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‘But if
you should ask the
Cyprian city of
Amathus, rich in mines, whether it would have wished to have produced
those girls, the
Propoetides, it would repudiate them, and equally those men, whose
foreheads were once marred by two horns, from which they took their name,
Cerastae. An altar, to Jove the Hospitable, used to stand in front of
the gates: if any stranger, ignorant of their wickedness, had seen it,
stained with blood, they would have thought that calves or sheep, from
Amathus, were sacrificed there: it was their guests they killed! Kindly
Venus was preparing to abandon her cities, and the
Cyprian fields, outraged by their abominable rites, but ‘How,’ she said,
‘have my cities, or this dear place, sinned? What is their crime? Instead,
let this impious race pay the penalty of death or exile, or some punishment
between execution and banishment, and what might that be but the penalty of
being transformed?’ While she is deciding how to alter them, she turns her
eyes towards their horns, and this suggests that she might leave them those,
and she changed them into wild bullocks.
Nevertheless, the immoral Propoetides dared to deny that Venus was the
goddess. For this, because of her divine anger, they are said to have been
the first to prostitute their bodies and their reputations in public, and,
losing all sense of shame, they lost the power to blush, as the blood
hardened in their cheeks, and only a small change turned them into hard
flints.’
‘Pygmalion
had seen them, spending their lives in wickedness, and, offended by the
failings that nature gave the female heart, he lived as a bachelor, without
a wife or partner for his bed. But, with wonderful skill, he carved a
figure, brilliantly, out of snow-white ivory, no mortal woman, and fell in
love with his own creation. The features are those of a real girl, who, you
might think, lived, and wished to move, if modesty did not forbid it.
Indeed, art hides his art. He marvels: and passion, for this bodily image,
consumes his heart. Often, he runs his hands over the work, tempted as to
whether it is flesh or ivory, not admitting it to be ivory. he kisses it and
thinks his kisses are returned; and speaks to it; and holds it, and imagines
that his fingers press into the limbs, and is afraid lest bruises appear
from the pressure. Now he addresses it with compliments, now brings it gifts
that please girls, shells and polished pebbles, little birds, and many-coloured
flowers, lilies and tinted beads, and the
Heliades’s amber tears, that drip from the trees. He dresses the body,
also, in clothing; places rings on the fingers; places a long necklace round
its neck; pearls hang from the ears, and cinctures round the breasts. All
are fitting: but it appears no less lovely, naked. He arranges the statue on
a bed on which cloths dyed with
Tyrian murex are spread, and calls it his bedfellow, and rests its neck
against soft down, as if it could feel.
The day
of
Venus’s festival came, celebrated throughout
Cyprus, and heifers, their curved horns gilded, fell, to the blow on
their snowy neck. The incense was smoking, when Pygmalion, having made his
offering, stood by the altar, and said, shyly: “If you can grant all things,
you gods, I wish as a bride to have...” and not daring to say “the girl of
ivory” he said “one like my ivory girl.” Golden Venus, for she herself was
present at the festival, knew what the prayer meant, and as a sign of the
gods’ fondness for him, the flame flared three times, and shook its crown in
the air. When he returned, he sought out the image of his girl, and leaning
over the couch, kissed her. She felt warm: he pressed his lips to her again,
and also touched her breast with his hand. The ivory yielded to his touch,
and lost its hardness, altering under his fingers, as the bees’ wax of
Hymettus softens in the sun, and is moulded, under the thumb, into many
forms, made usable by use. The lover is stupefied, and joyful, but
uncertain, and afraid he is wrong, reaffirms the fulfilment of his wishes,
with his hand, again, and again.
It was flesh! The pulse throbbed under his thumb. Then
the hero, of
Paphos, was indeed overfull of words with which to thank Venus, and
still pressed his mouth against a mouth that was not merely a likeness. The
girl felt the kisses he gave, blushed, and, raising her bashful eyes to the
light, saw both her lover and the sky. The goddess attended the marriage
that she had brought about, and when the moon’s horns had nine times met at
the full, the woman bore a son,
Paphos, from whom the island takes its name.’
