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THE GOLDEN BIRD
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A certain king had a beautiful garden, and in the garden stood a tree
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which bore golden apples. These apples were always counted, and about
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the time when they began to grow ripe it was found that every night one
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of them was gone. The king became very angry at this, and ordered the
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gardener to keep watch all night under the tree. The gardener set his
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eldest son to watch; but about twelve o’clock he fell asleep, and in
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the morning another of the apples was missing. Then the second son was
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ordered to watch; and at midnight he too fell asleep, and in the morning
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another apple was gone. Then the third son offered to keep watch; but
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the gardener at first would not let him, for fear some harm should come
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to him: however, at last he consented, and the young man laid himself
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under the tree to watch. As the clock struck twelve he heard a rustling
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noise in the air, and a bird came flying that was of pure gold; and as
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it was snapping at one of the apples with its beak, the gardener’s son
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jumped up and shot an arrow at it. But the arrow did the bird no harm;
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only it dropped a golden feather from its tail, and then flew away.
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The golden feather was brought to the king in the morning, and all the
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council was called together. Everyone agreed that it was worth more than
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all the wealth of the kingdom: but the king said, ‘One feather is of no
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use to me, I must have the whole bird.’
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Then the gardener’s eldest son set out and thought to find the golden
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bird very easily; and when he had gone but a little way, he came to a
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wood, and by the side of the wood he saw a fox sitting; so he took his
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bow and made ready to shoot at it. Then the fox said, ‘Do not shoot me,
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for I will give you good counsel; I know what your business is, and
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that you want to find the golden bird. You will reach a village in the
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evening; and when you get there, you will see two inns opposite to each
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other, one of which is very pleasant and beautiful to look at: go not in
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there, but rest for the night in the other, though it may appear to you
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to be very poor and mean.’ But the son thought to himself, ‘What can
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such a beast as this know about the matter?’ So he shot his arrow at
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the fox; but he missed it, and it set up its tail above its back and
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ran into the wood. Then he went his way, and in the evening came to
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the village where the two inns were; and in one of these were people
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singing, and dancing, and feasting; but the other looked very dirty,
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and poor. ‘I should be very silly,’ said he, ‘if I went to that shabby
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house, and left this charming place’; so he went into the smart house,
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and ate and drank at his ease, and forgot the bird, and his country too.
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Time passed on; and as the eldest son did not come back, and no tidings
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were heard of him, the second son set out, and the same thing happened
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to him. He met the fox, who gave him the good advice: but when he came
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to the two inns, his eldest brother was standing at the window where
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the merrymaking was, and called to him to come in; and he could not
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withstand the temptation, but went in, and forgot the golden bird and
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his country in the same manner.
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Time passed on again, and the youngest son too wished to set out into
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the wide world to seek for the golden bird; but his father would not
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listen to it for a long while, for he was very fond of his son, and
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was afraid that some ill luck might happen to him also, and prevent his
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coming back. However, at last it was agreed he should go, for he would
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not rest at home; and as he came to the wood, he met the fox, and heard
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the same good counsel. But he was thankful to the fox, and did not
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attempt his life as his brothers had done; so the fox said, ‘Sit upon my
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tail, and you will travel faster.’ So he sat down, and the fox began to
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run, and away they went over stock and stone so quick that their hair
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whistled in the wind.
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When they came to the village, the son followed the fox’s counsel, and
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without looking about him went to the shabby inn and rested there all
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night at his ease. In the morning came the fox again and met him as he
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was beginning his journey, and said, ‘Go straight forward, till you come
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to a castle, before which lie a whole troop of soldiers fast asleep and
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snoring: take no notice of them, but go into the castle and pass on and
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on till you come to a room, where the golden bird sits in a wooden cage;
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close by it stands a beautiful golden cage; but do not try to take the
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bird out of the shabby cage and put it into the handsome one, otherwise
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you will repent it.’ Then the fox stretched out his tail again, and the
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young man sat himself down, and away they went over stock and stone till
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their hair whistled in the wind.
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Before the castle gate all was as the fox had said: so the son went in
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and found the chamber where the golden bird hung in a wooden cage, and
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below stood the golden cage, and the three golden apples that had been
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lost were lying close by it. Then thought he to himself, ‘It will be a
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very droll thing to bring away such a fine bird in this shabby cage’; so
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he opened the door and took hold of it and put it into the golden cage.
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But the bird set up such a loud scream that all the soldiers awoke, and
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they took him prisoner and carried him before the king. The next morning
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the court sat to judge him; and when all was heard, it sentenced him to
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die, unless he should bring the king the golden horse which could run as
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swiftly as the wind; and if he did this, he was to have the golden bird
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given him for his own.
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So he set out once more on his journey, sighing, and in great despair,
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when on a sudden his friend the fox met him, and said, ‘You see now
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what has happened on account of your not listening to my counsel. I will
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still, however, tell you how to find the golden horse, if you will do as
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I bid you. You must go straight on till you come to the castle where the
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horse stands in his stall: by his side will lie the groom fast asleep
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and snoring: take away the horse quietly, but be sure to put the old
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leathern saddle upon him, and not the golden one that is close by it.’
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Then the son sat down on the fox’s tail, and away they went over stock
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and stone till their hair whistled in the wind.
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All went right, and the groom lay snoring with his hand upon the golden
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saddle. But when the son looked at the horse, he thought it a great pity
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to put the leathern saddle upon it. ‘I will give him the good one,’
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said he; ‘I am sure he deserves it.’ As he took up the golden saddle the
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groom awoke and cried out so loud, that all the guards ran in and took
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him prisoner, and in the morning he was again brought before the court
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to be judged, and was sentenced to die. But it was agreed, that, if he
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could bring thither the beautiful princess, he should live, and have the
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bird and the horse given him for his own.
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Then he went his way very sorrowful; but the old fox came and said, ‘Why
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did not you listen to me? If you had, you would have carried away
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both the bird and the horse; yet will I once more give you counsel. Go
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straight on, and in the evening you will arrive at a castle. At twelve
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o’clock at night the princess goes to the bathing-house: go up to her
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and give her a kiss, and she will let you lead her away; but take care
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you do not suffer her to go and take leave of her father and mother.’
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Then the fox stretched out his tail, and so away they went over stock
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and stone till their hair whistled again.
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As they came to the castle, all was as the fox had said, and at twelve
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o’clock the young man met the princess going to the bath and gave her the
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kiss, and she agreed to run away with him, but begged with many tears
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that he would let her take leave of her father. At first he refused,
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but she wept still more and more, and fell at his feet, till at last
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he consented; but the moment she came to her father’s house the guards
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awoke and he was taken prisoner again.
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Then he was brought before the king, and the king said, ‘You shall never
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have my daughter unless in eight days you dig away the hill that stops
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the view from my window.’ Now this hill was so big that the whole world
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could not take it away: and when he had worked for seven days, and had
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done very little, the fox came and said. ‘Lie down and go to sleep; I
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will work for you.’ And in the morning he awoke and the hill was gone;
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so he went merrily to the king, and told him that now that it was
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removed he must give him the princess.
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Then the king was obliged to keep his word, and away went the young man
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and the princess; and the fox came and said to him, ‘We will have all
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three, the princess, the horse, and the bird.’ ‘Ah!’ said the young man,
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‘that would be a great thing, but how can you contrive it?’
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‘If you will only listen,’ said the fox, ‘it can be done. When you come
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to the king, and he asks for the beautiful princess, you must say, “Here
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she is!” Then he will be very joyful; and you will mount the golden
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horse that they are to give you, and put out your hand to take leave of
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them; but shake hands with the princess last. Then lift her quickly on
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to the horse behind you; clap your spurs to his side, and gallop away as
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fast as you can.’
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All went right: then the fox said, ‘When you come to the castle where
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the bird is, I will stay with the princess at the door, and you will
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ride in and speak to the king; and when he sees that it is the right
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horse, he will bring out the bird; but you must sit still, and say that
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you want to look at it, to see whether it is the true golden bird; and
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when you get it into your hand, ride away.’
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This, too, happened as the fox said; they carried off the bird, the
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princess mounted again, and they rode on to a great wood. Then the fox
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came, and said, ‘Pray kill me, and cut off my head and my feet.’ But the
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young man refused to do it: so the fox said, ‘I will at any rate give
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you good counsel: beware of two things; ransom no one from the gallows,
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and sit down by the side of no river.’ Then away he went. ‘Well,’
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thought the young man, ‘it is no hard matter to keep that advice.’
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He rode on with the princess, till at last he came to the village where
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he had left his two brothers. And there he heard a great noise and
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uproar; and when he asked what was the matter, the people said, ‘Two men
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are going to be hanged.’ As he came nearer, he saw that the two men were
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his brothers, who had turned robbers; so he said, ‘Cannot they in any
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way be saved?’ But the people said ‘No,’ unless he would bestow all his
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money upon the rascals and buy their liberty. Then he did not stay to
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think about the matter, but paid what was asked, and his brothers were
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given up, and went on with him towards their home.
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And as they came to the wood where the fox first met them, it was so
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cool and pleasant that the two brothers said, ‘Let us sit down by the
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side of the river, and rest a while, to eat and drink.’ So he said,
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‘Yes,’ and forgot the fox’s counsel, and sat down on the side of the
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river; and while he suspected nothing, they came behind, and threw him
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down the bank, and took the princess, the horse, and the bird, and went
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home to the king their master, and said. ‘All this have we won by our
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labour.’ Then there was great rejoicing made; but the horse would not
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eat, the bird would not sing, and the princess wept.
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The youngest son fell to the bottom of the river’s bed: luckily it was
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nearly dry, but his bones were almost broken, and the bank was so steep
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that he could find no way to get out. Then the old fox came once more,
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and scolded him for not following his advice; otherwise no evil would
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have befallen him: ‘Yet,’ said he, ‘I cannot leave you here, so lay hold
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of my tail and hold fast.’ Then he pulled him out of the river, and said
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to him, as he got upon the bank, ‘Your brothers have set watch to kill
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you, if they find you in the kingdom.’ So he dressed himself as a poor
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man, and came secretly to the king’s court, and was scarcely within the
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doors when the horse began to eat, and the bird to sing, and the princess
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left off weeping. Then he went to the king, and told him all his
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brothers’ roguery; and they were seized and punished, and he had the
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princess given to him again; and after the king’s death he was heir to
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his kingdom.
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A long while after, he went to walk one day in the wood, and the old fox
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met him, and besought him with tears in his eyes to kill him, and cut
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off his head and feet. And at last he did so, and in a moment the
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fox was changed into a man, and turned out to be the brother of the
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princess, who had been lost a great many many years.
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HANS IN LUCK
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Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes
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right--all that falls to them is so much gain--all their geese are
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swans--all their cards are trumps--toss them which way you will, they
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will always, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so
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much the faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as
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they think of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it
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know about the matter?
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One of these lucky beings was neighbour Hans. Seven long years he had
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worked hard for his master. At last he said, ‘Master, my time is up; I
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must go home and see my poor mother once more: so pray pay me my wages
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and let me go.’ And the master said, ‘You have been a faithful and good
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servant, Hans, so your pay shall be handsome.’ Then he gave him a lump
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of silver as big as his head.
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Hans took out his pocket-handkerchief, put the piece of silver into it,
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threw it over his shoulder, and jogged off on his road homewards. As he
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went lazily on, dragging one foot after another, a man came in sight,
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trotting gaily along on a capital horse. ‘Ah!’ said Hans aloud, ‘what a
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fine thing it is to ride on horseback! There he sits as easy and happy
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as if he was at home, in the chair by his fireside; he trips against no
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stones, saves shoe-leather, and gets on he hardly knows how.’ Hans did
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not speak so softly but the horseman heard it all, and said, ‘Well,
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friend, why do you go on foot then?’ ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I have this load to
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carry: to be sure it is silver, but it is so heavy that I can’t hold up
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my head, and you must know it hurts my shoulder sadly.’ ‘What do you say
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of making an exchange?’ said the horseman. ‘I will give you my horse,
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and you shall give me the silver; which will save you a great deal of
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trouble in carrying such a heavy load about with you.’ ‘With all my
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heart,’ said Hans: ‘but as you are so kind to me, I must tell you one
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thing--you will have a weary task to draw that silver about with you.’
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However, the horseman got off, took the silver, helped Hans up, gave him
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the bridle into one hand and the whip into the other, and said, ‘When
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you want to go very fast, smack your lips loudly together, and cry
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“Jip!”’
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Hans was delighted as he sat on the horse, drew himself up, squared his
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elbows, turned out his toes, cracked his whip, and rode merrily off, one
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minute whistling a merry tune, and another singing,
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‘No care and no sorrow,
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A fig for the morrow!
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We’ll laugh and be merry,
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Sing neigh down derry!’
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After a time he thought he should like to go a little faster, so he
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smacked his lips and cried ‘Jip!’ Away went the horse full gallop; and
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before Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown off, and lay on his
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back by the road-side. His horse would have ran off, if a shepherd who
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was coming by, driving a cow, had not stopped it. Hans soon came to
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himself, and got upon his legs again, sadly vexed, and said to the
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shepherd, ‘This riding is no joke, when a man has the luck to get upon
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a beast like this that stumbles and flings him off as if it would break
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his neck. However, I’m off now once for all: I like your cow now a great
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deal better than this smart beast that played me this trick, and has
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spoiled my best coat, you see, in this puddle; which, by the by, smells
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not very like a nosegay. One can walk along at one’s leisure behind that
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cow--keep good company, and have milk, butter, and cheese, every day,
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into the bargain. What would I give to have such a prize!’ ‘Well,’ said
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the shepherd, ‘if you are so fond of her, I will change my cow for your
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horse; I like to do good to my neighbours, even though I lose by it
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myself.’ ‘Done!’ said Hans, merrily. ‘What a noble heart that good man
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has!’ thought he. Then the shepherd jumped upon the horse, wished Hans
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and the cow good morning, and away he rode.
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Hans brushed his coat, wiped his face and hands, rested a while, and
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then drove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky
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one. ‘If I have only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall always be
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able to get that), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese with
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it; and when I am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk: and what
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can I wish for more?’ When he came to an inn, he halted, ate up all his
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bread, and gave away his last penny for a glass of beer. When he had
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rested himself he set off again, driving his cow towards his mother’s
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village. But the heat grew greater as soon as noon came on, till at
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last, as he found himself on a wide heath that would take him more than
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an hour to cross, he began to be so hot and parched that his tongue
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clave to the roof of his mouth. ‘I can find a cure for this,’ thought
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he; ‘now I will milk my cow and quench my thirst’: so he tied her to the
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stump of a tree, and held his leathern cap to milk into; but not a drop
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was to be had. Who would have thought that this cow, which was to bring
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him milk and butter and cheese, was all that time utterly dry? Hans had
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not thought of looking to that.
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While he was trying his luck in milking, and managing the matter very
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clumsily, the uneasy beast began to think him very troublesome; and at
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last gave him such a kick on the head as knocked him down; and there he
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lay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher soon came by, driving a
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pig in a wheelbarrow. ‘What is the matter with you, my man?’ said the
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butcher, as he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, how he
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was dry, and wanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too. Then
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the butcher gave him a flask of ale, saying, ‘There, drink and refresh
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yourself; your cow will give you no milk: don’t you see she is an old
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beast, good for nothing but the slaughter-house?’ ‘Alas, alas!’ said
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Hans, ‘who would have thought it? What a shame to take my horse, and
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give me only a dry cow! If I kill her, what will she be good for? I hate
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cow-beef; it is not tender enough for me. If it were a pig now--like
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that fat gentleman you are driving along at his ease--one could do
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something with it; it would at any rate make sausages.’ ‘Well,’ said
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the butcher, ‘I don’t like to say no, when one is asked to do a kind,
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neighbourly thing. To please you I will change, and give you my fine fat
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pig for the cow.’ ‘Heaven reward you for your kindness and self-denial!’
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said Hans, as he gave the butcher the cow; and taking the pig off the
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wheel-barrow, drove it away, holding it by the string that was tied to
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its leg.
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So on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him: he had met
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with some misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all.
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How could it be otherwise with such a travelling companion as he had at
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last got?
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The next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. The
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countryman stopped to ask what was o’clock; this led to further chat;
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and Hans told him all his luck, how he had so many good bargains, and
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how all the world went gay and smiling with him. The countryman then
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began to tell his tale, and said he was going to take the goose to a
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christening. ‘Feel,’ said he, ‘how heavy it is, and yet it is only eight
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weeks old. Whoever roasts and eats it will find plenty of fat upon it,
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it has lived so well!’ ‘You’re right,’ said Hans, as he weighed it in
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his hand; ‘but if you talk of fat, my pig is no trifle.’ Meantime the
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countryman began to look grave, and shook his head. ‘Hark ye!’ said he,
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‘my worthy friend, you seem a good sort of fellow, so I can’t help doing
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you a kind turn. Your pig may get you into a scrape. In the village I
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just came from, the squire has had a pig stolen out of his sty. I was
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dreadfully afraid when I saw you that you had got the squire’s pig. If
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you have, and they catch you, it will be a bad job for you. The least
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they will do will be to throw you into the horse-pond. Can you swim?’
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Poor Hans was sadly frightened. ‘Good man,’ cried he, ‘pray get me out
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of this scrape. I know nothing of where the pig was either bred or born;
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but he may have been the squire’s for aught I can tell: you know this
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country better than I do, take my pig and give me the goose.’ ‘I ought
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to have something into the bargain,’ said the countryman; ‘give a fat
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goose for a pig, indeed! ‘Tis not everyone would do so much for you as
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that. However, I will not be hard upon you, as you are in trouble.’ Then
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he took the string in his hand, and drove off the pig by a side path;
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while Hans went on the way homewards free from care. ‘After all,’
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thought he, ‘that chap is pretty well taken in. I don’t care whose pig
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it is, but wherever it came from it has been a very good friend to me. I
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have much the best of the bargain. First there will be a capital roast;
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then the fat will find me in goose-grease for six months; and then there
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are all the beautiful white feathers. I will put them into my pillow,
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and then I am sure I shall sleep soundly without rocking. How happy my
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mother will be! Talk of a pig, indeed! Give me a fine fat goose.’
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As he came to the next village, he saw a scissor-grinder with his wheel,
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working and singing,
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‘O’er hill and o’er dale
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So happy I roam,
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Work light and live well,
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All the world is my home;
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Then who so blythe, so merry as I?’
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|
|
Hans stood looking on for a while, and at last said, ‘You must be well
|
|
off, master grinder! you seem so happy at your work.’ ‘Yes,’ said the
|
|
other, ‘mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand
|
|
into his pocket without finding money in it--but where did you get that
|
|
beautiful goose?’ ‘I did not buy it, I gave a pig for it.’ ‘And where
|
|
did you get the pig?’ ‘I gave a cow for it.’ ‘And the cow?’ ‘I gave a
|
|
horse for it.’ ‘And the horse?’ ‘I gave a lump of silver as big as my
|
|
head for it.’ ‘And the silver?’ ‘Oh! I worked hard for that seven long
|
|
years.’ ‘You have thriven well in the world hitherto,’ said the grinder,
|
|
‘now if you could find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand
|
|
in it, your fortune would be made.’ ‘Very true: but how is that to be
|
|
managed?’ ‘How? Why, you must turn grinder like myself,’ said the other;
|
|
‘you only want a grindstone; the rest will come of itself. Here is one
|
|
that is but little the worse for wear: I would not ask more than the
|
|
value of your goose for it--will you buy?’ ‘How can you ask?’ said
|
|
Hans; ‘I should be the happiest man in the world, if I could have money
|
|
whenever I put my hand in my pocket: what could I want more? there’s
|
|
the goose.’ ‘Now,’ said the grinder, as he gave him a common rough stone
|
|
that lay by his side, ‘this is a most capital stone; do but work it well
|
|
enough, and you can make an old nail cut with it.’
|
|
|
|
Hans took the stone, and went his way with a light heart: his eyes
|
|
sparkled for joy, and he said to himself, ‘Surely I must have been born
|
|
in a lucky hour; everything I could want or wish for comes of itself.
|
|
People are so kind; they seem really to think I do them a favour in
|
|
letting them make me rich, and giving me good bargains.’
|
|
|
|
Meantime he began to be tired, and hungry too, for he had given away his
|
|
last penny in his joy at getting the cow.
|
|
|
|
At last he could go no farther, for the stone tired him sadly: and he
|
|
dragged himself to the side of a river, that he might take a drink of
|
|
water, and rest a while. So he laid the stone carefully by his side on
|
|
the bank: but, as he stooped down to drink, he forgot it, pushed it a
|
|
little, and down it rolled, plump into the stream.
|
|
|
|
For a while he watched it sinking in the deep clear water; then sprang
|
|
up and danced for joy, and again fell upon his knees and thanked Heaven,
|
|
with tears in his eyes, for its kindness in taking away his only plague,
|
|
the ugly heavy stone.
|
|
|
|
‘How happy am I!’ cried he; ‘nobody was ever so lucky as I.’ Then up he
|
|
got with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till
|
|
he reached his mother’s house, and told her how very easy the road to
|
|
good luck was.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
JORINDA AND JORINDEL
|
|
|
|
There was once an old castle, that stood in the middle of a deep gloomy
|
|
wood, and in the castle lived an old fairy. Now this fairy could take
|
|
any shape she pleased. All the day long she flew about in the form of
|
|
an owl, or crept about the country like a cat; but at night she always
|
|
became an old woman again. When any young man came within a hundred
|
|
paces of her castle, he became quite fixed, and could not move a step
|
|
till she came and set him free; which she would not do till he had given
|
|
her his word never to come there again: but when any pretty maiden came
|
|
within that space she was changed into a bird, and the fairy put her
|
|
into a cage, and hung her up in a chamber in the castle. There were
|
|
seven hundred of these cages hanging in the castle, and all with
|
|
beautiful birds in them.
|
|
|
|
Now there was once a maiden whose name was Jorinda. She was prettier
|
|
than all the pretty girls that ever were seen before, and a shepherd
|
|
lad, whose name was Jorindel, was very fond of her, and they were soon
|
|
to be married. One day they went to walk in the wood, that they might be
|
|
alone; and Jorindel said, ‘We must take care that we don’t go too near
|
|
to the fairy’s castle.’ It was a beautiful evening; the last rays of the
|
|
setting sun shone bright through the long stems of the trees upon
|
|
the green underwood beneath, and the turtle-doves sang from the tall
|
|
birches.
|
|
|
|
Jorinda sat down to gaze upon the sun; Jorindel sat by her side; and
|
|
both felt sad, they knew not why; but it seemed as if they were to be
|
|
parted from one another for ever. They had wandered a long way; and when
|
|
they looked to see which way they should go home, they found themselves
|
|
at a loss to know what path to take.
|
|
|
|
The sun was setting fast, and already half of its circle had sunk behind
|
|
the hill: Jorindel on a sudden looked behind him, and saw through the
|
|
bushes that they had, without knowing it, sat down close under the old
|
|
walls of the castle. Then he shrank for fear, turned pale, and trembled.
|
|
Jorinda was just singing,
|
|
|
|
‘The ring-dove sang from the willow spray,
|
|
Well-a-day! Well-a-day!
|
|
He mourn’d for the fate of his darling mate,
|
|
Well-a-day!’
|
|
|
|
when her song stopped suddenly. Jorindel turned to see the reason, and
|
|
beheld his Jorinda changed into a nightingale, so that her song ended
|
|
with a mournful jug, jug. An owl with fiery eyes flew three times
|
|
round them, and three times screamed:
|
|
|
|
‘Tu whu! Tu whu! Tu whu!’
|
|
|
|
Jorindel could not move; he stood fixed as a stone, and could neither
|
|
weep, nor speak, nor stir hand or foot. And now the sun went quite down;
|
|
the gloomy night came; the owl flew into a bush; and a moment after the
|
|
old fairy came forth pale and meagre, with staring eyes, and a nose and
|
|
chin that almost met one another.
|
|
|
|
She mumbled something to herself, seized the nightingale, and went away
|
|
with it in her hand. Poor Jorindel saw the nightingale was gone--but
|
|
what could he do? He could not speak, he could not move from the spot
|
|
where he stood. At last the fairy came back and sang with a hoarse
|
|
voice:
|
|
|
|
‘Till the prisoner is fast,
|
|
And her doom is cast,
|
|
There stay! Oh, stay!
|
|
When the charm is around her,
|
|
And the spell has bound her,
|
|
Hie away! away!’
|
|
|
|
On a sudden Jorindel found himself free. Then he fell on his knees
|
|
before the fairy, and prayed her to give him back his dear Jorinda: but
|
|
she laughed at him, and said he should never see her again; then she
|
|
went her way.
|
|
|
|
He prayed, he wept, he sorrowed, but all in vain. ‘Alas!’ he said, ‘what
|
|
will become of me?’ He could not go back to his own home, so he went to
|
|
a strange village, and employed himself in keeping sheep. Many a time
|
|
did he walk round and round as near to the hated castle as he dared go,
|
|
but all in vain; he heard or saw nothing of Jorinda.
|
|
|
|
At last he dreamt one night that he found a beautiful purple flower,
|
|
and that in the middle of it lay a costly pearl; and he dreamt that he
|
|
plucked the flower, and went with it in his hand into the castle, and
|
|
that everything he touched with it was disenchanted, and that there he
|
|
found his Jorinda again.
|
|
|
|
In the morning when he awoke, he began to search over hill and dale for
|
|
this pretty flower; and eight long days he sought for it in vain: but
|
|
on the ninth day, early in the morning, he found the beautiful purple
|
|
flower; and in the middle of it was a large dewdrop, as big as a costly
|
|
pearl. Then he plucked the flower, and set out and travelled day and
|
|
night, till he came again to the castle.
|
|
|
|
He walked nearer than a hundred paces to it, and yet he did not become
|
|
fixed as before, but found that he could go quite close up to the door.
|
|
Jorindel was very glad indeed to see this. Then he touched the door with
|
|
the flower, and it sprang open; so that he went in through the court,
|
|
and listened when he heard so many birds singing. At last he came to the
|
|
chamber where the fairy sat, with the seven hundred birds singing in
|
|
the seven hundred cages. When she saw Jorindel she was very angry, and
|
|
screamed with rage; but she could not come within two yards of him, for
|
|
the flower he held in his hand was his safeguard. He looked around at
|
|
the birds, but alas! there were many, many nightingales, and how then
|
|
should he find out which was his Jorinda? While he was thinking what to
|
|
do, he saw the fairy had taken down one of the cages, and was making the
|
|
best of her way off through the door. He ran or flew after her, touched
|
|
the cage with the flower, and Jorinda stood before him, and threw her
|
|
arms round his neck looking as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as when
|
|
they walked together in the wood.
|
|
|
|
Then he touched all the other birds with the flower, so that they all
|
|
took their old forms again; and he took Jorinda home, where they were
|
|
married, and lived happily together many years: and so did a good many
|
|
other lads, whose maidens had been forced to sing in the old fairy’s
|
|
cages by themselves, much longer than they liked.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS
|
|
|
|
An honest farmer had once an ass that had been a faithful servant to him
|
|
a great many years, but was now growing old and every day more and more
|
|
unfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him and
|
|
began to think of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that some
|
|
mischief was in the wind, took himself slyly off, and began his journey
|
|
towards the great city, ‘For there,’ thought he, ‘I may turn musician.’
|
|
|
|
After he had travelled a little way, he spied a dog lying by the
|
|
roadside and panting as if he were tired. ‘What makes you pant so, my
|
|
friend?’ said the ass. ‘Alas!’ said the dog, ‘my master was going to
|
|
knock me on the head, because I am old and weak, and can no longer make
|
|
myself useful to him in hunting; so I ran away; but what can I do to
|
|
earn my livelihood?’ ‘Hark ye!’ said the ass, ‘I am going to the great
|
|
city to turn musician: suppose you go with me, and try what you can
|
|
do in the same way?’ The dog said he was willing, and they jogged on
|
|
together.
|
|
|
|
They had not gone far before they saw a cat sitting in the middle of the
|
|
road and making a most rueful face. ‘Pray, my good lady,’ said the ass,
|
|
‘what’s the matter with you? You look quite out of spirits!’ ‘Ah, me!’
|
|
said the cat, ‘how can one be in good spirits when one’s life is in
|
|
danger? Because I am beginning to grow old, and had rather lie at my
|
|
ease by the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistress
|
|
laid hold of me, and was going to drown me; and though I have been lucky
|
|
enough to get away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon.’
|
|
‘Oh,’ said the ass, ‘by all means go with us to the great city; you are
|
|
a good night singer, and may make your fortune as a musician.’ The cat
|
|
was pleased with the thought, and joined the party.
|
|
|
|
Soon afterwards, as they were passing by a farmyard, they saw a cock
|
|
perched upon a gate, and screaming out with all his might and main.
|
|
‘Bravo!’ said the ass; ‘upon my word, you make a famous noise; pray what
|
|
is all this about?’ ‘Why,’ said the cock, ‘I was just now saying that
|
|
we should have fine weather for our washing-day, and yet my mistress and
|
|
the cook don’t thank me for my pains, but threaten to cut off my
|
|
head tomorrow, and make broth of me for the guests that are coming
|
|
on Sunday!’ ‘Heaven forbid!’ said the ass, ‘come with us Master
|
|
Chanticleer; it will be better, at any rate, than staying here to have
|
|
your head cut off! Besides, who knows? If we care to sing in tune, we
|
|
may get up some kind of a concert; so come along with us.’ ‘With all my
|
|
heart,’ said the cock: so they all four went on jollily together.
|
|
|
|
They could not, however, reach the great city the first day; so when
|
|
night came on, they went into a wood to sleep. The ass and the dog laid
|
|
themselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into the
|
|
branches; while the cock, thinking that the higher he sat the safer he
|
|
should be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according to
|
|
his custom, before he went to sleep, looked out on all sides of him to
|
|
see that everything was well. In doing this, he saw afar off something
|
|
bright and shining and calling to his companions said, ‘There must be a
|
|
house no great way off, for I see a light.’ ‘If that be the case,’ said
|
|
the ass, ‘we had better change our quarters, for our lodging is not the
|
|
best in the world!’ ‘Besides,’ added the dog, ‘I should not be the
|
|
worse for a bone or two, or a bit of meat.’ So they walked off together
|
|
towards the spot where Chanticleer had seen the light, and as they drew
|
|
near it became larger and brighter, till they at last came close to a
|
|
house in which a gang of robbers lived.
|
|
|
|
The ass, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window and
|
|
peeped in. ‘Well, Donkey,’ said Chanticleer, ‘what do you see?’ ‘What
|
|
do I see?’ replied the ass. ‘Why, I see a table spread with all kinds of
|
|
good things, and robbers sitting round it making merry.’ ‘That would
|
|
be a noble lodging for us,’ said the cock. ‘Yes,’ said the ass, ‘if we
|
|
could only get in’; so they consulted together how they should contrive
|
|
to get the robbers out; and at last they hit upon a plan. The ass placed
|
|
himself upright on his hind legs, with his forefeet resting against the
|
|
window; the dog got upon his back; the cat scrambled up to the dog’s
|
|
shoulders, and the cock flew up and sat upon the cat’s head. When
|
|
all was ready a signal was given, and they began their music. The ass
|
|
brayed, the dog barked, the cat mewed, and the cock screamed; and then
|
|
they all broke through the window at once, and came tumbling into
|
|
the room, amongst the broken glass, with a most hideous clatter! The
|
|
robbers, who had been not a little frightened by the opening concert,
|
|
had now no doubt that some frightful hobgoblin had broken in upon them,
|
|
and scampered away as fast as they could.
|
|
|
|
The coast once clear, our travellers soon sat down and dispatched what
|
|
the robbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not expected
|
|
to eat again for a month. As soon as they had satisfied themselves, they
|
|
put out the lights, and each once more sought out a resting-place to
|
|
his own liking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw in
|
|
the yard, the dog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door, the
|
|
cat rolled herself up on the hearth before the warm ashes, and the
|
|
cock perched upon a beam on the top of the house; and, as they were all
|
|
rather tired with their journey, they soon fell asleep.
|
|
|
|
But about midnight, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights were
|
|
out and that all seemed quiet, they began to think that they had been in
|
|
too great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder than
|
|
the rest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, he
|
|
marched into the kitchen, and groped about till he found a match in
|
|
order to light a candle; and then, espying the glittering fiery eyes of
|
|
the cat, he mistook them for live coals, and held the match to them to
|
|
light it. But the cat, not understanding this joke, sprang at his face,
|
|
and spat, and scratched at him. This frightened him dreadfully, and away
|
|
he ran to the back door; but there the dog jumped up and bit him in the
|
|
leg; and as he was crossing over the yard the ass kicked him; and the
|
|
cock, who had been awakened by the noise, crowed with all his might. At
|
|
this the robber ran back as fast as he could to his comrades, and told
|
|
the captain how a horrid witch had got into the house, and had spat at
|
|
him and scratched his face with her long bony fingers; how a man with a
|
|
knife in his hand had hidden himself behind the door, and stabbed him
|
|
in the leg; how a black monster stood in the yard and struck him with a
|
|
club, and how the devil had sat upon the top of the house and cried out,
|
|
‘Throw the rascal up here!’ After this the robbers never dared to go
|
|
back to the house; but the musicians were so pleased with their quarters
|
|
that they took up their abode there; and there they are, I dare say, at
|
|
this very day.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
OLD SULTAN
|
|
|
|
A shepherd had a faithful dog, called Sultan, who was grown very old,
|
|
and had lost all his teeth. And one day when the shepherd and his wife
|
|
were standing together before the house the shepherd said, ‘I will shoot
|
|
old Sultan tomorrow morning, for he is of no use now.’ But his wife
|
|
said, ‘Pray let the poor faithful creature live; he has served us well a
|
|
great many years, and we ought to give him a livelihood for the rest of
|
|
his days.’ ‘But what can we do with him?’ said the shepherd, ‘he has not
|
|
a tooth in his head, and the thieves don’t care for him at all; to
|
|
be sure he has served us, but then he did it to earn his livelihood;
|
|
tomorrow shall be his last day, depend upon it.’
|
|
|
|
Poor Sultan, who was lying close by them, heard all that the shepherd
|
|
and his wife said to one another, and was very much frightened to think
|
|
tomorrow would be his last day; so in the evening he went to his good
|
|
friend the wolf, who lived in the wood, and told him all his sorrows,
|
|
and how his master meant to kill him in the morning. ‘Make yourself
|
|
easy,’ said the wolf, ‘I will give you some good advice. Your master,
|
|
you know, goes out every morning very early with his wife into the
|
|
field; and they take their little child with them, and lay it down
|
|
behind the hedge in the shade while they are at work. Now do you lie
|
|
down close by the child, and pretend to be watching it, and I will come
|
|
out of the wood and run away with it; you must run after me as fast as
|
|
you can, and I will let it drop; then you may carry it back, and they
|
|
will think you have saved their child, and will be so thankful to you
|
|
that they will take care of you as long as you live.’ The dog liked this
|
|
plan very well; and accordingly so it was managed. The wolf ran with the
|
|
child a little way; the shepherd and his wife screamed out; but Sultan
|
|
soon overtook him, and carried the poor little thing back to his master
|
|
and mistress. Then the shepherd patted him on the head, and said, ‘Old
|
|
Sultan has saved our child from the wolf, and therefore he shall live
|
|
and be well taken care of, and have plenty to eat. Wife, go home, and
|
|
give him a good dinner, and let him have my old cushion to sleep on
|
|
as long as he lives.’ So from this time forward Sultan had all that he
|
|
could wish for.
|
|
|
|
Soon afterwards the wolf came and wished him joy, and said, ‘Now, my
|
|
good fellow, you must tell no tales, but turn your head the other way
|
|
when I want to taste one of the old shepherd’s fine fat sheep.’ ‘No,’
|
|
said the Sultan; ‘I will be true to my master.’ However, the wolf
|
|
thought he was in joke, and came one night to get a dainty morsel. But
|
|
Sultan had told his master what the wolf meant to do; so he laid wait
|
|
for him behind the barn door, and when the wolf was busy looking out for
|
|
a good fat sheep, he had a stout cudgel laid about his back, that combed
|
|
his locks for him finely.
|
|
|
|
Then the wolf was very angry, and called Sultan ‘an old rogue,’ and
|
|
swore he would have his revenge. So the next morning the wolf sent the
|
|
boar to challenge Sultan to come into the wood to fight the matter. Now
|
|
Sultan had nobody he could ask to be his second but the shepherd’s old
|
|
three-legged cat; so he took her with him, and as the poor thing limped
|
|
along with some trouble, she stuck up her tail straight in the air.
|
|
|
|
The wolf and the wild boar were first on the ground; and when they
|
|
espied their enemies coming, and saw the cat’s long tail standing
|
|
straight in the air, they thought she was carrying a sword for Sultan to
|
|
fight with; and every time she limped, they thought she was picking up
|
|
a stone to throw at them; so they said they should not like this way of
|
|
fighting, and the boar lay down behind a bush, and the wolf jumped
|
|
up into a tree. Sultan and the cat soon came up, and looked about and
|
|
wondered that no one was there. The boar, however, had not quite hidden
|
|
himself, for his ears stuck out of the bush; and when he shook one of
|
|
them a little, the cat, seeing something move, and thinking it was a
|
|
mouse, sprang upon it, and bit and scratched it, so that the boar jumped
|
|
up and grunted, and ran away, roaring out, ‘Look up in the tree, there
|
|
sits the one who is to blame.’ So they looked up, and espied the wolf
|
|
sitting amongst the branches; and they called him a cowardly rascal,
|
|
and would not suffer him to come down till he was heartily ashamed of
|
|
himself, and had promised to be good friends again with old Sultan.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN
|
|
|
|
In a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish
|
|
of beans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth, and
|
|
that it might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw.
|
|
When she was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her
|
|
observing it, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards
|
|
a burning coal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw
|
|
began and said: ‘Dear friends, from whence do you come here?’ The coal
|
|
replied: ‘I fortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not escaped
|
|
by sheer force, my death would have been certain,--I should have been
|
|
burnt to ashes.’ The bean said: ‘I too have escaped with a whole skin,
|
|
but if the old woman had got me into the pan, I should have been made
|
|
into broth without any mercy, like my comrades.’ ‘And would a better
|
|
fate have fallen to my lot?’ said the straw. ‘The old woman has
|
|
destroyed all my brethren in fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them at
|
|
once, and took their lives. I luckily slipped through her fingers.’
|
|
|
|
‘But what are we to do now?’ said the coal.
|
|
|
|
‘I think,’ answered the bean, ‘that as we have so fortunately escaped
|
|
death, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new
|
|
mischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and
|
|
repair to a foreign country.’
|
|
|
|
The proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way
|
|
together. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there was
|
|
no bridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get over
|
|
it. The straw hit on a good idea, and said: ‘I will lay myself straight
|
|
across, and then you can walk over on me as on a bridge.’ The straw
|
|
therefore stretched itself from one bank to the other, and the coal,
|
|
who was of an impetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to the
|
|
newly-built bridge. But when she had reached the middle, and heard the
|
|
water rushing beneath her, she was after all, afraid, and stood still,
|
|
and ventured no farther. The straw, however, began to burn, broke in
|
|
two pieces, and fell into the stream. The coal slipped after her, hissed
|
|
when she got into the water, and breathed her last. The bean, who had
|
|
prudently stayed behind on the shore, could not but laugh at the event,
|
|
was unable to stop, and laughed so heartily that she burst. It would
|
|
have been all over with her, likewise, if, by good fortune, a tailor who
|
|
was travelling in search of work, had not sat down to rest by the brook.
|
|
As he had a compassionate heart he pulled out his needle and thread,
|
|
and sewed her together. The bean thanked him most prettily, but as the
|
|
tailor used black thread, all beans since then have a black seam.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
BRIAR ROSE
|
|
|
|
A king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off,
|
|
where there were in those days fairies. Now this king and queen had
|
|
plenty of money, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and plenty of
|
|
good things to eat and drink, and a coach to ride out in every day: but
|
|
though they had been married many years they had no children, and this
|
|
grieved them very much indeed. But one day as the queen was walking
|
|
by the side of the river, at the bottom of the garden, she saw a poor
|
|
little fish, that had thrown itself out of the water, and lay gasping
|
|
and nearly dead on the bank. Then the queen took pity on the little
|
|
fish, and threw it back again into the river; and before it swam away
|
|
it lifted its head out of the water and said, ‘I know what your wish is,
|
|
and it shall be fulfilled, in return for your kindness to me--you will
|
|
soon have a daughter.’ What the little fish had foretold soon came to
|
|
pass; and the queen had a little girl, so very beautiful that the king
|
|
could not cease looking on it for joy, and said he would hold a great
|
|
feast and make merry, and show the child to all the land. So he asked
|
|
his kinsmen, and nobles, and friends, and neighbours. But the queen
|
|
said, ‘I will have the fairies also, that they might be kind and good
|
|
to our little daughter.’ Now there were thirteen fairies in the kingdom;
|
|
but as the king and queen had only twelve golden dishes for them to eat
|
|
out of, they were forced to leave one of the fairies without asking her.
|
|
So twelve fairies came, each with a high red cap on her head, and red
|
|
shoes with high heels on her feet, and a long white wand in her hand:
|
|
and after the feast was over they gathered round in a ring and gave all
|
|
their best gifts to the little princess. One gave her goodness, another
|
|
beauty, another riches, and so on till she had all that was good in the
|
|
world.
|
|
|
|
Just as eleven of them had done blessing her, a great noise was heard in
|
|
the courtyard, and word was brought that the thirteenth fairy was
|
|
come, with a black cap on her head, and black shoes on her feet, and a
|
|
broomstick in her hand: and presently up she came into the dining-hall.
|
|
Now, as she had not been asked to the feast she was very angry, and
|
|
scolded the king and queen very much, and set to work to take her
|
|
revenge. So she cried out, ‘The king’s daughter shall, in her fifteenth
|
|
year, be wounded by a spindle, and fall down dead.’ Then the twelfth of
|
|
the friendly fairies, who had not yet given her gift, came forward, and
|
|
said that the evil wish must be fulfilled, but that she could soften its
|
|
mischief; so her gift was, that the king’s daughter, when the spindle
|
|
wounded her, should not really die, but should only fall asleep for a
|
|
hundred years.
|
|
|
|
However, the king hoped still to save his dear child altogether from
|
|
the threatened evil; so he ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom
|
|
should be bought up and burnt. But all the gifts of the first eleven
|
|
fairies were in the meantime fulfilled; for the princess was so
|
|
beautiful, and well behaved, and good, and wise, that everyone who knew
|
|
her loved her.
|
|
|
|
It happened that, on the very day she was fifteen years old, the king
|
|
and queen were not at home, and she was left alone in the palace. So she
|
|
roved about by herself, and looked at all the rooms and chambers, till
|
|
at last she came to an old tower, to which there was a narrow staircase
|
|
ending with a little door. In the door there was a golden key, and when
|
|
she turned it the door sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning
|
|
away very busily. ‘Why, how now, good mother,’ said the princess; ‘what
|
|
are you doing there?’ ‘Spinning,’ said the old lady, and nodded her
|
|
head, humming a tune, while buzz! went the wheel. ‘How prettily that
|
|
little thing turns round!’ said the princess, and took the spindle
|
|
and began to try and spin. But scarcely had she touched it, before the
|
|
fairy’s prophecy was fulfilled; the spindle wounded her, and she fell
|
|
down lifeless on the ground.
|
|
|
|
However, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep; and
|
|
the king and the queen, who had just come home, and all their court,
|
|
fell asleep too; and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in
|
|
the court, the pigeons on the house-top, and the very flies slept upon
|
|
the walls. Even the fire on the hearth left off blazing, and went to
|
|
sleep; the jack stopped, and the spit that was turning about with a
|
|
goose upon it for the king’s dinner stood still; and the cook, who was
|
|
at that moment pulling the kitchen-boy by the hair to give him a box
|
|
on the ear for something he had done amiss, let him go, and both fell
|
|
asleep; the butler, who was slyly tasting the ale, fell asleep with the
|
|
jug at his lips: and thus everything stood still, and slept soundly.
|
|
|
|
A large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it
|
|
became higher and thicker; till at last the old palace was surrounded
|
|
and hidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But
|
|
there went a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping Briar
|
|
Rose (for so the king’s daughter was called): so that, from time to
|
|
time, several kings’ sons came, and tried to break through the thicket
|
|
into the palace. This, however, none of them could ever do; for the
|
|
thorns and bushes laid hold of them, as it were with hands; and there
|
|
they stuck fast, and died wretchedly.
|
|
|
|
After many, many years there came a king’s son into that land: and an
|
|
old man told him the story of the thicket of thorns; and how a beautiful
|
|
palace stood behind it, and how a wonderful princess, called Briar Rose,
|
|
lay in it asleep, with all her court. He told, too, how he had heard
|
|
from his grandfather that many, many princes had come, and had tried to
|
|
break through the thicket, but that they had all stuck fast in it, and
|
|
died. Then the young prince said, ‘All this shall not frighten me; I
|
|
will go and see this Briar Rose.’ The old man tried to hinder him, but
|
|
he was bent upon going.
|
|
|
|
Now that very day the hundred years were ended; and as the prince came
|
|
to the thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs, through
|
|
which he went with ease, and they shut in after him as thick as ever.
|
|
Then he came at last to the palace, and there in the court lay the dogs
|
|
asleep; and the horses were standing in the stables; and on the roof sat
|
|
the pigeons fast asleep, with their heads under their wings. And when he
|
|
came into the palace, the flies were sleeping on the walls; the spit
|
|
was standing still; the butler had the jug of ale at his lips, going
|
|
to drink a draught; the maid sat with a fowl in her lap ready to be
|
|
plucked; and the cook in the kitchen was still holding up her hand, as
|
|
if she was going to beat the boy.
|
|
|
|
Then he went on still farther, and all was so still that he could hear
|
|
every breath he drew; till at last he came to the old tower, and opened
|
|
the door of the little room in which Briar Rose was; and there she lay,
|
|
fast asleep on a couch by the window. She looked so beautiful that he
|
|
could not take his eyes off her, so he stooped down and gave her a kiss.
|
|
But the moment he kissed her she opened her eyes and awoke, and smiled
|
|
upon him; and they went out together; and soon the king and queen also
|
|
awoke, and all the court, and gazed on each other with great wonder.
|
|
And the horses shook themselves, and the dogs jumped up and barked; the
|
|
pigeons took their heads from under their wings, and looked about and
|
|
flew into the fields; the flies on the walls buzzed again; the fire in
|
|
the kitchen blazed up; round went the jack, and round went the spit,
|
|
with the goose for the king’s dinner upon it; the butler finished his
|
|
draught of ale; the maid went on plucking the fowl; and the cook gave
|
|
the boy the box on his ear.
|
|
|
|
And then the prince and Briar Rose were married, and the wedding feast
|
|
was given; and they lived happily together all their lives long.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE DOG AND THE SPARROW
|
|
|
|
A shepherd’s dog had a master who took no care of him, but often let him
|
|
suffer the greatest hunger. At last he could bear it no longer; so he
|
|
took to his heels, and off he ran in a very sad and sorrowful mood.
|
|
On the road he met a sparrow that said to him, ‘Why are you so sad,
|
|
my friend?’ ‘Because,’ said the dog, ‘I am very very hungry, and have
|
|
nothing to eat.’ ‘If that be all,’ answered the sparrow, ‘come with me
|
|
into the next town, and I will soon find you plenty of food.’ So on they
|
|
went together into the town: and as they passed by a butcher’s shop,
|
|
the sparrow said to the dog, ‘Stand there a little while till I peck you
|
|
down a piece of meat.’ So the sparrow perched upon the shelf: and having
|
|
first looked carefully about her to see if anyone was watching her, she
|
|
pecked and scratched at a steak that lay upon the edge of the shelf,
|
|
till at last down it fell. Then the dog snapped it up, and scrambled
|
|
away with it into a corner, where he soon ate it all up. ‘Well,’ said
|
|
the sparrow, ‘you shall have some more if you will; so come with me to
|
|
the next shop, and I will peck you down another steak.’ When the dog had
|
|
eaten this too, the sparrow said to him, ‘Well, my good friend, have you
|
|
had enough now?’ ‘I have had plenty of meat,’ answered he, ‘but I should
|
|
like to have a piece of bread to eat after it.’ ‘Come with me then,’
|
|
said the sparrow, ‘and you shall soon have that too.’ So she took him
|
|
to a baker’s shop, and pecked at two rolls that lay in the window, till
|
|
they fell down: and as the dog still wished for more, she took him to
|
|
another shop and pecked down some more for him. When that was eaten, the
|
|
sparrow asked him whether he had had enough now. ‘Yes,’ said he; ‘and
|
|
now let us take a walk a little way out of the town.’ So they both went
|
|
out upon the high road; but as the weather was warm, they had not gone
|
|
far before the dog said, ‘I am very much tired--I should like to take a
|
|
nap.’ ‘Very well,’ answered the sparrow, ‘do so, and in the meantime
|
|
I will perch upon that bush.’ So the dog stretched himself out on the
|
|
road, and fell fast asleep. Whilst he slept, there came by a carter with
|
|
a cart drawn by three horses, and loaded with two casks of wine. The
|
|
sparrow, seeing that the carter did not turn out of the way, but would
|
|
go on in the track in which the dog lay, so as to drive over him, called
|
|
out, ‘Stop! stop! Mr Carter, or it shall be the worse for you.’ But the
|
|
carter, grumbling to himself, ‘You make it the worse for me, indeed!
