copyright 2006, Saviour Pirotta and Macmillan Corp

Many authors - me in particular, I think - tend to over-write their stories, so my editors have a tough job trying fitting my work into the agreed word count.  This was particularly true of AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 TALES, which started out with only forty stories and a different title.  When it was expanded, we had double the stories but the same word count, so the stories that had been written at the time had to lose half their words.  Jane, my lovely editor, did a brilliant job keeping everyone happy.

Luckily, the French story was one of the last to be written, mainly because I was holding out to include a famous ghost story from Brittany.  The French editors insisted on a folk tale all French children would be familiar with, though, so I plumbed for the following.   The word count was near spot on right from the start, but this is my original version, which is slightly different from the one in the published book.

A miller died leaving his eldest son a cornfield, his second a donkey and the third the granary cat. A cat!

            ‘What on earth am I to do with a cat?’ said the youngest son.  ‘I suppose I can cook it and eat it.’  He was that hungry!

            ‘Please, master,’ said the cat.  ‘Give me your boots and a leather bag, and I’ll bring you a bigger fortune than a cornfield or a donkey.’

            The miller’s son was so downhearted about his situation, he gave up his boots and leather without a murmur.

            What did the cat do?  He put a carrot in the leather bag and hid it in the grass.  Before long, a bunny rabbit came along and, sniffing out the carrot, hopped into the bag.

            ‘Got you,’ said the cat who’d been watching from behind a bush, and he pounced on the bag, closing it with his paws.

            ‘Later that afternoon, he presented himself at the king’s palace, wearing the leather boots.

            ‘Your majesty, the Marquis of Carabas, sends you this rabbit as a gift.’

            ‘The marquis of where?’ asked the king.

            ‘Carabas,’ replied the cat. 

            ‘Thank the marquis for me,’ said the king, signalling one of his servants to accept the rabbit. 

            The next day, the cat returned to the palace, this time with two plump partridges.

            ‘Your majesty, the Marquis of Carabas sends you another token of his loyalty.’

            ‘The marquis is very generous;’ said the king, ‘please tell him from me that if ever he visits the great city, I would like to meet him to thank him personally for his gifts.’

            The cat hurried home to the miller’s son and said, ‘Tomorrow afternoon, you must go and bathe in the river by the great oak tree.  The king’s carriage will pass by on its way from the palace to parliament. Do as I say, and you’ll make your fortune as I promised. But remember, do not say a word until I tell you to.’

            While the miller’s son was swimming in the river, the cat crept up and hid his threadbare clothes in the bushes.  When he heard the king’s coach rattling along the road, he jumped out in front of it and started shouting.

            ‘Help! Help!’

            The royal coach stopped at once by the oak tree.

            ‘Why,’ said the king to his daughter, ‘it’s the cat who brought me the rabbit and the partridges.’

            ‘Sire,’ panted the cat, ‘my master the Marquis of Carabas was attacked on his way to see you at the palace.  The robbers took his clothes and made off with his coach.  He got such a fright, he will not be able to speak for a while.’

            ‘Fetch some new robes from the palace,’ the king ordered his servants.  When they were brought, the miller’s son came out of the river, put them on and climbed into the royal carriage right next to the princess.

            ‘Sire, said the cat, ‘The robbers might be lying in wait for you and the princess.  Why don’t you take a different route to parliament?  I’ll show the coachmen the way.’

            The royal carriage turned off the main road and took the country road through gentle, clover-clad hills.   The miller’s cat ran ahead of it, till he saw some farmers ploughing a field.

            ‘Tell the king this land belongs to the Marquis of Carabas,’ said the cat to the farmers, ‘and I’ll come back tomorrow and give you each a handful of gold.’

            When the king saw the men working in the field, he rolled down the carriage window.

            ‘Tell me. Who owns this land?’

            ‘The Marquis of Carabas,’ replied the farmers.

            ‘It is fertile land, indeed,’ said the king to the miller’s son.

            Further on along the track, the king saw women picking fruit in an orchard.

            ‘Tell me, ladies. Who owns these orchards?’

            ‘Why, your majesty, the Marquis of Carabas,’ answered the fruit pickers who’d also been promised a handful of gold by the cat.

            ‘You are a wealthy fellow, sir,’ said the king to the miller’s son.

            Remembering the cat’s instructions, the miller’s son just nodded.

            Meanwhile, the cat had leapt on ahead till he came to a castle. He knocked on the door and who should answer but the master himself, a fearsome ogre who owned all the land around.

            ‘Good evening,’ said the cat to the ogre, ‘I have heard that the owner of this palace can turn himself into any kind of living creature.’

            ‘And what of it, if he can?’  snarled the ogre.

            ‘Well, sir, I have travelled all around the world and never have I met someone who can change his shape at will.  To be honest, I do not believe the rumour.’

            ‘You do not believe, eh?’ The ogre laughed and, in an instant, changed himself in to a lion.

            The cat got such a fright, he leapt up a tree, leaving his boots on the ground.

            ‘That is most impressive,’ he said to the ogre.  ‘But I heard that you can change into something really small, like a squirrel.  How can someone your size do that?’

            ‘I can change into something smaller than a squirrel,’ boasted the ogre.  And, twitching his whiskers, he turned himself into a mouse. Instantly, the cat pounced down from the tree and gobbled him up.

            At that very same moment, the royal carriage drew up outside the castle. ‘And who owns this magnificent pile, might I ask?’ he said to the cat who had rushed out of the door to meet him.

            ‘My Lord the Marquis of Carabas, of course.’

            The king asked if he may have a look inside, and the cat showed him around. Meanwhile, the ogre’s servants who were overjoyed that their horrible master had been destroyed, fetched tea for the princess and the miller’s son. Neither of the two had as much as a sip.  The princess had fallen in love with the beautiful marquis the moment he had sat shivering next to her, and the marquis had felt his heart beat like a drum the moment he laid eyes on her royal majesty.

            The king, most impressed with the marquis’ estates, agreed with the cat that the two should marry without delay.  So the cat’s promise came true.  The miller’s son became a prince with a great fortune.  The cat was made a lord and he never had to hunt for mice, rabbits or partridges again.