The following story is excerpted from Julie Jaquith’s fairy tale anthology The Three Suitors: A Dozen and One Dooms, Drolls, and Dreads, and we think it a fine example of the more fantastical and romantic strain of fairy stories.
There’s a little of something for everyone in this rather bawdy and picaresque tale, as well as a much-needed helping of humor, and we hope you’ll enjoy it.
—T. J. Quaine
One fine day, a great golden feather fell out of the sky, and landed in the farm of a young man. The young man was a peasant, and he worked very hard in his farm, but he did not want to be a farmer after all—not really. For farming is a difficult business, and hardly lucrative, and the young man wanted above all things to be rich and important, with a beautiful wife and a big, fine house. So when he beheld the great golden feather fallen from the sky, he bethought him, ‘here at last is a chance to make something proper of myself,’ and he gathered up the golden feather and brought it to town with him to sell.
The great golden feather was truly great and verily was it golden—it was all of fifteen feet long, and though light and delicate as the down of a swan it glistened and sparkled with a rich, golden hue. And the people of the town did marvel at the great golden feather, and they wondered at the young man who brought it into town. And the young man preened and primped beneath their examination, for he had never been so important in all his young life.
Now, there happened to be a rich courtier of the king passing through the town that day, and when he saw the great golden feather he determined that he would have it for a gift to the king. So he approached the youth and offered him a princely sum for the feather on the spot. And the young man, overjoyed at his great fortune, accepted; and though there were many in the town who whispered that the young man had not gotten for it quite half of what he ought to have, yet the young man was very pleased. And with his new money he bought himself rich and sumptuous clothes (though somewhat tasteless, to be sure—for he was, after all, very new to the business of clothes-buying), and a rather ostentatious townhouse, and for a time he was quite content.
Now, it so transpired that one day the young man was walking through the town, when suddenly he heard a great, deep voice booming out of the clouds, and the voice said, “WHERE IS MY FEATHER!”
And the young man trembled with very fear, for he knew that so great and frightful a voice could only belong to the owner of the great golden feather that he had sold to the king’s courtier. And the booming voice again said, “WHERE IS MY FEATHER!”
And the young man said, timidly, to the voice in the clouds, “I beg your p-p-pardon, sir, b-but I haven’t got your feather.” And he dearly hoped that would satisfy the voice, for it seemed very wroth indeed.
And the voice said, “THEN WHO, YOUNG MAN, HAS GOT MY FEATHER?”
And the young man, shaking in his boots, replied, “I s-sold it to a rich man, sir.”
And the voice said, “YOU SOLD MY FEATHER?!”
And the young man replied, “Y-y-yes, sir.”
And the voice said, “THEN I WILL SELL YOU TO THE DEVIL!”
And, suddenly, a great hand reached down out of the clouds, and plucked the young man from where he stood upon the village street, and haled him off into the sky. And the townspeople marveled greatly thereat, for a little while, ere they shrugged their shoulders and resumed the day’s business.
Now, the young man found himself in the heavens, face to face with the most extraordinary being he had ever beheld. It was an enormous, beautiful man, greater than the Earth and the Moon put together, and it possessed three faces, each more beautiful than the last, and seven great arms, with skin like massy bronze, and nine wings, with great golden feathers.
And the young man shook and trembled as each of the three faces inspected him in turn, and then the handsomest face said to him, in a soft voice like the music of the wind above the clouds, “I am an angel, young man, and it is my business to support the heavens.” And the young man noticed that, in sooth, the heavens rested upon the topmost and greatest pair of the angel’s wings.
The angel continued, “I lost my feather weeks ago, and I have been looking for it ever since. I happen to know that it fell in your farm, so I give you one last chance —where is my feather? If you do not give it to me, young man, I will cast you forthwith into Hell!”
And the young man’s insides felt as if they had quite gone to liquid.
“I-I-I d-don’t have y-your feather w-with me, sir…” he stammered.
“THEN TO HELL WITH YOU!” roared the angel, with all three voices at once, and he made as if to cast the young man into the Abyss.
But the young man waved his hands, and cried, and carried on so, that the angel paused, and took pity on him. And the angel said to the young man, “Tell you what I will do, farmer”—this last a little scornfully, which is not at all becoming in so great an angel—“I will give you one week to find me my great golden feather. If you do not bring it me by that time, then I will cast you into Hell.”
And the angel replaced the young man in the center of the town, whereat the great hand retreated back up into the heavens, and the people— after wondering at the spectacle for a few moments—merely shook their heads, and resumed their business.