The wife of a rich man fell sick, and as she felt that
her end was drawing near, she called her only daughter to her bedside and
said, "Dear child, be good and pious, and then the good God will always
protect you, and I will look down on you from heaven and be near you."
Thereupon she closed her eyes and departed. Every day the maiden
went out to her mother's grave, and wept, and she remained pious and good.
When winter came the snow spread a white sheet over the grave, and by the
time the spring sun had drawn it off again, the man had taken another
wife.
The woman had brought with her into the house two daughters, who
were beautiful and fair of face, but vile and black of heart. Now began a
bad time for the poor step-child. "Is the stupid goose to sit in the
parlor with us," they said. "He who wants to eat bread must earn it. Out
with the kitchen-wench." They took her pretty clothes away from her, put
an old grey bedgown on her, and gave her wooden shoes.
"Just look at the proud princess, how decked out she is," they
cried, and laughed, and led her into the kitchen. There she had to do hard
work from morning till night, get up before daybreak, carry water, light
fires, cook and wash. Besides this, the sisters did her every imaginable
injury - they mocked her and emptied her peas and lentils into the ashes,
so that she was forced to sit and pick them out again. In the evening when
she had worked till she was weary she had no bed to go to, but had to
sleep by the hearth in the cinders. And as on that account she always
looked dusty and dirty, they called her Cinderella.
It happened that the father was once going to the fair, and he
asked his two step-daughters what he should bring back for them.
"Beautiful dresses," said one, "Pearls and jewels," said the second.
"And you, Cinderella," said he, "what will you have?"
"Father break off for me the first branch which knocks against your hat on
your way home."
So he bought beautiful dresses, pearls and jewels for his two
step-daughters, and on his way home, as he was riding through a green
thicket, a hazel twig brushed against him and knocked off his hat. Then he
broke off the branch and took it with him. When he reached home he gave
his step-daughters the things which they had wished for, and to Cinderella
he gave the branch from the hazel-bush. Cinderella thanked him, went to
her mother's grave and planted the branch on it, and wept so much that the
tears fell down on it and watered it. And it grew and became a handsome
tree. Thrice a day Cinderella went and sat beneath it, and wept and
prayed, and a little white bird always came on the tree, and if Cinderella
expressed a wish, the bird threw down to her what she had wished for.
It happened, however, that the king gave orders for a festival
which was to last three days, and to which all the beautiful young girls
in the country were invited, in order that his son might choose himself a
bride. When the two step-sisters heard that they too were to appear among
the number, they were delighted, called Cinderella and said, "comb our
hair for us, brush our shoes and fasten our buckles, for we are going to
the wedding at the king's palace."
Cinderella obeyed, but wept, because she too would have liked to
go with them to the dance, and begged her step-mother to allow her to do
so.
"You go, Cinderella," said she, "covered in dust and dirt as you are, and
would go to the festival. You have no clothes and shoes, and yet would
dance." As, however, Cinderella went on asking, the step-mother said at
last, "I have emptied a dish of lentils into the ashes for you, if you
have picked them out again in two hours, you shall go with us."
The maiden went through the back-door into the garden, and
called, "You tame pigeons, you turtle-doves, and all you birds beneath the
sky, come and help me to pick
the good into the pot,
the bad into the crop."
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen window, and afterwards
the turtle-doves, and at last all the birds beneath the sky, came whirring
and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the pigeons nodded
with their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the rest began also
pick, pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good grains into the dish.
Hardly had one hour passed before they had finished, and all flew out
again.
Then the girl took the dish to her step-mother, and was glad,
and believed that now she would be allowed to go with them to the
festival.