|
|
what can you do?’ cracked his whip, and drove his cart over the poor
|
|
dog, so that the wheels crushed him to death. ‘There,’ cried the
|
|
sparrow, ‘thou cruel villain, thou hast killed my friend the dog. Now
|
|
mind what I say. This deed of thine shall cost thee all thou art worth.’
|
|
‘Do your worst, and welcome,’ said the brute, ‘what harm can you do me?’
|
|
and passed on. But the sparrow crept under the tilt of the cart, and
|
|
pecked at the bung of one of the casks till she loosened it; and then
|
|
all the wine ran out, without the carter seeing it. At last he looked
|
|
round, and saw that the cart was dripping, and the cask quite empty.
|
|
‘What an unlucky wretch I am!’ cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said
|
|
the sparrow, as she alighted upon the head of one of the horses, and
|
|
pecked at him till he reared up and kicked. When the carter saw this,
|
|
he drew out his hatchet and aimed a blow at the sparrow, meaning to kill
|
|
her; but she flew away, and the blow fell upon the poor horse’s head
|
|
with such force, that he fell down dead. ‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’
|
|
cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said the sparrow. And as the carter
|
|
went on with the other two horses, she again crept under the tilt of the
|
|
cart, and pecked out the bung of the second cask, so that all the wine
|
|
ran out. When the carter saw this, he again cried out, ‘Miserable wretch
|
|
that I am!’ But the sparrow answered, ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ and
|
|
perched on the head of the second horse, and pecked at him too. The
|
|
carter ran up and struck at her again with his hatchet; but away she
|
|
flew, and the blow fell upon the second horse and killed him on the
|
|
spot. ‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’ said he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said
|
|
the sparrow; and perching upon the third horse, she began to peck him
|
|
too. The carter was mad with fury; and without looking about him, or
|
|
caring what he was about, struck again at the sparrow; but killed his
|
|
third horse as he done the other two. ‘Alas! miserable wretch that I
|
|
am!’ cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ answered the sparrow as she flew
|
|
away; ‘now will I plague and punish thee at thy own house.’ The
|
|
carter was forced at last to leave his cart behind him, and to go home
|
|
overflowing with rage and vexation. ‘Alas!’ said he to his wife, ‘what
|
|
ill luck has befallen me!--my wine is all spilt, and my horses all three
|
|
dead.’ ‘Alas! husband,’ replied she, ‘and a wicked bird has come into
|
|
the house, and has brought with her all the birds in the world, I am
|
|
sure, and they have fallen upon our corn in the loft, and are eating it
|
|
up at such a rate!’ Away ran the husband upstairs, and saw thousands of
|
|
birds sitting upon the floor eating up his corn, with the sparrow in the
|
|
midst of them. ‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’ cried the carter; for he saw
|
|
that the corn was almost all gone. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said the
|
|
sparrow; ‘thy cruelty shall cost thee thy life yet!’ and away she flew.
|
|
|
|
The carter seeing that he had thus lost all that he had, went down
|
|
into his kitchen; and was still not sorry for what he had done, but sat
|
|
himself angrily and sulkily in the chimney corner. But the sparrow sat
|
|
on the outside of the window, and cried ‘Carter! thy cruelty shall cost
|
|
thee thy life!’ With that he jumped up in a rage, seized his hatchet,
|
|
and threw it at the sparrow; but it missed her, and only broke the
|
|
window. The sparrow now hopped in, perched upon the window-seat, and
|
|
cried, ‘Carter! it shall cost thee thy life!’ Then he became mad and
|
|
blind with rage, and struck the window-seat with such force that he
|
|
cleft it in two: and as the sparrow flew from place to place, the carter
|
|
and his wife were so furious, that they broke all their furniture,
|
|
glasses, chairs, benches, the table, and at last the walls, without
|
|
touching the bird at all. In the end, however, they caught her: and the
|
|
wife said, ‘Shall I kill her at once?’ ‘No,’ cried he, ‘that is letting
|
|
her off too easily: she shall die a much more cruel death; I will eat
|
|
her.’ But the sparrow began to flutter about, and stretch out her neck
|
|
and cried, ‘Carter! it shall cost thee thy life yet!’ With that he
|
|
could wait no longer: so he gave his wife the hatchet, and cried, ‘Wife,
|
|
strike at the bird and kill her in my hand.’ And the wife struck; but
|
|
she missed her aim, and hit her husband on the head so that he fell down
|
|
dead, and the sparrow flew quietly home to her nest.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES
|
|
|
|
There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in
|
|
twelve beds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were
|
|
shut and locked up; but every morning their shoes were found to be quite
|
|
worn through as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody
|
|
could find out how it happened, or where they had been.
|
|
|
|
Then the king made it known to all the land, that if any person could
|
|
discover the secret, and find out where it was that the princesses
|
|
danced in the night, he should have the one he liked best for his
|
|
wife, and should be king after his death; but whoever tried and did not
|
|
succeed, after three days and nights, should be put to death.
|
|
|
|
A king’s son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was
|
|
taken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their
|
|
twelve beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance;
|
|
and, in order that nothing might pass without his hearing it, the door
|
|
of his chamber was left open. But the king’s son soon fell asleep; and
|
|
when he awoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been
|
|
dancing, for the soles of their shoes were full of holes. The same thing
|
|
happened the second and third night: so the king ordered his head to be
|
|
cut off. After him came several others; but they had all the same luck,
|
|
and all lost their lives in the same manner.
|
|
|
|
Now it chanced that an old soldier, who had been wounded in battle
|
|
and could fight no longer, passed through the country where this king
|
|
reigned: and as he was travelling through a wood, he met an old woman,
|
|
who asked him where he was going. ‘I hardly know where I am going, or
|
|
what I had better do,’ said the soldier; ‘but I think I should like very
|
|
well to find out where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time
|
|
I might be a king.’ ‘Well,’ said the old dame, ‘that is no very hard
|
|
task: only take care not to drink any of the wine which one of the
|
|
princesses will bring to you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves
|
|
you pretend to be fast asleep.’
|
|
|
|
Then she gave him a cloak, and said, ‘As soon as you put that on
|
|
you will become invisible, and you will then be able to follow the
|
|
princesses wherever they go.’ When the soldier heard all this good
|
|
counsel, he determined to try his luck: so he went to the king, and said
|
|
he was willing to undertake the task.
|
|
|
|
He was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered
|
|
fine royal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led
|
|
to the outer chamber. Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of
|
|
the princesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all
|
|
away secretly, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself
|
|
down on his bed, and in a little while began to snore very loud as if
|
|
he was fast asleep. When the twelve princesses heard this they laughed
|
|
heartily; and the eldest said, ‘This fellow too might have done a wiser
|
|
thing than lose his life in this way!’ Then they rose up and opened
|
|
their drawers and boxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and
|
|
dressed themselves at the glass, and skipped about as if they were eager
|
|
to begin dancing. But the youngest said, ‘I don’t know how it is, while
|
|
you are so happy I feel very uneasy; I am sure some mischance will
|
|
befall us.’ ‘You simpleton,’ said the eldest, ‘you are always afraid;
|
|
have you forgotten how many kings’ sons have already watched in vain?
|
|
And as for this soldier, even if I had not given him his sleeping
|
|
draught, he would have slept soundly enough.’
|
|
|
|
When they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he
|
|
snored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were
|
|
quite safe; and the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands,
|
|
and the bed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier
|
|
saw them going down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest
|
|
leading the way; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, put
|
|
on the cloak which the old woman had given him, and followed them;
|
|
but in the middle of the stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest
|
|
princess, and she cried out to her sisters, ‘All is not right; someone
|
|
took hold of my gown.’ ‘You silly creature!’ said the eldest, ‘it is
|
|
nothing but a nail in the wall.’ Then down they all went, and at the
|
|
bottom they found themselves in a most delightful grove of trees; and
|
|
the leaves were all of silver, and glittered and sparkled beautifully.
|
|
The soldier wished to take away some token of the place; so he broke
|
|
off a little branch, and there came a loud noise from the tree. Then the
|
|
youngest daughter said again, ‘I am sure all is not right--did not you
|
|
hear that noise? That never happened before.’ But the eldest said, ‘It
|
|
is only our princes, who are shouting for joy at our approach.’
|
|
|
|
Then they came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of
|
|
gold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering
|
|
diamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there
|
|
was a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear; but
|
|
the eldest still said, it was only the princes, who were crying for joy.
|
|
So they went on till they came to a great lake; and at the side of the
|
|
lake there lay twelve little boats with twelve handsome princes in them,
|
|
who seemed to be waiting there for the princesses.
|
|
|
|
One of the princesses went into each boat, and the soldier stepped into
|
|
the same boat with the youngest. As they were rowing over the lake, the
|
|
prince who was in the boat with the youngest princess and the soldier
|
|
said, ‘I do not know why it is, but though I am rowing with all my might
|
|
we do not get on so fast as usual, and I am quite tired: the boat
|
|
seems very heavy today.’ ‘It is only the heat of the weather,’ said the
|
|
princess: ‘I feel it very warm too.’
|
|
|
|
On the other side of the lake stood a fine illuminated castle, from
|
|
which came the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed,
|
|
and went into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and
|
|
the soldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and
|
|
when any of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it
|
|
all up, so that when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this,
|
|
too, the youngest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always
|
|
silenced her. They danced on till three o’clock in the morning, and then
|
|
all their shoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave off.
|
|
The princes rowed them back again over the lake (but this time the
|
|
soldier placed himself in the boat with the eldest princess); and on the
|
|
opposite shore they took leave of each other, the princesses promising
|
|
to come again the next night.
|
|
|
|
When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses,
|
|
and laid himself down; and as the twelve sisters slowly came up very
|
|
much tired, they heard him snoring in his bed; so they said, ‘Now all
|
|
is quite safe’; then they undressed themselves, put away their fine
|
|
clothes, pulled off their shoes, and went to bed. In the morning the
|
|
soldier said nothing about what had happened, but determined to see more
|
|
of this strange adventure, and went again the second and third night;
|
|
and every thing happened just as before; the princesses danced each time
|
|
till their shoes were worn to pieces, and then returned home. However,
|
|
on the third night the soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a
|
|
token of where he had been.
|
|
|
|
As soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken
|
|
before the king with the three branches and the golden cup; and the
|
|
twelve princesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would
|
|
say. And when the king asked him. ‘Where do my twelve daughters dance at
|
|
night?’ he answered, ‘With twelve princes in a castle under ground.’ And
|
|
then he told the king all that had happened, and showed him the three
|
|
branches and the golden cup which he had brought with him. Then the king
|
|
called for the princesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said
|
|
was true: and when they saw that they were discovered, and that it was
|
|
of no use to deny what had happened, they confessed it all. And the king
|
|
asked the soldier which of them he would choose for his wife; and he
|
|
answered, ‘I am not very young, so I will have the eldest.’--And they
|
|
were married that very day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king’s
|
|
heir.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE
|
|
|
|
There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigsty, close
|
|
by the seaside. The fisherman used to go out all day long a-fishing; and
|
|
one day, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the sparkling
|
|
waves and watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away
|
|
deep into the water: and in drawing it up he pulled out a great fish.
|
|
But the fish said, ‘Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an
|
|
enchanted prince: put me in the water again, and let me go!’ ‘Oh, ho!’
|
|
said the man, ‘you need not make so many words about the matter; I will
|
|
have nothing to do with a fish that can talk: so swim away, sir, as soon
|
|
as you please!’ Then he put him back into the water, and the fish darted
|
|
straight down to the bottom, and left a long streak of blood behind him
|
|
on the wave.
|
|
|
|
When the fisherman went home to his wife in the pigsty, he told her how
|
|
he had caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted
|
|
prince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again. ‘Did not
|
|
you ask it for anything?’ said the wife, ‘we live very wretchedly here,
|
|
in this nasty dirty pigsty; do go back and tell the fish we want a snug
|
|
little cottage.’
|
|
|
|
The fisherman did not much like the business: however, he went to the
|
|
seashore; and when he came back there the water looked all yellow and
|
|
green. And he stood at the water’s edge, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, ‘Well, what is her will?
|
|
What does your wife want?’ ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman, ‘she says that when
|
|
I had caught you, I ought to have asked you for something before I let
|
|
you go; she does not like living any longer in the pigsty, and wants
|
|
a snug little cottage.’ ‘Go home, then,’ said the fish; ‘she is in the
|
|
cottage already!’ So the man went home, and saw his wife standing at the
|
|
door of a nice trim little cottage. ‘Come in, come in!’ said she; ‘is
|
|
not this much better than the filthy pigsty we had?’ And there was a
|
|
parlour, and a bedchamber, and a kitchen; and behind the cottage there
|
|
was a little garden, planted with all sorts of flowers and fruits; and
|
|
there was a courtyard behind, full of ducks and chickens. ‘Ah!’ said the
|
|
fisherman, ‘how happily we shall live now!’ ‘We will try to do so, at
|
|
least,’ said his wife.
|
|
|
|
Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Ilsabill said,
|
|
‘Husband, there is not near room enough for us in this cottage; the
|
|
courtyard and the garden are a great deal too small; I should like to
|
|
have a large stone castle to live in: go to the fish again and tell him
|
|
to give us a castle.’ ‘Wife,’ said the fisherman, ‘I don’t like to go to
|
|
him again, for perhaps he will be angry; we ought to be easy with this
|
|
pretty cottage to live in.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said the wife; ‘he will do it
|
|
very willingly, I know; go along and try!’
|
|
|
|
The fisherman went, but his heart was very heavy: and when he came to
|
|
the sea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was very calm; and he went
|
|
close to the edge of the waves, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
‘Well, what does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the man,
|
|
dolefully, ‘my wife wants to live in a stone castle.’ ‘Go home, then,’
|
|
said the fish; ‘she is standing at the gate of it already.’ So away went
|
|
the fisherman, and found his wife standing before the gate of a great
|
|
castle. ‘See,’ said she, ‘is not this grand?’ With that they went into
|
|
the castle together, and found a great many servants there, and the
|
|
rooms all richly furnished, and full of golden chairs and tables; and
|
|
behind the castle was a garden, and around it was a park half a
|
|
mile long, full of sheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; and in the
|
|
courtyard were stables and cow-houses. ‘Well,’ said the man, ‘now we
|
|
will live cheerful and happy in this beautiful castle for the rest of
|
|
our lives.’ ‘Perhaps we may,’ said the wife; ‘but let us sleep upon it,
|
|
before we make up our minds to that.’ So they went to bed.
|
|
|
|
The next morning when Dame Ilsabill awoke it was broad daylight, and
|
|
she jogged the fisherman with her elbow, and said, ‘Get up, husband,
|
|
and bestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land.’ ‘Wife, wife,’
|
|
said the man, ‘why should we wish to be the king? I will not be king.’
|
|
‘Then I will,’ said she. ‘But, wife,’ said the fisherman, ‘how can you
|
|
be king--the fish cannot make you a king?’ ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘say
|
|
no more about it, but go and try! I will be king.’ So the man went away
|
|
quite sorrowful to think that his wife should want to be king. This time
|
|
the sea looked a dark grey colour, and was overspread with curling waves
|
|
and the ridges of foam as he cried out:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
‘Well, what would she have now?’ said the fish. ‘Alas!’ said the poor
|
|
man, ‘my wife wants to be king.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is king
|
|
already.’
|
|
|
|
Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace he saw
|
|
a troop of soldiers, and heard the sound of drums and trumpets. And when
|
|
he went in he saw his wife sitting on a throne of gold and diamonds,
|
|
with a golden crown upon her head; and on each side of her stood six
|
|
fair maidens, each a head taller than the other. ‘Well, wife,’ said the
|
|
fisherman, ‘are you king?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am king.’ And when he had
|
|
looked at her for a long time, he said, ‘Ah, wife! what a fine thing it
|
|
is to be king! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long
|
|
as we live.’ ‘I don’t know how that may be,’ said she; ‘never is a long
|
|
time. I am king, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I
|
|
think I should like to be emperor.’ ‘Alas, wife! why should you wish to
|
|
be emperor?’ said the fisherman. ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘go to the fish!
|
|
I say I will be emperor.’ ‘Ah, wife!’ replied the fisherman, ‘the fish
|
|
cannot make an emperor, I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for
|
|
such a thing.’ ‘I am king,’ said Ilsabill, ‘and you are my slave; so go
|
|
at once!’
|
|
|
|
So the fisherman was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along,
|
|
‘This will come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be
|
|
tired at last, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done.’ He
|
|
soon came to the seashore; and the water was quite black and muddy, and
|
|
a mighty whirlwind blew over the waves and rolled them about, but he
|
|
went as near as he could to the water’s brink, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
‘What would she have now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman,
|
|
‘she wants to be emperor.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is emperor
|
|
already.’
|
|
|
|
So he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife Ilsabill
|
|
sitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on
|
|
her head full two yards high; and on each side of her stood her guards
|
|
and attendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the
|
|
tallest giant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And
|
|
before her stood princes, and dukes, and earls: and the fisherman went
|
|
up to her and said, ‘Wife, are you emperor?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am
|
|
emperor.’ ‘Ah!’ said the man, as he gazed upon her, ‘what a fine thing
|
|
it is to be emperor!’ ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘why should we stop at being
|
|
emperor? I will be pope next.’ ‘O wife, wife!’ said he, ‘how can you be
|
|
pope? there is but one pope at a time in Christendom.’ ‘Husband,’ said
|
|
she, ‘I will be pope this very day.’ ‘But,’ replied the husband, ‘the
|
|
fish cannot make you pope.’ ‘What nonsense!’ said she; ‘if he can make
|
|
an emperor, he can make a pope: go and try him.’
|
|
|
|
So the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging
|
|
and the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were
|
|
in trouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the
|
|
middle of the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards
|
|
the south all was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight
|
|
the fisherman was dreadfully frightened, and he trembled so that his
|
|
knees knocked together: but still he went down near to the shore, and
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
‘What does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman, ‘my
|
|
wife wants to be pope.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is pope already.’
|
|
|
|
Then the fisherman went home, and found Ilsabill sitting on a throne
|
|
that was two miles high. And she had three great crowns on her head, and
|
|
around her stood all the pomp and power of the Church. And on each side
|
|
of her were two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as
|
|
large as the highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no
|
|
larger than a small rushlight. ‘Wife,’ said the fisherman, as he looked
|
|
at all this greatness, ‘are you pope?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am pope.’
|
|
‘Well, wife,’ replied he, ‘it is a grand thing to be pope; and now
|
|
you must be easy, for you can be nothing greater.’ ‘I will think about
|
|
that,’ said the wife. Then they went to bed: but Dame Ilsabill could not
|
|
sleep all night for thinking what she should be next. At last, as she
|
|
was dropping asleep, morning broke, and the sun rose. ‘Ha!’ thought she,
|
|
as she woke up and looked at it through the window, ‘after all I cannot
|
|
prevent the sun rising.’ At this thought she was very angry, and wakened
|
|
her husband, and said, ‘Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must
|
|
be lord of the sun and moon.’ The fisherman was half asleep, but the
|
|
thought frightened him so much that he started and fell out of bed.
|
|
‘Alas, wife!’ said he, ‘cannot you be easy with being pope?’ ‘No,’
|
|
said she, ‘I am very uneasy as long as the sun and moon rise without my
|
|
leave. Go to the fish at once!’
|
|
|
|
Then the man went shivering with fear; and as he was going down to
|
|
the shore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks
|
|
shook. And all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the
|
|
lightnings played, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in
|
|
the sea great black waves, swelling up like mountains with crowns of
|
|
white foam upon their heads. And the fisherman crept towards the sea,
|
|
and cried out, as well as he could:
|
|
|
|
‘O man of the sea!
|
|
Hearken to me!
|
|
My wife Ilsabill
|
|
Will have her own will,
|
|
And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!’
|
|
|
|
‘What does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘she wants to
|
|
be lord of the sun and moon.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish, ‘to your pigsty
|
|
again.’
|
|
|
|
And there they live to this very day.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR
|
|
|
|
Once in summer-time the bear and the wolf were walking in the forest,
|
|
and the bear heard a bird singing so beautifully that he said: ‘Brother
|
|
wolf, what bird is it that sings so well?’ ‘That is the King of birds,’
|
|
said the wolf, ‘before whom we must bow down.’ In reality the bird was
|
|
the willow-wren. ‘IF that’s the case,’ said the bear, ‘I should very
|
|
much like to see his royal palace; come, take me thither.’ ‘That is not
|
|
done quite as you seem to think,’ said the wolf; ‘you must wait until
|
|
the Queen comes,’ Soon afterwards, the Queen arrived with some food in
|
|
her beak, and the lord King came too, and they began to feed their young
|
|
ones. The bear would have liked to go at once, but the wolf held him
|
|
back by the sleeve, and said: ‘No, you must wait until the lord and lady
|
|
Queen have gone away again.’ So they took stock of the hole where the
|
|
nest lay, and trotted away. The bear, however, could not rest until he
|
|
had seen the royal palace, and when a short time had passed, went to it
|
|
again. The King and Queen had just flown out, so he peeped in and saw
|
|
five or six young ones lying there. ‘Is that the royal palace?’ cried
|
|
the bear; ‘it is a wretched palace, and you are not King’s children, you
|
|
are disreputable children!’ When the young wrens heard that, they were
|
|
frightfully angry, and screamed: ‘No, that we are not! Our parents are
|
|
honest people! Bear, you will have to pay for that!’
|
|
|
|
The bear and the wolf grew uneasy, and turned back and went into their
|
|
holes. The young willow-wrens, however, continued to cry and scream, and
|
|
when their parents again brought food they said: ‘We will not so much as
|
|
touch one fly’s leg, no, not if we were dying of hunger, until you have
|
|
settled whether we are respectable children or not; the bear has been
|
|
here and has insulted us!’ Then the old King said: ‘Be easy, he shall
|
|
be punished,’ and he at once flew with the Queen to the bear’s cave, and
|
|
called in: ‘Old Growler, why have you insulted my children? You shall
|
|
suffer for it--we will punish you by a bloody war.’ Thus war was
|
|
announced to the Bear, and all four-footed animals were summoned to take
|
|
part in it, oxen, asses, cows, deer, and every other animal the earth
|
|
contained. And the willow-wren summoned everything which flew in the
|
|
air, not only birds, large and small, but midges, and hornets, bees and
|
|
flies had to come.
|
|
|
|
When the time came for the war to begin, the willow-wren sent out spies
|
|
to discover who was the enemy’s commander-in-chief. The gnat, who was
|
|
the most crafty, flew into the forest where the enemy was assembled,
|
|
and hid herself beneath a leaf of the tree where the password was to be
|
|
announced. There stood the bear, and he called the fox before him
|
|
and said: ‘Fox, you are the most cunning of all animals, you shall be
|
|
general and lead us.’ ‘Good,’ said the fox, ‘but what signal shall we
|
|
agree upon?’ No one knew that, so the fox said: ‘I have a fine long
|
|
bushy tail, which almost looks like a plume of red feathers. When I lift
|
|
my tail up quite high, all is going well, and you must charge; but if I
|
|
let it hang down, run away as fast as you can.’ When the gnat had heard
|
|
that, she flew away again, and revealed everything, down to the minutest
|
|
detail, to the willow-wren. When day broke, and the battle was to begin,
|
|
all the four-footed animals came running up with such a noise that the
|
|
earth trembled. The willow-wren with his army also came flying through
|
|
the air with such a humming, and whirring, and swarming that every one
|
|
was uneasy and afraid, and on both sides they advanced against each
|
|
other. But the willow-wren sent down the hornet, with orders to settle
|
|
beneath the fox’s tail, and sting with all his might. When the fox felt
|
|
the first string, he started so that he lifted one leg, from pain, but
|
|
he bore it, and still kept his tail high in the air; at the second
|
|
sting, he was forced to put it down for a moment; at the third, he could
|
|
hold out no longer, screamed, and put his tail between his legs. When
|
|
the animals saw that, they thought all was lost, and began to flee, each
|
|
into his hole, and the birds had won the battle.
|
|
|
|
Then the King and Queen flew home to their children and cried:
|
|
‘Children, rejoice, eat and drink to your heart’s content, we have won
|
|
the battle!’ But the young wrens said: ‘We will not eat yet, the bear
|
|
must come to the nest, and beg for pardon and say that we are honourable
|
|
children, before we will do that.’ Then the willow-wren flew to the
|
|
bear’s hole and cried: ‘Growler, you are to come to the nest to my
|
|
children, and beg their pardon, or else every rib of your body shall
|
|
be broken.’ So the bear crept thither in the greatest fear, and begged
|
|
their pardon. And now at last the young wrens were satisfied, and sat
|
|
down together and ate and drank, and made merry till quite late into the
|
|
night.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FROG-PRINCE
|
|
|
|
One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went
|
|
out to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool
|
|
spring of water, that rose in the midst of it, she sat herself down
|
|
to rest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her
|
|
favourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and
|
|
catching it again as it fell. After a time she threw it up so high that
|
|
she missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded away, and rolled
|
|
along upon the ground, till at last it fell down into the spring. The
|
|
princess looked into the spring after her ball, but it was very deep, so
|
|
deep that she could not see the bottom of it. Then she began to bewail
|
|
her loss, and said, ‘Alas! if I could only get my ball again, I would
|
|
give all my fine clothes and jewels, and everything that I have in the
|
|
world.’
|
|
|
|
Whilst she was speaking, a frog put its head out of the water, and said,
|
|
‘Princess, why do you weep so bitterly?’ ‘Alas!’ said she, ‘what can you
|
|
do for me, you nasty frog? My golden ball has fallen into the spring.’
|
|
The frog said, ‘I want not your pearls, and jewels, and fine clothes;
|
|
but if you will love me, and let me live with you and eat from off
|
|
your golden plate, and sleep upon your bed, I will bring you your ball
|
|
again.’ ‘What nonsense,’ thought the princess, ‘this silly frog is
|
|
talking! He can never even get out of the spring to visit me, though
|
|
he may be able to get my ball for me, and therefore I will tell him he
|
|
shall have what he asks.’ So she said to the frog, ‘Well, if you will
|
|
bring me my ball, I will do all you ask.’ Then the frog put his head
|
|
down, and dived deep under the water; and after a little while he came
|
|
up again, with the ball in his mouth, and threw it on the edge of the
|
|
spring. As soon as the young princess saw her ball, she ran to pick
|
|
it up; and she was so overjoyed to have it in her hand again, that she
|
|
never thought of the frog, but ran home with it as fast as she could.
|
|
The frog called after her, ‘Stay, princess, and take me with you as you
|
|
said,’ But she did not stop to hear a word.
|
|
|
|
The next day, just as the princess had sat down to dinner, she heard a
|
|
strange noise--tap, tap--plash, plash--as if something was coming up the
|
|
marble staircase: and soon afterwards there was a gentle knock at the
|
|
door, and a little voice cried out and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Open the door, my princess dear,
|
|
Open the door to thy true love here!
|
|
And mind the words that thou and I said
|
|
By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.’
|
|
|
|
Then the princess ran to the door and opened it, and there she saw
|
|
the frog, whom she had quite forgotten. At this sight she was sadly
|
|
frightened, and shutting the door as fast as she could came back to her
|
|
seat. The king, her father, seeing that something had frightened her,
|
|
asked her what was the matter. ‘There is a nasty frog,’ said she, ‘at
|
|
the door, that lifted my ball for me out of the spring this morning: I
|
|
told him that he should live with me here, thinking that he could never
|
|
get out of the spring; but there he is at the door, and he wants to come
|
|
in.’
|
|
|
|
While she was speaking the frog knocked again at the door, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Open the door, my princess dear,
|
|
Open the door to thy true love here!
|
|
And mind the words that thou and I said
|
|
By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.’
|
|
|
|
Then the king said to the young princess, ‘As you have given your word
|
|
you must keep it; so go and let him in.’ She did so, and the frog hopped
|
|
into the room, and then straight on--tap, tap--plash, plash--from the
|
|
bottom of the room to the top, till he came up close to the table where
|
|
the princess sat. ‘Pray lift me upon chair,’ said he to the princess,
|
|
‘and let me sit next to you.’ As soon as she had done this, the frog
|
|
said, ‘Put your plate nearer to me, that I may eat out of it.’ This
|
|
she did, and when he had eaten as much as he could, he said, ‘Now I am
|
|
tired; carry me upstairs, and put me into your bed.’ And the princess,
|
|
though very unwilling, took him up in her hand, and put him upon the
|
|
pillow of her own bed, where he slept all night long. As soon as it was
|
|
light he jumped up, hopped downstairs, and went out of the house.
|
|
‘Now, then,’ thought the princess, ‘at last he is gone, and I shall be
|
|
troubled with him no more.’
|
|
|
|
But she was mistaken; for when night came again she heard the same
|
|
tapping at the door; and the frog came once more, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Open the door, my princess dear,
|
|
Open the door to thy true love here!
|
|
And mind the words that thou and I said
|
|
By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.’
|
|
|
|
And when the princess opened the door the frog came in, and slept upon
|
|
her pillow as before, till the morning broke. And the third night he did
|
|
the same. But when the princess awoke on the following morning she was
|
|
astonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome prince, gazing on her
|
|
with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at the head
|
|
of her bed.
|
|
|
|
He told her that he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, who had
|
|
changed him into a frog; and that he had been fated so to abide till
|
|
some princess should take him out of the spring, and let him eat from
|
|
her plate, and sleep upon her bed for three nights. ‘You,’ said the
|
|
prince, ‘have broken his cruel charm, and now I have nothing to wish for
|
|
but that you should go with me into my father’s kingdom, where I will
|
|
marry you, and love you as long as you live.’
|
|
|
|
The young princess, you may be sure, was not long in saying ‘Yes’ to
|
|
all this; and as they spoke a gay coach drove up, with eight beautiful
|
|
horses, decked with plumes of feathers and a golden harness; and behind
|
|
the coach rode the prince’s servant, faithful Heinrich, who had bewailed
|
|
the misfortunes of his dear master during his enchantment so long and so
|
|
bitterly, that his heart had well-nigh burst.
|
|
|
|
They then took leave of the king, and got into the coach with eight
|
|
horses, and all set out, full of joy and merriment, for the prince’s
|
|
kingdom, which they reached safely; and there they lived happily a great
|
|
many years.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP
|
|
|
|
A certain cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and had said so much
|
|
to her about the great love and friendship she felt for her, that at
|
|
length the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house together.
|
|
‘But we must make a provision for winter, or else we shall suffer
|
|
from hunger,’ said the cat; ‘and you, little mouse, cannot venture
|
|
everywhere, or you will be caught in a trap some day.’ The good advice
|
|
was followed, and a pot of fat was bought, but they did not know where
|
|
to put it. At length, after much consideration, the cat said: ‘I know no
|
|
place where it will be better stored up than in the church, for no one
|
|
dares take anything away from there. We will set it beneath the altar,
|
|
and not touch it until we are really in need of it.’ So the pot was
|
|
placed in safety, but it was not long before the cat had a great
|
|
yearning for it, and said to the mouse: ‘I want to tell you something,
|
|
little mouse; my cousin has brought a little son into the world, and has
|
|
asked me to be godmother; he is white with brown spots, and I am to hold
|
|
him over the font at the christening. Let me go out today, and you look
|
|
after the house by yourself.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ answered the mouse, ‘by all
|
|
means go, and if you get anything very good to eat, think of me. I
|
|
should like a drop of sweet red christening wine myself.’ All this,
|
|
however, was untrue; the cat had no cousin, and had not been asked to
|
|
be godmother. She went straight to the church, stole to the pot of fat,
|
|
began to lick at it, and licked the top of the fat off. Then she took a
|
|
walk upon the roofs of the town, looked out for opportunities, and then
|
|
stretched herself in the sun, and licked her lips whenever she thought
|
|
of the pot of fat, and not until it was evening did she return home.
|
|
‘Well, here you are again,’ said the mouse, ‘no doubt you have had a
|
|
merry day.’ ‘All went off well,’ answered the cat. ‘What name did they
|
|
give the child?’ ‘Top off!’ said the cat quite coolly. ‘Top off!’ cried
|
|
the mouse, ‘that is a very odd and uncommon name, is it a usual one in
|
|
your family?’ ‘What does that matter,’ said the cat, ‘it is no worse
|
|
than Crumb-stealer, as your godchildren are called.’
|
|
|
|
Before long the cat was seized by another fit of yearning. She said to
|
|
the mouse: ‘You must do me a favour, and once more manage the house for
|
|
a day alone. I am again asked to be godmother, and, as the child has a
|
|
white ring round its neck, I cannot refuse.’ The good mouse consented,
|
|
but the cat crept behind the town walls to the church, and devoured
|
|
half the pot of fat. ‘Nothing ever seems so good as what one keeps to
|
|
oneself,’ said she, and was quite satisfied with her day’s work. When
|
|
she went home the mouse inquired: ‘And what was the child christened?’
|
|
‘Half-done,’ answered the cat. ‘Half-done! What are you saying? I
|
|
never heard the name in my life, I’ll wager anything it is not in the
|
|
calendar!’
|
|
|
|
The cat’s mouth soon began to water for some more licking. ‘All good
|
|
things go in threes,’ said she, ‘I am asked to stand godmother again.
|
|
The child is quite black, only it has white paws, but with that
|
|
exception, it has not a single white hair on its whole body; this only
|
|
happens once every few years, you will let me go, won’t you?’ ‘Top-off!
|
|
Half-done!’ answered the mouse, ‘they are such odd names, they make me
|
|
very thoughtful.’ ‘You sit at home,’ said the cat, ‘in your dark-grey
|
|
fur coat and long tail, and are filled with fancies, that’s because
|
|
you do not go out in the daytime.’ During the cat’s absence the mouse
|
|
cleaned the house, and put it in order, but the greedy cat entirely
|
|
emptied the pot of fat. ‘When everything is eaten up one has some
|
|
peace,’ said she to herself, and well filled and fat she did not return
|
|
home till night. The mouse at once asked what name had been given to
|
|
the third child. ‘It will not please you more than the others,’ said the
|
|
cat. ‘He is called All-gone.’ ‘All-gone,’ cried the mouse ‘that is the
|
|
most suspicious name of all! I have never seen it in print. All-gone;
|
|
what can that mean?’ and she shook her head, curled herself up, and lay
|
|
down to sleep.
|
|
|
|
From this time forth no one invited the cat to be godmother, but
|
|
when the winter had come and there was no longer anything to be found
|
|
outside, the mouse thought of their provision, and said: ‘Come, cat,
|
|
we will go to our pot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves--we
|
|
shall enjoy that.’ ‘Yes,’ answered the cat, ‘you will enjoy it as much
|
|
as you would enjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the
|
|
window.’ They set out on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of
|
|
fat certainly was still in its place, but it was empty. ‘Alas!’ said the
|
|
mouse, ‘now I see what has happened, now it comes to light! You are a true
|
|
friend! You have devoured all when you were standing godmother. First
|
|
top off, then half-done, then--’ ‘Will you hold your tongue,’ cried the
|
|
cat, ‘one word more, and I will eat you too.’ ‘All-gone’ was already on
|
|
the poor mouse’s lips; scarcely had she spoken it before the cat sprang
|
|
on her, seized her, and swallowed her down. Verily, that is the way of
|
|
the world.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE GOOSE-GIRL
|
|
|
|
The king of a great land died, and left his queen to take care of their
|
|
only child. This child was a daughter, who was very beautiful; and her
|
|
mother loved her dearly, and was very kind to her. And there was a good
|
|
fairy too, who was fond of the princess, and helped her mother to watch
|
|
over her. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a
|
|
great way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she
|
|
got ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen her
|
|
mother, packed up a great many costly things; jewels, and gold, and
|
|
silver; trinkets, fine dresses, and in short everything that became a
|
|
royal bride. And she gave her a waiting-maid to ride with her, and give
|
|
her into the bridegroom’s hands; and each had a horse for the journey.
|
|
Now the princess’s horse was the fairy’s gift, and it was called Falada,
|
|
and could speak.
|
|
|
|
When the time came for them to set out, the fairy went into her
|
|
bed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair,
|
|
and gave it to the princess, and said, ‘Take care of it, dear child; for
|
|
it is a charm that may be of use to you on the road.’ Then they all took
|
|
a sorrowful leave of the princess; and she put the lock of hair into
|
|
her bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her journey to her
|
|
bridegroom’s kingdom.
|
|
|
|
One day, as they were riding along by a brook, the princess began to
|
|
feel very thirsty: and she said to her maid, ‘Pray get down, and fetch
|
|
me some water in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to
|
|
drink.’ ‘Nay,’ said the maid, ‘if you are thirsty, get off yourself, and
|
|
stoop down by the water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid any
|
|
longer.’ Then she was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt over the
|
|
little brook, and drank; for she was frightened, and dared not bring out
|
|
her golden cup; and she wept and said, ‘Alas! what will become of me?’
|
|
And the lock answered her, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
|
|
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.’
|
|
|
|
But the princess was very gentle and meek, so she said nothing to her
|
|
maid’s ill behaviour, but got upon her horse again.
|
|
|
|
Then all rode farther on their journey, till the day grew so warm, and
|
|
the sun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty again;
|
|
and at last, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid’s rude
|
|
speech, and said, ‘Pray get down, and fetch me some water to drink in
|
|
my golden cup.’ But the maid answered her, and even spoke more haughtily
|
|
than before: ‘Drink if you will, but I shall not be your waiting-maid.’
|
|
Then the princess was so thirsty that she got off her horse, and lay
|
|
down, and held her head over the running stream, and cried and said,
|
|
‘What will become of me?’ And the lock of hair answered her again:
|
|
|
|
‘Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
|
|
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.’
|
|
|
|
And as she leaned down to drink, the lock of hair fell from her bosom,
|
|
and floated away with the water. Now she was so frightened that she did
|
|
not see it; but her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the
|
|
charm; and she saw that the poor bride would be in her power, now that
|
|
she had lost the hair. So when the bride had done drinking, and would
|
|
have got upon Falada again, the maid said, ‘I shall ride upon Falada,
|
|
and you may have my horse instead’; so she was forced to give up her
|
|
horse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes and put on her
|
|
maid’s shabby ones.
|
|
|
|
At last, as they drew near the end of their journey, this treacherous
|
|
servant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had
|
|
happened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well.
|
|
|
|
Then the waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride rode upon the
|
|
other horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the
|
|
royal court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince flew to
|
|
meet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one
|
|
who was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber;
|
|
but the true princess was told to stay in the court below.
|
|
|
|
Now the old king happened just then to have nothing else to do; so he
|
|
amused himself by sitting at his kitchen window, looking at what was
|
|
going on; and he saw her in the courtyard. As she looked very pretty,
|
|
and too delicate for a waiting-maid, he went up into the royal chamber
|
|
to ask the bride who it was she had brought with her, that was thus left
|
|
standing in the court below. ‘I brought her with me for the sake of her
|
|
company on the road,’ said she; ‘pray give the girl some work to do,
|
|
that she may not be idle.’ The old king could not for some time think
|
|
of any work for her to do; but at last he said, ‘I have a lad who takes
|
|
care of my geese; she may go and help him.’ Now the name of this lad,
|
|
that the real bride was to help in watching the king’s geese, was
|
|
Curdken.
|
|
|
|
But the false bride said to the prince, ‘Dear husband, pray do me one
|
|
piece of kindness.’ ‘That I will,’ said the prince. ‘Then tell one of
|
|
your slaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon, for it
|
|
was very unruly, and plagued me sadly on the road’; but the truth was,
|
|
she was very much afraid lest Falada should some day or other speak, and
|
|
tell all she had done to the princess. She carried her point, and the
|
|
faithful Falada was killed; but when the true princess heard of it, she
|
|
wept, and begged the man to nail up Falada’s head against a large
|
|
dark gate of the city, through which she had to pass every morning
|
|
and evening, that there she might still see him sometimes. Then the
|
|
slaughterer said he would do as she wished; and cut off the head, and
|
|
nailed it up under the dark gate.
|
|
|
|
Early the next morning, as she and Curdken went out through the gate,
|
|
she said sorrowfully:
|
|
|
|
‘Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!’
|
|
|
|
and the head answered:
|
|
|
|
‘Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
|
|
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
|
|
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.’
|
|
|
|
Then they went out of the city, and drove the geese on. And when she
|
|
came to the meadow, she sat down upon a bank there, and let down her
|
|
waving locks of hair, which were all of pure silver; and when Curdken
|
|
saw it glitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the
|
|
locks out, but she cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let Curdken’s hat go!
|
|
Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let him after it go!
|
|
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
|
|
Away be it whirl’d
|
|
Till the silvery locks
|
|
Are all comb’d and curl’d!
|
|
|
|
Then there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken’s hat; and
|
|
away it flew over the hills: and he was forced to turn and run after
|
|
it; till, by the time he came back, she had done combing and curling her
|
|
hair, and had put it up again safe. Then he was very angry and sulky,
|
|
and would not speak to her at all; but they watched the geese until it
|
|
grew dark in the evening, and then drove them homewards.
|
|
|
|
The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor
|
|
girl looked up at Falada’s head, and cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!’
|
|
|
|
and the head answered:
|
|
|
|
‘Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
|
|
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
|
|
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.’
|
|
|
|
Then she drove on the geese, and sat down again in the meadow, and began
|
|
to comb out her hair as before; and Curdken ran up to her, and wanted to
|
|
take hold of it; but she cried out quickly:
|
|
|
|
‘Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let Curdken’s hat go!
|
|
Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let him after it go!
|
|
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
|
|
Away be it whirl’d
|
|
Till the silvery locks
|
|
Are all comb’d and curl’d!
|
|
|
|
Then the wind came and blew away his hat; and off it flew a great way,
|
|
over the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it; and when
|
|
he came back she had bound up her hair again, and all was safe. So they
|
|
watched the geese till it grew dark.
|
|
|
|
In the evening, after they came home, Curdken went to the old king, and
|
|
said, ‘I cannot have that strange girl to help me to keep the geese any
|
|
longer.’ ‘Why?’ said the king. ‘Because, instead of doing any good, she
|
|
does nothing but tease me all day long.’ Then the king made him tell him
|
|
what had happened. And Curdken said, ‘When we go in the morning through
|
|
the dark gate with our flock of geese, she cries and talks with the head
|
|
of a horse that hangs upon the wall, and says:
|
|
|
|
‘Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!’
|
|
|
|
and the head answers:
|
|
|
|
‘Bride, bride, there thou gangest!
|
|
Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
|
|
Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.’
|
|
|
|
And Curdken went on telling the king what had happened upon the meadow
|
|
where the geese fed; how his hat was blown away; and how he was forced
|
|
to run after it, and to leave his flock of geese to themselves. But the
|
|
old king told the boy to go out again the next day: and when morning
|
|
came, he placed himself behind the dark gate, and heard how she spoke
|
|
to Falada, and how Falada answered. Then he went into the field, and
|
|
hid himself in a bush by the meadow’s side; and he soon saw with his own
|
|
eyes how they drove the flock of geese; and how, after a little time,
|
|
she let down her hair that glittered in the sun. And then he heard her
|
|
say:
|
|
|
|
‘Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let Curdken’s hat go!
|
|
Blow, breezes, blow!
|
|
Let him after it go!
|
|
O’er hills, dales, and rocks,
|
|
Away be it whirl’d
|
|
Till the silvery locks
|
|
Are all comb’d and curl’d!
|
|
|
|
And soon came a gale of wind, and carried away Curdken’s hat, and away
|
|
went Curdken after it, while the girl went on combing and curling her
|
|
hair. All this the old king saw: so he went home without being seen; and
|
|
when the little goose-girl came back in the evening he called her aside,
|
|
and asked her why she did so: but she burst into tears, and said, ‘That
|
|
I must not tell you or any man, or I shall lose my life.’
|
|
|
|
But the old king begged so hard, that she had no peace till she had told
|
|
him all the tale, from beginning to end, word for word. And it was very
|
|
lucky for her that she did so, for when she had done the king ordered
|
|
royal clothes to be put upon her, and gazed on her with wonder, she was
|
|
so beautiful. Then he called his son and told him that he had only a
|
|
false bride; for that she was merely a waiting-maid, while the true
|
|
bride stood by. And the young king rejoiced when he saw her beauty, and
|
|
heard how meek and patient she had been; and without saying anything to
|
|
the false bride, the king ordered a great feast to be got ready for all
|
|
his court. The bridegroom sat at the top, with the false princess on one
|
|
side, and the true one on the other; but nobody knew her again, for her
|
|
beauty was quite dazzling to their eyes; and she did not seem at all
|
|
like the little goose-girl, now that she had her brilliant dress on.
|
|
|
|
When they had eaten and drank, and were very merry, the old king said
|
|
he would tell them a tale. So he began, and told all the story of the
|
|
princess, as if it was one that he had once heard; and he asked the
|
|
true waiting-maid what she thought ought to be done to anyone who would
|
|
behave thus. ‘Nothing better,’ said this false bride, ‘than that she
|
|
should be thrown into a cask stuck round with sharp nails, and that
|
|
two white horses should be put to it, and should drag it from street to
|
|
street till she was dead.’ ‘Thou art she!’ said the old king; ‘and as
|
|
thou has judged thyself, so shall it be done to thee.’ And the young
|
|
king was then married to his true wife, and they reigned over the
|
|
kingdom in peace and happiness all their lives; and the good fairy came
|
|
to see them, and restored the faithful Falada to life again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET
|
|
|
|
|
|
1. HOW THEY WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO EAT NUTS
|
|
|
|
‘The nuts are quite ripe now,’ said Chanticleer to his wife Partlet,
|
|
‘suppose we go together to the mountains, and eat as many as we can,
|
|
before the squirrel takes them all away.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said
|
|
Partlet, ‘let us go and make a holiday of it together.’
|
|
|
|
So they went to the mountains; and as it was a lovely day, they stayed
|
|
there till the evening. Now, whether it was that they had eaten so many
|
|
nuts that they could not walk, or whether they were lazy and would not,
|
|
I do not know: however, they took it into their heads that it did not
|
|
become them to go home on foot. So Chanticleer began to build a little
|
|
carriage of nutshells: and when it was finished, Partlet jumped into
|
|
it and sat down, and bid Chanticleer harness himself to it and draw her
|
|
home. ‘That’s a good joke!’ said Chanticleer; ‘no, that will never do;
|
|
I had rather by half walk home; I’ll sit on the box and be coachman,
|
|
if you like, but I’ll not draw.’ While this was passing, a duck came
|
|
quacking up and cried out, ‘You thieving vagabonds, what business have
|
|
you in my grounds? I’ll give it you well for your insolence!’ and upon
|
|
that she fell upon Chanticleer most lustily. But Chanticleer was no
|
|
coward, and returned the duck’s blows with his sharp spurs so fiercely
|
|
that she soon began to cry out for mercy; which was only granted her
|
|
upon condition that she would draw the carriage home for them. This she
|
|
agreed to do; and Chanticleer got upon the box, and drove, crying, ‘Now,
|
|
duck, get on as fast as you can.’ And away they went at a pretty good
|
|
pace.
|
|
|
|
After they had travelled along a little way, they met a needle and a pin
|
|
walking together along the road: and the needle cried out, ‘Stop, stop!’
|
|
and said it was so dark that they could hardly find their way, and such
|
|
dirty walking they could not get on at all: he told them that he and his
|
|
friend, the pin, had been at a public-house a few miles off, and had sat
|
|
drinking till they had forgotten how late it was; he begged therefore
|
|
that the travellers would be so kind as to give them a lift in their
|
|
carriage. Chanticleer observing that they were but thin fellows, and not
|
|
likely to take up much room, told them they might ride, but made them
|
|
promise not to dirty the wheels of the carriage in getting in, nor to
|
|
tread on Partlet’s toes.
|
|
|
|
Late at night they arrived at an inn; and as it was bad travelling in
|
|
the dark, and the duck seemed much tired, and waddled about a good
|
|
deal from one side to the other, they made up their minds to fix their
|
|
quarters there: but the landlord at first was unwilling, and said his
|
|
house was full, thinking they might not be very respectable company:
|
|
however, they spoke civilly to him, and gave him the egg which Partlet
|
|
had laid by the way, and said they would give him the duck, who was in
|
|
the habit of laying one every day: so at last he let them come in, and
|
|
they bespoke a handsome supper, and spent the evening very jollily.
|
|
|
|
Early in the morning, before it was quite light, and when nobody was
|
|
stirring in the inn, Chanticleer awakened his wife, and, fetching the
|
|
egg, they pecked a hole in it, ate it up, and threw the shells into the
|
|
fireplace: they then went to the pin and needle, who were fast asleep,
|
|
and seizing them by the heads, stuck one into the landlord’s easy chair
|
|
and the other into his handkerchief; and, having done this, they crept
|
|
away as softly as possible. However, the duck, who slept in the open
|
|
air in the yard, heard them coming, and jumping into the brook which ran
|
|
close by the inn, soon swam out of their reach.
|
|
|
|
An hour or two afterwards the landlord got up, and took his handkerchief
|
|
to wipe his face, but the pin ran into him and pricked him: then he
|
|
walked into the kitchen to light his pipe at the fire, but when he
|
|
stirred it up the eggshells flew into his eyes, and almost blinded him.
|
|
‘Bless me!’ said he, ‘all the world seems to have a design against my
|
|
head this morning’: and so saying, he threw himself sulkily into his
|
|
easy chair; but, oh dear! the needle ran into him; and this time the
|
|
pain was not in his head. He now flew into a very great passion, and,
|
|
suspecting the company who had come in the night before, he went to look
|
|
after them, but they were all off; so he swore that he never again
|
|
would take in such a troop of vagabonds, who ate a great deal, paid no
|
|
reckoning, and gave him nothing for his trouble but their apish tricks.