“Good day to you, sir,” came a soft voice out of the clouds, and then: “AND BRING ME BACK MY FEATHER!”
Now, the young man was much put out by this turn of events. He did not at all know what to do, so he sat on the steps of the town fountain, and wept, and bitterly lamented his fate, for he was certain he could not fetch the great golden feather, and so must he be cast into Hell at the end of the week’s time. For the young man was an inveterate pessimist, a common and lamentable trait among the young.
“The king’s palace is so far away,” he groaned, “it would take me more than a week just to reach it.” And he fell to crying and carrying on in the most piteous way.
It so happened that a sleek, black cat, who was wont to take his leisure near the steps of the fountain on lazy afternoons, overheard the young man’s lamentations, and so the black cat stretched, and rolled over onto his back, and yawned a little, and watched the young man for some minutes. Then the black cat strolled over to the young man—quite unhurriedly it is true, for cats may never be hurried— and rubbed his face against the young man’s feet, and pressed his cheek against the young man’s hands, wherein his face was buried for weeping.
“Do not be sad, young man,” said the black cat, “for I know how you may reach the king’s castle in less than a day.”
At this, the young man looked up, and was a little startled to see that it was a black cat had spoken to him. And the young man sniffled, and blew his nose, and dried his tears, and managed to say:
“Well I don’t know how. After all, you are only a cat.”
And the black cat turned up his nose with pride and indignation, and said, “I am not at all sure what you mean by only.”
But the young man shook his head. “I wish I could believe you, Cat, but I will be cast into Hell at the end of a week’s time. I am sure of it.”
But the cat merely yawned, and said, “Do you wait here, young man.”
And the cat tripped away, to chase some birds and a particularly disagreeable squirrel, the young man thought. And he resumed his crying. But, after some minutes, the cat returned, and in his mouth was a pair of bright blue boots, which he placed at the young man’s feet.
“These are ‘seven-league boots,’ young man,” said the black cat, “and with them you may travel seven leagues at a stride. You shall be able to reach the king’s castle in less than a day.” And the black cat licked his chops with a self-satisfied air, and laid him down at the young man’s feet.
Now the young man was overjoyed to hear this news, for everyone knew of seven-league boots, though almost no one had ever actually seen a pair. So he thanked the black cat, and asked him what he could do in exchange for this wonderful gift.
And the black cat said, “Take me with you, young man, for I stole these boots from a very nasty ogress, and when she learns what I have done, she shall surely eat me up.”
So the young man strapped on the seven-league boots, tucked the black cat under one arm, and set off for the king’s castle. And so wonderful were the seven-league boots that, lo!, with every step the young man took, he traversed a full seven leagues. And before night had fallen, the youth and the black cat were in the capital city of the kingdom, wherein was the king’s castle.
But now the young man had a problem. Though he had a home in the distant town, and some fancy provincial clothes, still he was only a peasant, and even his fancy provincial clothes seemed quaint and slovenly amidst all the fine and fashionable folk in the rich capital of the kingdom. And so the young man did not know how he could win an audience with the king.
“Oh, how will anyone take me seriously, Cat? I am but a poor peasant, after all.”
But the black cat said, “Never mind, young man, I will show you how.” And the black cat told the young man to buy himself the most garish and colorful and outrageous stuffs in the market, which he did (for the young man had a wonderful eye for the tasteless and tacky), and when he brought them back to the black cat, it wove for him an outfit so ridiculous that the young man could not help but think himself the object of a great practical joke.
But the black cat said, “Nay, young man, I tell you truly—the king will only speak to whomever is dressed more outrageously than himself. For the king is a great clotheshorse, you know, and very particular about his person, and he will think you a very great lord indeed. All royals are alike, you know —peacocks in men’s clothing.” The young man thought this was eminently practical counsel, and so he did as he was bidden, and showed himself at the king’s palace.
The guards, thoroughly impressed by so outlandish a getup— which was little more than a monstrous mishmash of pink pantaloons, purple vest, fuchsia bicorne and black feather boa—admitted the young man without challenging him, and he was swiftly conducted into the presence of the king. After bowing with as much grace as his costume could afford him (which wasn’t much), the young man introduced himself to the king, and after trading fashion tips and promising to give him the name of his tailor, the young man begged of the king to see the great golden feather, which he had heard he possessed. For the young man had it in mind that, as soon as the king showed him the feather, he would steal it. That is a shocking and deplorable design in a young man, to be sure, but he was so very desperate to avoid being sent to Hell, that he was compelled to seriously consider this shameful expedient. For the young man was still and all a very honest soul, and he did not want to be thought a thief…but, after all, ’twere infinitely better than to be cast into Hell.