But the step-mother said, "No, Cinderella, you have no clothes and you can
not dance. You would only be laughed at." And as Cinderella wept at this,
the step-mother said, if you can pick two dishes of lentils out of the
ashes for me in one hour, you shall go with us. And she thought to
herself, that she most certainly cannot do again.
When the step-mother had emptied the two dishes of lentils
amongst the ashes, the maiden went through the back-door into the garden
and cried, "You tame pigeons, you turtle-doves, and all you birds beneath
the sky, come and help me to pick
the good into the pot,
the bad into the crop."
Then two white pigeons came in by the kitchen-window, and afterwards
the turtle-doves, and at length all the birds beneath the sky, came
whirring and crowding in, and alighted amongst the ashes. And the doves
nodded with their heads and began pick, pick, pick, pick, and the others
began also pick, pick, pick, pick, and gathered all the good seeds into
the dishes, and before half an hour was over they had already finished,
and all flew out again. Then the maiden was delighted, and believed that
she might now go with them to the wedding.
But the step-mother said, "All this will not help. You cannot
go with us, for you have no clothes and can not dance. We should be
ashamed of you." On this she turned her back on Cinderella, and hurried
away with her two proud daughters.
As no one was now at home, Cinderella went to her mother's
grave beneath the hazel-tree, and cried,
"Shiver and quiver, little tree,
Silver and gold throw down over me."
Then the bird threw a gold and silver dress down to her, and slippers
embroidered with silk and silver. She put on the dress with all speed, and
went to the wedding. Her step-sisters and the step-mother however did not
know her, and thought she must be a foreign princess, for she looked so
beautiful in the golden dress. They never once thought of Cinderella, and
believed that she was sitting at home in the dirt, picking lentils out of
the ashes. The prince approached her, took her by the hand and danced with
her. He would dance with no other maiden, and never let loose of her hand,
and if any one else came to invite her, he said, "This is my partner."
She danced till it was evening, and then she wanted to go home.
But the king's son said, "I will go with you and bear you company," for he
wished to see to whom the beautiful maiden belonged. She escaped from him,
however, and sprang into the pigeon-house. The king's son waited until her
father came, and then he told him that the unknown maiden had leapt into
the pigeon-house. The old man thought, "Can it be Cinderella." And they
had to bring him an axe and a pickaxe that he might hew the pigeon-house
to pieces, but no one was inside it. And when they got home Cinderella lay
in her dirty clothes among the ashes, and a dim little oil-lamp was
burning on the mantle-piece, for Cinderella had jumped quickly down from
the back of the pigeon-house and had run to the little hazel-tree, and
there she had taken off her beautiful clothes and laid them on the grave,
and the bird had taken them away again, and then she had seated herself in
the kitchen amongst the ashes in her grey gown.
Next day when the festival began afresh, and her parents and
the step-sisters had gone once more, Cinderella went to the hazel-tree and
said,
"Shiver and quiver, my little tree,
Silver and gold throw down over me."
Then the bird threw down a much more beautiful dress than on the
preceding day. And when Cinderella appeared at the wedding in this dress,
every one was astonished at her beauty. The king's son had waited until
she came, and instantly took her by the hand and danced with no one but
her. When others came and invited her, he said, "This is my partner." When
evening came she wished to leave, and the king's son followed her and
wanted to see into which house she went. But she sprang away from him, and
into the garden behind the house. Therein stood a beautiful tall tree on
which hung the most magnificent pears. She clambered so nimbly between the
branches like a squirrel that the king's son did not know where she was
gone. He waited until her father came, and said to him, "The unknown
maiden has escaped from me, and I believe she has climbed up the
pear-tree." The father thought, "Can it be Cinderella." And had an axe
brought and cut the tree down, but no one was on it. And when they got
into the kitchen, Cinderella lay there among the ashes, as usual, for she
had jumped down on the other side of the tree, had taken the beautiful
dress to the bird on the little hazel-tree, and put on her grey gown.
