Night Dancers

Once upon a time, in a beautiful castle, there lived a wealthy and noble woman. She had a daughter of her own and a stepdaughter. Her daughter was named Cato; she was ugly, slovenly, and of a wicked disposition. The stepdaughter, named Jeanne, was beautiful, kind, gentle, and wise.

The woman loved only her own daughter and granted her every wish: lavish dresses, jewelry, and all manner of luxuries. But she despised her stepdaughter, dressed her in rags, and treated her like a servant.

Not far from the castle, in the forest, stood an old chapel. Legend had it that every night, a priest who had died many years ago would come there, trying to hold a mass, but he could never succeed because there was no altar boy. It was also said that at midnight, a light would glow in the chapel, and that ghosts roamed there.

To reach the chapel, one had to pass a crossroads where, people claimed, nocturnal dancers held their games and revelries. After sunset, everyone avoided these places.

The wicked stepmother kept thinking and scheming about how to get rid of Jeanne, for then her husband’s inheritance would go to Cato, not Jeanne.

One Sunday evening in December, the stepmother sat by the hearth, listening to her servants sing old songs and tell tales, each more wondrous than the last. When it was time to say the evening prayer together, she cried out:

"Oh, what a nuisance! I’ve forgotten my prayer book in the chapel. Jeanne, go fetch it at once!"

"Very well, mother," replied the poor girl.

But she was frightened and said to one of the maids:

"Come with me, Marguerite."

"No, no, you’ll go alone," said the stepmother. "Are you afraid? At your age? Go on!"

Jeanne had no choice but to obey. Her little dog, Fidel, who always accompanied her, tried to follow. But Cato chased the dog, kicked it, and locked the door so Fidel couldn’t get out.

Fidel jumped out of a window, breaking the glass, and caught up with her mistress. Jeanne felt a little braver seeing her dog, petted her, and told her to stay close.

It was a beautiful moonlit night. When Jeanne reached the crossroads, she saw seven tiny men in large hats—seven dwarves—dancing in a circle, holding hands and singing. She stopped, unsure whether to continue. One of the dancers stepped aside, while the others ran up to her and pulled her into their dance, exclaiming:

"Dance with us, beauty, dance, dance with us!"

"Gladly, sirs," Jeanne said politely, "if it pleases you."

And she joined the dance. The singing and dancing continued, and the dwarves danced more vigorously than ever.

Suddenly, the dwarf holding Jeanne’s right hand exclaimed:

"Ah, what a lovely, charming girl!"

"May she become twice as lovely and charming," replied the one holding her left hand.

"Ah, what a wise girl!" said the third.

"May she become twice as wise!" wished the fourth.

"Ah, what a beautiful girl!" said the fifth.

"May she become twice as beautiful!" said the sixth.

"Beautiful as the stars in the sky!" added the seventh, the one who hadn’t been dancing with the others.

Then the dwarves, one by one, except for the seventh, kissed the girl and disappeared.

When Jeanne reached the chapel, she saw and heard nothing frightening or unusual. Her stepmother’s prayer book lay on the bench; she took it and brought it home.

If Jeanne had been beautiful before, she was now even more so. Her beauty shone brightly, like the May sun, illuminating the path she walked.

"Here is your prayer book, mother," she said, handing it to her stepmother.

The woman stared at the girl, dumbfounded, her mouth agape and eyes wide, so dazzled was she by her stepdaughter’s beauty. When she finally found her voice, she asked:

"What happened to you? Why have you changed so?"

"Nothing happened, mother," Jeanne replied. She didn’t know she had become so beautiful.

"Did you meet the nocturnal dancers at the crossroads?"

"Yes, mother, I met them and even danced with them."

"And they didn’t harm you?"

"No, they were very kind to me."

"Really? And what did you see in the chapel?"

"I noticed nothing unusual, mother."

"Really? Well, go to bed!"

The stepmother spent the whole night pondering what had happened to Jeanne.

"It must have been the nocturnal dancers who changed her," she muttered to herself. "Tomorrow during the day, I’ll go to the chapel and leave my prayer book there again, and in the evening, I’ll send my own daughter to fetch it. Let’s see what happens."

The next day, she told her daughter that she would become as beautiful as Jeanne, even more so, if she too went to the old chapel at night to fetch her mother’s prayer book.

Cato wasn’t eager to go—she was a coward. But in the end, she agreed, lured by the promise of becoming as beautiful as Jeanne, or even more so.

When the clock struck eleven, her mother said:

"It’s time to go, my child! Go on, and don’t be afraid; nothing bad will happen to you."

Cato was terrified, but she desperately wanted to become beautiful.