|
|
|
|
|
|
2. HOW CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET WENT TO VISIT MR KORBES
|
|
|
|
Another day, Chanticleer and Partlet wished to ride out together;
|
|
so Chanticleer built a handsome carriage with four red wheels, and
|
|
harnessed six mice to it; and then he and Partlet got into the carriage,
|
|
and away they drove. Soon afterwards a cat met them, and said, ‘Where
|
|
are you going?’ And Chanticleer replied,
|
|
|
|
‘All on our way
|
|
A visit to pay
|
|
To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.’
|
|
|
|
Then the cat said, ‘Take me with you,’ Chanticleer said, ‘With all my
|
|
heart: get up behind, and be sure you do not fall off.’
|
|
|
|
‘Take care of this handsome coach of mine,
|
|
Nor dirty my pretty red wheels so fine!
|
|
Now, mice, be ready,
|
|
And, wheels, run steady!
|
|
For we are going a visit to pay
|
|
To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.’
|
|
|
|
Soon after came up a millstone, an egg, a duck, and a pin; and
|
|
Chanticleer gave them all leave to get into the carriage and go with
|
|
them.
|
|
|
|
When they arrived at Mr Korbes’s house, he was not at home; so the mice
|
|
drew the carriage into the coach-house, Chanticleer and Partlet flew
|
|
upon a beam, the cat sat down in the fireplace, the duck got into
|
|
the washing cistern, the pin stuck himself into the bed pillow, the
|
|
millstone laid himself over the house door, and the egg rolled himself
|
|
up in the towel.
|
|
|
|
When Mr Korbes came home, he went to the fireplace to make a fire; but
|
|
the cat threw all the ashes in his eyes: so he ran to the kitchen to
|
|
wash himself; but there the duck splashed all the water in his face; and
|
|
when he tried to wipe himself, the egg broke to pieces in the towel all
|
|
over his face and eyes. Then he was very angry, and went without his
|
|
supper to bed; but when he laid his head on the pillow, the pin ran into
|
|
his cheek: at this he became quite furious, and, jumping up, would have
|
|
run out of the house; but when he came to the door, the millstone fell
|
|
down on his head, and killed him on the spot.
|
|
|
|
|
|
3. HOW PARTLET DIED AND WAS BURIED, AND HOW CHANTICLEER DIED OF GRIEF
|
|
|
|
Another day Chanticleer and Partlet agreed to go again to the mountains
|
|
to eat nuts; and it was settled that all the nuts which they found
|
|
should be shared equally between them. Now Partlet found a very large
|
|
nut; but she said nothing about it to Chanticleer, and kept it all to
|
|
herself: however, it was so big that she could not swallow it, and it
|
|
stuck in her throat. Then she was in a great fright, and cried out to
|
|
Chanticleer, ‘Pray run as fast as you can, and fetch me some water, or I
|
|
shall be choked.’ Chanticleer ran as fast as he could to the river, and
|
|
said, ‘River, give me some water, for Partlet lies in the mountain, and
|
|
will be choked by a great nut.’ The river said, ‘Run first to the bride,
|
|
and ask her for a silken cord to draw up the water.’ Chanticleer ran to
|
|
the bride, and said, ‘Bride, you must give me a silken cord, for then
|
|
the river will give me water, and the water I will carry to Partlet, who
|
|
lies on the mountain, and will be choked by a great nut.’ But the bride
|
|
said, ‘Run first, and bring me my garland that is hanging on a willow
|
|
in the garden.’ Then Chanticleer ran to the garden, and took the garland
|
|
from the bough where it hung, and brought it to the bride; and then
|
|
the bride gave him the silken cord, and he took the silken cord to
|
|
the river, and the river gave him water, and he carried the water to
|
|
Partlet; but in the meantime she was choked by the great nut, and lay
|
|
quite dead, and never moved any more.
|
|
|
|
Then Chanticleer was very sorry, and cried bitterly; and all the beasts
|
|
came and wept with him over poor Partlet. And six mice built a little
|
|
hearse to carry her to her grave; and when it was ready they harnessed
|
|
themselves before it, and Chanticleer drove them. On the way they
|
|
met the fox. ‘Where are you going, Chanticleer?’ said he. ‘To bury my
|
|
Partlet,’ said the other. ‘May I go with you?’ said the fox. ‘Yes; but
|
|
you must get up behind, or my horses will not be able to draw you.’ Then
|
|
the fox got up behind; and presently the wolf, the bear, the goat, and
|
|
all the beasts of the wood, came and climbed upon the hearse.
|
|
|
|
So on they went till they came to a rapid stream. ‘How shall we get
|
|
over?’ said Chanticleer. Then said a straw, ‘I will lay myself across,
|
|
and you may pass over upon me.’ But as the mice were going over, the
|
|
straw slipped away and fell into the water, and the six mice all fell in
|
|
and were drowned. What was to be done? Then a large log of wood came
|
|
and said, ‘I am big enough; I will lay myself across the stream, and you
|
|
shall pass over upon me.’ So he laid himself down; but they managed
|
|
so clumsily, that the log of wood fell in and was carried away by the
|
|
stream. Then a stone, who saw what had happened, came up and kindly
|
|
offered to help poor Chanticleer by laying himself across the stream;
|
|
and this time he got safely to the other side with the hearse, and
|
|
managed to get Partlet out of it; but the fox and the other mourners,
|
|
who were sitting behind, were too heavy, and fell back into the water
|
|
and were all carried away by the stream and drowned.
|
|
|
|
Thus Chanticleer was left alone with his dead Partlet; and having dug
|
|
a grave for her, he laid her in it, and made a little hillock over her.
|
|
Then he sat down by the grave, and wept and mourned, till at last he
|
|
died too; and so all were dead.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
RAPUNZEL
|
|
|
|
There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a
|
|
child. At length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire.
|
|
These people had a little window at the back of their house from which
|
|
a splendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful
|
|
flowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no
|
|
one dared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had
|
|
great power and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was
|
|
standing by this window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a
|
|
bed which was planted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it
|
|
looked so fresh and green that she longed for it, she quite pined away,
|
|
and began to look pale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and
|
|
asked: ‘What ails you, dear wife?’ ‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘if I can’t eat
|
|
some of the rampion, which is in the garden behind our house, I shall
|
|
die.’ The man, who loved her, thought: ‘Sooner than let your wife die,
|
|
bring her some of the rampion yourself, let it cost what it will.’
|
|
At twilight, he clambered down over the wall into the garden of the
|
|
enchantress, hastily clutched a handful of rampion, and took it to his
|
|
wife. She at once made herself a salad of it, and ate it greedily. It
|
|
tasted so good to her--so very good, that the next day she longed for it
|
|
three times as much as before. If he was to have any rest, her husband
|
|
must once more descend into the garden. In the gloom of evening
|
|
therefore, he let himself down again; but when he had clambered down the
|
|
wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the enchantress standing before
|
|
him. ‘How can you dare,’ said she with angry look, ‘descend into my
|
|
garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall suffer for it!’
|
|
‘Ah,’ answered he, ‘let mercy take the place of justice, I only made
|
|
up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion from the
|
|
window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died if she
|
|
had not got some to eat.’ Then the enchantress allowed her anger to be
|
|
softened, and said to him: ‘If the case be as you say, I will allow
|
|
you to take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one
|
|
condition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into
|
|
the world; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a
|
|
mother.’ The man in his terror consented to everything, and when the
|
|
woman was brought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the
|
|
child the name of Rapunzel, and took it away with her.
|
|
|
|
Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was
|
|
twelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in
|
|
a forest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a
|
|
little window. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself
|
|
beneath it and cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
|
|
Let down your hair to me.’
|
|
|
|
Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she
|
|
heard the voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses,
|
|
wound them round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair
|
|
fell twenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.
|
|
|
|
After a year or two, it came to pass that the king’s son rode through
|
|
the forest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so
|
|
charming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her
|
|
solitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king’s
|
|
son wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower,
|
|
but none was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply
|
|
touched his heart, that every day he went out into the forest and
|
|
listened to it. Once when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw
|
|
that an enchantress came there, and he heard how she cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
|
|
Let down your hair to me.’
|
|
|
|
Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress
|
|
climbed up to her. ‘If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too
|
|
will try my fortune,’ said he, and the next day when it began to grow
|
|
dark, he went to the tower and cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
|
|
Let down your hair to me.’
|
|
|
|
Immediately the hair fell down and the king’s son climbed up.
|
|
|
|
At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes
|
|
had never yet beheld, came to her; but the king’s son began to talk to
|
|
her quite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred
|
|
that it had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her.
|
|
Then Rapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take
|
|
him for her husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she
|
|
thought: ‘He will love me more than old Dame Gothel does’; and she said
|
|
yes, and laid her hand in his. She said: ‘I will willingly go away with
|
|
you, but I do not know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk
|
|
every time that you come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when
|
|
that is ready I will descend, and you will take me on your horse.’ They
|
|
agreed that until that time he should come to her every evening, for the
|
|
old woman came by day. The enchantress remarked nothing of this, until
|
|
once Rapunzel said to her: ‘Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that
|
|
you are so much heavier for me to draw up than the young king’s son--he
|
|
is with me in a moment.’ ‘Ah! you wicked child,’ cried the enchantress.
|
|
‘What do I hear you say! I thought I had separated you from all
|
|
the world, and yet you have deceived me!’ In her anger she clutched
|
|
Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them twice round her left hand,
|
|
seized a pair of scissors with the right, and snip, snap, they were cut
|
|
off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground. And she was so pitiless
|
|
that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where she had to live in great
|
|
grief and misery.
|
|
|
|
On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress
|
|
fastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the
|
|
window, and when the king’s son came and cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Rapunzel, Rapunzel,
|
|
Let down your hair to me.’
|
|
|
|
she let the hair down. The king’s son ascended, but instead of finding
|
|
his dearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with
|
|
wicked and venomous looks. ‘Aha!’ she cried mockingly, ‘you would fetch
|
|
your dearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest;
|
|
the cat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is
|
|
lost to you; you will never see her again.’ The king’s son was beside
|
|
himself with pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He
|
|
escaped with his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his
|
|
eyes. Then he wandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but
|
|
roots and berries, and did naught but lament and weep over the loss of
|
|
his dearest wife. Thus he roamed about in misery for some years, and at
|
|
length came to the desert where Rapunzel, with the twins to which she
|
|
had given birth, a boy and a girl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a
|
|
voice, and it seemed so familiar to him that he went towards it, and
|
|
when he approached, Rapunzel knew him and fell on his neck and wept. Two
|
|
of her tears wetted his eyes and they grew clear again, and he could
|
|
see with them as before. He led her to his kingdom where he was
|
|
joyfully received, and they lived for a long time afterwards, happy and
|
|
contented.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
FUNDEVOGEL
|
|
|
|
There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as
|
|
he entered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were
|
|
there. He followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at
|
|
the top of this a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen
|
|
asleep under the tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in
|
|
her arms, had flown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.
|
|
|
|
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself:
|
|
‘You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.’ He
|
|
took it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the
|
|
one, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird
|
|
had carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that
|
|
when they did not see each other they were sad.
|
|
|
|
Now the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and
|
|
began to fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out
|
|
to the spring. Lina saw this and said, ‘Listen, old Sanna, why are you
|
|
fetching so much water?’ ‘If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will
|
|
tell you why.’ So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone,
|
|
and then the cook said: ‘Early tomorrow morning, when the forester
|
|
is out hunting, I will heat the water, and when it is boiling in the
|
|
kettle, I will throw in Fundevogel, and will boil him in it.’
|
|
|
|
Early next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he
|
|
was gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel:
|
|
‘If you will never leave me, I too will never leave you.’ Fundevogel
|
|
said: ‘Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.’ Then said Lina: ‘Then
|
|
will I tell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water
|
|
into the house that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said
|
|
that if I would promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early
|
|
tomorrow morning when father was out hunting, she would set the kettle
|
|
full of water, throw you into it and boil you; but we will get up
|
|
quickly, dress ourselves, and go away together.’
|
|
|
|
The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went
|
|
away. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the
|
|
bedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in,
|
|
and went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
|
|
alarmed, and she said to herself: ‘What shall I say now when the
|
|
forester comes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be
|
|
followed instantly to get them back again.’
|
|
|
|
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and
|
|
overtake the children. The children, however, were sitting outside the
|
|
forest, and when they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina
|
|
said to Fundevogel: ‘Never leave me, and I will never leave you.’
|
|
Fundevogel said: ‘Neither now, nor ever.’ Then said Lina: ‘Do you become
|
|
a rose-tree, and I the rose upon it.’ When the three servants came to
|
|
the forest, nothing was there but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but
|
|
the children were nowhere. Then said they: ‘There is nothing to be done
|
|
here,’ and they went home and told the cook that they had seen nothing
|
|
in the forest but a little rose-bush with one rose on it. Then the
|
|
old cook scolded and said: ‘You simpletons, you should have cut the
|
|
rose-bush in two, and have broken off the rose and brought it home with
|
|
you; go, and do it at once.’ They had therefore to go out and look for
|
|
the second time. The children, however, saw them coming from a distance.
|
|
Then Lina said: ‘Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never leave
|
|
you.’ Fundevogel said: ‘Neither now; nor ever.’ Said Lina: ‘Then do you
|
|
become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in it.’ So when the three
|
|
servants came, nothing was there but a church, with a chandelier in
|
|
it. They said therefore to each other: ‘What can we do here, let us go
|
|
home.’ When they got home, the cook asked if they had not found them;
|
|
so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and there was a
|
|
chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: ‘You fools! why
|
|
did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier home
|
|
with you?’ And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went with
|
|
the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however,
|
|
saw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling
|
|
after them. Then said Lina: ‘Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will
|
|
never leave you.’ Then said Fundevogel: ‘Neither now, nor ever.’
|
|
Said Lina: ‘Be a fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.’ The cook,
|
|
however, came up to them, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it,
|
|
and was about to drink it up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized
|
|
her head in its beak and drew her into the water, and there the old
|
|
witch had to drown. Then the children went home together, and were
|
|
heartily delighted, and if they have not died, they are living still.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR
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One summer’s morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the
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window; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came
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a peasant woman down the street crying: ‘Good jams, cheap! Good jams,
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cheap!’ This rang pleasantly in the tailor’s ears; he stretched his
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delicate head out of the window, and called: ‘Come up here, dear woman;
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here you will get rid of your goods.’ The woman came up the three steps
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to the tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack all the pots
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for him. He inspected each one, lifted it up, put his nose to it, and
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at length said: ‘The jam seems to me to be good, so weigh me out four
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ounces, dear woman, and if it is a quarter of a pound that is of no
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consequence.’ The woman who had hoped to find a good sale, gave him
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what he desired, but went away quite angry and grumbling. ‘Now, this jam
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shall be blessed by God,’ cried the little tailor, ‘and give me health
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and strength’; so he brought the bread out of the cupboard, cut himself
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a piece right across the loaf and spread the jam over it. ‘This won’t
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taste bitter,’ said he, ‘but I will just finish the jacket before I
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take a bite.’ He laid the bread near him, sewed on, and in his joy, made
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bigger and bigger stitches. In the meantime the smell of the sweet jam
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rose to where the flies were sitting in great numbers, and they were
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attracted and descended on it in hosts. ‘Hi! who invited you?’ said the
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little tailor, and drove the unbidden guests away. The flies, however,
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who understood no German, would not be turned away, but came back
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again in ever-increasing companies. The little tailor at last lost all
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patience, and drew a piece of cloth from the hole under his work-table,
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and saying: ‘Wait, and I will give it to you,’ struck it mercilessly on
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them. When he drew it away and counted, there lay before him no fewer
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than seven, dead and with legs stretched out. ‘Are you a fellow of that
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sort?’ said he, and could not help admiring his own bravery. ‘The whole
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town shall know of this!’ And the little tailor hastened to cut himself
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a girdle, stitched it, and embroidered on it in large letters: ‘Seven at
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one stroke!’ ‘What, the town!’ he continued, ‘the whole world shall hear
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of it!’ and his heart wagged with joy like a lamb’s tail. The tailor
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put on the girdle, and resolved to go forth into the world, because he
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thought his workshop was too small for his valour. Before he went away,
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he sought about in the house to see if there was anything which he could
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take with him; however, he found nothing but an old cheese, and that
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he put in his pocket. In front of the door he observed a bird which
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had caught itself in the thicket. It had to go into his pocket with the
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cheese. Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was light and nimble,
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he felt no fatigue. The road led him up a mountain, and when he had
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reached the highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant looking
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peacefully about him. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to him,
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and said: ‘Good day, comrade, so you are sitting there overlooking the
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wide-spread world! I am just on my way thither, and want to try my luck.
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Have you any inclination to go with me?’ The giant looked contemptuously
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at the tailor, and said: ‘You ragamuffin! You miserable creature!’
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‘Oh, indeed?’ answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and
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showed the giant the girdle, ‘there may you read what kind of a man I
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am!’ The giant read: ‘Seven at one stroke,’ and thought that they had
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been men whom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect
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for the tiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took
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a stone in his hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out
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of it. ‘Do that likewise,’ said the giant, ‘if you have strength.’ ‘Is
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that all?’ said the tailor, ‘that is child’s play with us!’ and put his
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hand into his pocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until
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the liquid ran out of it. ‘Faith,’ said he, ‘that was a little better,
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wasn’t it?’ The giant did not know what to say, and could not believe it
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of the little man. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high
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that the eye could scarcely follow it. ‘Now, little mite of a man, do
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that likewise,’ ‘Well thrown,’ said the tailor, ‘but after all the stone
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came down to earth again; I will throw you one which shall never come
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back at all,’ and he put his hand into his pocket, took out the bird,
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and threw it into the air. The bird, delighted with its liberty,
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rose, flew away and did not come back. ‘How does that shot please you,
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comrade?’ asked the tailor. ‘You can certainly throw,’ said the giant,
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‘but now we will see if you are able to carry anything properly.’ He
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took the little tailor to a mighty oak tree which lay there felled on
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the ground, and said: ‘If you are strong enough, help me to carry the
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tree out of the forest.’ ‘Readily,’ answered the little man; ‘take you
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the trunk on your shoulders, and I will raise up the branches and twigs;
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after all, they are the heaviest.’ The giant took the trunk on his
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shoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a branch, and the giant, who
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could not look round, had to carry away the whole tree, and the little
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tailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite merry and happy, and
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whistled the song: ‘Three tailors rode forth from the gate,’ as if
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carrying the tree were child’s play. The giant, after he had dragged the
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heavy burden part of the way, could go no further, and cried: ‘Hark
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you, I shall have to let the tree fall!’ The tailor sprang nimbly down,
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seized the tree with both arms as if he had been carrying it, and said
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to the giant: ‘You are such a great fellow, and yet cannot even carry
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the tree!’
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They went on together, and as they passed a cherry-tree, the giant laid
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hold of the top of the tree where the ripest fruit was hanging, bent it
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down, gave it into the tailor’s hand, and bade him eat. But the little
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tailor was much too weak to hold the tree, and when the giant let it go,
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it sprang back again, and the tailor was tossed into the air with it.
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When he had fallen down again without injury, the giant said: ‘What is
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this? Have you not strength enough to hold the weak twig?’ ‘There is no
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lack of strength,’ answered the little tailor. ‘Do you think that could
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be anything to a man who has struck down seven at one blow? I leapt over
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the tree because the huntsmen are shooting down there in the thicket.
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Jump as I did, if you can do it.’ The giant made the attempt but he
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could not get over the tree, and remained hanging in the branches, so
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that in this also the tailor kept the upper hand.
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The giant said: ‘If you are such a valiant fellow, come with me into our
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cavern and spend the night with us.’ The little tailor was willing, and
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followed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were sitting
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there by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his hand and
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was eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought: ‘It is much
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more spacious here than in my workshop.’ The giant showed him a bed, and
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said he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was too
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big for the little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept into
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a corner. When it was midnight, and the giant thought that the little
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tailor was lying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron bar,
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cut through the bed with one blow, and thought he had finished off the
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grasshopper for good. With the earliest dawn the giants went into the
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forest, and had quite forgotten the little tailor, when all at once he
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walked up to them quite merrily and boldly. The giants were terrified,
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they were afraid that he would strike them all dead, and ran away in a
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great hurry.
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The little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose.
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After he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal
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palace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell asleep.
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Whilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all sides, and
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read on his girdle: ‘Seven at one stroke.’ ‘Ah!’ said they, ‘what does
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the great warrior want here in the midst of peace? He must be a mighty
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lord.’ They went and announced him to the king, and gave it as their
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opinion that if war should break out, this would be a weighty and useful
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man who ought on no account to be allowed to depart. The counsel pleased
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the king, and he sent one of his courtiers to the little tailor to offer
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him military service when he awoke. The ambassador remained standing by
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the sleeper, waited until he stretched his limbs and opened his eyes,
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and then conveyed to him this proposal. ‘For this very reason have
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I come here,’ the tailor replied, ‘I am ready to enter the king’s
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service.’ He was therefore honourably received, and a special dwelling
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was assigned him.
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The soldiers, however, were set against the little tailor, and wished
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him a thousand miles away. ‘What is to be the end of this?’ they said
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among themselves. ‘If we quarrel with him, and he strikes about him,
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seven of us will fall at every blow; not one of us can stand against
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him.’ They came therefore to a decision, betook themselves in a body to
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the king, and begged for their dismissal. ‘We are not prepared,’ said
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they, ‘to stay with a man who kills seven at one stroke.’ The king was
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sorry that for the sake of one he should lose all his faithful servants,
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wished that he had never set eyes on the tailor, and would willingly
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have been rid of him again. But he did not venture to give him his
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dismissal, for he dreaded lest he should strike him and all his people
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dead, and place himself on the royal throne. He thought about it for a
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long time, and at last found good counsel. He sent to the little tailor
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and caused him to be informed that as he was a great warrior, he had one
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request to make to him. In a forest of his country lived two giants,
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who caused great mischief with their robbing, murdering, ravaging,
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and burning, and no one could approach them without putting himself in
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danger of death. If the tailor conquered and killed these two giants, he
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would give him his only daughter to wife, and half of his kingdom as a
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dowry, likewise one hundred horsemen should go with him to assist him.
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‘That would indeed be a fine thing for a man like me!’ thought the
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little tailor. ‘One is not offered a beautiful princess and half a
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kingdom every day of one’s life!’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, ‘I will soon
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subdue the giants, and do not require the help of the hundred horsemen
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to do it; he who can hit seven with one blow has no need to be afraid of
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two.’
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The little tailor went forth, and the hundred horsemen followed him.
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When he came to the outskirts of the forest, he said to his followers:
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‘Just stay waiting here, I alone will soon finish off the giants.’ Then
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he bounded into the forest and looked about right and left. After a
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while he perceived both giants. They lay sleeping under a tree, and
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snored so that the branches waved up and down. The little tailor, not
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idle, gathered two pocketsful of stones, and with these climbed up the
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tree. When he was halfway up, he slipped down by a branch, until he sat
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just above the sleepers, and then let one stone after another fall on
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the breast of one of the giants. For a long time the giant felt nothing,
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but at last he awoke, pushed his comrade, and said: ‘Why are you
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knocking me?’ ‘You must be dreaming,’ said the other, ‘I am not knocking
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you.’ They laid themselves down to sleep again, and then the tailor
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threw a stone down on the second. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ cried
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the other ‘Why are you pelting me?’ ‘I am not pelting you,’ answered
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the first, growling. They disputed about it for a time, but as they were
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weary they let the matter rest, and their eyes closed once more. The
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little tailor began his game again, picked out the biggest stone, and
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threw it with all his might on the breast of the first giant. ‘That
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is too bad!’ cried he, and sprang up like a madman, and pushed his
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companion against the tree until it shook. The other paid him back in
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the same coin, and they got into such a rage that they tore up trees and
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belaboured each other so long, that at last they both fell down dead on
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the ground at the same time. Then the little tailor leapt down. ‘It is
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a lucky thing,’ said he, ‘that they did not tear up the tree on which
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I was sitting, or I should have had to sprint on to another like a
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squirrel; but we tailors are nimble.’ He drew out his sword and gave
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each of them a couple of thrusts in the breast, and then went out to the
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horsemen and said: ‘The work is done; I have finished both of them
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off, but it was hard work! They tore up trees in their sore need, and
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defended themselves with them, but all that is to no purpose when a man
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like myself comes, who can kill seven at one blow.’ ‘But are you not
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wounded?’ asked the horsemen. ‘You need not concern yourself about
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that,’ answered the tailor, ‘they have not bent one hair of mine.’ The
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horsemen would not believe him, and rode into the forest; there they
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found the giants swimming in their blood, and all round about lay the
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torn-up trees.
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The little tailor demanded of the king the promised reward; he, however,
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repented of his promise, and again bethought himself how he could get
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rid of the hero. ‘Before you receive my daughter, and the half of my
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kingdom,’ said he to him, ‘you must perform one more heroic deed. In
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the forest roams a unicorn which does great harm, and you must catch
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it first.’ ‘I fear one unicorn still less than two giants. Seven at one
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blow, is my kind of affair.’ He took a rope and an axe with him, went
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forth into the forest, and again bade those who were sent with him to
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wait outside. He had not long to seek. The unicorn soon came towards
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him, and rushed directly on the tailor, as if it would gore him with its
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horn without more ado. ‘Softly, softly; it can’t be done as quickly as
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that,’ said he, and stood still and waited until the animal was quite
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close, and then sprang nimbly behind the tree. The unicorn ran against
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the tree with all its strength, and stuck its horn so fast in the trunk
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that it had not the strength enough to draw it out again, and thus it
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was caught. ‘Now, I have got the bird,’ said the tailor, and came out
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from behind the tree and put the rope round its neck, and then with his
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axe he hewed the horn out of the tree, and when all was ready he led the
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beast away and took it to the king.
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The king still would not give him the promised reward, and made a third
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demand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that
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made great havoc in the forest, and the huntsmen should give him their
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help. ‘Willingly,’ said the tailor, ‘that is child’s play!’ He did not
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take the huntsmen with him into the forest, and they were well pleased
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that he did not, for the wild boar had several times received them in
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such a manner that they had no inclination to lie in wait for him. When
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the boar perceived the tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and
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whetted tusks, and was about to throw him to the ground, but the hero
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fled and sprang into a chapel which was near and up to the window at
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once, and in one bound out again. The boar ran after him, but the tailor
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ran round outside and shut the door behind it, and then the raging
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beast, which was much too heavy and awkward to leap out of the window,
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was caught. The little tailor called the huntsmen thither that they
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might see the prisoner with their own eyes. The hero, however, went to
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the king, who was now, whether he liked it or not, obliged to keep his
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promise, and gave his daughter and the half of his kingdom. Had he known
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that it was no warlike hero, but a little tailor who was standing before
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him, it would have gone to his heart still more than it did. The wedding
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was held with great magnificence and small joy, and out of a tailor a
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king was made.
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After some time the young queen heard her husband say in his dreams at
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night: ‘Boy, make me the doublet, and patch the pantaloons, or else I
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will rap the yard-measure over your ears.’ Then she discovered in what
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state of life the young lord had been born, and next morning complained
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of her wrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of
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her husband, who was nothing else but a tailor. The king comforted her
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and said: ‘Leave your bedroom door open this night, and my servants
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shall stand outside, and when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind
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him, and take him on board a ship which shall carry him into the wide
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world.’ The woman was satisfied with this; but the king’s armour-bearer,
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who had heard all, was friendly with the young lord, and informed him of
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the whole plot. ‘I’ll put a screw into that business,’ said the little
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tailor. At night he went to bed with his wife at the usual time, and
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when she thought that he had fallen asleep, she got up, opened the door,
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and then lay down again. The little tailor, who was only pretending to
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be asleep, began to cry out in a clear voice: ‘Boy, make me the doublet
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and patch me the pantaloons, or I will rap the yard-measure over your
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ears. I smote seven at one blow. I killed two giants, I brought away one
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unicorn, and caught a wild boar, and am I to fear those who are standing
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outside the room.’ When these men heard the tailor speaking thus, they
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were overcome by a great dread, and ran as if the wild huntsman were
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behind them, and none of them would venture anything further against
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him. So the little tailor was and remained a king to the end of his
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life.
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HANSEL AND GRETEL
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Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his
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two children. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had
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little to bite and to break, and once when great dearth fell on the
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land, he could no longer procure even daily bread. Now when he thought
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over this by night in his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety, he
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groaned and said to his wife: ‘What is to become of us? How are we
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to feed our poor children, when we no longer have anything even for
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ourselves?’ ‘I’ll tell you what, husband,’ answered the woman, ‘early
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tomorrow morning we will take the children out into the forest to where
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it is the thickest; there we will light a fire for them, and give each
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of them one more piece of bread, and then we will go to our work and
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leave them alone. They will not find the way home again, and we shall be
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rid of them.’ ‘No, wife,’ said the man, ‘I will not do that; how can I
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bear to leave my children alone in the forest?--the wild animals would
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soon come and tear them to pieces.’ ‘O, you fool!’ said she, ‘then we
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must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the planks for our
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coffins,’ and she left him no peace until he consented. ‘But I feel very
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sorry for the poor children, all the same,’ said the man.
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The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had
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heard what their stepmother had said to their father. Gretel wept
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bitter tears, and said to Hansel: ‘Now all is over with us.’ ‘Be quiet,
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Gretel,’ said Hansel, ‘do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way
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to help us.’ And when the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put
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on his little coat, opened the door below, and crept outside. The moon
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shone brightly, and the white pebbles which lay in front of the house
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glittered like real silver pennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the
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little pocket of his coat with as many as he could get in. Then he went
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back and said to Gretel: ‘Be comforted, dear little sister, and sleep in
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peace, God will not forsake us,’ and he lay down again in his bed. When
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day dawned, but before the sun had risen, the woman came and awoke the
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two children, saying: ‘Get up, you sluggards! we are going into the
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forest to fetch wood.’ She gave each a little piece of bread, and said:
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‘There is something for your dinner, but do not eat it up before then,
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for you will get nothing else.’ Gretel took the bread under her apron,
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as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then they all set out together
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on the way to the forest. When they had walked a short time, Hansel
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stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so again and again.
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His father said: ‘Hansel, what are you looking at there and staying
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behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your legs.’ ‘Ah,
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father,’ said Hansel, ‘I am looking at my little white cat, which is
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sitting up on the roof, and wants to say goodbye to me.’ The wife said:
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‘Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is
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shining on the chimneys.’ Hansel, however, had not been looking back at
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the cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones
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out of his pocket on the road.
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When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said: ‘Now,
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children, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not
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be cold.’ Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a
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little hill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning
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very high, the woman said: ‘Now, children, lay yourselves down by the
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fire and rest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we
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have done, we will come back and fetch you away.’
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Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little
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piece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they
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believed that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but
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a branch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was
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blowing backwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long
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time, their eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep. When
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at last they awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and
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said: ‘How are we to get out of the forest now?’ But Hansel comforted
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her and said: ‘Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we
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will soon find the way.’ And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took
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his little sister by the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like
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newly-coined silver pieces, and showed them the way.
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They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more
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to their father’s house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman
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opened it and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said: ‘You naughty
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children, why have you slept so long in the forest?--we thought you were
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never coming back at all!’ The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut
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him to the heart to leave them behind alone.
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Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the
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land, and the children heard their mother saying at night to their
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father: ‘Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that
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is the end. The children must go, we will take them farther into the
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wood, so that they will not find their way out again; there is no other
|
|
means of saving ourselves!’ The man’s heart was heavy, and he thought:
|
|
‘It would be better for you to share the last mouthful with your
|
|
children.’ The woman, however, would listen to nothing that he had to
|
|
say, but scolded and reproached him. He who says A must say B, likewise,
|
|
and as he had yielded the first time, he had to do so a second time
|
|
also.
|
|
|
|
The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation.
|
|
When the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go
|
|
out and pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked
|
|
the door, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his
|
|
little sister, and said: ‘Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the
|
|
good God will help us.’
|
|
|
|
Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their
|
|
beds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller
|
|
than the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his
|
|
in his pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.
|
|
‘Hansel, why do you stop and look round?’ said the father, ‘go on.’ ‘I
|
|
am looking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and
|
|
wants to say goodbye to me,’ answered Hansel. ‘Fool!’ said the woman,
|
|
‘that is not your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining
|
|
on the chimney.’ Hansel, however little by little, threw all the crumbs
|
|
on the path.
|
|
|
|
The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had
|
|
never in their lives been before. Then a great fire was again made, and
|
|
the mother said: ‘Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired
|
|
you may sleep a little; we are going into the forest to cut wood, and in
|
|
the evening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.’ When
|
|
it was noon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had
|
|
scattered his by the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but
|
|
no one came to the poor children. They did not awake until it was dark
|
|
night, and Hansel comforted his little sister and said: ‘Just wait,
|
|
Gretel, until the moon rises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread
|
|
which I have strewn about, they will show us our way home again.’ When
|
|
the moon came they set out, but they found no crumbs, for the many
|
|
thousands of birds which fly about in the woods and fields had picked
|
|
them all up. Hansel said to Gretel: ‘We shall soon find the way,’ but
|
|
they did not find it. They walked the whole night and all the next day
|
|
too from morning till evening, but they did not get out of the forest,
|
|
and were very hungry, for they had nothing to eat but two or three
|
|
berries, which grew on the ground. And as they were so weary that their
|
|
legs would carry them no longer, they lay down beneath a tree and fell
|
|
asleep.
|
|
|
|
It was now three mornings since they had left their father’s house. They
|
|
began to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if
|
|
help did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it
|
|
was mid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough,
|
|
which sang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And
|
|
when its song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them,
|
|
and they followed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of
|
|
which it alighted; and when they approached the little house they saw
|
|
that it was built of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows
|
|
were of clear sugar. ‘We will set to work on that,’ said Hansel, ‘and
|
|
have a good meal. I will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat
|
|
some of the window, it will taste sweet.’ Hansel reached up above, and
|
|
broke off a little of the roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant
|
|
against the window and nibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried
|
|
from the parlour:
|
|
|
|
‘Nibble, nibble, gnaw,
|
|
Who is nibbling at my little house?’
|
|
|
|
The children answered:
|
|
|
|
‘The wind, the wind,
|
|
The heaven-born wind,’
|
|
|
|
and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the
|
|
taste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out
|
|
the whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with
|
|
it. Suddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who
|
|
supported herself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were
|
|
so terribly frightened that they let fall what they had in their
|
|
hands. The old woman, however, nodded her head, and said: ‘Oh, you dear
|
|
children, who has brought you here? do come in, and stay with me. No
|
|
harm shall happen to you.’ She took them both by the hand, and led them
|
|
into her little house. Then good food was set before them, milk and
|
|
pancakes, with sugar, apples, and nuts. Afterwards two pretty little
|
|
beds were covered with clean white linen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down
|
|
in them, and thought they were in heaven.
|
|
|
|
The old woman had only pretended to be so kind; she was in reality
|
|
a wicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the
|
|
little house of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell
|
|
into her power, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast
|
|
day with her. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have
|
|
a keen scent like the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near.
|
|
When Hansel and Gretel came into her neighbourhood, she laughed with
|
|
malice, and said mockingly: ‘I have them, they shall not escape me
|
|
again!’ Early in the morning before the children were awake, she was
|
|
already up, and when she saw both of them sleeping and looking so
|
|
pretty, with their plump and rosy cheeks she muttered to herself: ‘That
|
|
will be a dainty mouthful!’ Then she seized Hansel with her shrivelled
|
|
hand, carried him into a little stable, and locked him in behind a
|
|
grated door. Scream as he might, it would not help him. Then she went to
|
|
Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried: ‘Get up, lazy thing, fetch
|
|
some water, and cook something good for your brother, he is in the
|
|
stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is fat, I will eat him.’
|
|
Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in vain, for she was
|
|
forced to do what the wicked witch commanded.
|
|
|
|
And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing
|
|
but crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and
|
|
cried: ‘Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon
|
|
be fat.’ Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and
|
|
the old woman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was
|
|
Hansel’s finger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening
|
|
him. When four weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she
|
|
was seized with impatience and would not wait any longer. ‘Now, then,
|
|
Gretel,’ she cried to the girl, ‘stir yourself, and bring some water.
|
|
Let Hansel be fat or lean, tomorrow I will kill him, and cook him.’ Ah,
|
|
how the poor little sister did lament when she had to fetch the water,
|
|
and how her tears did flow down her cheeks! ‘Dear God, do help us,’ she
|
|
cried. ‘If the wild beasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should
|
|
at any rate have died together.’ ‘Just keep your noise to yourself,’
|
|
said the old woman, ‘it won’t help you at all.’
|
|
|
|
Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with
|
|
the water, and light the fire. ‘We will bake first,’ said the old woman,
|
|
‘I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.’ She pushed poor
|
|
Gretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting.
|
|
‘Creep in,’ said the witch, ‘and see if it is properly heated, so that
|
|
we can put the bread in.’ And once Gretel was inside, she intended to
|
|
shut the oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too.
|
|
But Gretel saw what she had in mind, and said: ‘I do not know how I am
|
|
to do it; how do I get in?’ ‘Silly goose,’ said the old woman. ‘The door
|
|
is big enough; just look, I can get in myself!’ and she crept up and
|
|
thrust her head into the oven. Then Gretel gave her a push that drove
|
|
her far into it, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh! then
|
|
she began to howl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away and the godless
|
|
witch was miserably burnt to death.
|
|
|
|
Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable,
|
|
and cried: ‘Hansel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!’ Then Hansel
|
|
sprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did
|
|
rejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other! And
|
|
as they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch’s
|
|
house, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.
|
|
‘These are far better than pebbles!’ said Hansel, and thrust into his
|
|
pockets whatever could be got in, and Gretel said: ‘I, too, will take
|
|
something home with me,’ and filled her pinafore full. ‘But now we must
|
|
be off,’ said Hansel, ‘that we may get out of the witch’s forest.’
|
|
|
|
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of
|
|
water. ‘We cannot cross,’ said Hansel, ‘I see no foot-plank, and no
|
|
bridge.’ ‘And there is also no ferry,’ answered Gretel, ‘but a white
|
|
duck is swimming there: if I ask her, she will help us over.’ Then she
|
|
cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,
|
|
Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee?
|
|
There’s never a plank, or bridge in sight,
|
|
Take us across on thy back so white.’
|
|
|
|
The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told
|
|
his sister to sit by him. ‘No,’ replied Gretel, ‘that will be too heavy
|
|
for the little duck; she shall take us across, one after the other.’ The
|
|
good little duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had
|
|
walked for a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar
|
|
to them, and at length they saw from afar their father’s house. Then
|
|
they began to run, rushed into the parlour, and threw themselves round
|
|
their father’s neck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had
|
|
left the children in the forest; the woman, however, was dead. Gretel
|
|
emptied her pinafore until pearls and precious stones ran about the
|
|
room, and Hansel threw one handful after another out of his pocket to
|
|
add to them. Then all anxiety was at an end, and they lived together
|
|
in perfect happiness. My tale is done, there runs a mouse; whosoever
|
|
catches it, may make himself a big fur cap out of it.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE
|
|
|
|
Once upon a time, a mouse, a bird, and a sausage, entered into
|
|
partnership and set up house together. For a long time all went well;
|
|
they lived in great comfort, and prospered so far as to be able to add
|
|
considerably to their stores. The bird’s duty was to fly daily into the
|
|
wood and bring in fuel; the mouse fetched the water, and the sausage saw
|
|
to the cooking.
|
|
|
|
When people are too well off they always begin to long for something
|
|
new. And so it came to pass, that the bird, while out one day, met a
|
|
fellow bird, to whom he boastfully expatiated on the excellence of his
|
|
household arrangements. But the other bird sneered at him for being a
|
|
poor simpleton, who did all the hard work, while the other two stayed
|
|
at home and had a good time of it. For, when the mouse had made the fire
|
|
and fetched in the water, she could retire into her little room and rest
|
|
until it was time to set the table. The sausage had only to watch the
|
|
pot to see that the food was properly cooked, and when it was near
|
|
dinner-time, he just threw himself into the broth, or rolled in and out
|
|
among the vegetables three or four times, and there they were, buttered,
|
|
and salted, and ready to be served. Then, when the bird came home and
|
|
had laid aside his burden, they sat down to table, and when they had
|
|
finished their meal, they could sleep their fill till the following
|
|
morning: and that was really a very delightful life.
|
|
|
|
Influenced by those remarks, the bird next morning refused to bring in
|
|
the wood, telling the others that he had been their servant long enough,
|
|
and had been a fool into the bargain, and that it was now time to make a
|
|
change, and to try some other way of arranging the work. Beg and pray
|
|
as the mouse and the sausage might, it was of no use; the bird remained
|
|
master of the situation, and the venture had to be made. They therefore
|
|
drew lots, and it fell to the sausage to bring in the wood, to the mouse
|
|
to cook, and to the bird to fetch the water.
|
|
|
|
And now what happened? The sausage started in search of wood, the bird
|
|
made the fire, and the mouse put on the pot, and then these two waited
|
|
till the sausage returned with the fuel for the following day. But the
|
|
sausage remained so long away, that they became uneasy, and the bird
|
|
flew out to meet him. He had not flown far, however, when he came across
|
|
a dog who, having met the sausage, had regarded him as his legitimate
|
|
booty, and so seized and swallowed him. The bird complained to the dog
|
|
of this bare-faced robbery, but nothing he said was of any avail, for
|
|
the dog answered that he found false credentials on the sausage, and
|
|
that was the reason his life had been forfeited.
|
|
|
|
He picked up the wood, and flew sadly home, and told the mouse all he
|
|
had seen and heard. They were both very unhappy, but agreed to make the
|
|
best of things and to remain with one another.
|
|
|
|
So now the bird set the table, and the mouse looked after the food and,
|
|
wishing to prepare it in the same way as the sausage, by rolling in and
|
|
out among the vegetables to salt and butter them, she jumped into the
|
|
pot; but she stopped short long before she reached the bottom, having
|
|
already parted not only with her skin and hair, but also with life.
|
|
|
|
Presently the bird came in and wanted to serve up the dinner, but he
|
|
could nowhere see the cook. In his alarm and flurry, he threw the wood
|
|
here and there about the floor, called and searched, but no cook was to
|
|
be found. Then some of the wood that had been carelessly thrown down,
|
|
caught fire and began to blaze. The bird hastened to fetch some water,
|
|
but his pail fell into the well, and he after it, and as he was unable
|
|
to recover himself, he was drowned.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
MOTHER HOLLE
|
|
|
|
Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters; one of them
|
|
was beautiful and industrious, the other ugly and lazy. The mother,
|
|
however, loved the ugly and lazy one best, because she was her own
|
|
daughter, and so the other, who was only her stepdaughter, was made
|
|
to do all the work of the house, and was quite the Cinderella of the
|
|
family. Her stepmother sent her out every day to sit by the well in
|
|
the high road, there to spin until she made her fingers bleed. Now it
|
|
chanced one day that some blood fell on to the spindle, and as the girl
|
|
stopped over the well to wash it off, the spindle suddenly sprang out
|
|
of her hand and fell into the well. She ran home crying to tell of her
|
|
misfortune, but her stepmother spoke harshly to her, and after giving
|
|
her a violent scolding, said unkindly, ‘As you have let the spindle fall
|
|
into the well you may go yourself and fetch it out.’
|
|
|
|
The girl went back to the well not knowing what to do, and at last in
|
|
her distress she jumped into the water after the spindle.
|
|
|
|
She remembered nothing more until she awoke and found herself in a
|
|
beautiful meadow, full of sunshine, and with countless flowers blooming
|
|
in every direction.
|
|
|
|
She walked over the meadow, and presently she came upon a baker’s oven
|
|
full of bread, and the loaves cried out to her, ‘Take us out, take us
|
|
out, or alas! we shall be burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long
|
|
ago.’ So she took the bread-shovel and drew them all out.
|
|
|
|
She went on a little farther, till she came to a tree full of apples.
|
|
‘Shake me, shake me, I pray,’ cried the tree; ‘my apples, one and all,
|
|
are ripe.’ So she shook the tree, and the apples came falling down upon
|
|
her like rain; but she continued shaking until there was not a single
|
|
apple left upon it. Then she carefully gathered the apples together in a
|
|
heap and walked on again.
|
|
|
|
The next thing she came to was a little house, and there she saw an old
|
|
woman looking out, with such large teeth, that she was terrified, and
|
|
turned to run away. But the old woman called after her, ‘What are you
|
|
afraid of, dear child? Stay with me; if you will do the work of my house
|
|
properly for me, I will make you very happy. You must be very careful,
|
|
however, to make my bed in the right way, for I wish you always to shake
|
|
it thoroughly, so that the feathers fly about; then they say, down there
|
|
in the world, that it is snowing; for I am Mother Holle.’ The old woman
|
|
spoke so kindly, that the girl summoned up courage and agreed to enter
|
|
into her service.
|
|
|
|
She took care to do everything according to the old woman’s bidding and
|
|
every time she made the bed she shook it with all her might, so that the
|
|
feathers flew about like so many snowflakes. The old woman was as good
|
|
as her word: she never spoke angrily to her, and gave her roast and
|
|
boiled meats every day.
|
|
|
|
So she stayed on with Mother Holle for some time, and then she began
|
|
to grow unhappy. She could not at first tell why she felt sad, but she
|
|
became conscious at last of great longing to go home; then she knew she
|
|
was homesick, although she was a thousand times better off with Mother
|
|
Holle than with her mother and sister. After waiting awhile, she went
|
|
to Mother Holle and said, ‘I am so homesick, that I cannot stay with
|
|
you any longer, for although I am so happy here, I must return to my own
|
|
people.’
|
|
|
|
Then Mother Holle said, ‘I am pleased that you should want to go back
|
|
to your own people, and as you have served me so well and faithfully, I
|
|
will take you home myself.’
|
|
|
|
Thereupon she led the girl by the hand up to a broad gateway. The gate
|
|
was opened, and as the girl passed through, a shower of gold fell upon
|
|
her, and the gold clung to her, so that she was covered with it from
|
|
head to foot.
|
|
|
|
‘That is a reward for your industry,’ said Mother Holle, and as she
|
|
spoke she handed her the spindle which she had dropped into the well.
|
|
|
|
The gate was then closed, and the girl found herself back in the old
|
|
world close to her mother’s house. As she entered the courtyard, the
|
|
cock who was perched on the well, called out:
|
|
|
|
‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!
|
|
Your golden daughter’s come back to you.’
|
|
|
|
Then she went in to her mother and sister, and as she was so richly
|
|
covered with gold, they gave her a warm welcome. She related to them
|
|
all that had happened, and when the mother heard how she had come by her
|
|
great riches, she thought she should like her ugly, lazy daughter to go
|
|
and try her fortune. So she made the sister go and sit by the well
|
|
and spin, and the girl pricked her finger and thrust her hand into a
|
|
thorn-bush, so that she might drop some blood on to the spindle; then
|
|
she threw it into the well, and jumped in herself.
|
|
|
|
Like her sister she awoke in the beautiful meadow, and walked over it
|
|
till she came to the oven. ‘Take us out, take us out, or alas! we shall
|
|
be burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long ago,’ cried the loaves
|
|
as before. But the lazy girl answered, ‘Do you think I am going to dirty
|
|
my hands for you?’ and walked on.
|
|
|
|
Presently she came to the apple-tree. ‘Shake me, shake me, I pray; my
|
|
apples, one and all, are ripe,’ it cried. But she only answered, ‘A nice
|
|
thing to ask me to do, one of the apples might fall on my head,’ and
|
|
passed on.
|
|
|
|
At last she came to Mother Holle’s house, and as she had heard all about
|
|
the large teeth from her sister, she was not afraid of them, and engaged
|
|
herself without delay to the old woman.
|
|
|
|
The first day she was very obedient and industrious, and exerted herself
|
|
to please Mother Holle, for she thought of the gold she should get in
|
|
return. The next day, however, she began to dawdle over her work, and
|
|
the third day she was more idle still; then she began to lie in bed in
|
|
the mornings and refused to get up. Worse still, she neglected to
|
|
make the old woman’s bed properly, and forgot to shake it so that the
|
|
feathers might fly about. So Mother Holle very soon got tired of her,
|
|
and told her she might go. The lazy girl was delighted at this, and
|
|
thought to herself, ‘The gold will soon be mine.’ Mother Holle led her,
|
|
as she had led her sister, to the broad gateway; but as she was passing
|
|
through, instead of the shower of gold, a great bucketful of pitch came
|
|
pouring over her.
|
|
|
|
‘That is in return for your services,’ said the old woman, and she shut
|
|
the gate.
|
|
|
|
So the lazy girl had to go home covered with pitch, and the cock on the
|
|
well called out as she saw her:
|
|
|
|
‘Cock-a-doodle-doo!
|
|
Your dirty daughter’s come back to you.’
|
|
|
|
But, try what she would, she could not get the pitch off and it stuck to
|
|
her as long as she lived.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
LITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD]
|
|
|
|
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone
|
|
who looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was
|
|
nothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a
|
|
little cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never
|
|
wear anything else; so she was always called ‘Little Red-Cap.’
|
|
|
|
One day her mother said to her: ‘Come, Little Red-Cap, here is a piece
|
|
of cake and a bottle of wine; take them to your grandmother, she is ill
|
|
and weak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and
|
|
when you are going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path,
|
|
or you may fall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will
|
|
get nothing; and when you go into her room, don’t forget to say, “Good
|
|
morning”, and don’t peep into every corner before you do it.’
|
|
|
|
‘I will take great care,’ said Little Red-Cap to her mother, and gave
|
|
her hand on it.