But the king told the young man that the great golden feather was no longer his, for he had given it to his daughter, the fair princess. Now this intelligence was very welcome to the young man, for now he thought that he had found a way to win the feather without stealing it.
Summoning as much dignity as was possible, considering his ludicrous outfit, the young man bowed low, and said, “Your majesty, I would ask you for your fair daughter’s hand in marriage.” And he was very pleased with the prettiness of this speech.
But the king shook his head sadly, and replied, “Nay, good sir, you may not. For I have promised my daughter’s hand to that man only who may cause her to smile, and cease from weeping—for she is a very sad and morose princess, and has been sobbing for so many years that she has created a sea, which we call the Sea of Tears, and it has grown so large that it threatens to swallow my kingdom.”
And he bade the young man gaze out the window, and lo!, it was even as he said. A great salt sea was lapping at the very walls of the city.
The young man was very dejected at this news, because for the life of him (or the soul of him, as the case may be) he could think of no way to make the fair princess smile, and cease from her crying, for all agreed that she had been sad and somber her entire life. So he quit the king’s castle, and wandered a little through the city. And the black cat followed him, and asked him why he was so out of sorts, and the young man told him all.
“Take me up in your arms, young man,” said the black cat, “and do you bring me to the fair princess for a gift.” So the young man, who was grown accustomed to following the black cat’s commands without question, did as he was bidden. And he bore the black cat to the castle, and begged admittance to the sleeping-chambers of the king’s daughter.
And when the young man was admitted to her chambers, he saw that she was very fair indeed, but so very sad that she sat by her window, weeping miserably—and so much that her tears ran down her cheeks like a waterfall, and spilled down the walls of the castle, and flowed out into the Sea of Tears. At the urging of the black cat, the young man offered it to the princess. What wonder, then, that she suddenly turned, and smiled! And after a sniffle, and a snarf, and a lingering blubber, and a last tear or two, the princess dried her red and swollen eyes, and took the cat into her arms.
“Oh, what an adorable black cat!” said she, and she cradled it in her arms as though it were her own child. And so pleased was she with it, that she brought it up to her lips and gave it a great kiss.
And, lo!, you will imagine what was the astonishment of all when the black cat changed suddenly into a young, handsome prince! For one day the prince had angered the ogress, a very foolish thing to do, and she had changed him into a black cat for a punishment. And the princess clapped her hands with delight.
“Oh, I think I shall enjoy being married to you, fair Prince,” she exclaimed.
“But wait!” shouted the young man, quite shocked by this unexpected turn of events. “Your father promised your hand to whomever would make you smile, princess. And it was I brought you the black cat.”
But the princess only clucked her tongue, and smiled at the young man. “Tush, young man,” said she, “my father does not select whom I marry. To Hades with his promises!” And, giving the young man not another thought, she slipped her arms around the Prince’s neck, and quite kissed him as if they were already married—and that is not a very ladylike thing to do at all!
But the Prince took the young man aside, and said, “Fear not, young man, I will beg of the princess a wedding gift— and it shall be the great golden feather.” So the young man thanked the black ca…er, the Prince. But when the Prince asked the fair princess for a wedding gift, she nayed him with great sadness.
“But dear, I gave the great golden feather to a visiting princess,” said she, “from that kingdom yonder.” And she pointed out the window, to a snow-covered mountain that could scarce be descried, far across the bluely-shining Sea of Tears.
“Ah, that is tough luck, young man,” sympathized the Prince. “Alas, I cannot help you any further—so begone with you! The princess and I have important business to attend to in her bedchamber.” And with that, he slammed the door on the young man, who was now quite at a loss what to do.
“However shall I reach that distant kingdom?” lamented he. “It is so very far away that the voyage alone must last longer than a week.” And he was sore distressed at his plight.
Suddenly, a great, handsome eagle swooped down, and alighted upon his shoulder. The young man was surprised…but then, he had grown used to surprises of late—what with giant angels, a sea formed of tears, and a cat transformed into a man—and so thought nothing of it. He was even less surprised when the eagle spoke to him.
“Young man, you have seven-league boots, do not you?”
“Y-yes,” whimpered the young man.
