, jumping off the bed and trying to
find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the country were at
his heels.
Just
at this moment the Grandmother arrives, returning from the town with her long
sack empty on her shoulder.
'Ah,
brigand!' she cries, 'wait a bit!' Quickly she opens her sack wide across the
door, and the maddened Wolf springs in head downwards.
It
is he now that is caught, swallowed like a letter in the post.
For
the brave old dame shuts her sack, so; and she runs and empties it in the well,
where the vagabond, still howling, tumbles in and is drowned.
'Ah,
scoundrel! you thought you would crunch my little grandchild! Well, to-morrow
we will make her a muff of your skin, and you yourself shall be crunched, for
we will give your carcass to the dogs.'
Thereupon
the Grandmother hastened to dress poor Blanchette, who was still trembling with
fear in the bed.
'Well,'
she said to her, 'without my little hood where would you be now, darling?' And,
to restore heart and legs to the child, she made her eat a good piece of her
cake, and drink a good draught of wine, after which she took her by the hand
and led her back to the house.
And
then, who was it who scolded her when she knew all that had happened?
It
was the mother.
But
Blanchette promised over and over again that she would never more stop to
listen to a Wolf, so that at last the mother forgave her.
And
Blanchette, the Little Golden-hood, kept her word. And in fine weather she may
still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood, the colour of the sun.
But
to see her you must rise early
Stay tuned next week for a version by Walter de la Mare
which emphasises the greed and shallowness and vanity of the young woman in the
red hood, but does it with a twinkle in his eye.