|
|
|
|
The grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village,
|
|
and just as Little Red-Cap entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red-Cap
|
|
did not know what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of
|
|
him.
|
|
|
|
‘Good day, Little Red-Cap,’ said he.
|
|
|
|
‘Thank you kindly, wolf.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away so early, Little Red-Cap?’
|
|
|
|
‘To my grandmother’s.’
|
|
|
|
‘What have you got in your apron?’
|
|
|
|
‘Cake and wine; yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to
|
|
have something good, to make her stronger.’
|
|
|
|
‘Where does your grandmother live, Little Red-Cap?’
|
|
|
|
‘A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood; her house stands
|
|
under the three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below; you
|
|
surely must know it,’ replied Little Red-Cap.
|
|
|
|
The wolf thought to himself: ‘What a tender young creature! what a nice
|
|
plump mouthful--she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must
|
|
act craftily, so as to catch both.’ So he walked for a short time by
|
|
the side of Little Red-Cap, and then he said: ‘See, Little Red-Cap, how
|
|
pretty the flowers are about here--why do you not look round? I believe,
|
|
too, that you do not hear how sweetly the little birds are singing; you
|
|
walk gravely along as if you were going to school, while everything else
|
|
out here in the wood is merry.’
|
|
|
|
Little Red-Cap raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing
|
|
here and there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere,
|
|
she thought: ‘Suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay; that would
|
|
please her too. It is so early in the day that I shall still get there
|
|
in good time’; and so she ran from the path into the wood to look for
|
|
flowers. And whenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a
|
|
still prettier one farther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and
|
|
deeper into the wood.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother’s house and knocked
|
|
at the door.
|
|
|
|
‘Who is there?’
|
|
|
|
‘Little Red-Cap,’ replied the wolf. ‘She is bringing cake and wine; open
|
|
the door.’
|
|
|
|
‘Lift the latch,’ called out the grandmother, ‘I am too weak, and cannot
|
|
get up.’
|
|
|
|
The wolf lifted the latch, the door sprang open, and without saying a
|
|
word he went straight to the grandmother’s bed, and devoured her. Then
|
|
he put on her clothes, dressed himself in her cap laid himself in bed
|
|
and drew the curtains.
|
|
|
|
Little Red-Cap, however, had been running about picking flowers,
|
|
and when she had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she
|
|
remembered her grandmother, and set out on the way to her.
|
|
|
|
She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she
|
|
went into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to
|
|
herself: ‘Oh dear! how uneasy I feel today, and at other times I like
|
|
being with grandmother so much.’ She called out: ‘Good morning,’ but
|
|
received no answer; so she went to the bed and drew back the curtains.
|
|
There lay her grandmother with her cap pulled far over her face, and
|
|
looking very strange.
|
|
|
|
‘Oh! grandmother,’ she said, ‘what big ears you have!’
|
|
|
|
‘The better to hear you with, my child,’ was the reply.
|
|
|
|
‘But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!’ she said.
|
|
|
|
‘The better to see you with, my dear.’
|
|
|
|
‘But, grandmother, what large hands you have!’
|
|
|
|
‘The better to hug you with.’
|
|
|
|
‘Oh! but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have!’
|
|
|
|
‘The better to eat you with!’
|
|
|
|
And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of
|
|
bed and swallowed up Red-Cap.
|
|
|
|
When the wolf had appeased his appetite, he lay down again in the bed,
|
|
fell asleep and began to snore very loud. The huntsman was just passing
|
|
the house, and thought to himself: ‘How the old woman is snoring! I must
|
|
just see if she wants anything.’ So he went into the room, and when he
|
|
came to the bed, he saw that the wolf was lying in it. ‘Do I find you
|
|
here, you old sinner!’ said he. ‘I have long sought you!’ Then just as
|
|
he was going to fire at him, it occurred to him that the wolf might have
|
|
devoured the grandmother, and that she might still be saved, so he did
|
|
not fire, but took a pair of scissors, and began to cut open the stomach
|
|
of the sleeping wolf. When he had made two snips, he saw the little
|
|
Red-Cap shining, and then he made two snips more, and the little girl
|
|
sprang out, crying: ‘Ah, how frightened I have been! How dark it was
|
|
inside the wolf’; and after that the aged grandmother came out alive
|
|
also, but scarcely able to breathe. Red-Cap, however, quickly fetched
|
|
great stones with which they filled the wolf’s belly, and when he awoke,
|
|
he wanted to run away, but the stones were so heavy that he collapsed at
|
|
once, and fell dead.
|
|
|
|
Then all three were delighted. The huntsman drew off the wolf’s skin and
|
|
went home with it; the grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine which
|
|
Red-Cap had brought, and revived, but Red-Cap thought to herself: ‘As
|
|
long as I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the
|
|
wood, when my mother has forbidden me to do so.’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
It also related that once when Red-Cap was again taking cakes to the old
|
|
grandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and tried to entice her from the
|
|
path. Red-Cap, however, was on her guard, and went straight forward on
|
|
her way, and told her grandmother that she had met the wolf, and that he
|
|
had said ‘good morning’ to her, but with such a wicked look in his eyes,
|
|
that if they had not been on the public road she was certain he would
|
|
have eaten her up. ‘Well,’ said the grandmother, ‘we will shut the door,
|
|
that he may not come in.’ Soon afterwards the wolf knocked, and cried:
|
|
‘Open the door, grandmother, I am Little Red-Cap, and am bringing you
|
|
some cakes.’ But they did not speak, or open the door, so the grey-beard
|
|
stole twice or thrice round the house, and at last jumped on the roof,
|
|
intending to wait until Red-Cap went home in the evening, and then to
|
|
steal after her and devour her in the darkness. But the grandmother
|
|
saw what was in his thoughts. In front of the house was a great stone
|
|
trough, so she said to the child: ‘Take the pail, Red-Cap; I made some
|
|
sausages yesterday, so carry the water in which I boiled them to the
|
|
trough.’ Red-Cap carried until the great trough was quite full. Then the
|
|
smell of the sausages reached the wolf, and he sniffed and peeped down,
|
|
and at last stretched out his neck so far that he could no longer keep
|
|
his footing and began to slip, and slipped down from the roof straight
|
|
into the great trough, and was drowned. But Red-Cap went joyously home,
|
|
and no one ever did anything to harm her again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM
|
|
|
|
There was once a miller who had one beautiful daughter, and as she was
|
|
grown up, he was anxious that she should be well married and provided
|
|
for. He said to himself, ‘I will give her to the first suitable man who
|
|
comes and asks for her hand.’ Not long after a suitor appeared, and as
|
|
he appeared to be very rich and the miller could see nothing in him with
|
|
which to find fault, he betrothed his daughter to him. But the girl did
|
|
not care for the man as a girl ought to care for her betrothed husband.
|
|
She did not feel that she could trust him, and she could not look at him
|
|
nor think of him without an inward shudder. One day he said to her, ‘You
|
|
have not yet paid me a visit, although we have been betrothed for some
|
|
time.’ ‘I do not know where your house is,’ she answered. ‘My house is
|
|
out there in the dark forest,’ he said. She tried to excuse herself by
|
|
saying that she would not be able to find the way thither. Her betrothed
|
|
only replied, ‘You must come and see me next Sunday; I have already
|
|
invited guests for that day, and that you may not mistake the way, I
|
|
will strew ashes along the path.’
|
|
|
|
When Sunday came, and it was time for the girl to start, a feeling of
|
|
dread came over her which she could not explain, and that she might
|
|
be able to find her path again, she filled her pockets with peas and
|
|
lentils to sprinkle on the ground as she went along. On reaching the
|
|
entrance to the forest she found the path strewed with ashes, and these
|
|
she followed, throwing down some peas on either side of her at every
|
|
step she took. She walked the whole day until she came to the deepest,
|
|
darkest part of the forest. There she saw a lonely house, looking so
|
|
grim and mysterious, that it did not please her at all. She stepped
|
|
inside, but not a soul was to be seen, and a great silence reigned
|
|
throughout. Suddenly a voice cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
|
|
Linger not in this murderers’ lair.’
|
|
|
|
The girl looked up and saw that the voice came from a bird hanging in a
|
|
cage on the wall. Again it cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
|
|
Linger not in this murderers’ lair.’
|
|
|
|
The girl passed on, going from room to room of the house, but they were
|
|
all empty, and still she saw no one. At last she came to the cellar,
|
|
and there sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her head from
|
|
shaking. ‘Can you tell me,’ asked the girl, ‘if my betrothed husband
|
|
lives here?’
|
|
|
|
‘Ah, you poor child,’ answered the old woman, ‘what a place for you to
|
|
come to! This is a murderers’ den. You think yourself a promised bride,
|
|
and that your marriage will soon take place, but it is with death that
|
|
you will keep your marriage feast. Look, do you see that large cauldron
|
|
of water which I am obliged to keep on the fire! As soon as they have
|
|
you in their power they will kill you without mercy, and cook and eat
|
|
you, for they are eaters of men. If I did not take pity on you and save
|
|
you, you would be lost.’
|
|
|
|
Thereupon the old woman led her behind a large cask, which quite hid her
|
|
from view. ‘Keep as still as a mouse,’ she said; ‘do not move or speak,
|
|
or it will be all over with you. Tonight, when the robbers are
|
|
all asleep, we will flee together. I have long been waiting for an
|
|
opportunity to escape.’
|
|
|
|
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the godless crew returned,
|
|
dragging another young girl along with them. They were all drunk, and
|
|
paid no heed to her cries and lamentations. They gave her wine to drink,
|
|
three glasses full, one of white wine, one of red, and one of yellow,
|
|
and with that her heart gave way and she died. Then they tore off her
|
|
dainty clothing, laid her on a table, and cut her beautiful body into
|
|
pieces, and sprinkled salt upon it.
|
|
|
|
The poor betrothed girl crouched trembling and shuddering behind the
|
|
cask, for she saw what a terrible fate had been intended for her by
|
|
the robbers. One of them now noticed a gold ring still remaining on
|
|
the little finger of the murdered girl, and as he could not draw it off
|
|
easily, he took a hatchet and cut off the finger; but the finger sprang
|
|
into the air, and fell behind the cask into the lap of the girl who was
|
|
hiding there. The robber took a light and began looking for it, but he
|
|
could not find it. ‘Have you looked behind the large cask?’ said one of
|
|
the others. But the old woman called out, ‘Come and eat your suppers,
|
|
and let the thing be till tomorrow; the finger won’t run away.’
|
|
|
|
‘The old woman is right,’ said the robbers, and they ceased looking for
|
|
the finger and sat down.
|
|
|
|
The old woman then mixed a sleeping draught with their wine, and before
|
|
long they were all lying on the floor of the cellar, fast asleep and
|
|
snoring. As soon as the girl was assured of this, she came from behind
|
|
the cask. She was obliged to step over the bodies of the sleepers, who
|
|
were lying close together, and every moment she was filled with renewed
|
|
dread lest she should awaken them. But God helped her, so that she
|
|
passed safely over them, and then she and the old woman went upstairs,
|
|
opened the door, and hastened as fast as they could from the murderers’
|
|
den. They found the ashes scattered by the wind, but the peas and
|
|
lentils had sprouted, and grown sufficiently above the ground, to guide
|
|
them in the moonlight along the path. All night long they walked, and it
|
|
was morning before they reached the mill. Then the girl told her father
|
|
all that had happened.
|
|
|
|
The day came that had been fixed for the marriage. The bridegroom
|
|
arrived and also a large company of guests, for the miller had taken
|
|
care to invite all his friends and relations. As they sat at the feast,
|
|
each guest in turn was asked to tell a tale; the bride sat still and did
|
|
not say a word.
|
|
|
|
‘And you, my love,’ said the bridegroom, turning to her, ‘is there no
|
|
tale you know? Tell us something.’
|
|
|
|
‘I will tell you a dream, then,’ said the bride. ‘I went alone through a
|
|
forest and came at last to a house; not a soul could I find within, but
|
|
a bird that was hanging in a cage on the wall cried:
|
|
|
|
‘Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,
|
|
Linger not in this murderers’ lair.’
|
|
|
|
and again a second time it said these words.’
|
|
|
|
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’
|
|
|
|
‘I went on through the house from room to room, but they were all empty,
|
|
and everything was so grim and mysterious. At last I went down to the
|
|
cellar, and there sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her
|
|
head still. I asked her if my betrothed lived here, and she answered,
|
|
“Ah, you poor child, you are come to a murderers’ den; your betrothed
|
|
does indeed live here, but he will kill you without mercy and afterwards
|
|
cook and eat you.”’
|
|
|
|
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’
|
|
|
|
‘The old woman hid me behind a large cask, and scarcely had she done
|
|
this when the robbers returned home, dragging a young girl along with
|
|
them. They gave her three kinds of wine to drink, white, red, and
|
|
yellow, and with that she died.’
|
|
|
|
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’
|
|
|
|
‘Then they tore off her dainty clothing, and cut her beautiful body into
|
|
pieces and sprinkled salt upon it.’
|
|
|
|
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’
|
|
|
|
‘And one of the robbers saw that there was a gold ring still left on her
|
|
finger, and as it was difficult to draw off, he took a hatchet and cut
|
|
off her finger; but the finger sprang into the air and fell behind the
|
|
great cask into my lap. And here is the finger with the ring.’ And
|
|
with these words the bride drew forth the finger and shewed it to the
|
|
assembled guests.
|
|
|
|
The bridegroom, who during this recital had grown deadly pale, up and
|
|
tried to escape, but the guests seized him and held him fast. They
|
|
delivered him up to justice, and he and all his murderous band were
|
|
condemned to death for their wicked deeds.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
TOM THUMB
|
|
|
|
A poor woodman sat in his cottage one night, smoking his pipe by the
|
|
fireside, while his wife sat by his side spinning. ‘How lonely it is,
|
|
wife,’ said he, as he puffed out a long curl of smoke, ‘for you and me
|
|
to sit here by ourselves, without any children to play about and amuse
|
|
us while other people seem so happy and merry with their children!’
|
|
‘What you say is very true,’ said the wife, sighing, and turning round
|
|
her wheel; ‘how happy should I be if I had but one child! If it were
|
|
ever so small--nay, if it were no bigger than my thumb--I should be very
|
|
happy, and love it dearly.’ Now--odd as you may think it--it came to
|
|
pass that this good woman’s wish was fulfilled, just in the very way she
|
|
had wished it; for, not long afterwards, she had a little boy, who was
|
|
quite healthy and strong, but was not much bigger than my thumb. So
|
|
they said, ‘Well, we cannot say we have not got what we wished for, and,
|
|
little as he is, we will love him dearly.’ And they called him Thomas
|
|
Thumb.
|
|
|
|
They gave him plenty of food, yet for all they could do he never grew
|
|
bigger, but kept just the same size as he had been when he was born.
|
|
Still, his eyes were sharp and sparkling, and he soon showed himself to
|
|
be a clever little fellow, who always knew well what he was about.
|
|
|
|
One day, as the woodman was getting ready to go into the wood to cut
|
|
fuel, he said, ‘I wish I had someone to bring the cart after me, for I
|
|
want to make haste.’ ‘Oh, father,’ cried Tom, ‘I will take care of that;
|
|
the cart shall be in the wood by the time you want it.’ Then the woodman
|
|
laughed, and said, ‘How can that be? you cannot reach up to the horse’s
|
|
bridle.’ ‘Never mind that, father,’ said Tom; ‘if my mother will only
|
|
harness the horse, I will get into his ear and tell him which way to
|
|
go.’ ‘Well,’ said the father, ‘we will try for once.’
|
|
|
|
When the time came the mother harnessed the horse to the cart, and put
|
|
Tom into his ear; and as he sat there the little man told the beast how
|
|
to go, crying out, ‘Go on!’ and ‘Stop!’ as he wanted: and thus the horse
|
|
went on just as well as if the woodman had driven it himself into the
|
|
wood. It happened that as the horse was going a little too fast, and Tom
|
|
was calling out, ‘Gently! gently!’ two strangers came up. ‘What an odd
|
|
thing that is!’ said one: ‘there is a cart going along, and I hear a
|
|
carter talking to the horse, but yet I can see no one.’ ‘That is queer,
|
|
indeed,’ said the other; ‘let us follow the cart, and see where it
|
|
goes.’ So they went on into the wood, till at last they came to the
|
|
place where the woodman was. Then Tom Thumb, seeing his father, cried
|
|
out, ‘See, father, here I am with the cart, all right and safe! now take
|
|
me down!’ So his father took hold of the horse with one hand, and with
|
|
the other took his son out of the horse’s ear, and put him down upon a
|
|
straw, where he sat as merry as you please.
|
|
|
|
The two strangers were all this time looking on, and did not know what
|
|
to say for wonder. At last one took the other aside, and said, ‘That
|
|
little urchin will make our fortune, if we can get him, and carry him
|
|
about from town to town as a show; we must buy him.’ So they went up to
|
|
the woodman, and asked him what he would take for the little man. ‘He
|
|
will be better off,’ said they, ‘with us than with you.’ ‘I won’t sell
|
|
him at all,’ said the father; ‘my own flesh and blood is dearer to me
|
|
than all the silver and gold in the world.’ But Tom, hearing of the
|
|
bargain they wanted to make, crept up his father’s coat to his shoulder
|
|
and whispered in his ear, ‘Take the money, father, and let them have me;
|
|
I’ll soon come back to you.’
|
|
|
|
So the woodman at last said he would sell Tom to the strangers for a
|
|
large piece of gold, and they paid the price. ‘Where would you like to
|
|
sit?’ said one of them. ‘Oh, put me on the rim of your hat; that will be
|
|
a nice gallery for me; I can walk about there and see the country as we
|
|
go along.’ So they did as he wished; and when Tom had taken leave of his
|
|
father they took him away with them.
|
|
|
|
They journeyed on till it began to be dusky, and then the little man
|
|
said, ‘Let me get down, I’m tired.’ So the man took off his hat, and
|
|
put him down on a clod of earth, in a ploughed field by the side of the
|
|
road. But Tom ran about amongst the furrows, and at last slipped into
|
|
an old mouse-hole. ‘Good night, my masters!’ said he, ‘I’m off! mind and
|
|
look sharp after me the next time.’ Then they ran at once to the place,
|
|
and poked the ends of their sticks into the mouse-hole, but all in vain;
|
|
Tom only crawled farther and farther in; and at last it became quite
|
|
dark, so that they were forced to go their way without their prize, as
|
|
sulky as could be.
|
|
|
|
When Tom found they were gone, he came out of his hiding-place. ‘What
|
|
dangerous walking it is,’ said he, ‘in this ploughed field! If I were to
|
|
fall from one of these great clods, I should undoubtedly break my neck.’
|
|
At last, by good luck, he found a large empty snail-shell. ‘This is
|
|
lucky,’ said he, ‘I can sleep here very well’; and in he crept.
|
|
|
|
Just as he was falling asleep, he heard two men passing by, chatting
|
|
together; and one said to the other, ‘How can we rob that rich parson’s
|
|
house of his silver and gold?’ ‘I’ll tell you!’ cried Tom. ‘What noise
|
|
was that?’ said the thief, frightened; ‘I’m sure I heard someone speak.’
|
|
They stood still listening, and Tom said, ‘Take me with you, and I’ll
|
|
soon show you how to get the parson’s money.’ ‘But where are you?’ said
|
|
they. ‘Look about on the ground,’ answered he, ‘and listen where the
|
|
sound comes from.’ At last the thieves found him out, and lifted him
|
|
up in their hands. ‘You little urchin!’ they said, ‘what can you do for
|
|
us?’ ‘Why, I can get between the iron window-bars of the parson’s house,
|
|
and throw you out whatever you want.’ ‘That’s a good thought,’ said the
|
|
thieves; ‘come along, we shall see what you can do.’
|
|
|
|
When they came to the parson’s house, Tom slipped through the
|
|
window-bars into the room, and then called out as loud as he could bawl,
|
|
‘Will you have all that is here?’ At this the thieves were frightened,
|
|
and said, ‘Softly, softly! Speak low, that you may not awaken anybody.’
|
|
But Tom seemed as if he did not understand them, and bawled out again,
|
|
‘How much will you have? Shall I throw it all out?’ Now the cook lay in
|
|
the next room; and hearing a noise she raised herself up in her bed and
|
|
listened. Meantime the thieves were frightened, and ran off a little
|
|
way; but at last they plucked up their hearts, and said, ‘The little
|
|
urchin is only trying to make fools of us.’ So they came back and
|
|
whispered softly to him, saying, ‘Now let us have no more of your
|
|
roguish jokes; but throw us out some of the money.’ Then Tom called out
|
|
as loud as he could, ‘Very well! hold your hands! here it comes.’
|
|
|
|
The cook heard this quite plain, so she sprang out of bed, and ran to
|
|
open the door. The thieves ran off as if a wolf was at their tails: and
|
|
the maid, having groped about and found nothing, went away for a light.
|
|
By the time she came back, Tom had slipped off into the barn; and when
|
|
she had looked about and searched every hole and corner, and found
|
|
nobody, she went to bed, thinking she must have been dreaming with her
|
|
eyes open.
|
|
|
|
The little man crawled about in the hay-loft, and at last found a snug
|
|
place to finish his night’s rest in; so he laid himself down, meaning
|
|
to sleep till daylight, and then find his way home to his father and
|
|
mother. But alas! how woefully he was undone! what crosses and sorrows
|
|
happen to us all in this world! The cook got up early, before daybreak,
|
|
to feed the cows; and going straight to the hay-loft, carried away
|
|
a large bundle of hay, with the little man in the middle of it, fast
|
|
asleep. He still, however, slept on, and did not awake till he found
|
|
himself in the mouth of the cow; for the cook had put the hay into the
|
|
cow’s rick, and the cow had taken Tom up in a mouthful of it. ‘Good
|
|
lack-a-day!’ said he, ‘how came I to tumble into the mill?’ But he soon
|
|
found out where he really was; and was forced to have all his wits about
|
|
him, that he might not get between the cow’s teeth, and so be crushed to
|
|
death. At last down he went into her stomach. ‘It is rather dark,’ said
|
|
he; ‘they forgot to build windows in this room to let the sun in; a
|
|
candle would be no bad thing.’
|
|
|
|
Though he made the best of his bad luck, he did not like his quarters at
|
|
all; and the worst of it was, that more and more hay was always coming
|
|
down, and the space left for him became smaller and smaller. At last he
|
|
cried out as loud as he could, ‘Don’t bring me any more hay! Don’t bring
|
|
me any more hay!’
|
|
|
|
The maid happened to be just then milking the cow; and hearing someone
|
|
speak, but seeing nobody, and yet being quite sure it was the same voice
|
|
that she had heard in the night, she was so frightened that she fell off
|
|
her stool, and overset the milk-pail. As soon as she could pick herself
|
|
up out of the dirt, she ran off as fast as she could to her master the
|
|
parson, and said, ‘Sir, sir, the cow is talking!’ But the parson
|
|
said, ‘Woman, thou art surely mad!’ However, he went with her into the
|
|
cow-house, to try and see what was the matter.
|
|
|
|
Scarcely had they set foot on the threshold, when Tom called out, ‘Don’t
|
|
bring me any more hay!’ Then the parson himself was frightened; and
|
|
thinking the cow was surely bewitched, told his man to kill her on the
|
|
spot. So the cow was killed, and cut up; and the stomach, in which Tom
|
|
lay, was thrown out upon a dunghill.
|
|
|
|
Tom soon set himself to work to get out, which was not a very easy
|
|
task; but at last, just as he had made room to get his head out, fresh
|
|
ill-luck befell him. A hungry wolf sprang out, and swallowed up the
|
|
whole stomach, with Tom in it, at one gulp, and ran away.
|
|
|
|
Tom, however, was still not disheartened; and thinking the wolf would
|
|
not dislike having some chat with him as he was going along, he called
|
|
out, ‘My good friend, I can show you a famous treat.’ ‘Where’s that?’
|
|
said the wolf. ‘In such and such a house,’ said Tom, describing his own
|
|
father’s house. ‘You can crawl through the drain into the kitchen and
|
|
then into the pantry, and there you will find cakes, ham, beef, cold
|
|
chicken, roast pig, apple-dumplings, and everything that your heart can
|
|
wish.’
|
|
|
|
The wolf did not want to be asked twice; so that very night he went to
|
|
the house and crawled through the drain into the kitchen, and then into
|
|
the pantry, and ate and drank there to his heart’s content. As soon as
|
|
he had had enough he wanted to get away; but he had eaten so much that
|
|
he could not go out by the same way he came in.
|
|
|
|
This was just what Tom had reckoned upon; and now he began to set up a
|
|
great shout, making all the noise he could. ‘Will you be easy?’ said the
|
|
wolf; ‘you’ll awaken everybody in the house if you make such a clatter.’
|
|
‘What’s that to me?’ said the little man; ‘you have had your frolic, now
|
|
I’ve a mind to be merry myself’; and he began, singing and shouting as
|
|
loud as he could.
|
|
|
|
The woodman and his wife, being awakened by the noise, peeped through
|
|
a crack in the door; but when they saw a wolf was there, you may well
|
|
suppose that they were sadly frightened; and the woodman ran for his
|
|
axe, and gave his wife a scythe. ‘Do you stay behind,’ said the woodman,
|
|
‘and when I have knocked him on the head you must rip him up with the
|
|
scythe.’ Tom heard all this, and cried out, ‘Father, father! I am here,
|
|
the wolf has swallowed me.’ And his father said, ‘Heaven be praised! we
|
|
have found our dear child again’; and he told his wife not to use the
|
|
scythe for fear she should hurt him. Then he aimed a great blow, and
|
|
struck the wolf on the head, and killed him on the spot! and when he was
|
|
dead they cut open his body, and set Tommy free. ‘Ah!’ said the father,
|
|
‘what fears we have had for you!’ ‘Yes, father,’ answered he; ‘I have
|
|
travelled all over the world, I think, in one way or other, since we
|
|
parted; and now I am very glad to come home and get fresh air again.’
|
|
‘Why, where have you been?’ said his father. ‘I have been in a
|
|
mouse-hole--and in a snail-shell--and down a cow’s throat--and in the
|
|
wolf’s belly; and yet here I am again, safe and sound.’
|
|
|
|
‘Well,’ said they, ‘you are come back, and we will not sell you again
|
|
for all the riches in the world.’
|
|
|
|
Then they hugged and kissed their dear little son, and gave him plenty
|
|
to eat and drink, for he was very hungry; and then they fetched new
|
|
clothes for him, for his old ones had been quite spoiled on his journey.
|
|
So Master Thumb stayed at home with his father and mother, in peace; for
|
|
though he had been so great a traveller, and had done and seen so many
|
|
fine things, and was fond enough of telling the whole story, he always
|
|
agreed that, after all, there’s no place like HOME!
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
RUMPELSTILTSKIN
|
|
|
|
By the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream
|
|
of water; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller’s house was
|
|
close by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful daughter.
|
|
She was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller was so proud
|
|
of her, that he one day told the king of the land, who used to come and
|
|
hunt in the wood, that his daughter could spin gold out of straw. Now
|
|
this king was very fond of money; and when he heard the miller’s boast
|
|
his greediness was raised, and he sent for the girl to be brought before
|
|
him. Then he led her to a chamber in his palace where there was a great
|
|
heap of straw, and gave her a spinning-wheel, and said, ‘All this must
|
|
be spun into gold before morning, as you love your life.’ It was in vain
|
|
that the poor maiden said that it was only a silly boast of her father,
|
|
for that she could do no such thing as spin straw into gold: the chamber
|
|
door was locked, and she was left alone.
|
|
|
|
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard
|
|
fate; when on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man
|
|
hobbled in, and said, ‘Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you
|
|
weeping for?’ ‘Alas!’ said she, ‘I must spin this straw into gold, and
|
|
I know not how.’ ‘What will you give me,’ said the hobgoblin, ‘to do it
|
|
for you?’ ‘My necklace,’ replied the maiden. He took her at her word,
|
|
and sat himself down to the wheel, and whistled and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘Round about, round about,
|
|
Lo and behold!
|
|
Reel away, reel away,
|
|
Straw into gold!’
|
|
|
|
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and
|
|
the straw was all spun into gold.
|
|
|
|
When the king came and saw this, he was greatly astonished and pleased;
|
|
but his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor
|
|
miller’s daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do,
|
|
and sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and
|
|
said, ‘What will you give me to do your task?’ ‘The ring on my finger,’
|
|
said she. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the
|
|
wheel again, and whistled and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘Round about, round about,
|
|
Lo and behold!
|
|
Reel away, reel away,
|
|
Straw into gold!’
|
|
|
|
till, long before morning, all was done again.
|
|
|
|
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure;
|
|
but still he had not enough: so he took the miller’s daughter to a yet
|
|
larger heap, and said, ‘All this must be spun tonight; and if it is,
|
|
you shall be my queen.’ As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and
|
|
said, ‘What will you give me to spin gold for you this third time?’
|
|
‘I have nothing left,’ said she. ‘Then say you will give me,’ said
|
|
the little man, ‘the first little child that you may have when you are
|
|
queen.’ ‘That may never be,’ thought the miller’s daughter: and as she
|
|
knew no other way to get her task done, she said she would do what he
|
|
asked. Round went the wheel again to the old song, and the manikin once
|
|
more spun the heap into gold. The king came in the morning, and, finding
|
|
all he wanted, was forced to keep his word; so he married the miller’s
|
|
daughter, and she really became queen.
|
|
|
|
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the
|
|
dwarf, and what she had said. But one day he came into her room, where
|
|
she was sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Then
|
|
she grieved sorely at her misfortune, and said she would give him all
|
|
the wealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at
|
|
last her tears softened him, and he said, ‘I will give you three days’
|
|
grace, and if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your
|
|
child.’
|
|
|
|
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that
|
|
she had ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find
|
|
out new ones. The next day the little man came, and she began with
|
|
TIMOTHY, ICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could
|
|
remember; but to all and each of them he said, ‘Madam, that is not my
|
|
name.’
|
|
|
|
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of,
|
|
BANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman
|
|
still said to every one of them, ‘Madam, that is not my name.’
|
|
|
|
The third day one of the messengers came back, and said, ‘I have
|
|
travelled two days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as
|
|
I was climbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox
|
|
and the hare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before
|
|
the hut burnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was
|
|
dancing upon one leg, and singing:
|
|
|
|
“Merrily the feast I’ll make.
|
|
Today I’ll brew, tomorrow bake;
|
|
Merrily I’ll dance and sing,
|
|
For next day will a stranger bring.
|
|
Little does my lady dream
|
|
Rumpelstiltskin is my name!”
|
|
|
|
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy, and as soon as her little
|
|
friend came she sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round
|
|
to enjoy the fun; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her
|
|
arms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began
|
|
to chuckle at the thought of having the poor child, to take home with
|
|
him to his hut in the woods; and he cried out, ‘Now, lady, what is my
|
|
name?’ ‘Is it JOHN?’ asked she. ‘No, madam!’ ‘Is it TOM?’ ‘No, madam!’
|
|
‘Is it JEMMY?’ ‘It is not.’ ‘Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?’ said the
|
|
lady slyly. ‘Some witch told you that!--some witch told you that!’ cried
|
|
the little man, and dashed his right foot in a rage so deep into the
|
|
floor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it
|
|
out.
|
|
|
|
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the
|
|
baby crowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much
|
|
trouble for nothing, and said, ‘We wish you a very good morning, and a
|
|
merry feast, Mr RUMPLESTILTSKIN!’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CLEVER GRETEL
|
|
|
|
There was once a cook named Gretel, who wore shoes with red heels, and
|
|
when she walked out with them on, she turned herself this way and that,
|
|
was quite happy and thought: ‘You certainly are a pretty girl!’ And when
|
|
she came home she drank, in her gladness of heart, a draught of wine,
|
|
and as wine excites a desire to eat, she tasted the best of whatever she
|
|
was cooking until she was satisfied, and said: ‘The cook must know what
|
|
the food is like.’
|
|
|
|
It came to pass that the master one day said to her: ‘Gretel, there is a
|
|
guest coming this evening; prepare me two fowls very daintily.’ ‘I will
|
|
see to it, master,’ answered Gretel. She killed two fowls, scalded them,
|
|
plucked them, put them on the spit, and towards evening set them before
|
|
the fire, that they might roast. The fowls began to turn brown, and were
|
|
nearly ready, but the guest had not yet arrived. Then Gretel called out
|
|
to her master: ‘If the guest does not come, I must take the fowls away
|
|
from the fire, but it will be a sin and a shame if they are not eaten
|
|
the moment they are at their juiciest.’ The master said: ‘I will run
|
|
myself, and fetch the guest.’ When the master had turned his back,
|
|
Gretel laid the spit with the fowls on one side, and thought: ‘Standing
|
|
so long by the fire there, makes one sweat and thirsty; who knows
|
|
when they will come? Meanwhile, I will run into the cellar, and take a
|
|
drink.’ She ran down, set a jug, said: ‘God bless it for you, Gretel,’
|
|
and took a good drink, and thought that wine should flow on, and should
|
|
not be interrupted, and took yet another hearty draught.
|
|
|
|
Then she went and put the fowls down again to the fire, basted them,
|
|
and drove the spit merrily round. But as the roast meat smelt so good,
|
|
Gretel thought: ‘Something might be wrong, it ought to be tasted!’
|
|
She touched it with her finger, and said: ‘Ah! how good fowls are! It
|
|
certainly is a sin and a shame that they are not eaten at the right
|
|
time!’ She ran to the window, to see if the master was not coming with
|
|
his guest, but she saw no one, and went back to the fowls and thought:
|
|
‘One of the wings is burning! I had better take it off and eat it.’
|
|
So she cut it off, ate it, and enjoyed it, and when she had done, she
|
|
thought: ‘The other must go down too, or else master will observe that
|
|
something is missing.’ When the two wings were eaten, she went and
|
|
looked for her master, and did not see him. It suddenly occurred to
|
|
her: ‘Who knows? They are perhaps not coming at all, and have turned in
|
|
somewhere.’ Then she said: ‘Well, Gretel, enjoy yourself, one fowl has
|
|
been cut into, take another drink, and eat it up entirely; when it is
|
|
eaten you will have some peace, why should God’s good gifts be spoilt?’
|
|
So she ran into the cellar again, took an enormous drink and ate up the
|
|
one chicken in great glee. When one of the chickens was swallowed down,
|
|
and still her master did not come, Gretel looked at the other and said:
|
|
‘What one is, the other should be likewise, the two go together; what’s
|
|
right for the one is right for the other; I think if I were to take
|
|
another draught it would do me no harm.’ So she took another hearty
|
|
drink, and let the second chicken follow the first.
|
|
|
|
While she was making the most of it, her master came and cried: ‘Hurry
|
|
up, Gretel, the guest is coming directly after me!’ ‘Yes, sir, I will
|
|
soon serve up,’ answered Gretel. Meantime the master looked to see that
|
|
the table was properly laid, and took the great knife, wherewith he was
|
|
going to carve the chickens, and sharpened it on the steps. Presently
|
|
the guest came, and knocked politely and courteously at the house-door.
|
|
Gretel ran, and looked to see who was there, and when she saw the guest,
|
|
she put her finger to her lips and said: ‘Hush! hush! go away as quickly
|
|
as you can, if my master catches you it will be the worse for you; he
|
|
certainly did ask you to supper, but his intention is to cut off your
|
|
two ears. Just listen how he is sharpening the knife for it!’ The guest
|
|
heard the sharpening, and hurried down the steps again as fast as he
|
|
could. Gretel was not idle; she ran screaming to her master, and cried:
|
|
‘You have invited a fine guest!’ ‘Why, Gretel? What do you mean by
|
|
that?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘he has taken the chickens which I was just
|
|
going to serve up, off the dish, and has run away with them!’ ‘That’s a
|
|
nice trick!’ said her master, and lamented the fine chickens. ‘If he had
|
|
but left me one, so that something remained for me to eat.’ He called to
|
|
him to stop, but the guest pretended not to hear. Then he ran after him
|
|
with the knife still in his hand, crying: ‘Just one, just one,’ meaning
|
|
that the guest should leave him just one chicken, and not take both. The
|
|
guest, however, thought no otherwise than that he was to give up one of
|
|
his ears, and ran as if fire were burning under him, in order to take
|
|
them both with him.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON
|
|
|
|
There was once a very old man, whose eyes had become dim, his ears dull
|
|
of hearing, his knees trembled, and when he sat at table he could hardly
|
|
hold the spoon, and spilt the broth upon the table-cloth or let it run
|
|
out of his mouth. His son and his son’s wife were disgusted at this, so
|
|
the old grandfather at last had to sit in the corner behind the stove,
|
|
and they gave him his food in an earthenware bowl, and not even enough
|
|
of it. And he used to look towards the table with his eyes full of
|
|
tears. Once, too, his trembling hands could not hold the bowl, and it
|
|
fell to the ground and broke. The young wife scolded him, but he said
|
|
nothing and only sighed. Then they brought him a wooden bowl for a few
|
|
half-pence, out of which he had to eat.
|
|
|
|
They were once sitting thus when the little grandson of four years old
|
|
began to gather together some bits of wood upon the ground. ‘What are
|
|
you doing there?’ asked the father. ‘I am making a little trough,’
|
|
answered the child, ‘for father and mother to eat out of when I am big.’
|
|
|
|
The man and his wife looked at each other for a while, and presently
|
|
began to cry. Then they took the old grandfather to the table, and
|
|
henceforth always let him eat with them, and likewise said nothing if he
|
|
did spill a little of anything.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE LITTLE PEASANT
|
|
|
|
There was a certain village wherein no one lived but really rich
|
|
peasants, and just one poor one, whom they called the little peasant. He
|
|
had not even so much as a cow, and still less money to buy one, and
|
|
yet he and his wife did so wish to have one. One day he said to her:
|
|
‘Listen, I have a good idea, there is our gossip the carpenter, he shall
|
|
make us a wooden calf, and paint it brown, so that it looks like any
|
|
other, and in time it will certainly get big and be a cow.’ the woman
|
|
also liked the idea, and their gossip the carpenter cut and planed
|
|
the calf, and painted it as it ought to be, and made it with its head
|
|
hanging down as if it were eating.
|
|
|
|
Next morning when the cows were being driven out, the little peasant
|
|
called the cow-herd in and said: ‘Look, I have a little calf there,
|
|
but it is still small and has to be carried.’ The cow-herd said: ‘All
|
|
right,’ and took it in his arms and carried it to the pasture, and set
|
|
it among the grass. The little calf always remained standing like one
|
|
which was eating, and the cow-herd said: ‘It will soon run by itself,
|
|
just look how it eats already!’ At night when he was going to drive the
|
|
herd home again, he said to the calf: ‘If you can stand there and eat
|
|
your fill, you can also go on your four legs; I don’t care to drag you
|
|
home again in my arms.’ But the little peasant stood at his door, and
|
|
waited for his little calf, and when the cow-herd drove the cows through
|
|
the village, and the calf was missing, he inquired where it was. The
|
|
cow-herd answered: ‘It is still standing out there eating. It would not
|
|
stop and come with us.’ But the little peasant said: ‘Oh, but I must
|
|
have my beast back again.’ Then they went back to the meadow together,
|
|
but someone had stolen the calf, and it was gone. The cow-herd said: ‘It
|
|
must have run away.’ The peasant, however, said: ‘Don’t tell me
|
|
that,’ and led the cow-herd before the mayor, who for his carelessness
|
|
condemned him to give the peasant a cow for the calf which had run away.
|
|
|
|
And now the little peasant and his wife had the cow for which they had
|
|
so long wished, and they were heartily glad, but they had no food for
|
|
it, and could give it nothing to eat, so it soon had to be killed. They
|
|
salted the flesh, and the peasant went into the town and wanted to sell
|
|
the skin there, so that he might buy a new calf with the proceeds. On
|
|
the way he passed by a mill, and there sat a raven with broken wings,
|
|
and out of pity he took him and wrapped him in the skin. But as the
|
|
weather grew so bad and there was a storm of rain and wind, he could
|
|
go no farther, and turned back to the mill and begged for shelter. The
|
|
miller’s wife was alone in the house, and said to the peasant: ‘Lay
|
|
yourself on the straw there,’ and gave him a slice of bread and cheese.
|
|
The peasant ate it, and lay down with his skin beside him, and the woman
|
|
thought: ‘He is tired and has gone to sleep.’ In the meantime came the
|
|
parson; the miller’s wife received him well, and said: ‘My husband is
|
|
out, so we will have a feast.’ The peasant listened, and when he heard
|
|
them talk about feasting he was vexed that he had been forced to make
|
|
shift with a slice of bread and cheese. Then the woman served up four
|
|
different things, roast meat, salad, cakes, and wine.
|
|
|
|
Just as they were about to sit down and eat, there was a knocking
|
|
outside. The woman said: ‘Oh, heavens! It is my husband!’ she quickly
|
|
hid the roast meat inside the tiled stove, the wine under the pillow,
|
|
the salad on the bed, the cakes under it, and the parson in the closet
|
|
on the porch. Then she opened the door for her husband, and said: ‘Thank
|
|
heaven, you are back again! There is such a storm, it looks as if the
|
|
world were coming to an end.’ The miller saw the peasant lying on the
|
|
straw, and asked, ‘What is that fellow doing there?’ ‘Ah,’ said the
|
|
wife, ‘the poor knave came in the storm and rain, and begged for
|
|
shelter, so I gave him a bit of bread and cheese, and showed him where
|
|
the straw was.’ The man said: ‘I have no objection, but be quick and get
|
|
me something to eat.’ The woman said: ‘But I have nothing but bread and
|
|
cheese.’ ‘I am contented with anything,’ replied the husband, ‘so far as
|
|
I am concerned, bread and cheese will do,’ and looked at the peasant and
|
|
said: ‘Come and eat some more with me.’ The peasant did not require to
|
|
be invited twice, but got up and ate. After this the miller saw the skin
|
|
in which the raven was, lying on the ground, and asked: ‘What have you
|
|
there?’ The peasant answered: ‘I have a soothsayer inside it.’ ‘Can
|
|
he foretell anything to me?’ said the miller. ‘Why not?’ answered
|
|
the peasant: ‘but he only says four things, and the fifth he keeps to
|
|
himself.’ The miller was curious, and said: ‘Let him foretell something
|
|
for once.’ Then the peasant pinched the raven’s head, so that he croaked
|
|
and made a noise like krr, krr. The miller said: ‘What did he say?’ The
|
|
peasant answered: ‘In the first place, he says that there is some wine
|
|
hidden under the pillow.’ ‘Bless me!’ cried the miller, and went there
|
|
and found the wine. ‘Now go on,’ said he. The peasant made the raven
|
|
croak again, and said: ‘In the second place, he says that there is some
|
|
roast meat in the tiled stove.’ ‘Upon my word!’ cried the miller, and
|
|
went thither, and found the roast meat. The peasant made the raven
|
|
prophesy still more, and said: ‘Thirdly, he says that there is some
|
|
salad on the bed.’ ‘That would be a fine thing!’ cried the miller, and
|
|
went there and found the salad. At last the peasant pinched the raven
|
|
once more till he croaked, and said: ‘Fourthly, he says that there
|
|
are some cakes under the bed.’ ‘That would be a fine thing!’ cried the
|
|
miller, and looked there, and found the cakes.
|
|
|
|
And now the two sat down to the table together, but the miller’s wife
|
|
was frightened to death, and went to bed and took all the keys with
|
|
her. The miller would have liked much to know the fifth, but the little
|
|
peasant said: ‘First, we will quickly eat the four things, for the fifth
|
|
is something bad.’ So they ate, and after that they bargained how much
|
|
the miller was to give for the fifth prophecy, until they agreed on
|
|
three hundred talers. Then the peasant once more pinched the raven’s
|
|
head till he croaked loudly. The miller asked: ‘What did he say?’ The
|
|
peasant replied: ‘He says that the Devil is hiding outside there in
|
|
the closet on the porch.’ The miller said: ‘The Devil must go out,’ and
|
|
opened the house-door; then the woman was forced to give up the keys,
|
|
and the peasant unlocked the closet. The parson ran out as fast as he
|
|
could, and the miller said: ‘It was true; I saw the black rascal with my
|
|
own eyes.’ The peasant, however, made off next morning by daybreak with
|
|
the three hundred talers.
|
|
|
|
At home the small peasant gradually launched out; he built a beautiful
|
|
house, and the peasants said: ‘The small peasant has certainly been to
|
|
the place where golden snow falls, and people carry the gold home in
|
|
shovels.’ Then the small peasant was brought before the mayor, and
|
|
bidden to say from whence his wealth came. He answered: ‘I sold my cow’s
|
|
skin in the town, for three hundred talers.’ When the peasants heard
|
|
that, they too wished to enjoy this great profit, and ran home, killed
|
|
all their cows, and stripped off their skins in order to sell them in
|
|
the town to the greatest advantage. The mayor, however, said: ‘But my
|
|
servant must go first.’ When she came to the merchant in the town, he
|
|
did not give her more than two talers for a skin, and when the others
|
|
came, he did not give them so much, and said: ‘What can I do with all
|
|
these skins?’
|
|
|
|
Then the peasants were vexed that the small peasant should have thus
|
|
outwitted them, wanted to take vengeance on him, and accused him of this
|
|
treachery before the mayor. The innocent little peasant was unanimously
|
|
sentenced to death, and was to be rolled into the water, in a barrel
|
|
pierced full of holes. He was led forth, and a priest was brought who
|
|
was to say a mass for his soul. The others were all obliged to retire to
|
|
a distance, and when the peasant looked at the priest, he recognized the
|
|
man who had been with the miller’s wife. He said to him: ‘I set you free
|
|
from the closet, set me free from the barrel.’ At this same moment up
|
|
came, with a flock of sheep, the very shepherd whom the peasant knew had
|
|
long been wishing to be mayor, so he cried with all his might: ‘No, I
|
|
will not do it; if the whole world insists on it, I will not do it!’ The
|
|
shepherd hearing that, came up to him, and asked: ‘What are you about?
|
|
What is it that you will not do?’ The peasant said: ‘They want to make
|
|
me mayor, if I will but put myself in the barrel, but I will not do it.’
|
|
The shepherd said: ‘If nothing more than that is needful in order to be
|
|
mayor, I would get into the barrel at once.’ The peasant said: ‘If you
|
|
will get in, you will be mayor.’ The shepherd was willing, and got in,
|
|
and the peasant shut the top down on him; then he took the shepherd’s
|
|
flock for himself, and drove it away. The parson went to the crowd,
|
|
and declared that the mass had been said. Then they came and rolled the
|
|
barrel towards the water. When the barrel began to roll, the shepherd
|
|
cried: ‘I am quite willing to be mayor.’ They believed no otherwise than
|
|
that it was the peasant who was saying this, and answered: ‘That is
|
|
what we intend, but first you shall look about you a little down below
|
|
there,’ and they rolled the barrel down into the water.
|
|
|
|
After that the peasants went home, and as they were entering the
|
|
village, the small peasant also came quietly in, driving a flock of
|
|
sheep and looking quite contented. Then the peasants were astonished,
|
|
and said: ‘Peasant, from whence do you come? Have you come out of the
|
|
water?’ ‘Yes, truly,’ replied the peasant, ‘I sank deep, deep down,
|
|
until at last I got to the bottom; I pushed the bottom out of the
|
|
barrel, and crept out, and there were pretty meadows on which a number
|
|
of lambs were feeding, and from thence I brought this flock away with
|
|
me.’ Said the peasants: ‘Are there any more there?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said he,
|
|
‘more than I could want.’ Then the peasants made up their minds that
|
|
they too would fetch some sheep for themselves, a flock apiece, but the
|
|
mayor said: ‘I come first.’ So they went to the water together, and just
|
|
then there were some of the small fleecy clouds in the blue sky, which
|
|
are called little lambs, and they were reflected in the water, whereupon
|
|
the peasants cried: ‘We already see the sheep down below!’ The mayor
|
|
pressed forward and said: ‘I will go down first, and look about me, and
|
|
if things promise well I’ll call you.’ So he jumped in; splash! went
|
|
the water; it sounded as if he were calling them, and the whole crowd
|
|
plunged in after him as one man. Then the entire village was dead, and
|
|
the small peasant, as sole heir, became a rich man.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
FREDERICK AND CATHERINE
|
|
|
|
There was once a man called Frederick: he had a wife whose name was
|
|
Catherine, and they had not long been married. One day Frederick said.
|
|
‘Kate! I am going to work in the fields; when I come back I shall be
|
|
hungry so let me have something nice cooked, and a good draught of ale.’
|
|
‘Very well,’ said she, ‘it shall all be ready.’ When dinner-time drew
|
|
nigh, Catherine took a nice steak, which was all the meat she had, and
|
|
put it on the fire to fry. The steak soon began to look brown, and to
|
|
crackle in the pan; and Catherine stood by with a fork and turned it:
|
|
then she said to herself, ‘The steak is almost ready, I may as well go
|
|
to the cellar for the ale.’ So she left the pan on the fire and took a
|
|
large jug and went into the cellar and tapped the ale cask. The beer ran
|
|
into the jug and Catherine stood looking on. At last it popped into her
|
|
head, ‘The dog is not shut up--he may be running away with the steak;
|
|
that’s well thought of.’ So up she ran from the cellar; and sure enough
|
|
the rascally cur had got the steak in his mouth, and was making off with
|
|
it.
|
|
|
|
Away ran Catherine, and away ran the dog across the field: but he ran
|
|
faster than she, and stuck close to the steak. ‘It’s all gone, and “what
|
|
can’t be cured must be endured”,’ said Catherine. So she turned round;
|
|
and as she had run a good way and was tired, she walked home leisurely
|
|
to cool herself.