“Well, use them then! They are as useful on water as on land.” Whereat the young man was greatly cheered, for he had thought the seven-league boots useless over the sea.
“Ah, I am quite grateful to you, good eagle. I shall leave straightaway.” And he began to lace on his seven-league boots.
“I am gratified to hear it, young man. I shall accompany you, for I have business in that kingdom also.”
And so together the young man and the great eagle sped away across the sea, the young man taking great, seven league strides across the placid blue waters, and the handsome eagle soaring through the sky with swift and powerful strokes of its mighty wings. And by midday of the following day, they had reached the kingdom across the Sea of Tears.
Arriving at the city, the young man noticed that there was a beautiful young woman chained to a rock at the topmost, snow-covered peak of the great mountain that overloomed the city. So he asked a shopkeeper whoever she might be, and why she was so handled.
“That is the king’s daughter, young man,” said the shopkeeper, “and she is chained to the rock for a placatory sacrifice to the great Serpent, that has been gobbling up all the young maidens in the country.”
But the young man had heard nothing of this last part.
“The princess!” he exclaimed. “That is capital, for she is precisely the young lady I most wish to see.” And the young man bethought himself of the brilliant idea he had conceived when he believed the great golden feather was held by that other princess; and so it came into his head to march right up that mountain and seek the fair princess’s hand in marriage. Then, surely—for what princess would wish for her husband to be cast into Hell?—she would give him the feather.
So the young man laced on his seven-league boots once more (he had removed them in the city, for it did not do to take seven-league strides in such cramped quarters), and he tore up the side of that mountain just as fast as he could, which was very fast indeed. The princess, meanwhile, had watched his approach with the utmost wonder —and when he arrived, and whilst he paused to catch his breath, she observed: “Why, what a most wonderful pair of boots you have, young man.”
“Indeed, fair princess, you are right,” he managed, between gasps, “and what is more, I had them of a black cat who became a prince.”
“No shit?” she exclaimed.
But the young man was not one for idle chitchat, so he came straightway to his point.
“Beautiful princess,” said he, with a bow and a flourish, “I would marry you.” And that was quite his proposal. But he was, after all, an artless swain and a guileless.
“Young man,” she sighed, “I would that you would marry me. But, alas, I may only marry the man who would save me from the great Serpent, who is sure to devour me today.” For the fair princess was very quick-witted, and this last about marrying the man who would save her had just stolen into her mind. It couldn’t hurt to try, she reflected, though she sorely regretted having to deceive him. He just wasn’t her “type,” you know.
But the young man was not at all pleased with this intelligence. He stomped his sullen way down the mountain in his seven-league boots, whining and complaining the while, and sat and sulked beside a clear mountain tarn.
Suddenly, the great, handsome eagle swooped down, and alighted beside him.
“What is the matter, young man,” said the eagle.
“Alas, good eagle, I wanted to marry the princess, so that I might ask her for the great golden feather she has, which I have need of so that I might not be cast into Hell. But she says I must first save her from a great Serpent—and I haven’t the faintest clue how to slay a Serpent.”
“Yes,” said the eagle, “I understand why you are so sad, young man. To be cast into Hell is a hard thing for any man to bear. But do you wait here a moment.” And the eagle flew away, scarcely noticed by the sad young man. He only sat and sulked by the clear water, and idly watched his reflection—as the dejected are sometimes wont to do.
But, after some minutes, the eagle returned, and dropped something into the young man’s lap. Startled, the young man looked at it, and saw that it was a mirror.
“Why have you brought me this looking-glass, eagle,” said he.
“With that looking-glass you shall defeat the great Serpent, young man,” said the eagle, hovering overhead.
“All you must do is show the great Serpent its reflection, and it will off and flee for very fright. For serpents loathe their own reflection.” And with that, the young man was overjoyed, and he ran right back up the mountain to the fair princess.
“I see you have returned, young man,” said the princess. “I had not thought you would.” For the princess was a very cynical young woman.
“Indeed I have returned, fair princess,” said the young man, in a brash tone full of swank and swagger. “Fear not, my lady —for I shall slay your evil Serpent.” And he brandished the mirror, as if it were a great and goodly brand.
“Oh,” said the princess. “Goodbye, young man.”