"Fidel, come with me," she said, calling her sister’s dog. But the dog ran to Jeanne. Cato kicked her and said:

"Fine, nasty dog! I’ll manage without you!" And she set off.

When she reached the crossroads, she saw the dwarves dancing and singing in a circle. Cato stopped and watched them, and they approached her, asking:

"Won’t you dance with us, madam?"

"Ugh, you horse dung!" Cato replied. "I’m not dancing with such filthy creatures! Yuck!"

"Ah, what an ugly girl!" said one of the dwarves.

"May she become twice as ugly," said the second.

"Ah, what a foolish girl!" said the third.

"May she become twice as foolish!" wished the fourth.

"Ah, what a wicked girl!" said the fifth.

"May she become twice as wicked!" said the sixth.

"And may she spew dung with every word she speaks," added the seventh.

And they disappeared.

The "beautiful" Cato went home without visiting the chapel. When her mother saw her, she cried out:

"Good heavens! What happened to you, my poor daughter? Didn’t you bring my prayer book?"

"Of course not! Go get it yourself if you need it!" And she spewed a pile of horse dung.

"What is this? Didn’t you meet the nocturnal dancers?"

"Oh, I did! I saw those vile creatures!" And she spewed another pile of horse dung.

She reeked, her face now resembled a poisonous toad about to burst. Cato, who had always been foolish, became even more so, and in addition, she grew as vicious as a rabid dog.

Her mother locked her in a room where no one could see her and vowed to take revenge on Jeanne.

Soon, word of Jeanne’s beauty and wisdom spread throughout the land, and from all corners of the world, rich and noble men came to see her and ask for her hand in marriage. But the stepmother refused them all.

One day, a young prince arrived. Jeanne’s beauty and kind nature captivated him so much that he immediately proposed to her. But the wicked stepmother devised a scheme of her own and decided to substitute her own daughter for her stepdaughter. She told the prince that it would be a great honor to have him as a son-in-law and that both she and the girl gladly accepted his proposal.

The engagement was celebrated immediately, and a wedding date was set. The prince sent the bride rings, emeralds, and gold and silver ornaments.

When the wedding day arrived, the prince came with a large entourage of noble ladies and gentlemen.

The stepmother adorned her Cato with the prince’s gifts, while poor Jeanne was locked in a large chest so no one could see her.

The young prince arrived in a luxurious, gilded carriage.

As they prepared to leave for the church, the wicked stepmother covered her daughter with a veil and got into the carriage with her. When the carriage doors closed, the three of them were plunged into darkness. Under the pretext that the bride was very nervous, the prince was strictly instructed not to speak to her until after the wedding.

The carriage set off. The little dog Fidel ran after it, barking incessantly: "Woof! Woof! Woof!"—which was meant to say: "Not her! Not her! Not the one! Not the one!"

"Why is she barking so much?" asked the prince.

"Oh, just out of stupidity," replied Cato’s mother. "Pay no attention to that nasty mutt. She’d like to get into the carriage too, but she’d just dirty everything."

As they passed through the forest near the castle, a bird landed on the carriage and said in bird language:

"Alas! Alas! Jeanne, the bride,
Who should be in the royal hall,
Remains at home, locked in a chest,
Bound by her sorrowful fate.
But she who is crueler than all beasts,
Who should be driven away at once,
Now dreams of honor, of a throne.
Ah, prince! The crown is not for her!"

"What is that bird singing?" the prince asked in surprise.

"Nothing, my son-in-law," replied Cato’s mother. "Pay it no mind."

"Oh, something extraordinary is happening here! I want to know what’s going on!"

The bird sang again. Then the prince ordered the coachman to stop the horses and stepped out of the carriage. He opened the doors and lifted the bride’s veil. Seeing the hideous creature he was about to marry, he screamed in horror and said:

"Out, vile beasts! Snakes and toads! Get out, quickly, and never let me see you again!"

And he immediately raced back with his entourage, leaving "beautiful" Cato and her mother in the middle of the road.

Returning to the castle, the prince ran through all the rooms, shouting:

"Jeanne, my dear, where are you?"

"Here!" Jeanne called from the chest.

The prince grabbed an axe, broke open the chest, and pulled Jeanne out. Then he seated her, still in her rags, in his gilded carriage, took her to the church, and married her, to the astonishment of everyone. And the little dog Fidel, who never left her mistress, followed her all the way to the altar.

On the way back, the wedding procession passed Cato and her mother, who were trudging through the mud, crying with rage.

Later, grand celebrations and lavish feasts were held. The couple lived happily ever after and had many children.

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Night Dancers

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