The True History of Little Golden Hood
You know the story of poor Little Red Riding Hood, deceived and eaten by the Wolf, with her cake, her little box of butter, and her grandmother; well, the real story happened quite differently, as we know now. And first of all, she was called and is still called Little Golden-hood; second, it was not the grandmother, nor the grandmother, but the last Wicked Wolf who was captured and eaten.
Just listen.
The story begins something like a story.
Once upon a time, there was a pretty little peasant girl, as pretty as a season star. Her real name is Blanchette, but she is often called Little Golden-hood because she always wears a beautiful little hooded cloak, yellow and fire-coloured. This small hood was given to her by her grandmother, who was so old that she did not know her age; she said it would bring her luck, as it was made from a ray of sunshine. And since the good older woman was considered something like a witch, everyone thought that the little hood was also enchanted.
And so it happened, as you will see.
One day, the mother said to her child: ‘Let’s see, my little Golden Hood if you now know how to find your way. Tomorrow, I will bring this delicious piece of cake to my grandmother for a treat on Sunday. You’ll ask her how she’s doing and then turn right back around without stopping to chat with people you don’t know. Do you understand?”
“I understand completely,” Blanchette replied cheerfully. And she took the cake away, quite proud of her work.
But grandmother lived in another village, and there was a big forest to cross before getting there. Coming to a turn under the canopy of trees, suddenly, ‘Who’s going there?’
‘Wolf Friend.’
He had seen the child starting alone and the evil one waiting to devour her. At the same time, he noticed that some woodcutters might be observing him, and he changed his mind. Instead of lunging at Blanchette, he lunged at her like a good dog.
“It’s you! My beautiful little yellow hood,” he said. So she stopped to talk to the Wolf, about whom she knew nothing at all.
‘Then you know me!’ she said; ‘What’s your name?’
‘My name is Wolf. And where are you going, my pretty girl, with that little basket in your hand?”
‘I’m going to see my grandmother to bring her a delicious cake for her Sunday party tomorrow.’
“And where does she live, your grandmother?”
“She lives on the other side of the forest, in the first house in the village, near the windmill, you know.”
‘Ah! Correct! Now I know,” said Wolf. ‘Well, that’s where I’m going. Surely I will get there before you, with your little feet, and I will tell her you will come to her; then she will wait for you.’
Then the Wolf cut through the forest and, in five minutes, reached his grandmother’s house.
He knocked on the door: toc, toc.
No answer.
He knocked louder.
Nobody.
Then it stood up, placed its front paws on the latch, and the door opened.
There was not a soul in the house.
The older woman got up early to sell herbs in town, and she left in such a hurry that she left her bed unmade, with a large nightcap on her pillow.
‘Good!’ The Wolf said to himself, ‘I know what I will do.’
He closed the door, pulled his grandmother’s nightcap down over his eyes, then lay on the bed and closed the curtains.
Meanwhile, gentle Blanchette quietly went on her way, like little girls, having fun here and there by picking Easter chrysanthemums, watching little birds nesting, and running after birds. Butterflies flutter in the sunlight.
She finally reached the door.
Cup Cup.
“Anyone there?” Wolf said, trying to soften his rough voice as much as possible.
‘It’s me, Grandma, here’s your little Yellow Hood. I will bring you a big piece of cake for your Sunday party tomorrow.”
‘Press your finger on the latch, then push, and the door will open.’
“What’s wrong? You have a cold, Grandma,” she said as she entered.
‘Um! a little, a little…” Wolf replied, pretending to cough. ‘Close the door, my little lamb. Put your basket on the table, then take off your cloak and come and lie beside me: you will rest a little.’
Good child undresses, but watch this! She wore a small hood on her head. When she saw the shape that her grandmother had cut out on the bed, the poor girl was shocked.
‘Oh!’ she cried, ‘you look like Wolf, grandma!’
“It’s for my nightcap, boy,” replied the Wolf.
‘OH! Your arms are so hairy, grandma!”
‘Better hug me, baby.’
‘OH! You have a huge tongue, grandma!”
“The more you answer, the better, my child.”
‘OH! What wonderful white teeth you have, grandmother!’
‘That’s for children to chew! “And the Wolf opened his jaws wide to swallow Blanchette.
But she bowed her head and cried:
‘Mommy! Mamma!’ and the Wolf only caught her little hood.
Then, oh my god! Oh my God! He backed away, crying and shaking his jaw as if he had just swallowed an ember.
It was the little fire-coloured hood that burned his tongue.
You see, the little hood is one of those magical hats that people used to wear in ancient times in stories to make themselves invisible or invulnerable.
Then there was the Wolf whose throat was burning, jumping out of bed trying to find the door, howling and howling as if all the dogs in the country were at his heels.
At this moment, grandmother arrived, returning from town with a long, empty sack on her shoulder.
‘Ah, robber!’ she cried, ‘wait a minute!’ She opened her bag across the door, and the Wolf madly dove headfirst down.
Now, he was captured, swallowed up like a letter in the mail.
Because the brave older woman had bagged it, and she ran and poured it into the well, where the tramp, still howling, tumbled in and drowned.
‘Ah, you scoundrel! You think you’re going to crush my little grandchild! Well, tomorrow, we will make him a holster of yours, and you will be crushed because we will feed your body to the dogs.”
So the grandmother hurried to change poor Blanchette’s clothes, who was still trembling with fear on the bed.
“Well,” she said to the little girl, “without my little hood, where would you be, my dear?” And, to restore the child’s heart and legs, she made him eat a piece of delicious cake and drink a draft of good wine. Drank then took her hand and led her into the house.
And then, who scolded her when she knew all that had happened?
That’s mom.
But Blanchette repeatedly promised that she would never stop listening to the Wolf again, so in the end, the mother forgave her.
And Blanchette, the Little Yellow Hat, kept her promise. And when the weather is fair, she can still be seen in the fields with her pretty little hood, the colour of the sun.
But to see her, you have to get up early.
-FRENCH FAIRY TALES EDITED BY ANDREW LANG-