But he requited this sarcasm not at all (for, in sooth, he did not understand it) and instead abided near the princess, waiting for the great Serpent to appear. And he had not long to wait, for suddenly he beheld an enormous snake swimming through the sky toward the mountain. And it was really quite a beautiful snake, for all its monstrousness—it had scintillant scales of brilliant hues, of purples, blues, indigoes, crimsons, saffrons, emeralds, violets, ceruleans, azures, mauves and more. But the most astonishing thing of all was that in place of a serpent’s loathly head were the face and features of a beautiful young woman—complete with flowing tresses of golden hair, and cheeks of rosy red.
And although the young man wondered greatly thereat, still he retained enough of composure to remember the mirror in his hand, and the eagle’s curious rede. And as the Serpent came near, purposing to gobble up the fair princess, the young man held up the looking-glass so that the monster beheld its own reflection. At that, the Serpent shrieked, and its shriek was like the shriek of a young girl, and tears began to flow out of its eyes, and the great Serpent turned it about, and fled whence it had come.
And the young man was very pleased with himself, though he wondered greatly that the monster had the head and face of a beautiful young lady. But he put it from his mind, and turned to set the fair princess free.
“Ah, many thanks, young man,” said she. “You have quite saved my life. For I am certain I should not have survived being devoured by that monster.” And the young man bowed.
But just at that moment, the great eagle swooped down, and alighted on the princess’s shoulder. “What a magnificent eagle,” she cried, and kissed it on its bill. With that, the eagle hopped off the princess’s shoulder, and became a young, handsome Prince. For the Prince had ogled a goddess whilst she bathed one day, as he was out hunting—though he really wanted not to look, he just couldn’t help it—and the wrathful goddess transformed the pedigreed peeper into an eagle.
“Oh, my,” breathed the fair princess, her eyes alight, “I think I shall enjoy you, fair Prince.” And she slipped her arms about his neck.
“B-b-but what about m-me?” stammered the young man, quite beside himself at his ill fortune to be thus twice stymied by handsome specimens of transmogrified royalty. “You promised you would marry me!”
The fair princess merely laughed. “Who said anything about marriage, young man? I just want to have some fun.” And she nibbled on the Prince’s ear.
But the Prince took the young man aside, and said, “I will ask her for the golden feather as a gift, young man, and you may have it.” And the young man bowed graciously, for although the prospect of marriage to the fair princess was not entirely disagreeable, he was much more concerned about being cast into Hell; but really, though, he oughtn’t to have been—for some say the one is much the same as the other.
But when the Prince asked her about the great golden feather, the fair princess shook her head.
“Nay, Prince, I do not have it. I gave it to the Serpent, hoping it would spare me.” At that, the young man gasped in horror, and straightway sped after the fleeing Serpent, which he could still faintly descry near the horizon.
“Farewell, young man,” shouted the Prince after him.
“Farewell, young man,” shouted the princess after him, though she was already busying herself much more about the Prince. And we may as well observe that the Prince and princess immediately set about…well, perhaps it’s best left unsaid what they did.
The young man sped after the Serpent as swiftly as his seven-league boots could take him—which, alas, was not quite swift enough. He followed it out over the Great Ocean, for miles and miles and leagues and leagues. And as the day lengthened, he passed by many little islands, but he was no closer to the Serpent. He passed by the island where King Solomon lies buried in his great golden crypt, surrounded by the treasures of Ophir and countless copper vessels, wherein are imprisoned the demons that erst walked the earth; he stole past the island where the little black apes live, that come out and assail passing ships; he sped by that island where the wails of demons arise of nights, and strange fires lighteth in mountain vales; he slipped by the island of the Cyclops; and he strode right over the island where is the Garden of Eden—stepping most inadvertently and messily upon one of the fallen fruits of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. But still he was no closer to the Serpent. Night came on, the stars came out, the Moon watched his doings with great curiosity, yet still the Serpent fled until he could see it no more.
By midday of the following day, the young man came upon a small island, where was a great beautiful palace, and he decided to stop there to rest himself, for he had quite lost the track of the Serpent. And though he walked all about the island, the young man could not find a single soul. So he sat him down beside the seashore, and began to weep (ever his recourse)—for he had really hoped he might at least find someone who had seen where the Serpent had gotten to.
But there was no one at all, and he knew that he would be cast down into Hell. And, verily, that is a most depressing knowledge indeed.
Eventually, the young man grew hungry and thirsty, so he wandered into the beautiful palace, hoping to discover some food and drink. As with the rest of the island, there was no one at all in the palace, but just when he was about to collapse from exhaustion and despair, he felt a pair of invisible hands take him by the arms, and convey him to a great dining table. And then he beheld invisible hands serving out a handsome repast, and pouring out drink, and arranging cakes and pastries and numerous other sweetmeats for his delectation.