On the third day, when the parents and sisters had gone away,
Cinderella went once more to her mother's grave and said to the little
tree,
"Shiver and quiver, my little tree,
silver and gold throw down over me."
And now the bird threw down to her a dress which was more splendid and
magnificent than any she had yet had, and the slippers were golden. And
when she went to the festival in the dress, no one knew how to speak for
astonishment. The king's son danced with her only, and if any one invited
her to dance, he said this is my partner.
When evening came, Cinderella wished to leave, and the king's
son was anxious to go with her, but she escaped from him so quickly that
he could not follow her. The king's son, however, had employed a ruse, and
had caused the whole staircase to be smeared with pitch, and there, when
she ran down, had the maiden's left slipper remained stuck. The king's son
picked it up, and it was small and dainty, and all golden.
Next morning, he went with it to the father, and said to him,
no one shall be my wife but she whose foot this golden slipper fits. Then
were the two sisters glad, for they had pretty feet. The eldest went with
the shoe into her room and wanted to try it on, and her mother stood by.
But she could not get her big toe into it, and the shoe was too small for
her. Then her mother gave her a knife and said, "Cut the toe off, when you
are queen you will have no more need to go on foot." The maiden cut the
toe off, forced the foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out
to the king's son. Then he took her on his his horse as his bride and rode
away with her. They were obliged, however, to pass the grave, and there,
on the hazel-tree, sat the two pigeons and cried,
"Turn and peep, turn and peep,
there's blood within the shoe,
the shoe it is too small for her,
the true bride waits for you.
Then he looked at her foot and saw how the blood was trickling
from it. He turned his horse round and took the false bride home again,
and said she was not the true one, and that the other sister was to put
the shoe on. Then this one went into her chamber and got her toes safely
into the shoe, but her heel was too large. So her mother gave her a knife
and said, "Cut a bit off your heel, when you are queen you will have no
more need to go on foot." The maiden cut a bit off her heel, forced her
foot into the shoe, swallowed the pain, and went out to the king's son. He
took her on his horse as his bride, and rode away with her, but when they
passed by the hazel-tree, the two pigeons sat on it and cried,
"Turn and peep, turn and peep,
there's blood within the shoe,
the shoe it is too small for her,
the true bride waits for you."
He looked down at her foot and saw how the blood was running
out of her shoe, and how it had stained her white stocking quite red. Then
he turned his horse and took the false bride home again. "This also is not
the right one," said he, "have you no other daughter." "No," said the man,
"there is still a little stunted kitchen-wench which my late wife left
behind her, but she cannot possibly be the bride." The king's son said he
was to send her up to him, but the mother answered, oh, no, she is much
too dirty, she cannot show herself. But he absolutely insisted on it, and
Cinderella had to be called.
She first washed her hands and face clean, and then went and
bowed down before the king's son, who gave her the golden shoe. Then she
seated herself on a stool, drew her foot out of the heavy wooden shoe, and
put it into the slipper, which fitted like a glove. And when she rose up
and the king's son looked at her face he recognized the beautiful maiden
who had danced with him and cried, "That is the true bride." The
step-mother and the two sisters were horrified and became pale with rage,
he, however, took Cinderella on his horse and rode away with her. As they
passed by the hazel-tree, the two white doves cried,
"Turn and peep, turn and peep,
no blood is in the shoe,
the shoe is not too small for her,
the true bride rides with you."
And when they had cried that, the two came flying down and
placed themselves on Cinderella's shoulders, one on the right, the other
on the left, and remained sitting there.
When the wedding with the king's son was to be celebrated, the two false
sisters came and wanted to get into favor with Cinderella and share her
good fortune. When the betrothed couple went to church, the elder was at
the right side and the younger at the left, and the pigeons pecked out one
eye from each of them. Afterwards as they came back the elder was at the
left, and the younger at the right, and then the pigeons pecked out the
other eye from each. And thus, for their wickedness and falsehood, they
were punished with blindness all their days.
English translation by Margaret Hunt
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