|
|
|
|
Now all this time the ale was running too, for Catherine had not turned
|
|
the cock; and when the jug was full the liquor ran upon the floor till
|
|
the cask was empty. When she got to the cellar stairs she saw what had
|
|
happened. ‘My stars!’ said she, ‘what shall I do to keep Frederick from
|
|
seeing all this slopping about?’ So she thought a while; and at last
|
|
remembered that there was a sack of fine meal bought at the last fair,
|
|
and that if she sprinkled this over the floor it would suck up the ale
|
|
nicely. ‘What a lucky thing,’ said she, ‘that we kept that meal! we have
|
|
now a good use for it.’ So away she went for it: but she managed to set
|
|
it down just upon the great jug full of beer, and upset it; and thus
|
|
all the ale that had been saved was set swimming on the floor also. ‘Ah!
|
|
well,’ said she, ‘when one goes another may as well follow.’ Then she
|
|
strewed the meal all about the cellar, and was quite pleased with her
|
|
cleverness, and said, ‘How very neat and clean it looks!’
|
|
|
|
At noon Frederick came home. ‘Now, wife,’ cried he, ‘what have you for
|
|
dinner?’ ‘O Frederick!’ answered she, ‘I was cooking you a steak; but
|
|
while I went down to draw the ale, the dog ran away with it; and while
|
|
I ran after him, the ale ran out; and when I went to dry up the ale
|
|
with the sack of meal that we got at the fair, I upset the jug: but the
|
|
cellar is now quite dry, and looks so clean!’ ‘Kate, Kate,’ said he,
|
|
‘how could you do all this?’ Why did you leave the steak to fry, and the
|
|
ale to run, and then spoil all the meal?’ ‘Why, Frederick,’ said she, ‘I
|
|
did not know I was doing wrong; you should have told me before.’
|
|
|
|
The husband thought to himself, ‘If my wife manages matters thus, I must
|
|
look sharp myself.’ Now he had a good deal of gold in the house: so he
|
|
said to Catherine, ‘What pretty yellow buttons these are! I shall put
|
|
them into a box and bury them in the garden; but take care that you
|
|
never go near or meddle with them.’ ‘No, Frederick,’ said she, ‘that
|
|
I never will.’ As soon as he was gone, there came by some pedlars with
|
|
earthenware plates and dishes, and they asked her whether she would buy.
|
|
‘Oh dear me, I should like to buy very much, but I have no money: if
|
|
you had any use for yellow buttons, I might deal with you.’ ‘Yellow
|
|
buttons!’ said they: ‘let us have a look at them.’ ‘Go into the garden
|
|
and dig where I tell you, and you will find the yellow buttons: I dare
|
|
not go myself.’ So the rogues went: and when they found what these
|
|
yellow buttons were, they took them all away, and left her plenty of
|
|
plates and dishes. Then she set them all about the house for a show:
|
|
and when Frederick came back, he cried out, ‘Kate, what have you been
|
|
doing?’ ‘See,’ said she, ‘I have bought all these with your yellow
|
|
buttons: but I did not touch them myself; the pedlars went themselves
|
|
and dug them up.’ ‘Wife, wife,’ said Frederick, ‘what a pretty piece of
|
|
work you have made! those yellow buttons were all my money: how came you
|
|
to do such a thing?’ ‘Why,’ answered she, ‘I did not know there was any
|
|
harm in it; you should have told me.’
|
|
|
|
Catherine stood musing for a while, and at last said to her husband,
|
|
‘Hark ye, Frederick, we will soon get the gold back: let us run after
|
|
the thieves.’ ‘Well, we will try,’ answered he; ‘but take some butter
|
|
and cheese with you, that we may have something to eat by the way.’
|
|
‘Very well,’ said she; and they set out: and as Frederick walked the
|
|
fastest, he left his wife some way behind. ‘It does not matter,’ thought
|
|
she: ‘when we turn back, I shall be so much nearer home than he.’
|
|
|
|
Presently she came to the top of a hill, down the side of which there
|
|
was a road so narrow that the cart wheels always chafed the trees
|
|
on each side as they passed. ‘Ah, see now,’ said she, ‘how they have
|
|
bruised and wounded those poor trees; they will never get well.’ So she
|
|
took pity on them, and made use of the butter to grease them all, so
|
|
that the wheels might not hurt them so much. While she was doing this
|
|
kind office one of her cheeses fell out of the basket, and rolled down
|
|
the hill. Catherine looked, but could not see where it had gone; so she
|
|
said, ‘Well, I suppose the other will go the same way and find you; he
|
|
has younger legs than I have.’ Then she rolled the other cheese after
|
|
it; and away it went, nobody knows where, down the hill. But she said
|
|
she supposed that they knew the road, and would follow her, and she
|
|
could not stay there all day waiting for them.
|
|
|
|
At last she overtook Frederick, who desired her to give him something to
|
|
eat. Then she gave him the dry bread. ‘Where are the butter and cheese?’
|
|
said he. ‘Oh!’ answered she, ‘I used the butter to grease those poor
|
|
trees that the wheels chafed so: and one of the cheeses ran away so I
|
|
sent the other after it to find it, and I suppose they are both on
|
|
the road together somewhere.’ ‘What a goose you are to do such silly
|
|
things!’ said the husband. ‘How can you say so?’ said she; ‘I am sure
|
|
you never told me not.’
|
|
|
|
They ate the dry bread together; and Frederick said, ‘Kate, I hope you
|
|
locked the door safe when you came away.’ ‘No,’ answered she, ‘you did
|
|
not tell me.’ ‘Then go home, and do it now before we go any farther,’
|
|
said Frederick, ‘and bring with you something to eat.’
|
|
|
|
Catherine did as he told her, and thought to herself by the way,
|
|
‘Frederick wants something to eat; but I don’t think he is very fond of
|
|
butter and cheese: I’ll bring him a bag of fine nuts, and the vinegar,
|
|
for I have often seen him take some.’
|
|
|
|
When she reached home, she bolted the back door, but the front door she
|
|
took off the hinges, and said, ‘Frederick told me to lock the door, but
|
|
surely it can nowhere be so safe if I take it with me.’ So she took
|
|
her time by the way; and when she overtook her husband she cried
|
|
out, ‘There, Frederick, there is the door itself, you may watch it as
|
|
carefully as you please.’ ‘Alas! alas!’ said he, ‘what a clever wife I
|
|
have! I sent you to make the house fast, and you take the door away, so
|
|
that everybody may go in and out as they please--however, as you have
|
|
brought the door, you shall carry it about with you for your pains.’
|
|
‘Very well,’ answered she, ‘I’ll carry the door; but I’ll not carry the
|
|
nuts and vinegar bottle also--that would be too much of a load; so if
|
|
you please, I’ll fasten them to the door.’
|
|
|
|
Frederick of course made no objection to that plan, and they set off
|
|
into the wood to look for the thieves; but they could not find them: and
|
|
when it grew dark, they climbed up into a tree to spend the night there.
|
|
Scarcely were they up, than who should come by but the very rogues they
|
|
were looking for. They were in truth great rascals, and belonged to that
|
|
class of people who find things before they are lost; they were tired;
|
|
so they sat down and made a fire under the very tree where Frederick and
|
|
Catherine were. Frederick slipped down on the other side, and picked up
|
|
some stones. Then he climbed up again, and tried to hit the thieves on
|
|
the head with them: but they only said, ‘It must be near morning, for
|
|
the wind shakes the fir-apples down.’
|
|
|
|
Catherine, who had the door on her shoulder, began to be very tired;
|
|
but she thought it was the nuts upon it that were so heavy: so she said
|
|
softly, ‘Frederick, I must let the nuts go.’ ‘No,’ answered he, ‘not
|
|
now, they will discover us.’ ‘I can’t help that: they must go.’ ‘Well,
|
|
then, make haste and throw them down, if you will.’ Then away rattled
|
|
the nuts down among the boughs and one of the thieves cried, ‘Bless me,
|
|
it is hailing.’
|
|
|
|
A little while after, Catherine thought the door was still very heavy:
|
|
so she whispered to Frederick, ‘I must throw the vinegar down.’ ‘Pray
|
|
don’t,’ answered he, ‘it will discover us.’ ‘I can’t help that,’ said
|
|
she, ‘go it must.’ So she poured all the vinegar down; and the thieves
|
|
said, ‘What a heavy dew there is!’
|
|
|
|
At last it popped into Catherine’s head that it was the door itself that
|
|
was so heavy all the time: so she whispered, ‘Frederick, I must throw
|
|
the door down soon.’ But he begged and prayed her not to do so, for he
|
|
was sure it would betray them. ‘Here goes, however,’ said she: and down
|
|
went the door with such a clatter upon the thieves, that they cried
|
|
out ‘Murder!’ and not knowing what was coming, ran away as fast as they
|
|
could, and left all the gold. So when Frederick and Catherine came down,
|
|
there they found all their money safe and sound.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SWEETHEART ROLAND
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time a woman who was a real witch and had two
|
|
daughters, one ugly and wicked, and this one she loved because she was
|
|
her own daughter, and one beautiful and good, and this one she hated,
|
|
because she was her stepdaughter. The stepdaughter once had a pretty
|
|
apron, which the other fancied so much that she became envious, and
|
|
told her mother that she must and would have that apron. ‘Be quiet, my
|
|
child,’ said the old woman, ‘and you shall have it. Your stepsister has
|
|
long deserved death; tonight when she is asleep I will come and cut her
|
|
head off. Only be careful that you are at the far side of the bed, and
|
|
push her well to the front.’ It would have been all over with the poor
|
|
girl if she had not just then been standing in a corner, and heard
|
|
everything. All day long she dared not go out of doors, and when bedtime
|
|
had come, the witch’s daughter got into bed first, so as to lie at the
|
|
far side, but when she was asleep, the other pushed her gently to the
|
|
front, and took for herself the place at the back, close by the wall. In
|
|
the night, the old woman came creeping in, she held an axe in her right
|
|
hand, and felt with her left to see if anyone were lying at the outside,
|
|
and then she grasped the axe with both hands, and cut her own child’s
|
|
head off.
|
|
|
|
When she had gone away, the girl got up and went to her sweetheart, who
|
|
was called Roland, and knocked at his door. When he came out, she said
|
|
to him: ‘Listen, dearest Roland, we must fly in all haste; my stepmother
|
|
wanted to kill me, but has struck her own child. When daylight comes,
|
|
and she sees what she has done, we shall be lost.’ ‘But,’ said Roland,
|
|
‘I counsel you first to take away her magic wand, or we cannot escape
|
|
if she pursues us.’ The maiden fetched the magic wand, and she took the
|
|
dead girl’s head and dropped three drops of blood on the ground, one in
|
|
front of the bed, one in the kitchen, and one on the stairs. Then she
|
|
hurried away with her lover.
|
|
|
|
When the old witch got up next morning, she called her daughter, and
|
|
wanted to give her the apron, but she did not come. Then the witch
|
|
cried: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Here, on the stairs, I am sweeping,’ answered
|
|
the first drop of blood. The old woman went out, but saw no one on the
|
|
stairs, and cried again: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Here in the kitchen, I am
|
|
warming myself,’ cried the second drop of blood. She went into the
|
|
kitchen, but found no one. Then she cried again: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Ah,
|
|
here in the bed, I am sleeping,’ cried the third drop of blood. She went
|
|
into the room to the bed. What did she see there? Her own child,
|
|
whose head she had cut off, bathed in her blood. The witch fell into
|
|
a passion, sprang to the window, and as she could look forth quite far
|
|
into the world, she perceived her stepdaughter hurrying away with her
|
|
sweetheart Roland. ‘That shall not help you,’ cried she, ‘even if you
|
|
have got a long way off, you shall still not escape me.’ She put on her
|
|
many-league boots, in which she covered an hour’s walk at every step,
|
|
and it was not long before she overtook them. The girl, however, when
|
|
she saw the old woman striding towards her, changed, with her magic
|
|
wand, her sweetheart Roland into a lake, and herself into a duck
|
|
swimming in the middle of it. The witch placed herself on the shore,
|
|
threw breadcrumbs in, and went to endless trouble to entice the duck;
|
|
but the duck did not let herself be enticed, and the old woman had to
|
|
go home at night as she had come. At this the girl and her sweetheart
|
|
Roland resumed their natural shapes again, and they walked on the whole
|
|
night until daybreak. Then the maiden changed herself into a beautiful
|
|
flower which stood in the midst of a briar hedge, and her sweetheart
|
|
Roland into a fiddler. It was not long before the witch came striding up
|
|
towards them, and said to the musician: ‘Dear musician, may I pluck that
|
|
beautiful flower for myself?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, ‘I will play to
|
|
you while you do it.’ As she was hastily creeping into the hedge and was
|
|
just going to pluck the flower, knowing perfectly well who the flower
|
|
was, he began to play, and whether she would or not, she was forced
|
|
to dance, for it was a magical dance. The faster he played, the more
|
|
violent springs was she forced to make, and the thorns tore her clothes
|
|
from her body, and pricked her and wounded her till she bled, and as he
|
|
did not stop, she had to dance till she lay dead on the ground.
|
|
|
|
As they were now set free, Roland said: ‘Now I will go to my father and
|
|
arrange for the wedding.’ ‘Then in the meantime I will stay here and
|
|
wait for you,’ said the girl, ‘and that no one may recognize me, I will
|
|
change myself into a red stone landmark.’ Then Roland went away, and the
|
|
girl stood like a red landmark in the field and waited for her beloved.
|
|
But when Roland got home, he fell into the snares of another, who so
|
|
fascinated him that he forgot the maiden. The poor girl remained there a
|
|
long time, but at length, as he did not return at all, she was sad, and
|
|
changed herself into a flower, and thought: ‘Someone will surely come
|
|
this way, and trample me down.’
|
|
|
|
It befell, however, that a shepherd kept his sheep in the field and saw
|
|
the flower, and as it was so pretty, plucked it, took it with him, and
|
|
laid it away in his chest. From that time forth, strange things happened
|
|
in the shepherd’s house. When he arose in the morning, all the work was
|
|
already done, the room was swept, the table and benches cleaned, the
|
|
fire in the hearth was lighted, and the water was fetched, and at noon,
|
|
when he came home, the table was laid, and a good dinner served. He
|
|
could not conceive how this came to pass, for he never saw a human being
|
|
in his house, and no one could have concealed himself in it. He was
|
|
certainly pleased with this good attendance, but still at last he was so
|
|
afraid that he went to a wise woman and asked for her advice. The wise
|
|
woman said: ‘There is some enchantment behind it, listen very early some
|
|
morning if anything is moving in the room, and if you see anything, no
|
|
matter what it is, throw a white cloth over it, and then the magic will
|
|
be stopped.’
|
|
|
|
The shepherd did as she bade him, and next morning just as day dawned,
|
|
he saw the chest open, and the flower come out. Swiftly he
|
|
sprang towards it, and threw a white cloth over it. Instantly the
|
|
transformation came to an end, and a beautiful girl stood before him,
|
|
who admitted to him that she had been the flower, and that up to this
|
|
time she had attended to his house-keeping. She told him her story,
|
|
and as she pleased him he asked her if she would marry him, but she
|
|
answered: ‘No,’ for she wanted to remain faithful to her sweetheart
|
|
Roland, although he had deserted her. Nevertheless, she promised not to
|
|
go away, but to continue keeping house for the shepherd.
|
|
|
|
And now the time drew near when Roland’s wedding was to be celebrated,
|
|
and then, according to an old custom in the country, it was announced
|
|
that all the girls were to be present at it, and sing in honour of the
|
|
bridal pair. When the faithful maiden heard of this, she grew so sad
|
|
that she thought her heart would break, and she would not go thither,
|
|
but the other girls came and took her. When it came to her turn to sing,
|
|
she stepped back, until at last she was the only one left, and then she
|
|
could not refuse. But when she began her song, and it reached Roland’s
|
|
ears, he sprang up and cried: ‘I know the voice, that is the true
|
|
bride, I will have no other!’ Everything he had forgotten, and which had
|
|
vanished from his mind, had suddenly come home again to his heart. Then
|
|
the faithful maiden held her wedding with her sweetheart Roland, and
|
|
grief came to an end and joy began.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SNOWDROP
|
|
|
|
It was the middle of winter, when the broad flakes of snow were falling
|
|
around, that the queen of a country many thousand miles off sat working
|
|
at her window. The frame of the window was made of fine black ebony, and
|
|
as she sat looking out upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three
|
|
drops of blood fell upon it. Then she gazed thoughtfully upon the red
|
|
drops that sprinkled the white snow, and said, ‘Would that my little
|
|
daughter may be as white as that snow, as red as that blood, and as
|
|
black as this ebony windowframe!’ And so the little girl really did grow
|
|
up; her skin was as white as snow, her cheeks as rosy as the blood, and
|
|
her hair as black as ebony; and she was called Snowdrop.
|
|
|
|
But this queen died; and the king soon married another wife, who became
|
|
queen, and was very beautiful, but so vain that she could not bear
|
|
to think that anyone could be handsomer than she was. She had a fairy
|
|
looking-glass, to which she used to go, and then she would gaze upon
|
|
herself in it, and say:
|
|
|
|
‘Tell me, glass, tell me true!
|
|
Of all the ladies in the land,
|
|
Who is fairest, tell me, who?’
|
|
|
|
And the glass had always answered:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, queen, art the fairest in all the land.’
|
|
|
|
But Snowdrop grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years
|
|
old she was as bright as the day, and fairer than the queen herself.
|
|
Then the glass one day answered the queen, when she went to look in it
|
|
as usual:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, queen, art fair, and beauteous to see,
|
|
But Snowdrop is lovelier far than thee!’
|
|
|
|
When she heard this she turned pale with rage and envy, and called to
|
|
one of her servants, and said, ‘Take Snowdrop away into the wide wood,
|
|
that I may never see her any more.’ Then the servant led her away; but
|
|
his heart melted when Snowdrop begged him to spare her life, and he
|
|
said, ‘I will not hurt you, thou pretty child.’ So he left her by
|
|
herself; and though he thought it most likely that the wild beasts would
|
|
tear her in pieces, he felt as if a great weight were taken off his
|
|
heart when he had made up his mind not to kill her but to leave her to
|
|
her fate, with the chance of someone finding and saving her.
|
|
|
|
Then poor Snowdrop wandered along through the wood in great fear; and
|
|
the wild beasts roared about her, but none did her any harm. In the
|
|
evening she came to a cottage among the hills, and went in to rest, for
|
|
her little feet would carry her no further. Everything was spruce and
|
|
neat in the cottage: on the table was spread a white cloth, and there
|
|
were seven little plates, seven little loaves, and seven little glasses
|
|
with wine in them; and seven knives and forks laid in order; and by
|
|
the wall stood seven little beds. As she was very hungry, she picked
|
|
a little piece of each loaf and drank a very little wine out of each
|
|
glass; and after that she thought she would lie down and rest. So she
|
|
tried all the little beds; but one was too long, and another was too
|
|
short, till at last the seventh suited her: and there she laid herself
|
|
down and went to sleep.
|
|
|
|
By and by in came the masters of the cottage. Now they were seven little
|
|
dwarfs, that lived among the mountains, and dug and searched for gold.
|
|
They lighted up their seven lamps, and saw at once that all was not
|
|
right. The first said, ‘Who has been sitting on my stool?’ The second,
|
|
‘Who has been eating off my plate?’ The third, ‘Who has been picking my
|
|
bread?’ The fourth, ‘Who has been meddling with my spoon?’ The fifth,
|
|
‘Who has been handling my fork?’ The sixth, ‘Who has been cutting with
|
|
my knife?’ The seventh, ‘Who has been drinking my wine?’ Then the first
|
|
looked round and said, ‘Who has been lying on my bed?’ And the rest came
|
|
running to him, and everyone cried out that somebody had been upon his
|
|
bed. But the seventh saw Snowdrop, and called all his brethren to come
|
|
and see her; and they cried out with wonder and astonishment and brought
|
|
their lamps to look at her, and said, ‘Good heavens! what a lovely child
|
|
she is!’ And they were very glad to see her, and took care not to wake
|
|
her; and the seventh dwarf slept an hour with each of the other dwarfs
|
|
in turn, till the night was gone.
|
|
|
|
In the morning Snowdrop told them all her story; and they pitied her,
|
|
and said if she would keep all things in order, and cook and wash and
|
|
knit and spin for them, she might stay where she was, and they would
|
|
take good care of her. Then they went out all day long to their work,
|
|
seeking for gold and silver in the mountains: but Snowdrop was left at
|
|
home; and they warned her, and said, ‘The queen will soon find out where
|
|
you are, so take care and let no one in.’
|
|
|
|
But the queen, now that she thought Snowdrop was dead, believed that she
|
|
must be the handsomest lady in the land; and she went to her glass and
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
‘Tell me, glass, tell me true!
|
|
Of all the ladies in the land,
|
|
Who is fairest, tell me, who?’
|
|
|
|
And the glass answered:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:
|
|
But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,
|
|
Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,
|
|
There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she
|
|
Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.’
|
|
|
|
Then the queen was very much frightened; for she knew that the glass
|
|
always spoke the truth, and was sure that the servant had betrayed her.
|
|
And she could not bear to think that anyone lived who was more beautiful
|
|
than she was; so she dressed herself up as an old pedlar, and went
|
|
her way over the hills, to the place where the dwarfs dwelt. Then she
|
|
knocked at the door, and cried, ‘Fine wares to sell!’ Snowdrop looked
|
|
out at the window, and said, ‘Good day, good woman! what have you to
|
|
sell?’ ‘Good wares, fine wares,’ said she; ‘laces and bobbins of all
|
|
colours.’ ‘I will let the old lady in; she seems to be a very good
|
|
sort of body,’ thought Snowdrop, as she ran down and unbolted the door.
|
|
‘Bless me!’ said the old woman, ‘how badly your stays are laced! Let me
|
|
lace them up with one of my nice new laces.’ Snowdrop did not dream of
|
|
any mischief; so she stood before the old woman; but she set to work
|
|
so nimbly, and pulled the lace so tight, that Snowdrop’s breath was
|
|
stopped, and she fell down as if she were dead. ‘There’s an end to all
|
|
thy beauty,’ said the spiteful queen, and went away home.
|
|
|
|
In the evening the seven dwarfs came home; and I need not say how
|
|
grieved they were to see their faithful Snowdrop stretched out upon the
|
|
ground, as if she was quite dead. However, they lifted her up, and when
|
|
they found what ailed her, they cut the lace; and in a little time she
|
|
began to breathe, and very soon came to life again. Then they said, ‘The
|
|
old woman was the queen herself; take care another time, and let no one
|
|
in when we are away.’
|
|
|
|
When the queen got home, she went straight to her glass, and spoke to it
|
|
as before; but to her great grief it still said:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:
|
|
But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,
|
|
Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,
|
|
There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she
|
|
Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.’
|
|
|
|
Then the blood ran cold in her heart with spite and malice, to see that
|
|
Snowdrop still lived; and she dressed herself up again, but in quite
|
|
another dress from the one she wore before, and took with her a poisoned
|
|
comb. When she reached the dwarfs’ cottage, she knocked at the door, and
|
|
cried, ‘Fine wares to sell!’ But Snowdrop said, ‘I dare not let anyone
|
|
in.’ Then the queen said, ‘Only look at my beautiful combs!’ and gave
|
|
her the poisoned one. And it looked so pretty, that she took it up and
|
|
put it into her hair to try it; but the moment it touched her head,
|
|
the poison was so powerful that she fell down senseless. ‘There you may
|
|
lie,’ said the queen, and went her way. But by good luck the dwarfs
|
|
came in very early that evening; and when they saw Snowdrop lying on
|
|
the ground, they thought what had happened, and soon found the poisoned
|
|
comb. And when they took it away she got well, and told them all that
|
|
had passed; and they warned her once more not to open the door to
|
|
anyone.
|
|
|
|
Meantime the queen went home to her glass, and shook with rage when she
|
|
read the very same answer as before; and she said, ‘Snowdrop shall die,
|
|
if it cost me my life.’ So she went by herself into her chamber, and got
|
|
ready a poisoned apple: the outside looked very rosy and tempting, but
|
|
whoever tasted it was sure to die. Then she dressed herself up as a
|
|
peasant’s wife, and travelled over the hills to the dwarfs’ cottage,
|
|
and knocked at the door; but Snowdrop put her head out of the window and
|
|
said, ‘I dare not let anyone in, for the dwarfs have told me not.’ ‘Do
|
|
as you please,’ said the old woman, ‘but at any rate take this pretty
|
|
apple; I will give it you.’ ‘No,’ said Snowdrop, ‘I dare not take it.’
|
|
‘You silly girl!’ answered the other, ‘what are you afraid of? Do you
|
|
think it is poisoned? Come! do you eat one part, and I will eat the
|
|
other.’ Now the apple was so made up that one side was good, though the
|
|
other side was poisoned. Then Snowdrop was much tempted to taste, for
|
|
the apple looked so very nice; and when she saw the old woman eat, she
|
|
could wait no longer. But she had scarcely put the piece into her mouth,
|
|
when she fell down dead upon the ground. ‘This time nothing will save
|
|
thee,’ said the queen; and she went home to her glass, and at last it
|
|
said:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, queen, art the fairest of all the fair.’
|
|
|
|
And then her wicked heart was glad, and as happy as such a heart could
|
|
be.
|
|
|
|
When evening came, and the dwarfs had gone home, they found Snowdrop
|
|
lying on the ground: no breath came from her lips, and they were afraid
|
|
that she was quite dead. They lifted her up, and combed her hair, and
|
|
washed her face with wine and water; but all was in vain, for the little
|
|
girl seemed quite dead. So they laid her down upon a bier, and all seven
|
|
watched and bewailed her three whole days; and then they thought they
|
|
would bury her: but her cheeks were still rosy; and her face looked just
|
|
as it did while she was alive; so they said, ‘We will never bury her in
|
|
the cold ground.’ And they made a coffin of glass, so that they might
|
|
still look at her, and wrote upon it in golden letters what her name
|
|
was, and that she was a king’s daughter. And the coffin was set among
|
|
the hills, and one of the dwarfs always sat by it and watched. And the
|
|
birds of the air came too, and bemoaned Snowdrop; and first of all came
|
|
an owl, and then a raven, and at last a dove, and sat by her side.
|
|
|
|
And thus Snowdrop lay for a long, long time, and still only looked as
|
|
though she was asleep; for she was even now as white as snow, and as red
|
|
as blood, and as black as ebony. At last a prince came and called at the
|
|
dwarfs’ house; and he saw Snowdrop, and read what was written in golden
|
|
letters. Then he offered the dwarfs money, and prayed and besought them
|
|
to let him take her away; but they said, ‘We will not part with her for
|
|
all the gold in the world.’ At last, however, they had pity on him, and
|
|
gave him the coffin; but the moment he lifted it up to carry it home
|
|
with him, the piece of apple fell from between her lips, and Snowdrop
|
|
awoke, and said, ‘Where am I?’ And the prince said, ‘Thou art quite safe
|
|
with me.’
|
|
|
|
Then he told her all that had happened, and said, ‘I love you far better
|
|
than all the world; so come with me to my father’s palace, and you shall
|
|
be my wife.’ And Snowdrop consented, and went home with the prince;
|
|
and everything was got ready with great pomp and splendour for their
|
|
wedding.
|
|
|
|
To the feast was asked, among the rest, Snowdrop’s old enemy the queen;
|
|
and as she was dressing herself in fine rich clothes, she looked in the
|
|
glass and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Tell me, glass, tell me true!
|
|
Of all the ladies in the land,
|
|
Who is fairest, tell me, who?’
|
|
|
|
And the glass answered:
|
|
|
|
‘Thou, lady, art loveliest here, I ween;
|
|
But lovelier far is the new-made queen.’
|
|
|
|
When she heard this she started with rage; but her envy and curiosity
|
|
were so great, that she could not help setting out to see the bride. And
|
|
when she got there, and saw that it was no other than Snowdrop, who, as
|
|
she thought, had been dead a long while, she choked with rage, and fell
|
|
down and died: but Snowdrop and the prince lived and reigned happily
|
|
over that land many, many years; and sometimes they went up into the
|
|
mountains, and paid a visit to the little dwarfs, who had been so kind
|
|
to Snowdrop in her time of need.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE PINK
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time a queen to whom God had given no children.
|
|
Every morning she went into the garden and prayed to God in heaven to
|
|
bestow on her a son or a daughter. Then an angel from heaven came to her
|
|
and said: ‘Be at rest, you shall have a son with the power of wishing,
|
|
so that whatsoever in the world he wishes for, that shall he have.’ Then
|
|
she went to the king, and told him the joyful tidings, and when the time
|
|
was come she gave birth to a son, and the king was filled with gladness.
|
|
|
|
Every morning she went with the child to the garden where the wild
|
|
beasts were kept, and washed herself there in a clear stream. It
|
|
happened once when the child was a little older, that it was lying in
|
|
her arms and she fell asleep. Then came the old cook, who knew that the
|
|
child had the power of wishing, and stole it away, and he took a hen,
|
|
and cut it in pieces, and dropped some of its blood on the queen’s apron
|
|
and on her dress. Then he carried the child away to a secret place,
|
|
where a nurse was obliged to suckle it, and he ran to the king and
|
|
accused the queen of having allowed her child to be taken from her by
|
|
the wild beasts. When the king saw the blood on her apron, he believed
|
|
this, fell into such a passion that he ordered a high tower to be built,
|
|
in which neither sun nor moon could be seen and had his wife put into
|
|
it, and walled up. Here she was to stay for seven years without meat
|
|
or drink, and die of hunger. But God sent two angels from heaven in the
|
|
shape of white doves, which flew to her twice a day, and carried her
|
|
food until the seven years were over.
|
|
|
|
The cook, however, thought to himself: ‘If the child has the power of
|
|
wishing, and I am here, he might very easily get me into trouble.’ So
|
|
he left the palace and went to the boy, who was already big enough to
|
|
speak, and said to him: ‘Wish for a beautiful palace for yourself with
|
|
a garden, and all else that pertains to it.’ Scarcely were the words out
|
|
of the boy’s mouth, when everything was there that he had wished for.
|
|
After a while the cook said to him: ‘It is not well for you to be so
|
|
alone, wish for a pretty girl as a companion.’ Then the king’s son
|
|
wished for one, and she immediately stood before him, and was more
|
|
beautiful than any painter could have painted her. The two played
|
|
together, and loved each other with all their hearts, and the old cook
|
|
went out hunting like a nobleman. The thought occurred to him, however,
|
|
that the king’s son might some day wish to be with his father, and thus
|
|
bring him into great peril. So he went out and took the maiden aside,
|
|
and said: ‘Tonight when the boy is asleep, go to his bed and plunge this
|
|
knife into his heart, and bring me his heart and tongue, and if you do
|
|
not do it, you shall lose your life.’ Thereupon he went away, and when
|
|
he returned next day she had not done it, and said: ‘Why should I shed
|
|
the blood of an innocent boy who has never harmed anyone?’ The cook once
|
|
more said: ‘If you do not do it, it shall cost you your own life.’ When
|
|
he had gone away, she had a little hind brought to her, and ordered her
|
|
to be killed, and took her heart and tongue, and laid them on a plate,
|
|
and when she saw the old man coming, she said to the boy: ‘Lie down in
|
|
your bed, and draw the clothes over you.’ Then the wicked wretch came in
|
|
and said: ‘Where are the boy’s heart and tongue?’ The girl reached the
|
|
plate to him, but the king’s son threw off the quilt, and said: ‘You old
|
|
sinner, why did you want to kill me? Now will I pronounce thy sentence.
|
|
You shall become a black poodle and have a gold collar round your neck,
|
|
and shall eat burning coals, till the flames burst forth from your
|
|
throat.’ And when he had spoken these words, the old man was changed
|
|
into a poodle dog, and had a gold collar round his neck, and the cooks
|
|
were ordered to bring up some live coals, and these he ate, until the
|
|
flames broke forth from his throat. The king’s son remained there a
|
|
short while longer, and he thought of his mother, and wondered if she
|
|
were still alive. At length he said to the maiden: ‘I will go home to my
|
|
own country; if you will go with me, I will provide for you.’ ‘Ah,’
|
|
she replied, ‘the way is so long, and what shall I do in a strange land
|
|
where I am unknown?’ As she did not seem quite willing, and as they
|
|
could not be parted from each other, he wished that she might be changed
|
|
into a beautiful pink, and took her with him. Then he went away to his
|
|
own country, and the poodle had to run after him. He went to the tower
|
|
in which his mother was confined, and as it was so high, he wished for
|
|
a ladder which would reach up to the very top. Then he mounted up and
|
|
looked inside, and cried: ‘Beloved mother, Lady Queen, are you still
|
|
alive, or are you dead?’ She answered: ‘I have just eaten, and am still
|
|
satisfied,’ for she thought the angels were there. Said he: ‘I am your
|
|
dear son, whom the wild beasts were said to have torn from your arms;
|
|
but I am alive still, and will soon set you free.’ Then he descended
|
|
again, and went to his father, and caused himself to be announced as a
|
|
strange huntsman, and asked if he could offer him service. The king said
|
|
yes, if he was skilful and could get game for him, he should come to
|
|
him, but that deer had never taken up their quarters in any part of the
|
|
district or country. Then the huntsman promised to procure as much game
|
|
for him as he could possibly use at the royal table. So he summoned all
|
|
the huntsmen together, and bade them go out into the forest with him.
|
|
And he went with them and made them form a great circle, open at one end
|
|
where he stationed himself, and began to wish. Two hundred deer and more
|
|
came running inside the circle at once, and the huntsmen shot them.
|
|
Then they were all placed on sixty country carts, and driven home to the
|
|
king, and for once he was able to deck his table with game, after having
|
|
had none at all for years.
|
|
|
|
Now the king felt great joy at this, and commanded that his entire
|
|
household should eat with him next day, and made a great feast. When
|
|
they were all assembled together, he said to the huntsman: ‘As you are
|
|
so clever, you shall sit by me.’ He replied: ‘Lord King, your majesty
|
|
must excuse me, I am a poor huntsman.’ But the king insisted on it,
|
|
and said: ‘You shall sit by me,’ until he did it. Whilst he was sitting
|
|
there, he thought of his dearest mother, and wished that one of the
|
|
king’s principal servants would begin to speak of her, and would ask how
|
|
it was faring with the queen in the tower, and if she were alive still,
|
|
or had perished. Hardly had he formed the wish than the marshal began,
|
|
and said: ‘Your majesty, we live joyously here, but how is the queen
|
|
living in the tower? Is she still alive, or has she died?’ But the king
|
|
replied: ‘She let my dear son be torn to pieces by wild beasts; I will
|
|
not have her named.’ Then the huntsman arose and said: ‘Gracious lord
|
|
father she is alive still, and I am her son, and I was not carried away
|
|
by wild beasts, but by that wretch the old cook, who tore me from her
|
|
arms when she was asleep, and sprinkled her apron with the blood of a
|
|
chicken.’ Thereupon he took the dog with the golden collar, and said:
|
|
‘That is the wretch!’ and caused live coals to be brought, and these the
|
|
dog was compelled to devour before the sight of all, until flames burst
|
|
forth from its throat. On this the huntsman asked the king if he would
|
|
like to see the dog in his true shape, and wished him back into the form
|
|
of the cook, in which he stood immediately, with his white apron,
|
|
and his knife by his side. When the king saw him he fell into a passion,
|
|
and ordered him to be cast into the deepest dungeon. Then the huntsman
|
|
spoke further and said: ‘Father, will you see the maiden who brought me
|
|
up so tenderly and who was afterwards to murder me, but did not do it,
|
|
though her own life depended on it?’ The king replied: ‘Yes, I would
|
|
like to see her.’ The son said: ‘Most gracious father, I will show her
|
|
to you in the form of a beautiful flower,’ and he thrust his hand into
|
|
his pocket and brought forth the pink, and placed it on the royal table,
|
|
and it was so beautiful that the king had never seen one to equal it.
|
|
Then the son said: ‘Now will I show her to you in her own form,’ and
|
|
wished that she might become a maiden, and she stood there looking so
|
|
beautiful that no painter could have made her look more so.
|
|
|
|
And the king sent two waiting-maids and two attendants into the tower,
|
|
to fetch the queen and bring her to the royal table. But when she was
|
|
led in she ate nothing, and said: ‘The gracious and merciful God who has
|
|
supported me in the tower, will soon set me free.’ She lived three days
|
|
more, and then died happily, and when she was buried, the two white
|
|
doves which had brought her food to the tower, and were angels of
|
|
heaven, followed her body and seated themselves on her grave. The aged
|
|
king ordered the cook to be torn in four pieces, but grief consumed the
|
|
king’s own heart, and he soon died. His son married the beautiful maiden
|
|
whom he had brought with him as a flower in his pocket, and whether they
|
|
are still alive or not, is known to God.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CLEVER ELSIE
|
|
|
|
There was once a man who had a daughter who was called Clever Elsie. And
|
|
when she had grown up her father said: ‘We will get her married.’ ‘Yes,’
|
|
said the mother, ‘if only someone would come who would have her.’ At
|
|
length a man came from a distance and wooed her, who was called Hans;
|
|
but he stipulated that Clever Elsie should be really smart. ‘Oh,’ said
|
|
the father, ‘she has plenty of good sense’; and the mother said: ‘Oh,
|
|
she can see the wind coming up the street, and hear the flies coughing.’
|
|
‘Well,’ said Hans, ‘if she is not really smart, I won’t have her.’ When
|
|
they were sitting at dinner and had eaten, the mother said: ‘Elsie, go
|
|
into the cellar and fetch some beer.’ Then Clever Elsie took the pitcher
|
|
from the wall, went into the cellar, and tapped the lid briskly as she
|
|
went, so that the time might not appear long. When she was below she
|
|
fetched herself a chair, and set it before the barrel so that she had
|
|
no need to stoop, and did not hurt her back or do herself any unexpected
|
|
injury. Then she placed the can before her, and turned the tap, and
|
|
while the beer was running she would not let her eyes be idle, but
|
|
looked up at the wall, and after much peering here and there, saw a
|
|
pick-axe exactly above her, which the masons had accidentally left
|
|
there.
|
|
|
|
Then Clever Elsie began to weep and said: ‘If I get Hans, and we have
|
|
a child, and he grows big, and we send him into the cellar here to draw
|
|
beer, then the pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.’ Then she
|
|
sat and wept and screamed with all the strength of her body, over the
|
|
misfortune which lay before her. Those upstairs waited for the drink,
|
|
but Clever Elsie still did not come. Then the woman said to the servant:
|
|
‘Just go down into the cellar and see where Elsie is.’ The maid went and
|
|
found her sitting in front of the barrel, screaming loudly. ‘Elsie why
|
|
do you weep?’ asked the maid. ‘Ah,’ she answered, ‘have I not reason to
|
|
weep? If I get Hans, and we have a child, and he grows big, and has to
|
|
draw beer here, the pick-axe will perhaps fall on his head, and kill
|
|
him.’ Then said the maid: ‘What a clever Elsie we have!’ and sat down
|
|
beside her and began loudly to weep over the misfortune. After a while,
|
|
as the maid did not come back, and those upstairs were thirsty for the
|
|
beer, the man said to the boy: ‘Just go down into the cellar and see
|
|
where Elsie and the girl are.’ The boy went down, and there sat Clever
|
|
Elsie and the girl both weeping together. Then he asked: ‘Why are you
|
|
weeping?’ ‘Ah,’ said Elsie, ‘have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans,
|
|
and we have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer here, the
|
|
pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.’ Then said the boy: ‘What
|
|
a clever Elsie we have!’ and sat down by her, and likewise began to
|
|
howl loudly. Upstairs they waited for the boy, but as he still did not
|
|
return, the man said to the woman: ‘Just go down into the cellar and see
|
|
where Elsie is!’ The woman went down, and found all three in the midst
|
|
of their lamentations, and inquired what was the cause; then Elsie told
|
|
her also that her future child was to be killed by the pick-axe, when it
|
|
grew big and had to draw beer, and the pick-axe fell down. Then said the
|
|
mother likewise: ‘What a clever Elsie we have!’ and sat down and wept
|
|
with them. The man upstairs waited a short time, but as his wife did not
|
|
come back and his thirst grew ever greater, he said: ‘I must go into the
|
|
cellar myself and see where Elsie is.’ But when he got into the cellar,
|
|
and they were all sitting together crying, and he heard the reason, and
|
|
that Elsie’s child was the cause, and the Elsie might perhaps bring one
|
|
into the world some day, and that he might be killed by the pick-axe, if
|
|
he should happen to be sitting beneath it, drawing beer just at the very
|
|
time when it fell down, he cried: ‘Oh, what a clever Elsie!’ and sat
|
|
down, and likewise wept with them. The bridegroom stayed upstairs alone
|
|
for a long time; then as no one would come back he thought: ‘They must be
|
|
waiting for me below: I too must go there and see what they are about.’
|
|
When he got down, the five of them were sitting screaming and lamenting
|
|
quite piteously, each out-doing the other. ‘What misfortune has happened
|
|
then?’ asked he. ‘Ah, dear Hans,’ said Elsie, ‘if we marry each other
|
|
and have a child, and he is big, and we perhaps send him here to draw
|
|
something to drink, then the pick-axe which has been left up there might
|
|
dash his brains out if it were to fall down, so have we not reason to
|
|
weep?’ ‘Come,’ said Hans, ‘more understanding than that is not needed
|
|
for my household, as you are such a clever Elsie, I will have you,’ and
|
|
seized her hand, took her upstairs with him, and married her.
|
|
|
|
After Hans had had her some time, he said: ‘Wife, I am going out to work
|
|
and earn some money for us; go into the field and cut the corn that we
|
|
may have some bread.’ ‘Yes, dear Hans, I will do that.’ After Hans had
|
|
gone away, she cooked herself some good broth and took it into the field
|
|
with her. When she came to the field she said to herself: ‘What shall I
|
|
do; shall I cut first, or shall I eat first? Oh, I will eat first.’ Then
|
|
she drank her cup of broth and when she was fully satisfied, she once
|
|
more said: ‘What shall I do? Shall I cut first, or shall I sleep first?
|
|
I will sleep first.’ Then she lay down among the corn and fell asleep.
|
|
Hans had been at home for a long time, but Elsie did not come; then said
|
|
he: ‘What a clever Elsie I have; she is so industrious that she does not
|
|
even come home to eat.’ But when evening came and she still stayed away,
|
|
Hans went out to see what she had cut, but nothing was cut, and she
|
|
was lying among the corn asleep. Then Hans hastened home and brought
|
|
a fowler’s net with little bells and hung it round about her, and she
|
|
still went on sleeping. Then he ran home, shut the house-door, and sat
|
|
down in his chair and worked. At length, when it was quite dark, Clever
|
|
Elsie awoke and when she got up there was a jingling all round about
|
|
her, and the bells rang at each step which she took. Then she was
|
|
alarmed, and became uncertain whether she really was Clever Elsie or
|
|
not, and said: ‘Is it I, or is it not I?’ But she knew not what answer
|
|
to make to this, and stood for a time in doubt; at length she thought:
|
|
‘I will go home and ask if it be I, or if it be not I, they will be sure
|
|
to know.’ She ran to the door of her own house, but it was shut; then
|
|
she knocked at the window and cried: ‘Hans, is Elsie within?’ ‘Yes,’
|
|
answered Hans, ‘she is within.’ Hereupon she was terrified, and said:
|
|
‘Ah, heavens! Then it is not I,’ and went to another door; but when the
|
|
people heard the jingling of the bells they would not open it, and she
|
|
could get in nowhere. Then she ran out of the village, and no one has
|
|
seen her since.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE MISER IN THE BUSH
|
|
|
|
A farmer had a faithful and diligent servant, who had worked hard for
|
|
him three years, without having been paid any wages. At last it came
|
|
into the man’s head that he would not go on thus without pay any longer;
|
|
so he went to his master, and said, ‘I have worked hard for you a long
|
|
time, I will trust to you to give me what I deserve to have for my
|
|
trouble.’ The farmer was a sad miser, and knew that his man was very
|
|
simple-hearted; so he took out threepence, and gave him for every year’s
|
|
service a penny. The poor fellow thought it was a great deal of money to
|
|
have, and said to himself, ‘Why should I work hard, and live here on bad
|
|
fare any longer? I can now travel into the wide world, and make myself
|
|
merry.’ With that he put his money into his purse, and set out, roaming
|
|
over hill and valley.
|
|
|
|
As he jogged along over the fields, singing and dancing, a little dwarf
|
|
met him, and asked him what made him so merry. ‘Why, what should make
|
|
me down-hearted?’ said he; ‘I am sound in health and rich in purse, what
|
|
should I care for? I have saved up my three years’ earnings and have it
|
|
all safe in my pocket.’ ‘How much may it come to?’ said the little man.
|
|
‘Full threepence,’ replied the countryman. ‘I wish you would give them
|
|
to me,’ said the other; ‘I am very poor.’ Then the man pitied him, and
|
|
gave him all he had; and the little dwarf said in return, ‘As you have
|
|
such a kind honest heart, I will grant you three wishes--one for every
|
|
penny; so choose whatever you like.’ Then the countryman rejoiced at
|
|
his good luck, and said, ‘I like many things better than money: first, I
|
|
will have a bow that will bring down everything I shoot at; secondly,
|
|
a fiddle that will set everyone dancing that hears me play upon it; and
|
|
thirdly, I should like that everyone should grant what I ask.’ The dwarf
|
|
said he should have his three wishes; so he gave him the bow and fiddle,
|
|
and went his way.
|
|
|
|
Our honest friend journeyed on his way too; and if he was merry before,
|
|
he was now ten times more so. He had not gone far before he met an old
|
|
miser: close by them stood a tree, and on the topmost twig sat a thrush
|
|
singing away most joyfully. ‘Oh, what a pretty bird!’ said the miser; ‘I
|
|
would give a great deal of money to have such a one.’ ‘If that’s all,’
|
|
said the countryman, ‘I will soon bring it down.’ Then he took up his
|
|
bow, and down fell the thrush into the bushes at the foot of the tree.
|
|
The miser crept into the bush to find it; but directly he had got into
|
|
the middle, his companion took up his fiddle and played away, and the
|
|
miser began to dance and spring about, capering higher and higher in
|
|
the air. The thorns soon began to tear his clothes till they all hung
|
|
in rags about him, and he himself was all scratched and wounded, so that
|
|
the blood ran down. ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ cried the miser, ‘Master!
|
|
master! pray let the fiddle alone. What have I done to deserve this?’
|
|
‘Thou hast shaved many a poor soul close enough,’ said the other; ‘thou
|
|
art only meeting thy reward’: so he played up another tune. Then the
|
|
miser began to beg and promise, and offered money for his liberty; but
|
|
he did not come up to the musician’s price for some time, and he danced
|
|
him along brisker and brisker, and the miser bid higher and higher, till
|
|
at last he offered a round hundred of florins that he had in his purse,
|
|
and had just gained by cheating some poor fellow. When the countryman
|
|
saw so much money, he said, ‘I will agree to your proposal.’ So he took
|
|
the purse, put up his fiddle, and travelled on very pleased with his
|
|
bargain.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile the miser crept out of the bush half-naked and in a piteous
|
|
plight, and began to ponder how he should take his revenge, and serve
|
|
his late companion some trick. At last he went to the judge, and
|
|
complained that a rascal had robbed him of his money, and beaten him
|
|
into the bargain; and that the fellow who did it carried a bow at his
|
|
back and a fiddle hung round his neck. Then the judge sent out his
|
|
officers to bring up the accused wherever they should find him; and he
|
|
was soon caught and brought up to be tried.
|
|
|
|
The miser began to tell his tale, and said he had been robbed of
|
|
his money. ‘No, you gave it me for playing a tune to you.’ said the
|
|
countryman; but the judge told him that was not likely, and cut the
|
|
matter short by ordering him off to the gallows.
|
|
|
|
So away he was taken; but as he stood on the steps he said, ‘My Lord
|
|
Judge, grant me one last request.’ ‘Anything but thy life,’ replied the
|
|
other. ‘No,’ said he, ‘I do not ask my life; only to let me play upon
|
|
my fiddle for the last time.’ The miser cried out, ‘Oh, no! no! for
|
|
heaven’s sake don’t listen to him! don’t listen to him!’ But the judge
|
|
said, ‘It is only this once, he will soon have done.’ The fact was, he
|
|
could not refuse the request, on account of the dwarf’s third gift.
|
|
|
|
Then the miser said, ‘Bind me fast, bind me fast, for pity’s sake.’ But
|
|
the countryman seized his fiddle, and struck up a tune, and at the first
|
|
note judge, clerks, and jailer were in motion; all began capering, and
|
|
no one could hold the miser. At the second note the hangman let his
|
|
prisoner go, and danced also, and by the time he had played the first
|
|
bar of the tune, all were dancing together--judge, court, and miser, and
|
|
all the people who had followed to look on. At first the thing was merry
|
|
and pleasant enough; but when it had gone on a while, and there seemed
|
|
to be no end of playing or dancing, they began to cry out, and beg him
|
|
to leave off; but he stopped not a whit the more for their entreaties,
|
|
till the judge not only gave him his life, but promised to return him
|
|
the hundred florins.