And the young man was too much astonished to say anything at all, so he ate and drank his fill, wondering all the while what sort of place he had fallen into. At last, night had descended, and the invisible hands went round the hall, extinguishing all the lights. And the young man wondered what next he would do, when suddenly there sounded a pleasant voice like a beautiful young woman’s at his elbow.
“I hope you enjoyed my food and drink, young man,” said the voice.
“Oh, y-y-yes I most certainly h-have, m-ma’am,” sputtered the young man.
The voice, which was really very sweet and charming, laughed, and said, “I am glad you liked them, young man.”
Then the young man remembered his important errand.
“By the way, ma’am, did you happen to see a great Serpent, with a lovely woman’s face, fly by your island?”
There was silence for a space.
“I am sorry, young man, but I have seen no Serpent.”
“Well, that is not your fault, ma’am. And I thank you for your hospitality,” replied the young man, graciously.
“I am pleased to extend it,” said the voice.
“A further query, ma’am,” said the young man.
“Ask of it.”
“Who was it waited on me, ma’am, for I saw no one. And why may I not see you.”
“Ah, that is a long story, young man, and though I would tell you it, still I durstn’t, for I fear it would frighten you. And I do not want to frighten you, young man.”
“Say no more, my lady,” said the young man.
“But I would have you stay with me, young man, for as long as you will—only I must beg one condition.”
“Speak, my lady,” said the young man.
“You must not seek to behold my true form, young man.”
The young man considered this for a space, but the voice was so lovely, and so charming, that he readily assented, for he felt happy somehow in the Palace of the Voice. And so the young man remained for some days upon the island of the Palace of the Voice, and during the day he would fish by the seaside, or wander through the trees or explore the sea-caves, and when he wished to eat he would be waited upon by mysterious, invisible hands. And each night, at supper, the lights would be extinguished, and the Voice would come to him, to eat and converse with him in the dark.
The Voice was so sweet and charming and beautiful, that ere he knew what he was about, the young man had fallen quite utterly in love with it—though he had never once beheld the aspect of its owner. And one night he reached out in the darkness and touched the Voice’s face, and pulled it closer, and kissed it upon the lips. And when the young man whispered that he loved the Voice, he heard the stifled sound of sobs, and knew that the Voice was crying, though he did not understand why. Soon, the Voice quit the hall, and the lights resumed, and the young man was left quite by himself.
Now, the young man could stand it no longer. He did not wish to disobey the Voice, but he so wanted to look upon its face that he was quite beside himself. He had even forgotten all about the great golden feather, and that very soon he must be cast forever into Hell.
So the young man lit a small candle, and stole into the upper apartments of the Palace, where he knew the Voice must sleep of nights. The young man crept into each and every chamber, but without success. At last, however, he came to a great chamber at the end of a long hallway, which he thought was much too big for anything so sweet and dainty as the Voice to sleep in. But he had checked all the other apartments, and so he knew it was the last chamber he must search.
Quietly—oh, so quietly, he stole into the chamber. The flame guttered in the candle, and the young man waved it hither and thither, searching for the beautiful Voice. Suddenly, he saw her! Oh, how very lovely she was! Just the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. She had flowing hair of softest gold, and cheeks of rosy red. And the young man bent to kiss her. But just as he did so, he beheld something that startled him. It was her neck—it was covered in scales with the colors of the rainbow! He shone the light down the length of her body— it wasn’t the body of a girl at all! It was the body of a great serpent!
Despite himself, the young man gasped. The serpent-woman stirred, and woke from her sleep. She looked at the young man with sorrowful eyes, and she sighed as one who is weary from the reverses of life—yet stung by them just the same.
“Ah, young man,” said she, her voice as sweet and beautiful as ever, though all its music was fled afore the sadness that infused it, “I would you had not disobeyed my injunction. Now I must devour you—for I love you, young man, yes, I love you, though I thought that would never be. I have never known love, young man, for I was cursed to be as you see me when I was but a young princess by my wicked stepmother, who was a sorceress, and who was envious of my beauty, and it is impossible to undo the curse she laid upon me (how I loathe stepmothers!). But I knew that I loved you, young man, when first I saw you on the mountaintop, and that is why I fled from you (I still cannot understand what you hoped to accomplish with that silly little mirror). Yes, I must devour you, for you will leave me now, disgusted as you undoubtedly are, and that I cannot abide. For I cannot remain alone here, young man, without you—I would rather gobble you up, and thus have you with me forevermore.” And she burst into tears.