|
|
|
|
Then he called to the miser, and said, ‘Tell us now, you vagabond, where
|
|
you got that gold, or I shall play on for your amusement only,’ ‘I stole
|
|
it,’ said the miser in the presence of all the people; ‘I acknowledge
|
|
that I stole it, and that you earned it fairly.’ Then the countryman
|
|
stopped his fiddle, and left the miser to take his place at the gallows.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
ASHPUTTEL
|
|
|
|
The wife of a rich man fell sick; and when she felt that her end drew
|
|
nigh, she called her only daughter to her bed-side, and said, ‘Always be
|
|
a good girl, and I will look down from heaven and watch over you.’ Soon
|
|
afterwards she shut her eyes and died, and was buried in the garden;
|
|
and the little girl went every day to her grave and wept, and was always
|
|
good and kind to all about her. And the snow fell and spread a beautiful
|
|
white covering over the grave; but by the time the spring came, and the
|
|
sun had melted it away again, her father had married another wife. This
|
|
new wife had two daughters of her own, that she brought home with her;
|
|
they were fair in face but foul at heart, and it was now a sorry time
|
|
for the poor little girl. ‘What does the good-for-nothing want in the
|
|
parlour?’ said they; ‘they who would eat bread should first earn it;
|
|
away with the kitchen-maid!’ Then they took away her fine clothes, and
|
|
gave her an old grey frock to put on, and laughed at her, and turned her
|
|
into the kitchen.
|
|
|
|
There she was forced to do hard work; to rise early before daylight, to
|
|
bring the water, to make the fire, to cook and to wash. Besides that,
|
|
the sisters plagued her in all sorts of ways, and laughed at her. In the
|
|
evening when she was tired, she had no bed to lie down on, but was made
|
|
to lie by the hearth among the ashes; and as this, of course, made her
|
|
always dusty and dirty, they called her Ashputtel.
|
|
|
|
It happened once that the father was going to the fair, and asked his
|
|
wife’s daughters what he should bring them. ‘Fine clothes,’ said the
|
|
first; ‘Pearls and diamonds,’ cried the second. ‘Now, child,’ said he
|
|
to his own daughter, ‘what will you have?’ ‘The first twig, dear
|
|
father, that brushes against your hat when you turn your face to come
|
|
homewards,’ said she. Then he bought for the first two the fine clothes
|
|
and pearls and diamonds they had asked for: and on his way home, as he
|
|
rode through a green copse, a hazel twig brushed against him, and almost
|
|
pushed off his hat: so he broke it off and brought it away; and when he
|
|
got home he gave it to his daughter. Then she took it, and went to
|
|
her mother’s grave and planted it there; and cried so much that it was
|
|
watered with her tears; and there it grew and became a fine tree. Three
|
|
times every day she went to it and cried; and soon a little bird came
|
|
and built its nest upon the tree, and talked with her, and watched over
|
|
her, and brought her whatever she wished for.
|
|
|
|
Now it happened that the king of that land held a feast, which was to
|
|
last three days; and out of those who came to it his son was to choose
|
|
a bride for himself. Ashputtel’s two sisters were asked to come; so they
|
|
called her up, and said, ‘Now, comb our hair, brush our shoes, and tie
|
|
our sashes for us, for we are going to dance at the king’s feast.’
|
|
Then she did as she was told; but when all was done she could not help
|
|
crying, for she thought to herself, she should so have liked to have
|
|
gone with them to the ball; and at last she begged her mother very hard
|
|
to let her go. ‘You, Ashputtel!’ said she; ‘you who have nothing to
|
|
wear, no clothes at all, and who cannot even dance--you want to go to
|
|
the ball? And when she kept on begging, she said at last, to get rid of
|
|
her, ‘I will throw this dishful of peas into the ash-heap, and if in
|
|
two hours’ time you have picked them all out, you shall go to the feast
|
|
too.’
|
|
|
|
Then she threw the peas down among the ashes, but the little maiden ran
|
|
out at the back door into the garden, and cried out:
|
|
|
|
‘Hither, hither, through the sky,
|
|
Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!
|
|
Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,
|
|
Hither, hither, haste away!
|
|
One and all come help me, quick!
|
|
Haste ye, haste ye!--pick, pick, pick!’
|
|
|
|
Then first came two white doves, flying in at the kitchen window; next
|
|
came two turtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under
|
|
heaven, chirping and fluttering in: and they flew down into the ashes.
|
|
And the little doves stooped their heads down and set to work, pick,
|
|
pick, pick; and then the others began to pick, pick, pick: and among
|
|
them all they soon picked out all the good grain, and put it into a dish
|
|
but left the ashes. Long before the end of the hour the work was quite
|
|
done, and all flew out again at the windows.
|
|
|
|
Then Ashputtel brought the dish to her mother, overjoyed at the thought
|
|
that now she should go to the ball. But the mother said, ‘No, no! you
|
|
slut, you have no clothes, and cannot dance; you shall not go.’ And when
|
|
Ashputtel begged very hard to go, she said, ‘If you can in one hour’s
|
|
time pick two of those dishes of peas out of the ashes, you shall go
|
|
too.’ And thus she thought she should at least get rid of her. So she
|
|
shook two dishes of peas into the ashes.
|
|
|
|
But the little maiden went out into the garden at the back of the house,
|
|
and cried out as before:
|
|
|
|
‘Hither, hither, through the sky,
|
|
Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!
|
|
Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,
|
|
Hither, hither, haste away!
|
|
One and all come help me, quick!
|
|
Haste ye, haste ye!--pick, pick, pick!’
|
|
|
|
Then first came two white doves in at the kitchen window; next came two
|
|
turtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under heaven,
|
|
chirping and hopping about. And they flew down into the ashes; and the
|
|
little doves put their heads down and set to work, pick, pick, pick; and
|
|
then the others began pick, pick, pick; and they put all the good grain
|
|
into the dishes, and left all the ashes. Before half an hour’s time all
|
|
was done, and out they flew again. And then Ashputtel took the dishes to
|
|
her mother, rejoicing to think that she should now go to the ball.
|
|
But her mother said, ‘It is all of no use, you cannot go; you have no
|
|
clothes, and cannot dance, and you would only put us to shame’: and off
|
|
she went with her two daughters to the ball.
|
|
|
|
Now when all were gone, and nobody left at home, Ashputtel went
|
|
sorrowfully and sat down under the hazel-tree, and cried out:
|
|
|
|
‘Shake, shake, hazel-tree,
|
|
Gold and silver over me!’
|
|
|
|
Then her friend the bird flew out of the tree, and brought a gold and
|
|
silver dress for her, and slippers of spangled silk; and she put them
|
|
on, and followed her sisters to the feast. But they did not know her,
|
|
and thought it must be some strange princess, she looked so fine and
|
|
beautiful in her rich clothes; and they never once thought of Ashputtel,
|
|
taking it for granted that she was safe at home in the dirt.
|
|
|
|
The king’s son soon came up to her, and took her by the hand and danced
|
|
with her, and no one else: and he never left her hand; but when anyone
|
|
else came to ask her to dance, he said, ‘This lady is dancing with me.’
|
|
|
|
Thus they danced till a late hour of the night; and then she wanted to
|
|
go home: and the king’s son said, ‘I shall go and take care of you to
|
|
your home’; for he wanted to see where the beautiful maiden lived. But
|
|
she slipped away from him, unawares, and ran off towards home; and as
|
|
the prince followed her, she jumped up into the pigeon-house and shut
|
|
the door. Then he waited till her father came home, and told him that
|
|
the unknown maiden, who had been at the feast, had hid herself in the
|
|
pigeon-house. But when they had broken open the door they found no one
|
|
within; and as they came back into the house, Ashputtel was lying, as
|
|
she always did, in her dirty frock by the ashes, and her dim little
|
|
lamp was burning in the chimney. For she had run as quickly as she could
|
|
through the pigeon-house and on to the hazel-tree, and had there taken
|
|
off her beautiful clothes, and put them beneath the tree, that the bird
|
|
might carry them away, and had lain down again amid the ashes in her
|
|
little grey frock.
|
|
|
|
The next day when the feast was again held, and her father, mother, and
|
|
sisters were gone, Ashputtel went to the hazel-tree, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Shake, shake, hazel-tree,
|
|
Gold and silver over me!’
|
|
|
|
And the bird came and brought a still finer dress than the one she
|
|
had worn the day before. And when she came in it to the ball, everyone
|
|
wondered at her beauty: but the king’s son, who was waiting for her,
|
|
took her by the hand, and danced with her; and when anyone asked her to
|
|
dance, he said as before, ‘This lady is dancing with me.’
|
|
|
|
When night came she wanted to go home; and the king’s son followed here
|
|
as before, that he might see into what house she went: but she sprang
|
|
away from him all at once into the garden behind her father’s house.
|
|
In this garden stood a fine large pear-tree full of ripe fruit; and
|
|
Ashputtel, not knowing where to hide herself, jumped up into it without
|
|
being seen. Then the king’s son lost sight of her, and could not find
|
|
out where she was gone, but waited till her father came home, and said
|
|
to him, ‘The unknown lady who danced with me has slipped away, and I
|
|
think she must have sprung into the pear-tree.’ The father thought to
|
|
himself, ‘Can it be Ashputtel?’ So he had an axe brought; and they cut
|
|
down the tree, but found no one upon it. And when they came back into
|
|
the kitchen, there lay Ashputtel among the ashes; for she had slipped
|
|
down on the other side of the tree, and carried her beautiful clothes
|
|
back to the bird at the hazel-tree, and then put on her little grey
|
|
frock.
|
|
|
|
The third day, when her father and mother and sisters were gone, she
|
|
went again into the garden, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Shake, shake, hazel-tree,
|
|
Gold and silver over me!’
|
|
|
|
Then her kind friend the bird brought a dress still finer than the
|
|
former one, and slippers which were all of gold: so that when she came
|
|
to the feast no one knew what to say, for wonder at her beauty: and the
|
|
king’s son danced with nobody but her; and when anyone else asked her to
|
|
dance, he said, ‘This lady is my partner, sir.’
|
|
|
|
When night came she wanted to go home; and the king’s son would go with
|
|
her, and said to himself, ‘I will not lose her this time’; but, however,
|
|
she again slipped away from him, though in such a hurry that she dropped
|
|
her left golden slipper upon the stairs.
|
|
|
|
The prince took the shoe, and went the next day to the king his father,
|
|
and said, ‘I will take for my wife the lady that this golden slipper
|
|
fits.’ Then both the sisters were overjoyed to hear it; for they
|
|
had beautiful feet, and had no doubt that they could wear the golden
|
|
slipper. The eldest went first into the room where the slipper was, and
|
|
wanted to try it on, and the mother stood by. But her great toe could
|
|
not go into it, and the shoe was altogether much too small for her. Then
|
|
the mother gave her a knife, and said, ‘Never mind, cut it off; when you
|
|
are queen you will not care about toes; you will not want to walk.’ So
|
|
the silly girl cut off her great toe, and thus squeezed on the shoe,
|
|
and went to the king’s son. Then he took her for his bride, and set her
|
|
beside him on his horse, and rode away with her homewards.
|
|
|
|
But on their way home they had to pass by the hazel-tree that Ashputtel
|
|
had planted; and on the branch sat a little dove singing:
|
|
|
|
‘Back again! back again! look to the shoe!
|
|
The shoe is too small, and not made for you!
|
|
Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,
|
|
For she’s not the true one that sits by thy side.’
|
|
|
|
Then the prince got down and looked at her foot; and he saw, by the
|
|
blood that streamed from it, what a trick she had played him. So he
|
|
turned his horse round, and brought the false bride back to her home,
|
|
and said, ‘This is not the right bride; let the other sister try and put
|
|
on the slipper.’ Then she went into the room and got her foot into the
|
|
shoe, all but the heel, which was too large. But her mother squeezed it
|
|
in till the blood came, and took her to the king’s son: and he set her
|
|
as his bride by his side on his horse, and rode away with her.
|
|
|
|
But when they came to the hazel-tree the little dove sat there still,
|
|
and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘Back again! back again! look to the shoe!
|
|
The shoe is too small, and not made for you!
|
|
Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,
|
|
For she’s not the true one that sits by thy side.’
|
|
|
|
Then he looked down, and saw that the blood streamed so much from the
|
|
shoe, that her white stockings were quite red. So he turned his horse
|
|
and brought her also back again. ‘This is not the true bride,’ said he
|
|
to the father; ‘have you no other daughters?’ ‘No,’ said he; ‘there is
|
|
only a little dirty Ashputtel here, the child of my first wife; I am
|
|
sure she cannot be the bride.’ The prince told him to send her. But the
|
|
mother said, ‘No, no, she is much too dirty; she will not dare to show
|
|
herself.’ However, the prince would have her come; and she first washed
|
|
her face and hands, and then went in and curtsied to him, and he reached
|
|
her the golden slipper. Then she took her clumsy shoe off her left foot,
|
|
and put on the golden slipper; and it fitted her as if it had been made
|
|
for her. And when he drew near and looked at her face he knew her, and
|
|
said, ‘This is the right bride.’ But the mother and both the sisters
|
|
were frightened, and turned pale with anger as he took Ashputtel on his
|
|
horse, and rode away with her. And when they came to the hazel-tree, the
|
|
white dove sang:
|
|
|
|
‘Home! home! look at the shoe!
|
|
Princess! the shoe was made for you!
|
|
Prince! prince! take home thy bride,
|
|
For she is the true one that sits by thy side!’
|
|
|
|
And when the dove had done its song, it came flying, and perched upon
|
|
her right shoulder, and so went home with her.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE WHITE SNAKE
|
|
|
|
A long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through
|
|
all the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of
|
|
the most secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had a
|
|
strange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared,
|
|
and no one else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more
|
|
dish. It was covered, however, and even the servant did not know what
|
|
was in it, neither did anyone know, for the king never took off the
|
|
cover to eat of it until he was quite alone.
|
|
|
|
This had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took
|
|
away the dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help
|
|
carrying the dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door,
|
|
he lifted up the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But
|
|
when he saw it he could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it,
|
|
so he cut of a little bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it
|
|
touched his tongue than he heard a strange whispering of little voices
|
|
outside his window. He went and listened, and then noticed that it was
|
|
the sparrows who were chattering together, and telling one another of
|
|
all kinds of things which they had seen in the fields and woods. Eating
|
|
the snake had given him power of understanding the language of animals.
|
|
|
|
Now it so happened that on this very day the queen lost her most
|
|
beautiful ring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty
|
|
servant, who was allowed to go everywhere. The king ordered the man to
|
|
be brought before him, and threatened with angry words that unless he
|
|
could before the morrow point out the thief, he himself should be looked
|
|
upon as guilty and executed. In vain he declared his innocence; he was
|
|
dismissed with no better answer.
|
|
|
|
In his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and took thought
|
|
how to help himself out of his trouble. Now some ducks were sitting
|
|
together quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst they
|
|
were making their feathers smooth with their bills, they were having a
|
|
confidential conversation together. The servant stood by and listened.
|
|
They were telling one another of all the places where they had been
|
|
waddling about all the morning, and what good food they had found; and
|
|
one said in a pitiful tone: ‘Something lies heavy on my stomach; as
|
|
I was eating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under the queen’s
|
|
window.’ The servant at once seized her by the neck, carried her to the
|
|
kitchen, and said to the cook: ‘Here is a fine duck; pray, kill her.’
|
|
‘Yes,’ said the cook, and weighed her in his hand; ‘she has spared
|
|
no trouble to fatten herself, and has been waiting to be roasted long
|
|
enough.’ So he cut off her head, and as she was being dressed for the
|
|
spit, the queen’s ring was found inside her.
|
|
|
|
The servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the king, to make
|
|
amends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favour, and promised him
|
|
the best place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused
|
|
everything, and only asked for a horse and some money for travelling, as
|
|
he had a mind to see the world and go about a little. When his request
|
|
was granted he set out on his way, and one day came to a pond, where he
|
|
saw three fishes caught in the reeds and gasping for water. Now, though
|
|
it is said that fishes are dumb, he heard them lamenting that they must
|
|
perish so miserably, and, as he had a kind heart, he got off his
|
|
horse and put the three prisoners back into the water. They leapt with
|
|
delight, put out their heads, and cried to him: ‘We will remember you
|
|
and repay you for saving us!’
|
|
|
|
He rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice in
|
|
the sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain: ‘Why
|
|
cannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That stupid
|
|
horse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people without
|
|
mercy!’ So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried out to
|
|
him: ‘We will remember you--one good turn deserves another!’
|
|
|
|
The path led him into a wood, and there he saw two old ravens standing
|
|
by their nest, and throwing out their young ones. ‘Out with you, you
|
|
idle, good-for-nothing creatures!’ cried they; ‘we cannot find food for
|
|
you any longer; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.’
|
|
But the poor young ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings, and
|
|
crying: ‘Oh, what helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves,
|
|
and yet we cannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?’ So the
|
|
good young fellow alighted and killed his horse with his sword, and gave
|
|
it to them for food. Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied their
|
|
hunger, and cried: ‘We will remember you--one good turn deserves
|
|
another!’
|
|
|
|
And now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long
|
|
way, he came to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in
|
|
the streets, and a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud: ‘The king’s
|
|
daughter wants a husband; but whoever seeks her hand must perform a hard
|
|
task, and if he does not succeed he will forfeit his life.’ Many had
|
|
already made the attempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth
|
|
saw the king’s daughter he was so overcome by her great beauty that he
|
|
forgot all danger, went before the king, and declared himself a suitor.
|
|
|
|
So he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, before
|
|
his eyes; then the king ordered him to fetch this ring up from the
|
|
bottom of the sea, and added: ‘If you come up again without it you will
|
|
be thrown in again and again until you perish amid the waves.’ All the
|
|
people grieved for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him
|
|
alone by the sea.
|
|
|
|
He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly
|
|
he saw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very
|
|
fishes whose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in
|
|
its mouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth’s feet, and when he
|
|
had taken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell.
|
|
Full of joy he took it to the king and expected that he would grant him
|
|
the promised reward.
|
|
|
|
But when the proud princess perceived that he was not her equal in
|
|
birth, she scorned him, and required him first to perform another
|
|
task. She went down into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten
|
|
sacksful of millet-seed on the grass; then she said: ‘Tomorrow morning
|
|
before sunrise these must be picked up, and not a single grain be
|
|
wanting.’
|
|
|
|
The youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be possible
|
|
to perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there he sat
|
|
sorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to death.
|
|
But as soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden he saw
|
|
all the ten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a single
|
|
grain was missing. The ant-king had come in the night with thousands
|
|
and thousands of ants, and the grateful creatures had by great industry
|
|
picked up all the millet-seed and gathered them into the sacks.
|
|
|
|
Presently the king’s daughter herself came down into the garden, and was
|
|
amazed to see that the young man had done the task she had given him.
|
|
But she could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said: ‘Although he
|
|
has performed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband until he had
|
|
brought me an apple from the Tree of Life.’ The youth did not know where
|
|
the Tree of Life stood, but he set out, and would have gone on for ever,
|
|
as long as his legs would carry him, though he had no hope of finding
|
|
it. After he had wandered through three kingdoms, he came one evening to
|
|
a wood, and lay down under a tree to sleep. But he heard a rustling in
|
|
the branches, and a golden apple fell into his hand. At the same time
|
|
three ravens flew down to him, perched themselves upon his knee, and
|
|
said: ‘We are the three young ravens whom you saved from starving; when
|
|
we had grown big, and heard that you were seeking the Golden Apple,
|
|
we flew over the sea to the end of the world, where the Tree of Life
|
|
stands, and have brought you the apple.’ The youth, full of joy, set out
|
|
homewards, and took the Golden Apple to the king’s beautiful daughter,
|
|
who had now no more excuses left to make. They cut the Apple of Life in
|
|
two and ate it together; and then her heart became full of love for him,
|
|
and they lived in undisturbed happiness to a great age.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time an old goat who had seven little kids, and
|
|
loved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she
|
|
wanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all
|
|
seven to her and said: ‘Dear children, I have to go into the forest,
|
|
be on your guard against the wolf; if he comes in, he will devour you
|
|
all--skin, hair, and everything. The wretch often disguises himself, but
|
|
you will know him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.’ The
|
|
kids said: ‘Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves; you may go
|
|
away without any anxiety.’ Then the old one bleated, and went on her way
|
|
with an easy mind.
|
|
|
|
It was not long before someone knocked at the house-door and called:
|
|
‘Open the door, dear children; your mother is here, and has brought
|
|
something back with her for each of you.’ But the little kids knew that
|
|
it was the wolf, by the rough voice. ‘We will not open the door,’ cried
|
|
they, ‘you are not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but
|
|
your voice is rough; you are the wolf!’ Then the wolf went away to a
|
|
shopkeeper and bought himself a great lump of chalk, ate this and made
|
|
his voice soft with it. Then he came back, knocked at the door of the
|
|
house, and called: ‘Open the door, dear children, your mother is here
|
|
and has brought something back with her for each of you.’ But the wolf
|
|
had laid his black paws against the window, and the children saw them
|
|
and cried: ‘We will not open the door, our mother has not black feet
|
|
like you: you are the wolf!’ Then the wolf ran to a baker and said: ‘I
|
|
have hurt my feet, rub some dough over them for me.’ And when the baker
|
|
had rubbed his feet over, he ran to the miller and said: ‘Strew some
|
|
white meal over my feet for me.’ The miller thought to himself: ‘The
|
|
wolf wants to deceive someone,’ and refused; but the wolf said: ‘If you
|
|
will not do it, I will devour you.’ Then the miller was afraid, and made
|
|
his paws white for him. Truly, this is the way of mankind.
|
|
|
|
So now the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at
|
|
it and said: ‘Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother
|
|
has come home, and has brought every one of you something back from the
|
|
forest with her.’ The little kids cried: ‘First show us your paws that
|
|
we may know if you are our dear little mother.’ Then he put his paws
|
|
in through the window and when the kids saw that they were white, they
|
|
believed that all he said was true, and opened the door. But who should
|
|
come in but the wolf! They were terrified and wanted to hide themselves.
|
|
One sprang under the table, the second into the bed, the third into the
|
|
stove, the fourth into the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the
|
|
sixth under the washing-bowl, and the seventh into the clock-case. But
|
|
the wolf found them all, and used no great ceremony; one after the
|
|
other he swallowed them down his throat. The youngest, who was in
|
|
the clock-case, was the only one he did not find. When the wolf had
|
|
satisfied his appetite he took himself off, laid himself down under a
|
|
tree in the green meadow outside, and began to sleep. Soon afterwards
|
|
the old goat came home again from the forest. Ah! what a sight she saw
|
|
there! The house-door stood wide open. The table, chairs, and benches
|
|
were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to pieces, and the quilts
|
|
and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her children, but they
|
|
were nowhere to be found. She called them one after another by name, but
|
|
no one answered. At last, when she came to the youngest, a soft voice
|
|
cried: ‘Dear mother, I am in the clock-case.’ She took the kid out, and
|
|
it told her that the wolf had come and had eaten all the others. Then
|
|
you may imagine how she wept over her poor children.
|
|
|
|
At length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her.
|
|
When they came to the meadow, there lay the wolf by the tree and snored
|
|
so loud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and
|
|
saw that something was moving and struggling in his gorged belly. ‘Ah,
|
|
heavens,’ she said, ‘is it possible that my poor children whom he has
|
|
swallowed down for his supper, can be still alive?’ Then the kid had to
|
|
run home and fetch scissors, and a needle and thread, and the goat cut
|
|
open the monster’s stomach, and hardly had she made one cut, than one
|
|
little kid thrust its head out, and when she had cut farther, all six
|
|
sprang out one after another, and were all still alive, and had suffered
|
|
no injury whatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them
|
|
down whole. What rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother,
|
|
and jumped like a tailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said: ‘Now
|
|
go and look for some big stones, and we will fill the wicked beast’s
|
|
stomach with them while he is still asleep.’ Then the seven kids dragged
|
|
the stones thither with all speed, and put as many of them into this
|
|
stomach as they could get in; and the mother sewed him up again in the
|
|
greatest haste, so that he was not aware of anything and never once
|
|
stirred.
|
|
|
|
When the wolf at length had had his fill of sleep, he got on his legs,
|
|
and as the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to
|
|
go to a well to drink. But when he began to walk and to move about, the
|
|
stones in his stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried
|
|
he:
|
|
|
|
‘What rumbles and tumbles
|
|
Against my poor bones?
|
|
I thought ‘twas six kids,
|
|
But it feels like big stones.’
|
|
|
|
And when he got to the well and stooped over the water to drink, the
|
|
heavy stones made him fall in, and he drowned miserably. When the seven
|
|
kids saw that, they came running to the spot and cried aloud: ‘The wolf
|
|
is dead! The wolf is dead!’ and danced for joy round about the well with
|
|
their mother.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE QUEEN BEE
|
|
|
|
Two kings’ sons once upon a time went into the world to seek their
|
|
fortunes; but they soon fell into a wasteful foolish way of living, so
|
|
that they could not return home again. Then their brother, who was a
|
|
little insignificant dwarf, went out to seek for his brothers: but when
|
|
he had found them they only laughed at him, to think that he, who was so
|
|
young and simple, should try to travel through the world, when they, who
|
|
were so much wiser, had been unable to get on. However, they all set
|
|
out on their journey together, and came at last to an ant-hill. The two
|
|
elder brothers would have pulled it down, in order to see how the poor
|
|
ants in their fright would run about and carry off their eggs. But the
|
|
little dwarf said, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, I will not
|
|
suffer you to trouble them.’
|
|
|
|
So on they went, and came to a lake where many many ducks were swimming
|
|
about. The two brothers wanted to catch two, and roast them. But the
|
|
dwarf said, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, you shall not kill
|
|
them.’ Next they came to a bees’-nest in a hollow tree, and there was
|
|
so much honey that it ran down the trunk; and the two brothers wanted to
|
|
light a fire under the tree and kill the bees, so as to get their honey.
|
|
But the dwarf held them back, and said, ‘Let the pretty insects enjoy
|
|
themselves, I cannot let you burn them.’
|
|
|
|
At length the three brothers came to a castle: and as they passed by the
|
|
stables they saw fine horses standing there, but all were of marble, and
|
|
no man was to be seen. Then they went through all the rooms, till they
|
|
came to a door on which were three locks: but in the middle of the door
|
|
was a wicket, so that they could look into the next room. There they saw
|
|
a little grey old man sitting at a table; and they called to him once or
|
|
twice, but he did not hear: however, they called a third time, and then
|
|
he rose and came out to them.
|
|
|
|
He said nothing, but took hold of them and led them to a beautiful
|
|
table covered with all sorts of good things: and when they had eaten and
|
|
drunk, he showed each of them to a bed-chamber.
|
|
|
|
The next morning he came to the eldest and took him to a marble table,
|
|
where there were three tablets, containing an account of the means by
|
|
which the castle might be disenchanted. The first tablet said: ‘In the
|
|
wood, under the moss, lie the thousand pearls belonging to the king’s
|
|
daughter; they must all be found: and if one be missing by set of sun,
|
|
he who seeks them will be turned into marble.’
|
|
|
|
The eldest brother set out, and sought for the pearls the whole day:
|
|
but the evening came, and he had not found the first hundred: so he was
|
|
turned into stone as the tablet had foretold.
|
|
|
|
The next day the second brother undertook the task; but he succeeded no
|
|
better than the first; for he could only find the second hundred of the
|
|
pearls; and therefore he too was turned into stone.
|
|
|
|
At last came the little dwarf’s turn; and he looked in the moss; but it
|
|
was so hard to find the pearls, and the job was so tiresome!--so he sat
|
|
down upon a stone and cried. And as he sat there, the king of the ants
|
|
(whose life he had saved) came to help him, with five thousand ants; and
|
|
it was not long before they had found all the pearls and laid them in a
|
|
heap.
|
|
|
|
The second tablet said: ‘The key of the princess’s bed-chamber must be
|
|
fished up out of the lake.’ And as the dwarf came to the brink of it,
|
|
he saw the two ducks whose lives he had saved swimming about; and they
|
|
dived down and soon brought in the key from the bottom.
|
|
|
|
The third task was the hardest. It was to choose out the youngest and
|
|
the best of the king’s three daughters. Now they were all beautiful, and
|
|
all exactly alike: but he was told that the eldest had eaten a piece of
|
|
sugar, the next some sweet syrup, and the youngest a spoonful of honey;
|
|
so he was to guess which it was that had eaten the honey.
|
|
|
|
Then came the queen of the bees, who had been saved by the little dwarf
|
|
from the fire, and she tried the lips of all three; but at last she sat
|
|
upon the lips of the one that had eaten the honey: and so the dwarf knew
|
|
which was the youngest. Thus the spell was broken, and all who had been
|
|
turned into stones awoke, and took their proper forms. And the dwarf
|
|
married the youngest and the best of the princesses, and was king after
|
|
her father’s death; but his two brothers married the other two sisters.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
|
|
|
|
There was once a shoemaker, who worked very hard and was very honest:
|
|
but still he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he
|
|
had in the world was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of
|
|
shoes.
|
|
|
|
Then he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning
|
|
to rise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and
|
|
his heart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed,
|
|
left all his cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after
|
|
he had said his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his
|
|
great wonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table. The
|
|
good man knew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening.
|
|
He looked at the workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the
|
|
whole job; all was so neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.
|
|
|
|
The same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that
|
|
he willingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor
|
|
shoemaker, with the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more.
|
|
In the evening he cut out the work, and went to bed early, that he might
|
|
get up and begin betimes next day; but he was saved all the trouble, for
|
|
when he got up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon
|
|
in came buyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought
|
|
leather enough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight
|
|
and found it done in the morning, as before; and so it went on for some
|
|
time: what was got ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and
|
|
the good man soon became thriving and well off again.
|
|
|
|
One evening, about Christmas-time, as he and his wife were sitting over
|
|
the fire chatting together, he said to her, ‘I should like to sit up and
|
|
watch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for
|
|
me.’ The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning, and hid
|
|
themselves in a corner of the room, behind a curtain that was hung up
|
|
there, and watched what would happen.
|
|
|
|
As soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs; and
|
|
they sat themselves upon the shoemaker’s bench, took up all the work
|
|
that was cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching
|
|
and rapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all
|
|
wonder, and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went, till the
|
|
job was quite done, and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table.
|
|
This was long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as
|
|
lightning.
|
|
|
|
The next day the wife said to the shoemaker. ‘These little wights have
|
|
made us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them a good
|
|
turn if we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do; and
|
|
indeed it is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to
|
|
keep off the cold. I’ll tell you what, I will make each of them a shirt,
|
|
and a coat and waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain; and
|
|
do you make each of them a little pair of shoes.’
|
|
|
|
The thought pleased the good cobbler very much; and one evening, when
|
|
all the things were ready, they laid them on the table, instead of the
|
|
work that they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves, to
|
|
watch what the little elves would do.
|
|
|
|
About midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopped round the
|
|
room, and then went to sit down to their work as usual; but when they
|
|
saw the clothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled, and seemed
|
|
mightily delighted.
|
|
|
|
Then they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and
|
|
capered and sprang about, as merry as could be; till at last they danced
|
|
out at the door, and away over the green.
|
|
|
|
The good couple saw them no more; but everything went well with them
|
|
from that time forward, as long as they lived.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE JUNIPER-TREE
|
|
|
|
Long, long ago, some two thousand years or so, there lived a rich
|
|
man with a good and beautiful wife. They loved each other dearly, but
|
|
sorrowed much that they had no children. So greatly did they desire
|
|
to have one, that the wife prayed for it day and night, but still they
|
|
remained childless.
|
|
|
|
In front of the house there was a court, in which grew a juniper-tree.
|
|
One winter’s day the wife stood under the tree to peel some apples, and
|
|
as she was peeling them, she cut her finger, and the blood fell on the
|
|
snow. ‘Ah,’ sighed the woman heavily, ‘if I had but a child, as red as
|
|
blood and as white as snow,’ and as she spoke the words, her heart grew
|
|
light within her, and it seemed to her that her wish was granted, and
|
|
she returned to the house feeling glad and comforted. A month passed,
|
|
and the snow had all disappeared; then another month went by, and all
|
|
the earth was green. So the months followed one another, and first the
|
|
trees budded in the woods, and soon the green branches grew thickly
|
|
intertwined, and then the blossoms began to fall. Once again the wife
|
|
stood under the juniper-tree, and it was so full of sweet scent that her
|
|
heart leaped for joy, and she was so overcome with her happiness, that
|
|
she fell on her knees. Presently the fruit became round and firm, and
|
|
she was glad and at peace; but when they were fully ripe she picked the
|
|
berries and ate eagerly of them, and then she grew sad and ill. A little
|
|
while later she called her husband, and said to him, weeping. ‘If I
|
|
die, bury me under the juniper-tree.’ Then she felt comforted and happy
|
|
again, and before another month had passed she had a little child, and
|
|
when she saw that it was as white as snow and as red as blood, her joy
|
|
was so great that she died.
|
|
|
|
Her husband buried her under the juniper-tree, and wept bitterly for
|
|
her. By degrees, however, his sorrow grew less, and although at times he
|
|
still grieved over his loss, he was able to go about as usual, and later
|
|
on he married again.
|
|
|
|
He now had a little daughter born to him; the child of his first wife
|
|
was a boy, who was as red as blood and as white as snow. The mother
|
|
loved her daughter very much, and when she looked at her and then looked
|
|
at the boy, it pierced her heart to think that he would always stand in
|
|
the way of her own child, and she was continually thinking how she could
|
|
get the whole of the property for her. This evil thought took possession
|
|
of her more and more, and made her behave very unkindly to the boy. She
|
|
drove him from place to place with cuffings and buffetings, so that the
|
|
poor child went about in fear, and had no peace from the time he left
|
|
school to the time he went back.
|
|
|
|
One day the little daughter came running to her mother in the
|
|
store-room, and said, ‘Mother, give me an apple.’ ‘Yes, my child,’ said
|
|
the wife, and she gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest; the chest
|
|
had a very heavy lid and a large iron lock.
|
|
|
|
‘Mother,’ said the little daughter again, ‘may not brother have one
|
|
too?’ The mother was angry at this, but she answered, ‘Yes, when he
|
|
comes out of school.’
|
|
|
|
Just then she looked out of the window and saw him coming, and it seemed
|
|
as if an evil spirit entered into her, for she snatched the apple out
|
|
of her little daughter’s hand, and said, ‘You shall not have one before
|
|
your brother.’ She threw the apple into the chest and shut it to. The
|
|
little boy now came in, and the evil spirit in the wife made her say
|
|
kindly to him, ‘My son, will you have an apple?’ but she gave him a
|
|
wicked look. ‘Mother,’ said the boy, ‘how dreadful you look! Yes, give
|
|
me an apple.’ The thought came to her that she would kill him. ‘Come
|
|
with me,’ she said, and she lifted up the lid of the chest; ‘take one
|
|
out for yourself.’ And as he bent over to do so, the evil spirit urged
|
|
her, and crash! down went the lid, and off went the little boy’s head.
|
|
Then she was overwhelmed with fear at the thought of what she had done.
|
|
‘If only I can prevent anyone knowing that I did it,’ she thought. So
|
|
she went upstairs to her room, and took a white handkerchief out of
|
|
her top drawer; then she set the boy’s head again on his shoulders, and
|
|
bound it with the handkerchief so that nothing could be seen, and placed
|
|
him on a chair by the door with an apple in his hand.
|
|
|
|
Soon after this, little Marleen came up to her mother who was stirring
|
|
a pot of boiling water over the fire, and said, ‘Mother, brother is
|
|
sitting by the door with an apple in his hand, and he looks so pale;
|
|
and when I asked him to give me the apple, he did not answer, and that
|
|
frightened me.’
|
|
|
|
‘Go to him again,’ said her mother, ‘and if he does not answer, give him
|
|
a box on the ear.’ So little Marleen went, and said, ‘Brother, give me
|
|
that apple,’ but he did not say a word; then she gave him a box on the
|
|
ear, and his head rolled off. She was so terrified at this, that she ran
|
|
crying and screaming to her mother. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘I have knocked off
|
|
brother’s head,’ and then she wept and wept, and nothing would stop her.
|
|
|
|
‘What have you done!’ said her mother, ‘but no one must know about it,
|
|
so you must keep silence; what is done can’t be undone; we will make
|
|
him into puddings.’ And she took the little boy and cut him up, made him
|
|
into puddings, and put him in the pot. But Marleen stood looking on,
|
|
and wept and wept, and her tears fell into the pot, so that there was no
|
|
need of salt.
|
|
|
|
Presently the father came home and sat down to his dinner; he asked,
|
|
‘Where is my son?’ The mother said nothing, but gave him a large dish of
|
|
black pudding, and Marleen still wept without ceasing.
|
|
|
|
The father again asked, ‘Where is my son?’
|
|
|
|
‘Oh,’ answered the wife, ‘he is gone into the country to his mother’s
|
|
great uncle; he is going to stay there some time.’
|
|
|
|
‘What has he gone there for, and he never even said goodbye to me!’
|
|
|
|
‘Well, he likes being there, and he told me he should be away quite six
|
|
weeks; he is well looked after there.’
|
|
|
|
‘I feel very unhappy about it,’ said the husband, ‘in case it should not
|
|
be all right, and he ought to have said goodbye to me.’
|
|
|
|
With this he went on with his dinner, and said, ‘Little Marleen, why do
|
|
you weep? Brother will soon be back.’ Then he asked his wife for more
|
|
pudding, and as he ate, he threw the bones under the table.
|
|
|
|
Little Marleen went upstairs and took her best silk handkerchief out of
|
|
her bottom drawer, and in it she wrapped all the bones from under the
|
|
table and carried them outside, and all the time she did nothing but
|
|
weep. Then she laid them in the green grass under the juniper-tree, and
|
|
she had no sooner done so, then all her sadness seemed to leave her,
|
|
and she wept no more. And now the juniper-tree began to move, and the
|
|
branches waved backwards and forwards, first away from one another, and
|
|
then together again, as it might be someone clapping their hands for
|
|
joy. After this a mist came round the tree, and in the midst of it there
|
|
was a burning as of fire, and out of the fire there flew a beautiful
|
|
bird, that rose high into the air, singing magnificently, and when it
|
|
could no more be seen, the juniper-tree stood there as before, and the
|
|
silk handkerchief and the bones were gone.
|
|
|
|
Little Marleen now felt as lighthearted and happy as if her brother were
|
|
still alive, and she went back to the house and sat down cheerfully to
|
|
the table and ate.
|
|
|
|
The bird flew away and alighted on the house of a goldsmith and began to
|
|
sing:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
The goldsmith was in his workshop making a gold chain, when he heard the
|
|
song of the bird on his roof. He thought it so beautiful that he got
|
|
up and ran out, and as he crossed the threshold he lost one of his
|
|
slippers. But he ran on into the middle of the street, with a slipper on
|
|
one foot and a sock on the other; he still had on his apron, and still
|
|
held the gold chain and the pincers in his hands, and so he stood gazing
|
|
up at the bird, while the sun came shining brightly down on the street.
|
|
|
|
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song again.’
|
|
|
|
‘Nay,’ said the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing. Give that gold
|
|
chain, and I will sing it you again.’
|
|
|
|
‘Here is the chain, take it,’ said the goldsmith. ‘Only sing me that
|
|
again.’
|
|
|
|
The bird flew down and took the gold chain in his right claw, and then
|
|
he alighted again in front of the goldsmith and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
Then he flew away, and settled on the roof of a shoemaker’s house and
|
|
sang:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
The shoemaker heard him, and he jumped up and ran out in his
|
|
shirt-sleeves, and stood looking up at the bird on the roof with his
|
|
hand over his eyes to keep himself from being blinded by the sun.
|
|
|
|
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘how beautifully you sing!’ Then he called through the
|
|
door to his wife: ‘Wife, come out; here is a bird, come and look at it
|
|
and hear how beautifully it sings.’ Then he called his daughter and the
|
|
children, then the apprentices, girls and boys, and they all ran up the
|
|
street to look at the bird, and saw how splendid it was with its red
|
|
and green feathers, and its neck like burnished gold, and eyes like two
|
|
bright stars in its head.
|
|
|
|
‘Bird,’ said the shoemaker, ‘sing me that song again.’
|
|
|
|
‘Nay,’ answered the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing; you must
|
|
give me something.’
|
|
|
|
‘Wife,’ said the man, ‘go into the garret; on the upper shelf you will
|
|
see a pair of red shoes; bring them to me.’ The wife went in and fetched
|
|
the shoes.
|
|
|
|
‘There, bird,’ said the shoemaker, ‘now sing me that song again.’
|
|
|
|
The bird flew down and took the red shoes in his left claw, and then he
|
|
went back to the roof and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
When he had finished, he flew away. He had the chain in his right claw
|
|
and the shoes in his left, and he flew right away to a mill, and the
|
|
mill went ‘Click clack, click clack, click clack.’ Inside the mill were
|
|
twenty of the miller’s men hewing a stone, and as they went ‘Hick hack,
|
|
hick hack, hick hack,’ the mill went ‘Click clack, click clack, click
|
|
clack.’
|
|
|
|
The bird settled on a lime-tree in front of the mill and sang:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
|
|
then one of the men left off,
|
|
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
|
|
two more men left off and listened,
|
|
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
|
|
then four more left off,
|
|
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
|
|
now there were only eight at work,
|
|
|
|
Underneath
|
|
|
|
And now only five,
|
|
|
|
the juniper-tree.
|
|
|
|
And now only one,
|
|
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
then he looked up and the last one had left off work.
|
|
|
|
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘what a beautiful song that is you sing! Let me hear it
|
|
too; sing it again.’
|
|
|
|
‘Nay,’ answered the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing; give me that
|
|
millstone, and I will sing it again.’
|
|
|
|
‘If it belonged to me alone,’ said the man, ‘you should have it.’
|
|
|
|
‘Yes, yes,’ said the others: ‘if he will sing again, he can have it.’
|
|
|
|
The bird came down, and all the twenty millers set to and lifted up the
|
|
stone with a beam; then the bird put his head through the hole and took
|
|
the stone round his neck like a collar, and flew back with it to the
|
|
tree and sang--
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
And when he had finished his song, he spread his wings, and with the
|
|
chain in his right claw, the shoes in his left, and the millstone round
|
|
his neck, he flew right away to his father’s house.
|
|
|
|
The father, the mother, and little Marleen were having their dinner.
|
|
|
|
‘How lighthearted I feel,’ said the father, ‘so pleased and cheerful.’
|
|
|
|
‘And I,’ said the mother, ‘I feel so uneasy, as if a heavy thunderstorm
|
|
were coming.’
|
|
|
|
But little Marleen sat and wept and wept.
|
|
|
|
Then the bird came flying towards the house and settled on the roof.
|
|
|
|
‘I do feel so happy,’ said the father, ‘and how beautifully the sun
|
|
shines; I feel just as if I were going to see an old friend again.’
|
|
|
|
‘Ah!’ said the wife, ‘and I am so full of distress and uneasiness that
|
|
my teeth chatter, and I feel as if there were a fire in my veins,’ and
|
|
she tore open her dress; and all the while little Marleen sat in the
|
|
corner and wept, and the plate on her knees was wet with her tears.
|
|
|
|
The bird now flew to the juniper-tree and began singing:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
|
|
the mother shut her eyes and her ears, that she might see and hear
|
|
nothing, but there was a roaring sound in her ears like that of a
|
|
violent storm, and in her eyes a burning and flashing like lightning:
|
|
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
|
|
‘Look, mother,’ said the man, ‘at the beautiful bird that is singing so
|
|
magnificently; and how warm and bright the sun is, and what a delicious
|
|
scent of spice in the air!’
|
|
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
|
|
then little Marleen laid her head down on her knees and sobbed.
|
|
|
|
‘I must go outside and see the bird nearer,’ said the man.
|
|
|
|
‘Ah, do not go!’ cried the wife. ‘I feel as if the whole house were in
|
|
flames!’
|
|
|
|
But the man went out and looked at the bird.
|
|
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
With that the bird let fall the gold chain, and it fell just round the
|
|
man’s neck, so that it fitted him exactly.
|
|
|
|
He went inside, and said, ‘See, what a splendid bird that is; he has
|
|
given me this beautiful gold chain, and looks so beautiful himself.’
|
|
|
|
But the wife was in such fear and trouble, that she fell on the floor,
|
|
and her cap fell from her head.
|
|
|
|
Then the bird began again:
|
|
|
|
‘My mother killed her little son;
|
|
|
|
‘Ah me!’ cried the wife, ‘if I were but a thousand feet beneath the
|
|
earth, that I might not hear that song.’
|
|
|
|
My father grieved when I was gone;
|
|
|
|
then the woman fell down again as if dead.
|
|
|
|
My sister loved me best of all;
|
|
|
|
‘Well,’ said little Marleen, ‘I will go out too and see if the bird will
|
|
give me anything.’
|
|
|
|
So she went out.
|
|
|
|
She laid her kerchief over me,
|
|
And took my bones that they might lie
|
|
|
|
and he threw down the shoes to her,
|
|
|
|
Underneath the juniper-tree
|
|
Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!’
|
|
|
|
And she now felt quite happy and lighthearted; she put on the shoes and
|
|
danced and jumped about in them. ‘I was so miserable,’ she said, ‘when I
|
|
came out, but that has all passed away; that is indeed a splendid bird,
|
|
and he has given me a pair of red shoes.’
|
|
|
|
The wife sprang up, with her hair standing out from her head like flames
|
|
of fire. ‘Then I will go out too,’ she said, ‘and see if it will lighten
|
|
my misery, for I feel as if the world were coming to an end.’
|
|
|
|
But as she crossed the threshold, crash! the bird threw the millstone
|
|
down on her head, and she was crushed to death.
|
|
|
|
The father and little Marleen heard the sound and ran out, but they only
|
|
saw mist and flame and fire rising from the spot, and when these had
|
|
passed, there stood the little brother, and he took the father and
|
|
little Marleen by the hand; then they all three rejoiced, and went
|
|
inside together and sat down to their dinners and ate.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE TURNIP
|
|
|
|
There were two brothers who were both soldiers; the one was rich and
|
|
the other poor. The poor man thought he would try to better himself; so,
|
|
pulling off his red coat, he became a gardener, and dug his ground well,
|
|
and sowed turnips.
|
|
|
|
When the seed came up, there was one plant bigger than all the rest; and
|
|
it kept getting larger and larger, and seemed as if it would never cease
|
|
growing; so that it might have been called the prince of turnips for
|
|
there never was such a one seen before, and never will again. At last it
|
|
was so big that it filled a cart, and two oxen could hardly draw it; and
|
|
the gardener knew not what in the world to do with it, nor whether it
|
|
would be a blessing or a curse to him. One day he said to himself, ‘What
|
|
shall I do with it? if I sell it, it will bring no more than another;
|
|
and for eating, the little turnips are better than this; the best thing
|
|
perhaps is to carry it and give it to the king as a mark of respect.’
|
|
|
|
Then he yoked his oxen, and drew the turnip to the court, and gave it
|
|
to the king. ‘What a wonderful thing!’ said the king; ‘I have seen many
|
|
strange things, but such a monster as this I never saw. Where did you
|
|
get the seed? or is it only your good luck? If so, you are a true child
|
|
of fortune.’ ‘Ah, no!’ answered the gardener, ‘I am no child of fortune;
|
|
I am a poor soldier, who never could get enough to live upon; so I
|
|
laid aside my red coat, and set to work, tilling the ground. I have a
|
|
brother, who is rich, and your majesty knows him well, and all the world
|
|
knows him; but because I am poor, everybody forgets me.’
|
|
|
|
The king then took pity on him, and said, ‘You shall be poor no
|
|
longer. I will give you so much that you shall be even richer than your
|
|
brother.’ Then he gave him gold and lands and flocks, and made him so
|
|
rich that his brother’s fortune could not at all be compared with his.
|
|
|
|
When the brother heard of all this, and how a turnip had made the
|
|
gardener so rich, he envied him sorely, and bethought himself how he
|
|
could contrive to get the same good fortune for himself. However, he
|
|
determined to manage more cleverly than his brother, and got together a
|
|
rich present of gold and fine horses for the king; and thought he must
|
|
have a much larger gift in return; for if his brother had received so
|
|
much for only a turnip, what must his present be worth?
|
|
|
|
The king took the gift very graciously, and said he knew not what to
|
|
give in return more valuable and wonderful than the great turnip; so
|
|
the soldier was forced to put it into a cart, and drag it home with him.
|
|
When he reached home, he knew not upon whom to vent his rage and spite;
|
|
and at length wicked thoughts came into his head, and he resolved to
|
|
kill his brother.
|
|
|
|
So he hired some villains to murder him; and having shown them where to
|
|
lie in ambush, he went to his brother, and said, ‘Dear brother, I have
|
|
found a hidden treasure; let us go and dig it up, and share it between
|
|
us.’ The other had no suspicions of his roguery: so they went out
|
|
together, and as they were travelling along, the murderers rushed out
|
|
upon him, bound him, and were going to hang him on a tree.
|
|
|
|
But whilst they were getting all ready, they heard the trampling of a
|
|
horse at a distance, which so frightened them that they pushed their
|
|
prisoner neck and shoulders together into a sack, and swung him up by a
|
|
cord to the tree, where they left him dangling, and ran away. Meantime
|
|
he worked and worked away, till he made a hole large enough to put out
|
|
his head.
|
|
|
|
When the horseman came up, he proved to be a student, a merry fellow,
|
|
who was journeying along on his nag, and singing as he went. As soon as
|
|
the man in the sack saw him passing under the tree, he cried out, ‘Good
|
|
morning! good morning to thee, my friend!’ The student looked about
|
|
everywhere; and seeing no one, and not knowing where the voice came
|
|
from, cried out, ‘Who calls me?’
|
|
|
|
Then the man in the tree answered, ‘Lift up thine eyes, for behold here
|
|
I sit in the sack of wisdom; here have I, in a short time, learned great
|
|
and wondrous things. Compared to this seat, all the learning of the
|
|
schools is as empty air. A little longer, and I shall know all that man
|
|
can know, and shall come forth wiser than the wisest of mankind. Here
|
|
I discern the signs and motions of the heavens and the stars; the laws
|
|
that control the winds; the number of the sands on the seashore; the
|
|
healing of the sick; the virtues of all simples, of birds, and of
|
|
precious stones. Wert thou but once here, my friend, though wouldst feel
|
|
and own the power of knowledge.
|
|
|
|
The student listened to all this and wondered much; at last he said,
|
|
‘Blessed be the day and hour when I found you; cannot you contrive to
|
|
let me into the sack for a little while?’ Then the other answered, as if
|
|
very unwillingly, ‘A little space I may allow thee to sit here, if thou
|
|
wilt reward me well and entreat me kindly; but thou must tarry yet an
|
|
hour below, till I have learnt some little matters that are yet unknown
|
|
to me.’
|
|
|
|
So the student sat himself down and waited a while; but the time hung
|
|
heavy upon him, and he begged earnestly that he might ascend forthwith,
|
|
for his thirst for knowledge was great. Then the other pretended to give
|
|
way, and said, ‘Thou must let the sack of wisdom descend, by untying
|
|
yonder cord, and then thou shalt enter.’ So the student let him down,
|
|
opened the sack, and set him free. ‘Now then,’ cried he, ‘let me ascend
|
|
quickly.’ As he began to put himself into the sack heels first, ‘Wait a
|
|
while,’ said the gardener, ‘that is not the way.’ Then he pushed him
|
|
in head first, tied up the sack, and soon swung up the searcher after
|
|
wisdom dangling in the air. ‘How is it with thee, friend?’ said he,
|
|
‘dost thou not feel that wisdom comes unto thee? Rest there in peace,
|
|
till thou art a wiser man than thou wert.’
|
|
|
|
So saying, he trotted off on the student’s nag, and left the poor fellow
|
|
to gather wisdom till somebody should come and let him down.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CLEVER HANS
|
|
|
|
The mother of Hans said: ‘Whither away, Hans?’ Hans answered: ‘To
|
|
Gretel.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh, I’ll behave well. Goodbye, mother.’
|
|
‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day,
|
|
Hans. What do you bring that is good?’ ‘I bring nothing, I want to have
|
|
something given me.’ Gretel presents Hans with a needle, Hans says:
|
|
‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’
|
|
|
|
Hans takes the needle, sticks it into a hay-cart, and follows the cart
|
|
home. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’
|
|
‘With Gretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘Took nothing; had something
|
|
given me.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘Gave me a needle.’ ‘Where is the
|
|
needle, Hans?’ ‘Stuck in the hay-cart.’ ‘That was ill done, Hans. You
|
|
should have stuck the needle in your sleeve.’ ‘Never mind, I’ll do
|
|
better next time.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh,
|
|
I’ll behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to
|
|
Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What do you bring that is
|
|
good?’ ‘I bring nothing. I want to have something given to me.’ Gretel
|
|
presents Hans with a knife. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans
|
|
takes the knife, sticks it in his sleeve, and goes home. ‘Good evening,
|
|
mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ What
|
|
did you take her?’ ‘Took her nothing, she gave me something.’ ‘What did
|
|
Gretel give you?’ ‘Gave me a knife.’ ‘Where is the knife, Hans?’ ‘Stuck
|
|
in my sleeve.’ ‘That’s ill done, Hans, you should have put the knife in
|
|
your pocket.’ ‘Never mind, will do better next time.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh,
|
|
I’ll behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to
|
|
Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good thing do you
|
|
bring?’ ‘I bring nothing, I want something given me.’ Gretel presents
|
|
Hans with a young goat. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans takes
|
|
the goat, ties its legs, and puts it in his pocket. When he gets home it
|
|
is suffocated. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have
|
|
you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘Took nothing, she
|
|
gave me something.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘She gave me a goat.’
|
|
‘Where is the goat, Hans?’ ‘Put it in my pocket.’ ‘That was ill done,
|
|
Hans, you should have put a rope round the goat’s neck.’ ‘Never mind,
|
|
will do better next time.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh,
|
|
I’ll behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to
|
|
Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good thing do you
|
|
bring?’ ‘I bring nothing, I want something given me.’ Gretel presents
|
|
Hans with a piece of bacon. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’
|
|
|
|
Hans takes the bacon, ties it to a rope, and drags it away behind him.
|
|
The dogs come and devour the bacon. When he gets home, he has the rope
|
|
in his hand, and there is no longer anything hanging on to it. ‘Good
|
|
evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With
|
|
Gretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘I took her nothing, she gave me
|
|
something.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘Gave me a bit of bacon.’ ‘Where
|
|
is the bacon, Hans?’ ‘I tied it to a rope, brought it home, dogs took
|
|
it.’ ‘That was ill done, Hans, you should have carried the bacon on your
|
|
head.’ ‘Never mind, will do better next time.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘I’ll
|
|
behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel.
|
|
‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans, What good thing do you bring?’ ‘I
|
|
bring nothing, but would have something given.’ Gretel presents Hans
|
|
with a calf. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’
|
|
|
|
Hans takes the calf, puts it on his head, and the calf kicks his face.
|
|
‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With
|
|
Gretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘I took nothing, but had something
|
|
given me.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘A calf.’ ‘Where have you the
|
|
calf, Hans?’ ‘I set it on my head and it kicked my face.’ ‘That was
|
|
ill done, Hans, you should have led the calf, and put it in the stall.’
|
|
‘Never mind, will do better next time.’
|
|
|
|
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘I’ll
|
|
behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’
|
|
|
|
Hans comes to Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good
|
|
thing do you bring?’ ‘I bring nothing, but would have something given.’
|
|
Gretel says to Hans: ‘I will go with you.’
|
|
|
|
Hans takes Gretel, ties her to a rope, leads her to the rack, and binds
|
|
her fast. Then Hans goes to his mother. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good
|
|
evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ ‘What did you take
|
|
her?’ ‘I took her nothing.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘She gave me
|
|
nothing, she came with me.’ ‘Where have you left Gretel?’ ‘I led her by
|
|
the rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for her.’ ‘That
|
|
was ill done, Hans, you should have cast friendly eyes on her.’ ‘Never
|
|
mind, will do better.’
|
|
|
|
Hans went into the stable, cut out all the calves’ and sheep’s eyes,
|
|
and threw them in Gretel’s face. Then Gretel became angry, tore herself
|
|
loose and ran away, and was no longer the bride of Hans.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE THREE LANGUAGES
|
|
|
|
An aged count once lived in Switzerland, who had an only son, but he
|
|
was stupid, and could learn nothing. Then said the father: ‘Hark you,
|
|
my son, try as I will I can get nothing into your head. You must go from
|
|
hence, I will give you into the care of a celebrated master, who shall
|
|
see what he can do with you.’ The youth was sent into a strange town,
|
|
and remained a whole year with the master. At the end of this time,
|
|
he came home again, and his father asked: ‘Now, my son, what have you
|
|
learnt?’ ‘Father, I have learnt what the dogs say when they bark.’ ‘Lord
|
|
have mercy on us!’ cried the father; ‘is that all you have learnt? I
|
|
will send you into another town, to another master.’ The youth was taken
|
|
thither, and stayed a year with this master likewise. When he came back
|
|
the father again asked: ‘My son, what have you learnt?’ He answered:
|
|
‘Father, I have learnt what the birds say.’ Then the father fell into a
|
|
rage and said: ‘Oh, you lost man, you have spent the precious time and
|
|
learnt nothing; are you not ashamed to appear before my eyes? I will
|
|
send you to a third master, but if you learn nothing this time also, I
|
|
will no longer be your father.’ The youth remained a whole year with the
|
|
third master also, and when he came home again, and his father inquired:
|
|
‘My son, what have you learnt?’ he answered: ‘Dear father, I have this
|
|
year learnt what the frogs croak.’ Then the father fell into the most
|
|
furious anger, sprang up, called his people thither, and said: ‘This man
|
|
is no longer my son, I drive him forth, and command you to take him
|
|
out into the forest, and kill him.’ They took him forth, but when they
|
|
should have killed him, they could not do it for pity, and let him go,
|
|
and they cut the eyes and tongue out of a deer that they might carry
|
|
them to the old man as a token.
|
|
|
|
The youth wandered on, and after some time came to a fortress where he
|
|
begged for a night’s lodging. ‘Yes,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘if
|
|
you will pass the night down there in the old tower, go thither; but I
|
|
warn you, it is at the peril of your life, for it is full of wild dogs,
|
|
which bark and howl without stopping, and at certain hours a man has to
|
|
be given to them, whom they at once devour.’ The whole district was in
|
|
sorrow and dismay because of them, and yet no one could do anything to
|
|
stop this. The youth, however, was without fear, and said: ‘Just let me
|
|
go down to the barking dogs, and give me something that I can throw to
|
|
them; they will do nothing to harm me.’ As he himself would have it so,
|
|
they gave him some food for the wild animals, and led him down to the
|
|
tower. When he went inside, the dogs did not bark at him, but wagged
|
|
their tails quite amicably around him, ate what he set before them, and
|
|
did not hurt one hair of his head. Next morning, to the astonishment of
|
|
everyone, he came out again safe and unharmed, and said to the lord of
|
|
the castle: ‘The dogs have revealed to me, in their own language, why
|
|
they dwell there, and bring evil on the land. They are bewitched, and
|
|
are obliged to watch over a great treasure which is below in the tower,
|
|
and they can have no rest until it is taken away, and I have likewise
|
|
learnt, from their discourse, how that is to be done.’ Then all who
|
|
heard this rejoiced, and the lord of the castle said he would adopt him
|
|
as a son if he accomplished it successfully. He went down again, and
|
|
as he knew what he had to do, he did it thoroughly, and brought a chest
|
|
full of gold out with him. The howling of the wild dogs was henceforth
|
|
heard no more; they had disappeared, and the country was freed from the
|
|
trouble.
|
|
|
|
After some time he took it in his head that he would travel to Rome. On
|
|
the way he passed by a marsh, in which a number of frogs were sitting
|
|
croaking. He listened to them, and when he became aware of what they
|
|
were saying, he grew very thoughtful and sad. At last he arrived in
|
|
Rome, where the Pope had just died, and there was great doubt among
|
|
the cardinals as to whom they should appoint as his successor. They at
|
|
length agreed that the person should be chosen as pope who should be
|
|
distinguished by some divine and miraculous token. And just as that was
|
|
decided on, the young count entered into the church, and suddenly two
|
|
snow-white doves flew on his shoulders and remained sitting there. The
|
|
ecclesiastics recognized therein the token from above, and asked him on
|
|
the spot if he would be pope. He was undecided, and knew not if he were
|
|
worthy of this, but the doves counselled him to do it, and at length he
|
|
said yes. Then was he anointed and consecrated, and thus was fulfilled
|
|
what he had heard from the frogs on his way, which had so affected him,
|
|
that he was to be his Holiness the Pope. Then he had to sing a mass, and
|
|
did not know one word of it, but the two doves sat continually on his
|
|
shoulders, and said it all in his ear.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FOX AND THE CAT
|
|
|
|
It happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought to
|
|
herself: ‘He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in the
|
|
world,’ she spoke to him in a friendly way. ‘Good day, dear Mr Fox,
|
|
how are you? How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hard
|
|
times?’ The fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat from
|
|
head to foot, and for a long time did not know whether he would give
|
|
any answer or not. At last he said: ‘Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, you
|
|
piebald fool, you hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? Have
|
|
you the cheek to ask how I am getting on? What have you learnt? How
|
|
many arts do you understand?’ ‘I understand but one,’ replied the
|
|
cat, modestly. ‘What art is that?’ asked the fox. ‘When the hounds are
|
|
following me, I can spring into a tree and save myself.’ ‘Is that all?’
|
|
said the fox. ‘I am master of a hundred arts, and have into the bargain
|
|
a sackful of cunning. You make me sorry for you; come with me, I will
|
|
teach you how people get away from the hounds.’ Just then came a hunter
|
|
with four dogs. The cat sprang nimbly up a tree, and sat down at the top
|
|
of it, where the branches and foliage quite concealed her. ‘Open your
|
|
sack, Mr Fox, open your sack,’ cried the cat to him, but the dogs had
|
|
already seized him, and were holding him fast. ‘Ah, Mr Fox,’ cried the
|
|
cat. ‘You with your hundred arts are left in the lurch! Had you been
|
|
able to climb like me, you would not have lost your life.’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS
|
|
|
|
‘Dear children,’ said a poor man to his four sons, ‘I have nothing to
|
|
give you; you must go out into the wide world and try your luck. Begin
|
|
by learning some craft or another, and see how you can get on.’ So the
|
|
four brothers took their walking-sticks in their hands, and their little
|
|
bundles on their shoulders, and after bidding their father goodbye, went
|
|
all out at the gate together. When they had got on some way they came
|
|
to four crossways, each leading to a different country. Then the eldest
|
|
said, ‘Here we must part; but this day four years we will come back
|
|
to this spot, and in the meantime each must try what he can do for
|
|
himself.’
|
|
|
|
So each brother went his way; and as the eldest was hastening on a man
|
|
met him, and asked him where he was going, and what he wanted. ‘I am
|
|
going to try my luck in the world, and should like to begin by learning
|
|
some art or trade,’ answered he. ‘Then,’ said the man, ‘go with me, and
|
|
I will teach you to become the cunningest thief that ever was.’ ‘No,’
|
|
said the other, ‘that is not an honest calling, and what can one look
|
|
to earn by it in the end but the gallows?’ ‘Oh!’ said the man, ‘you need
|
|
not fear the gallows; for I will only teach you to steal what will be
|
|
fair game: I meddle with nothing but what no one else can get or care
|
|
anything about, and where no one can find you out.’ So the young man
|
|
agreed to follow his trade, and he soon showed himself so clever, that
|
|
nothing could escape him that he had once set his mind upon.
|
|
|
|
The second brother also met a man, who, when he found out what he was
|
|
setting out upon, asked him what craft he meant to follow. ‘I do not
|
|
know yet,’ said he. ‘Then come with me, and be a star-gazer. It is a
|
|
noble art, for nothing can be hidden from you, when once you understand
|
|
the stars.’ The plan pleased him much, and he soon became such a skilful
|
|
star-gazer, that when he had served out his time, and wanted to leave
|
|
his master, he gave him a glass, and said, ‘With this you can see all
|
|
that is passing in the sky and on earth, and nothing can be hidden from
|
|
you.’
|
|
|
|
The third brother met a huntsman, who took him with him, and taught him
|
|
so well all that belonged to hunting, that he became very clever in the
|
|
craft of the woods; and when he left his master he gave him a bow, and
|
|
said, ‘Whatever you shoot at with this bow you will be sure to hit.’
|
|
|
|
The youngest brother likewise met a man who asked him what he wished to
|
|
do. ‘Would not you like,’ said he, ‘to be a tailor?’ ‘Oh, no!’ said
|
|
the young man; ‘sitting cross-legged from morning to night, working
|
|
backwards and forwards with a needle and goose, will never suit me.’
|
|
‘Oh!’ answered the man, ‘that is not my sort of tailoring; come with me,
|
|
and you will learn quite another kind of craft from that.’ Not knowing
|
|
what better to do, he came into the plan, and learnt tailoring from the
|
|
beginning; and when he left his master, he gave him a needle, and said,
|
|
‘You can sew anything with this, be it as soft as an egg or as hard as
|
|
steel; and the joint will be so fine that no seam will be seen.’
|
|
|
|
After the space of four years, at the time agreed upon, the four
|
|
brothers met at the four cross-roads; and having welcomed each other,
|
|
set off towards their father’s home, where they told him all that had
|
|
happened to them, and how each had learned some craft.
|
|
|
|
Then, one day, as they were sitting before the house under a very high
|
|
tree, the father said, ‘I should like to try what each of you can do in
|
|
this way.’ So he looked up, and said to the second son, ‘At the top of
|
|
this tree there is a chaffinch’s nest; tell me how many eggs there are
|
|
in it.’ The star-gazer took his glass, looked up, and said, ‘Five.’
|
|
‘Now,’ said the father to the eldest son, ‘take away the eggs without
|
|
letting the bird that is sitting upon them and hatching them know
|
|
anything of what you are doing.’ So the cunning thief climbed up the
|
|
tree, and brought away to his father the five eggs from under the bird;
|
|
and it never saw or felt what he was doing, but kept sitting on at its
|
|
ease. Then the father took the eggs, and put one on each corner of the
|
|
table, and the fifth in the middle, and said to the huntsman, ‘Cut all
|
|
the eggs in two pieces at one shot.’ The huntsman took up his bow, and
|
|
at one shot struck all the five eggs as his father wished.
|
|
|
|
‘Now comes your turn,’ said he to the young tailor; ‘sew the eggs and
|
|
the young birds in them together again, so neatly that the shot shall
|
|
have done them no harm.’ Then the tailor took his needle, and sewed the
|
|
eggs as he was told; and when he had done, the thief was sent to take
|
|
them back to the nest, and put them under the bird without its knowing
|
|
it. Then she went on sitting, and hatched them: and in a few days they
|
|
crawled out, and had only a little red streak across their necks, where
|
|
the tailor had sewn them together.
|
|
|
|
‘Well done, sons!’ said the old man; ‘you have made good use of your
|
|
time, and learnt something worth the knowing; but I am sure I do not
|
|
know which ought to have the prize. Oh, that a time might soon come for
|
|
you to turn your skill to some account!’
|
|
|
|
Not long after this there was a great bustle in the country; for the
|
|
king’s daughter had been carried off by a mighty dragon, and the king
|
|
mourned over his loss day and night, and made it known that whoever
|
|
brought her back to him should have her for a wife. Then the four
|
|
brothers said to each other, ‘Here is a chance for us; let us try
|
|
what we can do.’ And they agreed to see whether they could not set the
|
|
princess free. ‘I will soon find out where she is, however,’ said the
|
|
star-gazer, as he looked through his glass; and he soon cried out, ‘I
|
|
see her afar off, sitting upon a rock in the sea, and I can spy the
|
|
dragon close by, guarding her.’ Then he went to the king, and asked for
|
|
a ship for himself and his brothers; and they sailed together over the
|
|
sea, till they came to the right place. There they found the princess
|
|
sitting, as the star-gazer had said, on the rock; and the dragon was
|
|
lying asleep, with his head upon her lap. ‘I dare not shoot at him,’
|
|
said the huntsman, ‘for I should kill the beautiful young lady also.’
|
|
‘Then I will try my skill,’ said the thief, and went and stole her away
|
|
from under the dragon, so quietly and gently that the beast did not know
|
|
it, but went on snoring.
|
|
|
|
Then away they hastened with her full of joy in their boat towards the
|
|
ship; but soon came the dragon roaring behind them through the air; for
|
|
he awoke and missed the princess. But when he got over the boat, and
|
|
wanted to pounce upon them and carry off the princess, the huntsman took
|
|
up his bow and shot him straight through the heart so that he fell down
|
|
dead. They were still not safe; for he was such a great beast that in
|
|
his fall he overset the boat, and they had to swim in the open sea
|
|
upon a few planks. So the tailor took his needle, and with a few large
|
|
stitches put some of the planks together; and he sat down upon these,
|
|
and sailed about and gathered up all pieces of the boat; and then tacked
|
|
them together so quickly that the boat was soon ready, and they then
|
|
reached the ship and got home safe.
|
|
|
|
When they had brought home the princess to her father, there was great
|
|
rejoicing; and he said to the four brothers, ‘One of you shall marry
|
|
her, but you must settle amongst yourselves which it is to be.’ Then
|
|
there arose a quarrel between them; and the star-gazer said, ‘If I had
|
|
not found the princess out, all your skill would have been of no use;
|
|
therefore she ought to be mine.’ ‘Your seeing her would have been of
|
|
no use,’ said the thief, ‘if I had not taken her away from the dragon;
|
|
therefore she ought to be mine.’ ‘No, she is mine,’ said the huntsman;
|
|
‘for if I had not killed the dragon, he would, after all, have torn you
|
|
and the princess into pieces.’ ‘And if I had not sewn the boat together
|
|
again,’ said the tailor, ‘you would all have been drowned, therefore she
|
|
is mine.’ Then the king put in a word, and said, ‘Each of you is right;
|
|
and as all cannot have the young lady, the best way is for neither of
|
|
you to have her: for the truth is, there is somebody she likes a great
|
|
deal better. But to make up for your loss, I will give each of you, as a
|
|
reward for his skill, half a kingdom.’ So the brothers agreed that this
|
|
plan would be much better than either quarrelling or marrying a lady who
|
|
had no mind to have them. And the king then gave to each half a kingdom,
|
|
as he had said; and they lived very happily the rest of their days, and
|
|
took good care of their father; and somebody took better care of the
|
|
young lady, than to let either the dragon or one of the craftsmen have
|
|
her again.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
LILY AND THE LION
|
|
|
|
A merchant, who had three daughters, was once setting out upon a
|
|
journey; but before he went he asked each daughter what gift he should
|
|
bring back for her. The eldest wished for pearls; the second for jewels;
|
|
but the third, who was called Lily, said, ‘Dear father, bring me a
|
|
rose.’ Now it was no easy task to find a rose, for it was the middle
|
|
of winter; yet as she was his prettiest daughter, and was very fond of
|
|
flowers, her father said he would try what he could do. So he kissed all
|
|
three, and bid them goodbye.
|
|
|
|
And when the time came for him to go home, he had bought pearls and
|
|
jewels for the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for the
|
|
rose; and when he went into any garden and asked for such a thing, the
|
|
people laughed at him, and asked him whether he thought roses grew in
|
|
snow. This grieved him very much, for Lily was his dearest child; and as
|
|
he was journeying home, thinking what he should bring her, he came to a
|
|
fine castle; and around the castle was a garden, in one half of which it
|
|
seemed to be summer-time and in the other half winter. On one side the
|
|
finest flowers were in full bloom, and on the other everything looked
|
|
dreary and buried in the snow. ‘A lucky hit!’ said he, as he called to
|
|
his servant, and told him to go to a beautiful bed of roses that was
|
|
there, and bring him away one of the finest flowers.
|
|
|
|
This done, they were riding away well pleased, when up sprang a fierce
|
|
lion, and roared out, ‘Whoever has stolen my roses shall be eaten up
|
|
alive!’ Then the man said, ‘I knew not that the garden belonged to you;
|
|
can nothing save my life?’ ‘No!’ said the lion, ‘nothing, unless you
|
|
undertake to give me whatever meets you on your return home; if you
|
|
agree to this, I will give you your life, and the rose too for your
|
|
daughter.’ But the man was unwilling to do so and said, ‘It may be my
|
|
youngest daughter, who loves me most, and always runs to meet me when
|
|
I go home.’ Then the servant was greatly frightened, and said, ‘It may
|
|
perhaps be only a cat or a dog.’ And at last the man yielded with a
|
|
heavy heart, and took the rose; and said he would give the lion whatever
|
|
should meet him first on his return.
|
|
|
|
And as he came near home, it was Lily, his youngest and dearest
|
|
daughter, that met him; she came running, and kissed him, and welcomed
|
|
him home; and when she saw that he had brought her the rose, she was
|
|
still more glad. But her father began to be very sorrowful, and to weep,
|
|
saying, ‘Alas, my dearest child! I have bought this flower at a high
|
|
price, for I have said I would give you to a wild lion; and when he has
|
|
you, he will tear you in pieces, and eat you.’ Then he told her all that
|
|
had happened, and said she should not go, let what would happen.
|
|
|
|
But she comforted him, and said, ‘Dear father, the word you have given
|
|
must be kept; I will go to the lion, and soothe him: perhaps he will let
|
|
me come safe home again.’
|
|
|
|
The next morning she asked the way she was to go, and took leave of her
|
|
father, and went forth with a bold heart into the wood. But the lion was
|
|
an enchanted prince. By day he and all his court were lions, but in the
|
|
evening they took their right forms again. And when Lily came to the
|
|
castle, he welcomed her so courteously that she agreed to marry him. The
|
|
wedding-feast was held, and they lived happily together a long time. The
|
|
prince was only to be seen as soon as evening came, and then he held his
|
|
court; but every morning he left his bride, and went away by himself,
|
|
she knew not whither, till the night came again.
|
|
|
|
After some time he said to her, ‘Tomorrow there will be a great feast in
|
|
your father’s house, for your eldest sister is to be married; and if
|
|
you wish to go and visit her my lions shall lead you thither.’ Then she
|
|
rejoiced much at the thoughts of seeing her father once more, and set
|
|
out with the lions; and everyone was overjoyed to see her, for they had
|
|
thought her dead long since. But she told them how happy she was, and
|
|
stayed till the feast was over, and then went back to the wood.
|
|
|
|
Her second sister was soon after married, and when Lily was asked to
|
|
go to the wedding, she said to the prince, ‘I will not go alone this
|
|
time--you must go with me.’ But he would not, and said that it would be
|
|
a very hazardous thing; for if the least ray of the torch-light should
|
|
fall upon him his enchantment would become still worse, for he should be
|
|
changed into a dove, and be forced to wander about the world for seven
|
|
long years. However, she gave him no rest, and said she would take care
|
|
no light should fall upon him. So at last they set out together, and
|
|
took with them their little child; and she chose a large hall with thick
|
|
walls for him to sit in while the wedding-torches were lighted; but,
|
|
unluckily, no one saw that there was a crack in the door. Then the
|
|
wedding was held with great pomp, but as the train came from the church,
|
|
and passed with the torches before the hall, a very small ray of light
|
|
fell upon the prince. In a moment he disappeared, and when his wife came
|
|
in and looked for him, she found only a white dove; and it said to her,
|
|
‘Seven years must I fly up and down over the face of the earth, but
|
|
every now and then I will let fall a white feather, that will show you
|
|
the way I am going; follow it, and at last you may overtake and set me
|
|
free.’
|
|
|
|
This said, he flew out at the door, and poor Lily followed; and every
|
|
now and then a white feather fell, and showed her the way she was to
|
|
journey. Thus she went roving on through the wide world, and looked
|
|
neither to the right hand nor to the left, nor took any rest, for seven
|
|
years. Then she began to be glad, and thought to herself that the time
|
|
was fast coming when all her troubles should end; yet repose was still
|
|
far off, for one day as she was travelling on she missed the white
|
|
feather, and when she lifted up her eyes she could nowhere see the dove.
|
|
‘Now,’ thought she to herself, ‘no aid of man can be of use to me.’ So
|
|
she went to the sun and said, ‘Thou shinest everywhere, on the hill’s
|
|
top and the valley’s depth--hast thou anywhere seen my white dove?’
|
|
‘No,’ said the sun, ‘I have not seen it; but I will give thee a
|
|
casket--open it when thy hour of need comes.’
|
|
|
|
So she thanked the sun, and went on her way till eventide; and when
|
|
the moon arose, she cried unto it, and said, ‘Thou shinest through the
|
|
night, over field and grove--hast thou nowhere seen my white dove?’
|
|
‘No,’ said the moon, ‘I cannot help thee but I will give thee an
|
|
egg--break it when need comes.’
|
|
|
|
Then she thanked the moon, and went on till the night-wind blew; and she
|
|
raised up her voice to it, and said, ‘Thou blowest through every tree
|
|
and under every leaf--hast thou not seen my white dove?’ ‘No,’ said the
|
|
night-wind, ‘but I will ask three other winds; perhaps they have seen
|
|
it.’ Then the east wind and the west wind came, and said they too had
|
|
not seen it, but the south wind said, ‘I have seen the white dove--he
|
|
has fled to the Red Sea, and is changed once more into a lion, for the
|
|
seven years are passed away, and there he is fighting with a dragon;
|
|
and the dragon is an enchanted princess, who seeks to separate him from
|
|
you.’ Then the night-wind said, ‘I will give thee counsel. Go to the
|
|
Red Sea; on the right shore stand many rods--count them, and when thou
|
|
comest to the eleventh, break it off, and smite the dragon with it; and
|
|
so the lion will have the victory, and both of them will appear to you
|
|
in their own forms. Then look round and thou wilt see a griffin, winged
|
|
like bird, sitting by the Red Sea; jump on to his back with thy beloved
|
|
one as quickly as possible, and he will carry you over the waters to
|
|
your home. I will also give thee this nut,’ continued the night-wind.
|
|
‘When you are half-way over, throw it down, and out of the waters will
|
|
immediately spring up a high nut-tree on which the griffin will be able
|
|
to rest, otherwise he would not have the strength to bear you the whole
|
|
way; if, therefore, thou dost forget to throw down the nut, he will let
|
|
you both fall into the sea.’
|
|
|
|
So our poor wanderer went forth, and found all as the night-wind had
|
|
said; and she plucked the eleventh rod, and smote the dragon, and the
|
|
lion forthwith became a prince, and the dragon a princess again. But
|
|
no sooner was the princess released from the spell, than she seized
|
|
the prince by the arm and sprang on to the griffin’s back, and went off
|
|
carrying the prince away with her.
|
|
|
|
Thus the unhappy traveller was again forsaken and forlorn; but she
|
|
took heart and said, ‘As far as the wind blows, and so long as the cock
|
|
crows, I will journey on, till I find him once again.’ She went on for
|
|
a long, long way, till at length she came to the castle whither the
|
|
princess had carried the prince; and there was a feast got ready, and
|
|
she heard that the wedding was about to be held. ‘Heaven aid me now!’
|
|
said she; and she took the casket that the sun had given her, and found
|
|
that within it lay a dress as dazzling as the sun itself. So she put it
|
|
on, and went into the palace, and all the people gazed upon her; and
|
|
the dress pleased the bride so much that she asked whether it was to be
|
|
sold. ‘Not for gold and silver.’ said she, ‘but for flesh and blood.’
|
|
The princess asked what she meant, and she said, ‘Let me speak with the
|
|
bridegroom this night in his chamber, and I will give thee the dress.’
|
|
At last the princess agreed, but she told her chamberlain to give the
|
|
prince a sleeping draught, that he might not hear or see her. When
|
|
evening came, and the prince had fallen asleep, she was led into
|
|
his chamber, and she sat herself down at his feet, and said: ‘I have
|
|
followed thee seven years. I have been to the sun, the moon, and the
|
|
night-wind, to seek thee, and at last I have helped thee to overcome
|
|
the dragon. Wilt thou then forget me quite?’ But the prince all the time
|
|
slept so soundly, that her voice only passed over him, and seemed like
|
|
the whistling of the wind among the fir-trees.
|
|
|
|
Then poor Lily was led away, and forced to give up the golden dress; and
|
|
when she saw that there was no help for her, she went out into a meadow,
|
|
and sat herself down and wept. But as she sat she bethought herself of
|
|
the egg that the moon had given her; and when she broke it, there ran
|
|
out a hen and twelve chickens of pure gold, that played about, and then
|
|
nestled under the old one’s wings, so as to form the most beautiful
|
|
sight in the world. And she rose up and drove them before her, till the
|
|
bride saw them from her window, and was so pleased that she came forth
|
|
and asked her if she would sell the brood. ‘Not for gold or silver, but
|
|
for flesh and blood: let me again this evening speak with the bridegroom
|
|
in his chamber, and I will give thee the whole brood.’
|
|
|
|
Then the princess thought to betray her as before, and agreed to
|
|
what she asked: but when the prince went to his chamber he asked
|
|
the chamberlain why the wind had whistled so in the night. And the
|
|
chamberlain told him all--how he had given him a sleeping draught, and
|
|
how a poor maiden had come and spoken to him in his chamber, and was
|
|
to come again that night. Then the prince took care to throw away the
|
|
sleeping draught; and when Lily came and began again to tell him what
|
|
woes had befallen her, and how faithful and true to him she had been,
|
|
he knew his beloved wife’s voice, and sprang up, and said, ‘You have
|
|
awakened me as from a dream, for the strange princess had thrown a spell
|
|
around me, so that I had altogether forgotten you; but Heaven hath sent
|
|
you to me in a lucky hour.’
|
|
|
|
And they stole away out of the palace by night unawares, and seated
|
|
themselves on the griffin, who flew back with them over the Red Sea.
|
|
When they were half-way across Lily let the nut fall into the water,
|
|
and immediately a large nut-tree arose from the sea, whereon the griffin
|
|
rested for a while, and then carried them safely home. There they found
|
|
their child, now grown up to be comely and fair; and after all their
|
|
troubles they lived happily together to the end of their days.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
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THE FOX AND THE HORSE
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A farmer had a horse that had been an excellent faithful servant to
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him: but he was now grown too old to work; so the farmer would give him
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nothing more to eat, and said, ‘I want you no longer, so take yourself
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off out of my stable; I shall not take you back again until you are
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stronger than a lion.’ Then he opened the door and turned him adrift.
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The poor horse was very melancholy, and wandered up and down in the
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wood, seeking some little shelter from the cold wind and rain. Presently
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a fox met him: ‘What’s the matter, my friend?’ said he, ‘why do you hang
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down your head and look so lonely and woe-begone?’ ‘Ah!’ replied the
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horse, ‘justice and avarice never dwell in one house; my master has
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forgotten all that I have done for him so many years, and because I
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can no longer work he has turned me adrift, and says unless I become
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stronger than a lion he will not take me back again; what chance can I
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have of that? he knows I have none, or he would not talk so.’
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However, the fox bid him be of good cheer, and said, ‘I will help you;
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lie down there, stretch yourself out quite stiff, and pretend to be
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dead.’ The horse did as he was told, and the fox went straight to the
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lion who lived in a cave close by, and said to him, ‘A little way off
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lies a dead horse; come with me and you may make an excellent meal of
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his carcase.’ The lion was greatly pleased, and set off immediately; and
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when they came to the horse, the fox said, ‘You will not be able to eat
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him comfortably here; I’ll tell you what--I will tie you fast to
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his tail, and then you can draw him to your den, and eat him at your
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leisure.’
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This advice pleased the lion, so he laid himself down quietly for the
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fox to make him fast to the horse. But the fox managed to tie his legs
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together and bound all so hard and fast that with all his strength he
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could not set himself free. When the work was done, the fox clapped the
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horse on the shoulder, and said, ‘Jip! Dobbin! Jip!’ Then up he sprang,
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and moved off, dragging the lion behind him. The beast began to roar
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and bellow, till all the birds of the wood flew away for fright; but the
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horse let him sing on, and made his way quietly over the fields to his
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master’s house.
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‘Here he is, master,’ said he, ‘I have got the better of him’: and when
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the farmer saw his old servant, his heart relented, and he said. ‘Thou
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shalt stay in thy stable and be well taken care of.’ And so the poor old
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horse had plenty to eat, and lived--till he died.
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THE BLUE LIGHT
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There was once upon a time a soldier who for many years had served the
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king faithfully, but when the war came to an end could serve no longer
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because of the many wounds which he had received. The king said to him:
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‘You may return to your home, I need you no longer, and you will not
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receive any more money, for he only receives wages who renders me
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service for them.’ Then the soldier did not know how to earn a living,
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went away greatly troubled, and walked the whole day, until in the
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evening he entered a forest. When darkness came on, he saw a light,
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which he went up to, and came to a house wherein lived a witch. ‘Do give
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me one night’s lodging, and a little to eat and drink,’ said he to
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her, ‘or I shall starve.’ ‘Oho!’ she answered, ‘who gives anything to a
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run-away soldier? Yet will I be compassionate, and take you in, if you
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will do what I wish.’ ‘What do you wish?’ said the soldier. ‘That you
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should dig all round my garden for me, tomorrow.’ The soldier consented,
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and next day laboured with all his strength, but could not finish it by
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the evening. ‘I see well enough,’ said the witch, ‘that you can do no
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more today, but I will keep you yet another night, in payment for
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which you must tomorrow chop me a load of wood, and chop it small.’ The
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soldier spent the whole day in doing it, and in the evening the witch
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proposed that he should stay one night more. ‘Tomorrow, you shall only
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do me a very trifling piece of work. Behind my house, there is an old
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dry well, into which my light has fallen, it burns blue, and never goes
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out, and you shall bring it up again.’ Next day the old woman took him
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to the well, and let him down in a basket. He found the blue light, and
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made her a signal to draw him up again. She did draw him up, but when he
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came near the edge, she stretched down her hand and wanted to take the
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blue light away from him. ‘No,’ said he, perceiving her evil intention,
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‘I will not give you the light until I am standing with both feet upon
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the ground.’ The witch fell into a passion, let him fall again into the
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well, and went away.
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The poor soldier fell without injury on the moist ground, and the blue
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light went on burning, but of what use was that to him? He saw very well
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that he could not escape death. He sat for a while very sorrowfully,
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then suddenly he felt in his pocket and found his tobacco pipe, which
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was still half full. ‘This shall be my last pleasure,’ thought he,
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pulled it out, lit it at the blue light and began to smoke. When the
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smoke had circled about the cavern, suddenly a little black dwarf stood
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before him, and said: ‘Lord, what are your commands?’ ‘What my commands
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are?’ replied the soldier, quite astonished. ‘I must do everything you
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bid me,’ said the little man. ‘Good,’ said the soldier; ‘then in the
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first place help me out of this well.’ The little man took him by the
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hand, and led him through an underground passage, but he did not forget
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to take the blue light with him. On the way the dwarf showed him the
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treasures which the witch had collected and hidden there, and the
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soldier took as much gold as he could carry. When he was above, he said
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to the little man: ‘Now go and bind the old witch, and carry her before
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the judge.’ In a short time she came by like the wind, riding on a wild
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tom-cat and screaming frightfully. Nor was it long before the little man
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reappeared. ‘It is all done,’ said he, ‘and the witch is already hanging
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on the gallows. What further commands has my lord?’ inquired the dwarf.
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‘At this moment, none,’ answered the soldier; ‘you can return home, only
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be at hand immediately, if I summon you.’ ‘Nothing more is needed than
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that you should light your pipe at the blue light, and I will appear
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before you at once.’ Thereupon he vanished from his sight.
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The soldier returned to the town from which he came. He went to the
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best inn, ordered himself handsome clothes, and then bade the landlord
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furnish him a room as handsome as possible. When it was ready and the
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soldier had taken possession of it, he summoned the little black manikin
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and said: ‘I have served the king faithfully, but he has dismissed me,
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and left me to hunger, and now I want to take my revenge.’ ‘What am I to
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do?’ asked the little man. ‘Late at night, when the king’s daughter is
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in bed, bring her here in her sleep, she shall do servant’s work for
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me.’ The manikin said: ‘That is an easy thing for me to do, but a very
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dangerous thing for you, for if it is discovered, you will fare ill.’
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When twelve o’clock had struck, the door sprang open, and the manikin
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carried in the princess. ‘Aha! are you there?’ cried the soldier, ‘get
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to your work at once! Fetch the broom and sweep the chamber.’ When
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she had done this, he ordered her to come to his chair, and then he
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stretched out his feet and said: ‘Pull off my boots,’ and then he
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threw them in her face, and made her pick them up again, and clean
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and brighten them. She, however, did everything he bade her, without
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opposition, silently and with half-shut eyes. When the first cock
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crowed, the manikin carried her back to the royal palace, and laid her
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in her bed.
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Next morning when the princess arose she went to her father, and told
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him that she had had a very strange dream. ‘I was carried through the
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streets with the rapidity of lightning,’ said she, ‘and taken into a
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soldier’s room, and I had to wait upon him like a servant, sweep his
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room, clean his boots, and do all kinds of menial work. It was only a
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dream, and yet I am just as tired as if I really had done everything.’
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‘The dream may have been true,’ said the king. ‘I will give you a piece
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of advice. Fill your pocket full of peas, and make a small hole in the
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pocket, and then if you are carried away again, they will fall out and
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leave a track in the streets.’ But unseen by the king, the manikin was
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standing beside him when he said that, and heard all. At night when
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the sleeping princess was again carried through the streets, some peas
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certainly did fall out of her pocket, but they made no track, for the
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crafty manikin had just before scattered peas in every street there
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was. And again the princess was compelled to do servant’s work until
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cock-crow.
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Next morning the king sent his people out to seek the track, but it was
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all in vain, for in every street poor children were sitting, picking up
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peas, and saying: ‘It must have rained peas, last night.’ ‘We must think
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of something else,’ said the king; ‘keep your shoes on when you go to
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bed, and before you come back from the place where you are taken, hide
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one of them there, I will soon contrive to find it.’ The black manikin
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heard this plot, and at night when the soldier again ordered him to
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bring the princess, revealed it to him, and told him that he knew of no
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expedient to counteract this stratagem, and that if the shoe were found
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in the soldier’s house it would go badly with him. ‘Do what I bid you,’
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replied the soldier, and again this third night the princess was obliged
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to work like a servant, but before she went away, she hid her shoe under
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the bed.
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Next morning the king had the entire town searched for his daughter’s
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shoe. It was found at the soldier’s, and the soldier himself, who at the
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entreaty of the dwarf had gone outside the gate, was soon brought back,
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and thrown into prison. In his flight he had forgotten the most valuable
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things he had, the blue light and the gold, and had only one ducat in
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his pocket. And now loaded with chains, he was standing at the window of
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his dungeon, when he chanced to see one of his comrades passing by. The
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soldier tapped at the pane of glass, and when this man came up, said to
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him: ‘Be so kind as to fetch me the small bundle I have left lying in
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the inn, and I will give you a ducat for doing it.’ His comrade ran
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thither and brought him what he wanted. As soon as the soldier was alone
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again, he lighted his pipe and summoned the black manikin. ‘Have no
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fear,’ said the latter to his master. ‘Go wheresoever they take you, and
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let them do what they will, only take the blue light with you.’ Next day
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the soldier was tried, and though he had done nothing wicked, the judge
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condemned him to death. When he was led forth to die, he begged a last
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|
favour of the king. ‘What is it?’ asked the king. ‘That I may smoke one
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more pipe on my way.’ ‘You may smoke three,’ answered the king, ‘but do
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not imagine that I will spare your life.’ Then the soldier pulled out
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his pipe and lighted it at the blue light, and as soon as a few wreaths
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of smoke had ascended, the manikin was there with a small cudgel in his
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|
hand, and said: ‘What does my lord command?’ ‘Strike down to earth that
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false judge there, and his constable, and spare not the king who has
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treated me so ill.’ Then the manikin fell on them like lightning,
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darting this way and that way, and whosoever was so much as touched by
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his cudgel fell to earth, and did not venture to stir again. The king
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|
was terrified; he threw himself on the soldier’s mercy, and merely to
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|
be allowed to live at all, gave him his kingdom for his own, and his
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daughter to wife.
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THE RAVEN
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There was once a queen who had a little daughter, still too young to run
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alone. One day the child was very troublesome, and the mother could not
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quiet it, do what she would. She grew impatient, and seeing the ravens
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|
flying round the castle, she opened the window, and said: ‘I wish you
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|
were a raven and would fly away, then I should have a little peace.’
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|
Scarcely were the words out of her mouth, when the child in her arms was
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|
turned into a raven, and flew away from her through the open window. The
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bird took its flight to a dark wood and remained there for a long time,
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and meanwhile the parents could hear nothing of their child.
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Long after this, a man was making his way through the wood when he heard
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a raven calling, and he followed the sound of the voice. As he drew
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|
near, the raven said, ‘I am by birth a king’s daughter, but am now under
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the spell of some enchantment; you can, however, set me free.’ ‘What
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am I to do?’ he asked. She replied, ‘Go farther into the wood until you
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come to a house, wherein lives an old woman; she will offer you food and
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drink, but you must not take of either; if you do, you will fall into
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|
a deep sleep, and will not be able to help me. In the garden behind the
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house is a large tan-heap, and on that you must stand and watch for me.
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I shall drive there in my carriage at two o’clock in the afternoon for
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three successive days; the first day it will be drawn by four white, the
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second by four chestnut, and the last by four black horses; but if you
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fail to keep awake and I find you sleeping, I shall not be set free.’
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The man promised to do all that she wished, but the raven said, ‘Alas! I
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know even now that you will take something from the woman and be unable
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to save me.’ The man assured her again that he would on no account touch
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a thing to eat or drink.
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When he came to the house and went inside, the old woman met him, and
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said, ‘Poor man! how tired you are! Come in and rest and let me give you
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something to eat and drink.’
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‘No,’ answered the man, ‘I will neither eat not drink.’
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|
But she would not leave him alone, and urged him saying, ‘If you will
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|
not eat anything, at least you might take a draught of wine; one drink
|
|
counts for nothing,’ and at last he allowed himself to be persuaded, and
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|
drank.
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|
As it drew towards the appointed hour, he went outside into the garden
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|
and mounted the tan-heap to await the raven. Suddenly a feeling of
|
|
fatigue came over him, and unable to resist it, he lay down for a little
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|
while, fully determined, however, to keep awake; but in another minute
|
|
his eyes closed of their own accord, and he fell into such a deep sleep,
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|
that all the noises in the world would not have awakened him. At two
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|
o’clock the raven came driving along, drawn by her four white horses;
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|
but even before she reached the spot, she said to herself, sighing, ‘I
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|
know he has fallen asleep.’ When she entered the garden, there she found
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|
him as she had feared, lying on the tan-heap, fast asleep. She got out
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|
of her carriage and went to him; she called him and shook him, but it
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|
was all in vain, he still continued sleeping.
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The next day at noon, the old woman came to him again with food and
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|
drink which he at first refused. At last, overcome by her persistent
|
|
entreaties that he would take something, he lifted the glass and drank
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|
again.
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Towards two o’clock he went into the garden and on to the tan-heap to
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|
watch for the raven. He had not been there long before he began to feel
|
|
so tired that his limbs seemed hardly able to support him, and he could
|
|
not stand upright any longer; so again he lay down and fell fast asleep.
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|
As the raven drove along her four chestnut horses, she said sorrowfully
|
|
to herself, ‘I know he has fallen asleep.’ She went as before to look
|
|
for him, but he slept, and it was impossible to awaken him.
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|
The following day the old woman said to him, ‘What is this? You are not
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|
eating or drinking anything, do you want to kill yourself?’
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He answered, ‘I may not and will not either eat or drink.’
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But she put down the dish of food and the glass of wine in front of him,
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|
and when he smelt the wine, he was unable to resist the temptation, and
|
|
took a deep draught.
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|
When the hour came round again he went as usual on to the tan-heap in
|
|
the garden to await the king’s daughter, but he felt even more overcome
|
|
with weariness than on the two previous days, and throwing himself down,
|
|
he slept like a log. At two o’clock the raven could be seen approaching,
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|
and this time her coachman and everything about her, as well as her
|
|
horses, were black.
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|
She was sadder than ever as she drove along, and said mournfully, ‘I
|
|
know he has fallen asleep, and will not be able to set me free.’ She
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|
found him sleeping heavily, and all her efforts to awaken him were of no
|
|
avail. Then she placed beside him a loaf, and some meat, and a flask
|
|
of wine, of such a kind, that however much he took of them, they would
|
|
never grow less. After that she drew a gold ring, on which her name was
|
|
engraved, off her finger, and put it upon one of his. Finally, she laid
|
|
a letter near him, in which, after giving him particulars of the food
|
|
and drink she had left for him, she finished with the following words:
|
|
‘I see that as long as you remain here you will never be able to set me
|
|
free; if, however, you still wish to do so, come to the golden castle
|
|
of Stromberg; this is well within your power to accomplish.’ She then
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|
returned to her carriage and drove to the golden castle of Stromberg.
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|
When the man awoke and found that he had been sleeping, he was grieved
|
|
at heart, and said, ‘She has no doubt been here and driven away again,
|
|
and it is now too late for me to save her.’ Then his eyes fell on the
|
|
things which were lying beside him; he read the letter, and knew from it
|
|
all that had happened. He rose up without delay, eager to start on his
|
|
way and to reach the castle of Stromberg, but he had no idea in which
|
|
direction he ought to go. He travelled about a long time in search of it
|
|
and came at last to a dark forest, through which he went on walking for
|
|
fourteen days and still could not find a way out. Once more the night
|
|
came on, and worn out he lay down under a bush and fell asleep. Again
|
|
the next day he pursued his way through the forest, and that evening,
|
|
thinking to rest again, he lay down as before, but he heard such a
|
|
howling and wailing that he found it impossible to sleep. He waited till
|
|
it was darker and people had begun to light up their houses, and then
|
|
seeing a little glimmer ahead of him, he went towards it.
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|
He found that the light came from a house which looked smaller than
|
|
it really was, from the contrast of its height with that of an immense
|
|
giant who stood in front of it. He thought to himself, ‘If the giant
|
|
sees me going in, my life will not be worth much.’ However, after a
|
|
while he summoned up courage and went forward. When the giant saw him,
|
|
he called out, ‘It is lucky for that you have come, for I have not had
|
|
anything to eat for a long time. I can have you now for my supper.’ ‘I
|
|
would rather you let that alone,’ said the man, ‘for I do not willingly
|
|
give myself up to be eaten; if you are wanting food I have enough to
|
|
satisfy your hunger.’ ‘If that is so,’ replied the giant, ‘I will leave
|
|
you in peace; I only thought of eating you because I had nothing else.’