But the young man was not at all frightened of her.
“But I do not wish to leave you, fair maiden,” said he, “though it is true your hindparts are rather unsightly, I must confess that I still love you—for yours is the prettiest face I have ever beheld, and yours is the sweetest and most generous disposition I have ever encountered, and yours is the sharpest and most delightful wit I have ever met [that is not saying much, for the young man was uncommonly dull]. So you see, I cannot leave you, lady.” And he kissed her on the cheek.
Now, the Serpent was deeply moved by this speech, but she was very mistrustful of human beings, and men in particular, and still she doubted him.
“Ah, young man, you jest, you jest,” said she. “I am hideous!”
“Not so, beautiful lady,” he exclaimed, “I speak the truth.”
And to prove his love (for what are mere words but the instruments of deceit?), he promised that he would stay by her side forevermore—for the young man was a very honest lad, and he only ever spoke the truth.
And when the Serpent knew this, she was delighted, and shouted for joy, and nearly squeezed the young man to death when she embraced him in her glittering coils.
“I love you, young man, and I promise herewith to nevermore gobble up beautiful young maidens—unless they make eyes at you, my love, my love,” and she laughed for joy.
And the young man laughed as well, for he was happy that the Serpent was happy, and even happier that he was the instrument of that happiness, but he just then remembered his errand, and so he said, “Yes, my dear, I will remain forever by your side…but alas, I fear that shall not long be.” And he told her all about the great golden feather, and the angel, and its promise to cast him into Hell should he not return its feather at the end of one week’s time.
“Oh, my love,” wept the Serpent, “I have the golden feather you seek.” And the young man remembered that it was truly so, for that was why he had been chasing the Serpent.
“That is wonderful news, darling,” said the young man, who seemed rather unfazed at the intelligence. “But why do you weep so, my dearest sweetheart?”
“I am pleased that you will not be cast into Hell, my love,” she managed, between tears, “but I know that straightway you leave this place, you shall never come back to me. For I must forever remain a Serpent, and no man can ever really love so hideous a monster—I know that now.”
But the young man only smiled, and kissed the Serpent on her lips.
“Then it is settled, my love. Say no more of feathers; say no more of Hell. I shall stay here by your side, until such time as the angel hales me off to Tartarus—but we shall be happy till then, and I will not be the cause of your grief.”
The Serpent, of course, was delighted to hear these words—for it meant that he would remain with her, until week’s end, and that for a time at least, though it be ever so short, she should know such happiness as young women are given to know the world over, and that had too long been denied her. He would be hers, then, to live with her and to love her, and for her to love, until, until…?
But as the time for supper drew near, the Serpent grew very unhappy. She thought his words would comfort her, and banish all her misery…but they had only compounded it, and multiplied it many times over. For she really did not want the young man to be cast down into Hell, she wanted him to live always and to be happy…for she loved the young man, better even than herself. And she realized that—even if he left her never to return for the rest of her life, so that she must live out her days in loneliness and bitter regret—still, it were much better that he live and be happy, than to be thrown down into Hell for the selfishness of her love.
So, that very night, she spoke her heart to the young man.
“My love,” she said, tears starting to her eyes, “do you take the golden feather, and give it unto your angel. I would that you not be cast into Hell, even if it means that I may nevermore look upon your lovéd face, even it means that I must live with the bitter knowledge that you live somewhere else, enjoying the love of some other woman, whilst I remain a monster, friendless and feared. So you must go, my love, and leave me…and I will stay here, and eat out my heart with grief, and I shall nevermore trouble the world.”
And she gave the great golden feather to the young man, and bade him go from out the Palace, and asked that he promise to think well of her, from time to time. And her eyes were swollen with tears, and her cheeks sallow from grief. So the man left the beautiful Serpent, and traveled over land and sea for several days with his seven-league boots. And on the seventh and last day of his seven-day probation, the man came into the town where the great booming voice from the heavens had first called out to him.
And, lo!, the man heard a great, deep voice booming out of the clouds, and the voice said, “WHERE IS MY FEATHER!” And the man stood firm, and gazed proudly up at the sky, and he said defiantly, “Sir, I have your feather here—and do stop being so melodramatic about it.” Whereat, a great hand reached out of the clouds, and plucked the man from the street. And the townsfolk wondered greatly at the spectacle—for a moment or two, ere they lost interest, and resumed the day’s business.
And when the man found himself face to face with the colossal angel, he gave unto it the great golden feather. And the angel was so overjoyed to have its feather back, that it not only swore not to cast the man into Hell, but it even promised to grant the man a single wish—whatever he might ask.
And the man thought for but a moment. And then he said, “I wish for you to make me into a great Serpent, angel, with beautiful scales in all the hues of the rainbow, and retaining my own human head and face—just like the beautiful Serpent-maiden who lives always alone in the Palace of the Voice on the lonely island in the Great Ocean.”
And though the angel thought it an eminently strange wish, it granted it just the same. Some minutes later, a great Serpent, with the handsome head and face of a man, noble of feature and proud of mien, and with scintillant scales of wonderful colors, came down out of the clouds above, and alighted in the center of the town. And the townspeople did marvel greatly at the monster, but they shrugged their shoulders and dismissed it from their minds—for, after all, it wasn’t by any means the strangest thing they had ever seen come out of the sky.
And the Serpent did not linger, but flew as fast as it could to the lonely island in the middle of the Great Ocean, with the Palace of the Voice. And it found the Serpent-maiden almost dead in her upstairs apartment—almost dead through grief and loss and loneliness. And when she saw that it was the young man, and when she saw what he had become through love of her, she fairly died for joy then and there.
So the man kept his promise to the Serpent-maiden, and stayed by her side forevermore in the Palace of the Voice on the lonely island (that was not so lonely anymore) in the middle of the Great Ocean; and although he profited no whit from the things he acquired through the sale of the great golden feather, still withal he came through its agency to the greatest happiness of all.
And they lived happily ever after—that is, until it came into their heads to resume the business of gobbling up beautiful maidens. But that is another story…
[Textual Note and Commentary]
THE GOLDEN FEATHER (Italy)
Source:—Originally translated by Jacques de Vecors, and published in the International Journal of Folkloristics, vol. 13: 1233–50 (1963). Contains many conventional fairy tale tropes in variant, compound form. AT 432, AT 506, AT 545 B, AT 577, AT 727, etc. Motifs: helpful cat (B422), helpful eagle (B455.3.); abandoned castle/castle inhabited by enchanted princess (F771.4.3./7.); quest for marvelous objects or animals (H1320), quest for lost object (H1386), etc.
This rather entertaining peripatetic tale is traditionally attributed to Giovan Francesco Straparola, the “father of fairy tales;” however, such attribution is uncertain at best, and is solely on the basis of the surviving manuscript whence the story is abstracted. This work, hailing from the early 17th Century, purports to be a copy of a 16th Century original, and contains a folio of little-known fairy tales said to have been prepared by Straparola late in life, and left unfinished at his death. Doubt has been raised, however, since some of these tales are undoubtedly the work of contemporaneous and, in some cases, much earlier writers. Unfortunately, it is unlikely any further light can be shed on the question, as the original manuscript, which was housed in a small collection of such rare works in Naples, formed a part of the pelf carried away by the Nazis, and remains missing to this day; it is unknown whether it was destroyed or incorporated illegally into some private library.
However the case, we are indebted to the pre- and post-war efforts of the esteemed Swiss scholar Jacques de Vecors, whose tireless work on the manuscript during the 1930s managed to preserve some of its treasures for posterity. “The Golden Feather” represents one of the more popular and accessible of these surviving tales, and seems to include “something for everyone”—the young man’s quest, the transformed prince, rescued princesses, “seven-league boots,” the invisible lover (à la “Cupid and Psyche” from Apuleius’ Golden Ass), and a rather curious inversion of the “Beauty and the Beast” motif in the episode of the serpent-princess.
I have made a few literary alterations to de Vecors’ rather academic translation, to enhance its readability and render its style more nearly akin to something one might encounter in Straparola’s Le piacevoli notti (regardless of whether he is the true author). I have emphasized some of its bawdier possibilities, at the expense of strict adherence to de Vecors’ rendering, but I feel this is justified on the strength of the great Italian tradition of such stories (e.g., the Decameron, the Pentamerone, etc.), and the rather lewd predilections of our own vulgar age. Also, I have added some of the curious geographical particulars encountered by the young man during his pursuit of the serpent-princess across the Great Ocean, which I have abstracted from the Arabian Nights and the writings of certain Arab geometers (at the risk of mixing folkloric milieux, so to speak).
—Julie Jaquith
[Please join us in the next issue for some further stories of the strange, watery world of Physmia.]