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|
|
|
So they went indoors together and sat down, and the man brought out the
|
|
bread, meat, and wine, which although he had eaten and drunk of them,
|
|
were still unconsumed. The giant was pleased with the good cheer, and
|
|
ate and drank to his heart’s content. When he had finished his supper
|
|
the man asked him if he could direct him to the castle of Stromberg.
|
|
The giant said, ‘I will look on my map; on it are marked all the towns,
|
|
villages, and houses.’ So he fetched his map, and looked for the castle,
|
|
but could not find it. ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘I have larger maps
|
|
upstairs in the cupboard, we will look on those,’ but they searched in
|
|
vain, for the castle was not marked even on these. The man now thought
|
|
he should like to continue his journey, but the giant begged him to
|
|
remain for a day or two longer until the return of his brother, who was
|
|
away in search of provisions. When the brother came home, they asked him
|
|
about the castle of Stromberg, and he told them he would look on his own
|
|
maps as soon as he had eaten and appeased his hunger. Accordingly, when
|
|
he had finished his supper, they all went up together to his room and
|
|
looked through his maps, but the castle was not to be found. Then he
|
|
fetched other older maps, and they went on looking for the castle until
|
|
at last they found it, but it was many thousand miles away. ‘How shall I
|
|
be able to get there?’ asked the man. ‘I have two hours to spare,’ said
|
|
the giant, ‘and I will carry you into the neighbourhood of the castle; I
|
|
must then return to look after the child who is in our care.’
|
|
|
|
The giant, thereupon, carried the man to within about a hundred leagues
|
|
of the castle, where he left him, saying, ‘You will be able to walk the
|
|
remainder of the way yourself.’ The man journeyed on day and night
|
|
till he reached the golden castle of Stromberg. He found it situated,
|
|
however, on a glass mountain, and looking up from the foot he saw the
|
|
enchanted maiden drive round her castle and then go inside. He was
|
|
overjoyed to see her, and longed to get to the top of the mountain, but
|
|
the sides were so slippery that every time he attempted to climb he
|
|
fell back again. When he saw that it was impossible to reach her, he was
|
|
greatly grieved, and said to himself, ‘I will remain here and wait for
|
|
her,’ so he built himself a little hut, and there he sat and watched for
|
|
a whole year, and every day he saw the king’s daughter driving round her
|
|
castle, but still was unable to get nearer to her.
|
|
|
|
Looking out from his hut one day he saw three robbers fighting and he
|
|
called out to them, ‘God be with you.’ They stopped when they heard the
|
|
call, but looking round and seeing nobody, they went on again with their
|
|
fighting, which now became more furious. ‘God be with you,’ he cried
|
|
again, and again they paused and looked about, but seeing no one went
|
|
back to their fighting. A third time he called out, ‘God be with you,’
|
|
and then thinking he should like to know the cause of dispute between
|
|
the three men, he went out and asked them why they were fighting so
|
|
angrily with one another. One of them said that he had found a stick,
|
|
and that he had but to strike it against any door through which he
|
|
wished to pass, and it immediately flew open. Another told him that he
|
|
had found a cloak which rendered its wearer invisible; and the third had
|
|
caught a horse which would carry its rider over any obstacle, and even
|
|
up the glass mountain. They had been unable to decide whether they
|
|
would keep together and have the things in common, or whether they would
|
|
separate. On hearing this, the man said, ‘I will give you something in
|
|
exchange for those three things; not money, for that I have not got,
|
|
but something that is of far more value. I must first, however, prove
|
|
whether all you have told me about your three things is true.’ The
|
|
robbers, therefore, made him get on the horse, and handed him the stick
|
|
and the cloak, and when he had put this round him he was no longer
|
|
visible. Then he fell upon them with the stick and beat them one after
|
|
another, crying, ‘There, you idle vagabonds, you have got what you
|
|
deserve; are you satisfied now!’
|
|
|
|
After this he rode up the glass mountain. When he reached the gate of
|
|
the castle, he found it closed, but he gave it a blow with his stick,
|
|
and it flew wide open at once and he passed through. He mounted the
|
|
steps and entered the room where the maiden was sitting, with a golden
|
|
goblet full of wine in front of her. She could not see him for he still
|
|
wore his cloak. He took the ring which she had given him off his finger,
|
|
and threw it into the goblet, so that it rang as it touched the bottom.
|
|
‘That is my own ring,’ she exclaimed, ‘and if that is so the man must
|
|
also be here who is coming to set me free.’
|
|
|
|
She sought for him about the castle, but could find him nowhere.
|
|
Meanwhile he had gone outside again and mounted his horse and thrown off
|
|
the cloak. When therefore she came to the castle gate she saw him, and
|
|
cried aloud for joy. Then he dismounted and took her in his arms; and
|
|
she kissed him, and said, ‘Now you have indeed set me free, and tomorrow
|
|
we will celebrate our marriage.’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE GOLDEN GOOSE
|
|
|
|
There was a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called
|
|
Dummling,[*] and was despised, mocked, and sneered at on every occasion.
|
|
|
|
It happened that the eldest wanted to go into the forest to hew wood,
|
|
and before he went his mother gave him a beautiful sweet cake and a
|
|
bottle of wine in order that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst.
|
|
|
|
When he entered the forest he met a little grey-haired old man who bade
|
|
him good day, and said: ‘Do give me a piece of cake out of your pocket,
|
|
and let me have a draught of your wine; I am so hungry and thirsty.’ But
|
|
the clever son answered: ‘If I give you my cake and wine, I shall have
|
|
none for myself; be off with you,’ and he left the little man standing
|
|
and went on.
|
|
|
|
But when he began to hew down a tree, it was not long before he made a
|
|
false stroke, and the axe cut him in the arm, so that he had to go home
|
|
and have it bound up. And this was the little grey man’s doing.
|
|
|
|
After this the second son went into the forest, and his mother gave him,
|
|
like the eldest, a cake and a bottle of wine. The little old grey man
|
|
met him likewise, and asked him for a piece of cake and a drink of wine.
|
|
But the second son, too, said sensibly enough: ‘What I give you will be
|
|
taken away from myself; be off!’ and he left the little man standing and
|
|
went on. His punishment, however, was not delayed; when he had made a
|
|
few blows at the tree he struck himself in the leg, so that he had to be
|
|
carried home.
|
|
|
|
Then Dummling said: ‘Father, do let me go and cut wood.’ The father
|
|
answered: ‘Your brothers have hurt themselves with it, leave it alone,
|
|
you do not understand anything about it.’ But Dummling begged so long
|
|
that at last he said: ‘Just go then, you will get wiser by hurting
|
|
yourself.’ His mother gave him a cake made with water and baked in the
|
|
cinders, and with it a bottle of sour beer.
|
|
|
|
When he came to the forest the little old grey man met him likewise,
|
|
and greeting him, said: ‘Give me a piece of your cake and a drink out
|
|
of your bottle; I am so hungry and thirsty.’ Dummling answered: ‘I have
|
|
only cinder-cake and sour beer; if that pleases you, we will sit
|
|
down and eat.’ So they sat down, and when Dummling pulled out his
|
|
cinder-cake, it was a fine sweet cake, and the sour beer had become good
|
|
wine. So they ate and drank, and after that the little man said: ‘Since
|
|
you have a good heart, and are willing to divide what you have, I will
|
|
give you good luck. There stands an old tree, cut it down, and you will
|
|
find something at the roots.’ Then the little man took leave of him.
|
|
|
|
Dummling went and cut down the tree, and when it fell there was a goose
|
|
sitting in the roots with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her up, and
|
|
taking her with him, went to an inn where he thought he would stay the
|
|
night. Now the host had three daughters, who saw the goose and were
|
|
curious to know what such a wonderful bird might be, and would have
|
|
liked to have one of its golden feathers.
|
|
|
|
The eldest thought: ‘I shall soon find an opportunity of pulling out a
|
|
feather,’ and as soon as Dummling had gone out she seized the goose by
|
|
the wing, but her finger and hand remained sticking fast to it.
|
|
|
|
The second came soon afterwards, thinking only of how she might get a
|
|
feather for herself, but she had scarcely touched her sister than she
|
|
was held fast.
|
|
|
|
At last the third also came with the like intent, and the others
|
|
screamed out: ‘Keep away; for goodness’ sake keep away!’ But she did
|
|
not understand why she was to keep away. ‘The others are there,’ she
|
|
thought, ‘I may as well be there too,’ and ran to them; but as soon as
|
|
she had touched her sister, she remained sticking fast to her. So they
|
|
had to spend the night with the goose.
|
|
|
|
The next morning Dummling took the goose under his arm and set out,
|
|
without troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to
|
|
it. They were obliged to run after him continually, now left, now right,
|
|
wherever his legs took him.
|
|
|
|
In the middle of the fields the parson met them, and when he saw the
|
|
procession he said: ‘For shame, you good-for-nothing girls, why are you
|
|
running across the fields after this young man? Is that seemly?’ At the
|
|
same time he seized the youngest by the hand in order to pull her away,
|
|
but as soon as he touched her he likewise stuck fast, and was himself
|
|
obliged to run behind.
|
|
|
|
Before long the sexton came by and saw his master, the parson, running
|
|
behind three girls. He was astonished at this and called out: ‘Hi!
|
|
your reverence, whither away so quickly? Do not forget that we have a
|
|
christening today!’ and running after him he took him by the sleeve, but
|
|
was also held fast to it.
|
|
|
|
Whilst the five were trotting thus one behind the other, two labourers
|
|
came with their hoes from the fields; the parson called out to them
|
|
and begged that they would set him and the sexton free. But they had
|
|
scarcely touched the sexton when they were held fast, and now there were
|
|
seven of them running behind Dummling and the goose.
|
|
|
|
Soon afterwards he came to a city, where a king ruled who had a daughter
|
|
who was so serious that no one could make her laugh. So he had put forth
|
|
a decree that whosoever should be able to make her laugh should marry
|
|
her. When Dummling heard this, he went with his goose and all her train
|
|
before the king’s daughter, and as soon as she saw the seven people
|
|
running on and on, one behind the other, she began to laugh quite
|
|
loudly, and as if she would never stop. Thereupon Dummling asked to have
|
|
her for his wife; but the king did not like the son-in-law, and made all
|
|
manner of excuses and said he must first produce a man who could drink
|
|
a cellarful of wine. Dummling thought of the little grey man, who could
|
|
certainly help him; so he went into the forest, and in the same place
|
|
where he had felled the tree, he saw a man sitting, who had a very
|
|
sorrowful face. Dummling asked him what he was taking to heart so
|
|
sorely, and he answered: ‘I have such a great thirst and cannot quench
|
|
it; cold water I cannot stand, a barrel of wine I have just emptied, but
|
|
that to me is like a drop on a hot stone!’
|
|
|
|
‘There, I can help you,’ said Dummling, ‘just come with me and you shall
|
|
be satisfied.’
|
|
|
|
He led him into the king’s cellar, and the man bent over the huge
|
|
barrels, and drank and drank till his loins hurt, and before the day was
|
|
out he had emptied all the barrels. Then Dummling asked once more
|
|
for his bride, but the king was vexed that such an ugly fellow, whom
|
|
everyone called Dummling, should take away his daughter, and he made a
|
|
new condition; he must first find a man who could eat a whole mountain
|
|
of bread. Dummling did not think long, but went straight into the
|
|
forest, where in the same place there sat a man who was tying up his
|
|
body with a strap, and making an awful face, and saying: ‘I have eaten a
|
|
whole ovenful of rolls, but what good is that when one has such a hunger
|
|
as I? My stomach remains empty, and I must tie myself up if I am not to
|
|
die of hunger.’
|
|
|
|
At this Dummling was glad, and said: ‘Get up and come with me; you shall
|
|
eat yourself full.’ He led him to the king’s palace where all the
|
|
flour in the whole Kingdom was collected, and from it he caused a huge
|
|
mountain of bread to be baked. The man from the forest stood before it,
|
|
began to eat, and by the end of one day the whole mountain had vanished.
|
|
Then Dummling for the third time asked for his bride; but the king again
|
|
sought a way out, and ordered a ship which could sail on land and on
|
|
water. ‘As soon as you come sailing back in it,’ said he, ‘you shall
|
|
have my daughter for wife.’
|
|
|
|
Dummling went straight into the forest, and there sat the little grey
|
|
man to whom he had given his cake. When he heard what Dummling wanted,
|
|
he said: ‘Since you have given me to eat and to drink, I will give you
|
|
the ship; and I do all this because you once were kind to me.’ Then he
|
|
gave him the ship which could sail on land and water, and when the king
|
|
saw that, he could no longer prevent him from having his daughter. The
|
|
wedding was celebrated, and after the king’s death, Dummling inherited
|
|
his kingdom and lived for a long time contentedly with his wife.
|
|
|
|
[*] Simpleton
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE WATER OF LIFE
|
|
|
|
Long before you or I were born, there reigned, in a country a great way
|
|
off, a king who had three sons. This king once fell very ill--so ill
|
|
that nobody thought he could live. His sons were very much grieved
|
|
at their father’s sickness; and as they were walking together very
|
|
mournfully in the garden of the palace, a little old man met them and
|
|
asked what was the matter. They told him that their father was very ill,
|
|
and that they were afraid nothing could save him. ‘I know what would,’
|
|
said the little old man; ‘it is the Water of Life. If he could have a
|
|
draught of it he would be well again; but it is very hard to get.’ Then
|
|
the eldest son said, ‘I will soon find it’: and he went to the sick
|
|
king, and begged that he might go in search of the Water of Life, as
|
|
it was the only thing that could save him. ‘No,’ said the king. ‘I had
|
|
rather die than place you in such great danger as you must meet with in
|
|
your journey.’ But he begged so hard that the king let him go; and the
|
|
prince thought to himself, ‘If I bring my father this water, he will
|
|
make me sole heir to his kingdom.’
|
|
|
|
Then he set out: and when he had gone on his way some time he came to a
|
|
deep valley, overhung with rocks and woods; and as he looked around, he
|
|
saw standing above him on one of the rocks a little ugly dwarf, with a
|
|
sugarloaf cap and a scarlet cloak; and the dwarf called to him and said,
|
|
‘Prince, whither so fast?’ ‘What is that to thee, you ugly imp?’ said
|
|
the prince haughtily, and rode on.
|
|
|
|
But the dwarf was enraged at his behaviour, and laid a fairy spell
|
|
of ill-luck upon him; so that as he rode on the mountain pass became
|
|
narrower and narrower, and at last the way was so straitened that he
|
|
could not go to step forward: and when he thought to have turned his
|
|
horse round and go back the way he came, he heard a loud laugh ringing
|
|
round him, and found that the path was closed behind him, so that he was
|
|
shut in all round. He next tried to get off his horse and make his way
|
|
on foot, but again the laugh rang in his ears, and he found himself
|
|
unable to move a step, and thus he was forced to abide spellbound.
|
|
|
|
Meantime the old king was lingering on in daily hope of his son’s
|
|
return, till at last the second son said, ‘Father, I will go in search
|
|
of the Water of Life.’ For he thought to himself, ‘My brother is surely
|
|
dead, and the kingdom will fall to me if I find the water.’ The king was
|
|
at first very unwilling to let him go, but at last yielded to his wish.
|
|
So he set out and followed the same road which his brother had done,
|
|
and met with the same elf, who stopped him at the same spot in the
|
|
mountains, saying, as before, ‘Prince, prince, whither so fast?’ ‘Mind
|
|
your own affairs, busybody!’ said the prince scornfully, and rode on.
|
|
|
|
But the dwarf put the same spell upon him as he put on his elder
|
|
brother, and he, too, was at last obliged to take up his abode in the
|
|
heart of the mountains. Thus it is with proud silly people, who think
|
|
themselves above everyone else, and are too proud to ask or take advice.
|
|
|
|
When the second prince had thus been gone a long time, the youngest son
|
|
said he would go and search for the Water of Life, and trusted he should
|
|
soon be able to make his father well again. So he set out, and the dwarf
|
|
met him too at the same spot in the valley, among the mountains, and
|
|
said, ‘Prince, whither so fast?’ And the prince said, ‘I am going in
|
|
search of the Water of Life, because my father is ill, and like to die:
|
|
can you help me? Pray be kind, and aid me if you can!’ ‘Do you know
|
|
where it is to be found?’ asked the dwarf. ‘No,’ said the prince, ‘I do
|
|
not. Pray tell me if you know.’ ‘Then as you have spoken to me kindly,
|
|
and are wise enough to seek for advice, I will tell you how and where to
|
|
go. The water you seek springs from a well in an enchanted castle; and,
|
|
that you may be able to reach it in safety, I will give you an iron wand
|
|
and two little loaves of bread; strike the iron door of the castle three
|
|
times with the wand, and it will open: two hungry lions will be lying
|
|
down inside gaping for their prey, but if you throw them the bread they
|
|
will let you pass; then hasten on to the well, and take some of the
|
|
Water of Life before the clock strikes twelve; for if you tarry longer
|
|
the door will shut upon you for ever.’
|
|
|
|
Then the prince thanked his little friend with the scarlet cloak for his
|
|
friendly aid, and took the wand and the bread, and went travelling on
|
|
and on, over sea and over land, till he came to his journey’s end, and
|
|
found everything to be as the dwarf had told him. The door flew open at
|
|
the third stroke of the wand, and when the lions were quieted he went on
|
|
through the castle and came at length to a beautiful hall. Around it he
|
|
saw several knights sitting in a trance; then he pulled off their rings
|
|
and put them on his own fingers. In another room he saw on a table a
|
|
sword and a loaf of bread, which he also took. Further on he came to a
|
|
room where a beautiful young lady sat upon a couch; and she welcomed him
|
|
joyfully, and said, if he would set her free from the spell that bound
|
|
her, the kingdom should be his, if he would come back in a year and
|
|
marry her. Then she told him that the well that held the Water of Life
|
|
was in the palace gardens; and bade him make haste, and draw what he
|
|
wanted before the clock struck twelve.
|
|
|
|
He walked on; and as he walked through beautiful gardens he came to a
|
|
delightful shady spot in which stood a couch; and he thought to himself,
|
|
as he felt tired, that he would rest himself for a while, and gaze on
|
|
the lovely scenes around him. So he laid himself down, and sleep
|
|
fell upon him unawares, so that he did not wake up till the clock was
|
|
striking a quarter to twelve. Then he sprang from the couch dreadfully
|
|
frightened, ran to the well, filled a cup that was standing by him full
|
|
of water, and hastened to get away in time. Just as he was going out of
|
|
the iron door it struck twelve, and the door fell so quickly upon him
|
|
that it snapped off a piece of his heel.
|
|
|
|
When he found himself safe, he was overjoyed to think that he had got
|
|
the Water of Life; and as he was going on his way homewards, he passed
|
|
by the little dwarf, who, when he saw the sword and the loaf, said, ‘You
|
|
have made a noble prize; with the sword you can at a blow slay whole
|
|
armies, and the bread will never fail you.’ Then the prince thought
|
|
to himself, ‘I cannot go home to my father without my brothers’; so he
|
|
said, ‘My dear friend, cannot you tell me where my two brothers are, who
|
|
set out in search of the Water of Life before me, and never came back?’
|
|
‘I have shut them up by a charm between two mountains,’ said the dwarf,
|
|
‘because they were proud and ill-behaved, and scorned to ask advice.’
|
|
The prince begged so hard for his brothers, that the dwarf at last set
|
|
them free, though unwillingly, saying, ‘Beware of them, for they have
|
|
bad hearts.’ Their brother, however, was greatly rejoiced to see them,
|
|
and told them all that had happened to him; how he had found the Water
|
|
of Life, and had taken a cup full of it; and how he had set a beautiful
|
|
princess free from a spell that bound her; and how she had engaged to
|
|
wait a whole year, and then to marry him, and to give him the kingdom.
|
|
|
|
Then they all three rode on together, and on their way home came to a
|
|
country that was laid waste by war and a dreadful famine, so that it was
|
|
feared all must die for want. But the prince gave the king of the land
|
|
the bread, and all his kingdom ate of it. And he lent the king the
|
|
wonderful sword, and he slew the enemy’s army with it; and thus the
|
|
kingdom was once more in peace and plenty. In the same manner he
|
|
befriended two other countries through which they passed on their way.
|
|
|
|
When they came to the sea, they got into a ship and during their voyage
|
|
the two eldest said to themselves, ‘Our brother has got the water which
|
|
we could not find, therefore our father will forsake us and give him the
|
|
kingdom, which is our right’; so they were full of envy and revenge, and
|
|
agreed together how they could ruin him. Then they waited till he was
|
|
fast asleep, and poured the Water of Life out of the cup, and took it
|
|
for themselves, giving him bitter sea-water instead.
|
|
|
|
When they came to their journey’s end, the youngest son brought his cup
|
|
to the sick king, that he might drink and be healed. Scarcely, however,
|
|
had he tasted the bitter sea-water when he became worse even than he was
|
|
before; and then both the elder sons came in, and blamed the youngest
|
|
for what they had done; and said that he wanted to poison their father,
|
|
but that they had found the Water of Life, and had brought it with them.
|
|
He no sooner began to drink of what they brought him, than he felt his
|
|
sickness leave him, and was as strong and well as in his younger days.
|
|
Then they went to their brother, and laughed at him, and said, ‘Well,
|
|
brother, you found the Water of Life, did you? You have had the trouble
|
|
and we shall have the reward. Pray, with all your cleverness, why did
|
|
not you manage to keep your eyes open? Next year one of us will take
|
|
away your beautiful princess, if you do not take care. You had better
|
|
say nothing about this to our father, for he does not believe a word you
|
|
say; and if you tell tales, you shall lose your life into the bargain:
|
|
but be quiet, and we will let you off.’
|
|
|
|
The old king was still very angry with his youngest son, and thought
|
|
that he really meant to have taken away his life; so he called his court
|
|
together, and asked what should be done, and all agreed that he ought to
|
|
be put to death. The prince knew nothing of what was going on, till one
|
|
day, when the king’s chief huntsmen went a-hunting with him, and they
|
|
were alone in the wood together, the huntsman looked so sorrowful that
|
|
the prince said, ‘My friend, what is the matter with you?’ ‘I cannot and
|
|
dare not tell you,’ said he. But the prince begged very hard, and said,
|
|
‘Only tell me what it is, and do not think I shall be angry, for I will
|
|
forgive you.’ ‘Alas!’ said the huntsman; ‘the king has ordered me to
|
|
shoot you.’ The prince started at this, and said, ‘Let me live, and I
|
|
will change dresses with you; you shall take my royal coat to show to my
|
|
father, and do you give me your shabby one.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said
|
|
the huntsman; ‘I am sure I shall be glad to save you, for I could not
|
|
have shot you.’ Then he took the prince’s coat, and gave him the shabby
|
|
one, and went away through the wood.
|
|
|
|
Some time after, three grand embassies came to the old king’s court,
|
|
with rich gifts of gold and precious stones for his youngest son; now
|
|
all these were sent from the three kings to whom he had lent his sword
|
|
and loaf of bread, in order to rid them of their enemy and feed their
|
|
people. This touched the old king’s heart, and he thought his son might
|
|
still be guiltless, and said to his court, ‘O that my son were still
|
|
alive! how it grieves me that I had him killed!’ ‘He is still alive,’
|
|
said the huntsman; ‘and I am glad that I had pity on him, but let him
|
|
go in peace, and brought home his royal coat.’ At this the king was
|
|
overwhelmed with joy, and made it known throughout all his kingdom, that
|
|
if his son would come back to his court he would forgive him.
|
|
|
|
Meanwhile the princess was eagerly waiting till her deliverer should
|
|
come back; and had a road made leading up to her palace all of shining
|
|
gold; and told her courtiers that whoever came on horseback, and rode
|
|
straight up to the gate upon it, was her true lover; and that they must
|
|
let him in: but whoever rode on one side of it, they must be sure was
|
|
not the right one; and that they must send him away at once.
|
|
|
|
The time soon came, when the eldest brother thought that he would make
|
|
haste to go to the princess, and say that he was the one who had set
|
|
her free, and that he should have her for his wife, and the kingdom with
|
|
her. As he came before the palace and saw the golden road, he stopped to
|
|
look at it, and he thought to himself, ‘It is a pity to ride upon this
|
|
beautiful road’; so he turned aside and rode on the right-hand side of
|
|
it. But when he came to the gate, the guards, who had seen the road
|
|
he took, said to him, he could not be what he said he was, and must go
|
|
about his business.
|
|
|
|
The second prince set out soon afterwards on the same errand; and when
|
|
he came to the golden road, and his horse had set one foot upon it,
|
|
he stopped to look at it, and thought it very beautiful, and said to
|
|
himself, ‘What a pity it is that anything should tread here!’ Then he
|
|
too turned aside and rode on the left side of it. But when he came to
|
|
the gate the guards said he was not the true prince, and that he too
|
|
must go away about his business; and away he went.
|
|
|
|
Now when the full year was come round, the third brother left the forest
|
|
in which he had lain hid for fear of his father’s anger, and set out in
|
|
search of his betrothed bride. So he journeyed on, thinking of her all
|
|
the way, and rode so quickly that he did not even see what the road was
|
|
made of, but went with his horse straight over it; and as he came to the
|
|
gate it flew open, and the princess welcomed him with joy, and said
|
|
he was her deliverer, and should now be her husband and lord of the
|
|
kingdom. When the first joy at their meeting was over, the princess told
|
|
him she had heard of his father having forgiven him, and of his wish to
|
|
have him home again: so, before his wedding with the princess, he went
|
|
to visit his father, taking her with him. Then he told him everything;
|
|
how his brothers had cheated and robbed him, and yet that he had borne
|
|
all those wrongs for the love of his father. And the old king was very
|
|
angry, and wanted to punish his wicked sons; but they made their escape,
|
|
and got into a ship and sailed away over the wide sea, and where they
|
|
went to nobody knew and nobody cared.
|
|
|
|
And now the old king gathered together his court, and asked all his
|
|
kingdom to come and celebrate the wedding of his son and the princess.
|
|
And young and old, noble and squire, gentle and simple, came at once
|
|
on the summons; and among the rest came the friendly dwarf, with the
|
|
sugarloaf hat, and a new scarlet cloak.
|
|
|
|
And the wedding was held, and the merry bells run.
|
|
And all the good people they danced and they sung,
|
|
And feasted and frolick’d I can’t tell how long.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE TWELVE HUNTSMEN
|
|
|
|
There was once a king’s son who had a bride whom he loved very much. And
|
|
when he was sitting beside her and very happy, news came that his father
|
|
lay sick unto death, and desired to see him once again before his end.
|
|
Then he said to his beloved: ‘I must now go and leave you, I give you
|
|
a ring as a remembrance of me. When I am king, I will return and fetch
|
|
you.’ So he rode away, and when he reached his father, the latter was
|
|
dangerously ill, and near his death. He said to him: ‘Dear son, I wished
|
|
to see you once again before my end, promise me to marry as I wish,’ and
|
|
he named a certain king’s daughter who was to be his wife. The son was
|
|
in such trouble that he did not think what he was doing, and said: ‘Yes,
|
|
dear father, your will shall be done,’ and thereupon the king shut his
|
|
eyes, and died.
|
|
|
|
When therefore the son had been proclaimed king, and the time of
|
|
mourning was over, he was forced to keep the promise which he had given
|
|
his father, and caused the king’s daughter to be asked in marriage, and
|
|
she was promised to him. His first betrothed heard of this, and fretted
|
|
so much about his faithfulness that she nearly died. Then her father
|
|
said to her: ‘Dearest child, why are you so sad? You shall have
|
|
whatsoever you will.’ She thought for a moment and said: ‘Dear father,
|
|
I wish for eleven girls exactly like myself in face, figure, and size.’
|
|
The father said: ‘If it be possible, your desire shall be fulfilled,’
|
|
and he caused a search to be made in his whole kingdom, until eleven
|
|
young maidens were found who exactly resembled his daughter in face,
|
|
figure, and size.
|
|
|
|
When they came to the king’s daughter, she had twelve suits of
|
|
huntsmen’s clothes made, all alike, and the eleven maidens had to put
|
|
on the huntsmen’s clothes, and she herself put on the twelfth suit.
|
|
Thereupon she took her leave of her father, and rode away with them,
|
|
and rode to the court of her former betrothed, whom she loved so dearly.
|
|
Then she asked if he required any huntsmen, and if he would take all of
|
|
them into his service. The king looked at her and did not know her, but
|
|
as they were such handsome fellows, he said: ‘Yes,’ and that he would
|
|
willingly take them, and now they were the king’s twelve huntsmen.
|
|
|
|
The king, however, had a lion which was a wondrous animal, for he knew
|
|
all concealed and secret things. It came to pass that one evening he
|
|
said to the king: ‘You think you have twelve huntsmen?’ ‘Yes,’ said the
|
|
king, ‘they are twelve huntsmen.’ The lion continued: ‘You are mistaken,
|
|
they are twelve girls.’ The king said: ‘That cannot be true! How
|
|
will you prove that to me?’ ‘Oh, just let some peas be strewn in the
|
|
ante-chamber,’ answered the lion, ‘and then you will soon see. Men have
|
|
a firm step, and when they walk over peas none of them stir, but girls
|
|
trip and skip, and drag their feet, and the peas roll about.’ The king
|
|
was well pleased with the counsel, and caused the peas to be strewn.
|
|
|
|
There was, however, a servant of the king’s who favoured the huntsmen,
|
|
and when he heard that they were going to be put to this test he went to
|
|
them and repeated everything, and said: ‘The lion wants to make the king
|
|
believe that you are girls.’ Then the king’s daughter thanked him, and
|
|
said to her maidens: ‘Show some strength, and step firmly on the peas.’
|
|
So next morning when the king had the twelve huntsmen called before
|
|
him, and they came into the ante-chamber where the peas were lying, they
|
|
stepped so firmly on them, and had such a strong, sure walk, that not
|
|
one of the peas either rolled or stirred. Then they went away again,
|
|
and the king said to the lion: ‘You have lied to me, they walk just like
|
|
men.’ The lion said: ‘They have been informed that they were going to
|
|
be put to the test, and have assumed some strength. Just let twelve
|
|
spinning-wheels be brought into the ante-chamber, and they will go to
|
|
them and be pleased with them, and that is what no man would do.’
|
|
The king liked the advice, and had the spinning-wheels placed in the
|
|
ante-chamber.
|
|
|
|
But the servant, who was well disposed to the huntsmen, went to them,
|
|
and disclosed the project. So when they were alone the king’s daughter
|
|
said to her eleven girls: ‘Show some constraint, and do not look round
|
|
at the spinning-wheels.’ And next morning when the king had his twelve
|
|
huntsmen summoned, they went through the ante-chamber, and never once
|
|
looked at the spinning-wheels. Then the king again said to the lion:
|
|
‘You have deceived me, they are men, for they have not looked at the
|
|
spinning-wheels.’ The lion replied: ‘They have restrained themselves.’
|
|
The king, however, would no longer believe the lion.
|
|
|
|
The twelve huntsmen always followed the king to the chase, and his
|
|
liking for them continually increased. Now it came to pass that
|
|
once when they were out hunting, news came that the king’s bride was
|
|
approaching. When the true bride heard that, it hurt her so much that
|
|
her heart was almost broken, and she fell fainting to the ground. The
|
|
king thought something had happened to his dear huntsman, ran up to him,
|
|
wanted to help him, and drew his glove off. Then he saw the ring which
|
|
he had given to his first bride, and when he looked in her face he
|
|
recognized her. Then his heart was so touched that he kissed her, and
|
|
when she opened her eyes he said: ‘You are mine, and I am yours, and
|
|
no one in the world can alter that.’ He sent a messenger to the other
|
|
bride, and entreated her to return to her own kingdom, for he had a wife
|
|
already, and someone who had just found an old key did not require a new
|
|
one. Thereupon the wedding was celebrated, and the lion was again taken
|
|
into favour, because, after all, he had told the truth.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN
|
|
|
|
There was once a merchant who had only one child, a son, that was very
|
|
young, and barely able to run alone. He had two richly laden ships then
|
|
making a voyage upon the seas, in which he had embarked all his wealth,
|
|
in the hope of making great gains, when the news came that both were
|
|
lost. Thus from being a rich man he became all at once so very poor that
|
|
nothing was left to him but one small plot of land; and there he often
|
|
went in an evening to take his walk, and ease his mind of a little of
|
|
his trouble.
|
|
|
|
One day, as he was roaming along in a brown study, thinking with no
|
|
great comfort on what he had been and what he now was, and was like
|
|
to be, all on a sudden there stood before him a little, rough-looking,
|
|
black dwarf. ‘Prithee, friend, why so sorrowful?’ said he to the
|
|
merchant; ‘what is it you take so deeply to heart?’ ‘If you would do me
|
|
any good I would willingly tell you,’ said the merchant. ‘Who knows but
|
|
I may?’ said the little man: ‘tell me what ails you, and perhaps you
|
|
will find I may be of some use.’ Then the merchant told him how all his
|
|
wealth was gone to the bottom of the sea, and how he had nothing left
|
|
but that little plot of land. ‘Oh, trouble not yourself about that,’
|
|
said the dwarf; ‘only undertake to bring me here, twelve years hence,
|
|
whatever meets you first on your going home, and I will give you as much
|
|
as you please.’ The merchant thought this was no great thing to ask;
|
|
that it would most likely be his dog or his cat, or something of that
|
|
sort, but forgot his little boy Heinel; so he agreed to the bargain, and
|
|
signed and sealed the bond to do what was asked of him.
|
|
|
|
But as he drew near home, his little boy was so glad to see him that he
|
|
crept behind him, and laid fast hold of his legs, and looked up in
|
|
his face and laughed. Then the father started, trembling with fear and
|
|
horror, and saw what it was that he had bound himself to do; but as no
|
|
gold was come, he made himself easy by thinking that it was only a joke
|
|
that the dwarf was playing him, and that, at any rate, when the money
|
|
came, he should see the bearer, and would not take it in.
|
|
|
|
About a month afterwards he went upstairs into a lumber-room to look
|
|
for some old iron, that he might sell it and raise a little money; and
|
|
there, instead of his iron, he saw a large pile of gold lying on the
|
|
floor. At the sight of this he was overjoyed, and forgetting all about
|
|
his son, went into trade again, and became a richer merchant than
|
|
before.
|
|
|
|
Meantime little Heinel grew up, and as the end of the twelve years drew
|
|
near the merchant began to call to mind his bond, and became very sad
|
|
and thoughtful; so that care and sorrow were written upon his face. The
|
|
boy one day asked what was the matter, but his father would not tell for
|
|
some time; at last, however, he said that he had, without knowing it,
|
|
sold him for gold to a little, ugly-looking, black dwarf, and that the
|
|
twelve years were coming round when he must keep his word. Then Heinel
|
|
said, ‘Father, give yourself very little trouble about that; I shall be
|
|
too much for the little man.’
|
|
|
|
When the time came, the father and son went out together to the place
|
|
agreed upon: and the son drew a circle on the ground, and set himself
|
|
and his father in the middle of it. The little black dwarf soon came,
|
|
and walked round and round about the circle, but could not find any way
|
|
to get into it, and he either could not, or dared not, jump over it. At
|
|
last the boy said to him. ‘Have you anything to say to us, my friend, or
|
|
what do you want?’ Now Heinel had found a friend in a good fairy, that
|
|
was fond of him, and had told him what to do; for this fairy knew what
|
|
good luck was in store for him. ‘Have you brought me what you said you
|
|
would?’ said the dwarf to the merchant. The old man held his tongue, but
|
|
Heinel said again, ‘What do you want here?’ The dwarf said, ‘I come to
|
|
talk with your father, not with you.’ ‘You have cheated and taken in my
|
|
father,’ said the son; ‘pray give him up his bond at once.’ ‘Fair and
|
|
softly,’ said the little old man; ‘right is right; I have paid my money,
|
|
and your father has had it, and spent it; so be so good as to let me
|
|
have what I paid it for.’ ‘You must have my consent to that first,’ said
|
|
Heinel, ‘so please to step in here, and let us talk it over.’ The old
|
|
man grinned, and showed his teeth, as if he should have been very glad
|
|
to get into the circle if he could. Then at last, after a long talk,
|
|
they came to terms. Heinel agreed that his father must give him up, and
|
|
that so far the dwarf should have his way: but, on the other hand, the
|
|
fairy had told Heinel what fortune was in store for him, if he followed
|
|
his own course; and he did not choose to be given up to his hump-backed
|
|
friend, who seemed so anxious for his company.
|
|
|
|
So, to make a sort of drawn battle of the matter, it was settled that
|
|
Heinel should be put into an open boat, that lay on the sea-shore hard
|
|
by; that the father should push him off with his own hand, and that he
|
|
should thus be set adrift, and left to the bad or good luck of wind and
|
|
weather. Then he took leave of his father, and set himself in the boat,
|
|
but before it got far off a wave struck it, and it fell with one side
|
|
low in the water, so the merchant thought that poor Heinel was lost, and
|
|
went home very sorrowful, while the dwarf went his way, thinking that at
|
|
any rate he had had his revenge.
|
|
|
|
The boat, however, did not sink, for the good fairy took care of her
|
|
friend, and soon raised the boat up again, and it went safely on. The
|
|
young man sat safe within, till at length it ran ashore upon an unknown
|
|
land. As he jumped upon the shore he saw before him a beautiful castle
|
|
but empty and dreary within, for it was enchanted. ‘Here,’ said he to
|
|
himself, ‘must I find the prize the good fairy told me of.’ So he once
|
|
more searched the whole palace through, till at last he found a white
|
|
snake, lying coiled up on a cushion in one of the chambers.
|
|
|
|
Now the white snake was an enchanted princess; and she was very glad
|
|
to see him, and said, ‘Are you at last come to set me free? Twelve
|
|
long years have I waited here for the fairy to bring you hither as she
|
|
promised, for you alone can save me. This night twelve men will come:
|
|
their faces will be black, and they will be dressed in chain armour.
|
|
They will ask what you do here, but give no answer; and let them do
|
|
what they will--beat, whip, pinch, prick, or torment you--bear all; only
|
|
speak not a word, and at twelve o’clock they must go away. The second
|
|
night twelve others will come: and the third night twenty-four, who
|
|
will even cut off your head; but at the twelfth hour of that night their
|
|
power is gone, and I shall be free, and will come and bring you the
|
|
Water of Life, and will wash you with it, and bring you back to life
|
|
and health.’ And all came to pass as she had said; Heinel bore all, and
|
|
spoke not a word; and the third night the princess came, and fell on his
|
|
neck and kissed him. Joy and gladness burst forth throughout the castle,
|
|
the wedding was celebrated, and he was crowned king of the Golden
|
|
Mountain.
|
|
|
|
They lived together very happily, and the queen had a son. And thus
|
|
eight years had passed over their heads, when the king thought of his
|
|
father; and he began to long to see him once again. But the queen was
|
|
against his going, and said, ‘I know well that misfortunes will come
|
|
upon us if you go.’ However, he gave her no rest till she agreed. At his
|
|
going away she gave him a wishing-ring, and said, ‘Take this ring, and
|
|
put it on your finger; whatever you wish it will bring you; only promise
|
|
never to make use of it to bring me hence to your father’s house.’ Then
|
|
he said he would do what she asked, and put the ring on his finger, and
|
|
wished himself near the town where his father lived.
|
|
|
|
Heinel found himself at the gates in a moment; but the guards would
|
|
not let him go in, because he was so strangely clad. So he went up to a
|
|
neighbouring hill, where a shepherd dwelt, and borrowed his old frock,
|
|
and thus passed unknown into the town. When he came to his father’s
|
|
house, he said he was his son; but the merchant would not believe him,
|
|
and said he had had but one son, his poor Heinel, who he knew was long
|
|
since dead: and as he was only dressed like a poor shepherd, he would
|
|
not even give him anything to eat. The king, however, still vowed that
|
|
he was his son, and said, ‘Is there no mark by which you would know me
|
|
if I am really your son?’ ‘Yes,’ said his mother, ‘our Heinel had a mark
|
|
like a raspberry on his right arm.’ Then he showed them the mark, and
|
|
they knew that what he had said was true.
|
|
|
|
He next told them how he was king of the Golden Mountain, and was
|
|
married to a princess, and had a son seven years old. But the merchant
|
|
said, ‘that can never be true; he must be a fine king truly who travels
|
|
about in a shepherd’s frock!’ At this the son was vexed; and forgetting
|
|
his word, turned his ring, and wished for his queen and son. In an
|
|
instant they stood before him; but the queen wept, and said he had
|
|
broken his word, and bad luck would follow. He did all he could to
|
|
soothe her, and she at last seemed to be appeased; but she was not so in
|
|
truth, and was only thinking how she should punish him.
|
|
|
|
One day he took her to walk with him out of the town, and showed her
|
|
the spot where the boat was set adrift upon the wide waters. Then he sat
|
|
himself down, and said, ‘I am very much tired; sit by me, I will rest my
|
|
head in your lap, and sleep a while.’ As soon as he had fallen asleep,
|
|
however, she drew the ring from his finger, and crept softly away, and
|
|
wished herself and her son at home in their kingdom. And when he awoke
|
|
he found himself alone, and saw that the ring was gone from his finger.
|
|
‘I can never go back to my father’s house,’ said he; ‘they would say I
|
|
am a sorcerer: I will journey forth into the world, till I come again to
|
|
my kingdom.’
|
|
|
|
So saying he set out and travelled till he came to a hill, where three
|
|
giants were sharing their father’s goods; and as they saw him pass they
|
|
cried out and said, ‘Little men have sharp wits; he shall part the goods
|
|
between us.’ Now there was a sword that cut off an enemy’s head whenever
|
|
the wearer gave the words, ‘Heads off!’; a cloak that made the owner
|
|
invisible, or gave him any form he pleased; and a pair of boots that
|
|
carried the wearer wherever he wished. Heinel said they must first let
|
|
him try these wonderful things, then he might know how to set a value
|
|
upon them. Then they gave him the cloak, and he wished himself a fly,
|
|
and in a moment he was a fly. ‘The cloak is very well,’ said he: ‘now
|
|
give me the sword.’ ‘No,’ said they; ‘not unless you undertake not to
|
|
say, “Heads off!” for if you do we are all dead men.’ So they gave it
|
|
him, charging him to try it on a tree. He next asked for the boots also;
|
|
and the moment he had all three in his power, he wished himself at
|
|
the Golden Mountain; and there he was at once. So the giants were left
|
|
behind with no goods to share or quarrel about.
|
|
|
|
As Heinel came near his castle he heard the sound of merry music; and
|
|
the people around told him that his queen was about to marry another
|
|
husband. Then he threw his cloak around him, and passed through the
|
|
castle hall, and placed himself by the side of the queen, where no one
|
|
saw him. But when anything to eat was put upon her plate, he took it
|
|
away and ate it himself; and when a glass of wine was handed to her, he
|
|
took it and drank it; and thus, though they kept on giving her meat and
|
|
drink, her plate and cup were always empty.
|
|
|
|
Upon this, fear and remorse came over her, and she went into her chamber
|
|
alone, and sat there weeping; and he followed her there. ‘Alas!’ said
|
|
she to herself, ‘was I not once set free? Why then does this enchantment
|
|
still seem to bind me?’
|
|
|
|
‘False and fickle one!’ said he. ‘One indeed came who set thee free, and
|
|
he is now near thee again; but how have you used him? Ought he to
|
|
have had such treatment from thee?’ Then he went out and sent away the
|
|
company, and said the wedding was at an end, for that he was come back
|
|
to the kingdom. But the princes, peers, and great men mocked at him.
|
|
However, he would enter into no parley with them, but only asked them
|
|
if they would go in peace or not. Then they turned upon him and tried
|
|
to seize him; but he drew his sword. ‘Heads Off!’ cried he; and with the
|
|
word the traitors’ heads fell before him, and Heinel was once more king
|
|
of the Golden Mountain.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
DOCTOR KNOWALL
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time a poor peasant called Crabb, who drove with
|
|
two oxen a load of wood to the town, and sold it to a doctor for two
|
|
talers. When the money was being counted out to him, it so happened that
|
|
the doctor was sitting at table, and when the peasant saw how well he
|
|
ate and drank, his heart desired what he saw, and would willingly
|
|
have been a doctor too. So he remained standing a while, and at length
|
|
inquired if he too could not be a doctor. ‘Oh, yes,’ said the doctor,
|
|
‘that is soon managed.’ ‘What must I do?’ asked the peasant. ‘In the
|
|
first place buy yourself an A B C book of the kind which has a cock on
|
|
the frontispiece; in the second, turn your cart and your two oxen into
|
|
money, and get yourself some clothes, and whatsoever else pertains to
|
|
medicine; thirdly, have a sign painted for yourself with the words: “I
|
|
am Doctor Knowall,” and have that nailed up above your house-door.’ The
|
|
peasant did everything that he had been told to do. When he had doctored
|
|
people awhile, but not long, a rich and great lord had some money
|
|
stolen. Then he was told about Doctor Knowall who lived in such and such
|
|
a village, and must know what had become of the money. So the lord had
|
|
the horses harnessed to his carriage, drove out to the village, and
|
|
asked Crabb if he were Doctor Knowall. Yes, he was, he said. Then he was
|
|
to go with him and bring back the stolen money. ‘Oh, yes, but Grete, my
|
|
wife, must go too.’ The lord was willing, and let both of them have a
|
|
seat in the carriage, and they all drove away together. When they came
|
|
to the nobleman’s castle, the table was spread, and Crabb was told to
|
|
sit down and eat. ‘Yes, but my wife, Grete, too,’ said he, and he seated
|
|
himself with her at the table. And when the first servant came with a
|
|
dish of delicate fare, the peasant nudged his wife, and said: ‘Grete,
|
|
that was the first,’ meaning that was the servant who brought the first
|
|
dish. The servant, however, thought he intended by that to say: ‘That is
|
|
the first thief,’ and as he actually was so, he was terrified, and said
|
|
to his comrade outside: ‘The doctor knows all: we shall fare ill, he
|
|
said I was the first.’ The second did not want to go in at all, but was
|
|
forced. So when he went in with his dish, the peasant nudged his wife,
|
|
and said: ‘Grete, that is the second.’ This servant was equally alarmed,
|
|
and he got out as fast as he could. The third fared no better, for the
|
|
peasant again said: ‘Grete, that is the third.’ The fourth had to carry
|
|
in a dish that was covered, and the lord told the doctor that he was to
|
|
show his skill, and guess what was beneath the cover. Actually, there
|
|
were crabs. The doctor looked at the dish, had no idea what to say, and
|
|
cried: ‘Ah, poor Crabb.’ When the lord heard that, he cried: ‘There! he
|
|
knows it; he must also know who has the money!’
|
|
|
|
On this the servants looked terribly uneasy, and made a sign to the
|
|
doctor that they wished him to step outside for a moment. When therefore
|
|
he went out, all four of them confessed to him that they had stolen
|
|
the money, and said that they would willingly restore it and give him a
|
|
heavy sum into the bargain, if he would not denounce them, for if he
|
|
did they would be hanged. They led him to the spot where the money was
|
|
concealed. With this the doctor was satisfied, and returned to the hall,
|
|
sat down to the table, and said: ‘My lord, now will I search in my book
|
|
where the gold is hidden.’ The fifth servant, however, crept into the
|
|
stove to hear if the doctor knew still more. But the doctor sat still
|
|
and opened his A B C book, turned the pages backwards and forwards, and
|
|
looked for the cock. As he could not find it immediately he said: ‘I
|
|
know you are there, so you had better come out!’ Then the fellow in the
|
|
stove thought that the doctor meant him, and full of terror, sprang out,
|
|
crying: ‘That man knows everything!’ Then Doctor Knowall showed the lord
|
|
where the money was, but did not say who had stolen it, and received
|
|
from both sides much money in reward, and became a renowned man.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE SEVEN RAVENS
|
|
|
|
There was once a man who had seven sons, and last of all one daughter.
|
|
Although the little girl was very pretty, she was so weak and small that
|
|
they thought she could not live; but they said she should at once be
|
|
christened.
|
|
|
|
So the father sent one of his sons in haste to the spring to get some
|
|
water, but the other six ran with him. Each wanted to be first at
|
|
drawing the water, and so they were in such a hurry that all let their
|
|
pitchers fall into the well, and they stood very foolishly looking at
|
|
one another, and did not know what to do, for none dared go home. In the
|
|
meantime the father was uneasy, and could not tell what made the
|
|
young men stay so long. ‘Surely,’ said he, ‘the whole seven must have
|
|
forgotten themselves over some game of play’; and when he had waited
|
|
still longer and they yet did not come, he flew into a rage and wished
|
|
them all turned into ravens. Scarcely had he spoken these words when he
|
|
heard a croaking over his head, and looked up and saw seven ravens as
|
|
black as coal flying round and round. Sorry as he was to see his wish
|
|
so fulfilled, he did not know how what was done could be undone, and
|
|
comforted himself as well as he could for the loss of his seven sons
|
|
with his dear little daughter, who soon became stronger and every day
|
|
more beautiful.
|
|
|
|
For a long time she did not know that she had ever had any brothers; for
|
|
her father and mother took care not to speak of them before her: but one
|
|
day by chance she heard the people about her speak of them. ‘Yes,’ said
|
|
they, ‘she is beautiful indeed, but still ‘tis a pity that her brothers
|
|
should have been lost for her sake.’ Then she was much grieved, and went
|
|
to her father and mother, and asked if she had any brothers, and what
|
|
had become of them. So they dared no longer hide the truth from her, but
|
|
said it was the will of Heaven, and that her birth was only the innocent
|
|
cause of it; but the little girl mourned sadly about it every day, and
|
|
thought herself bound to do all she could to bring her brothers back;
|
|
and she had neither rest nor ease, till at length one day she stole
|
|
away, and set out into the wide world to find her brothers, wherever
|
|
they might be, and free them, whatever it might cost her.
|
|
|
|
She took nothing with her but a little ring which her father and mother
|
|
had given her, a loaf of bread in case she should be hungry, a little
|
|
pitcher of water in case she should be thirsty, and a little stool
|
|
to rest upon when she should be weary. Thus she went on and on, and
|
|
journeyed till she came to the world’s end; then she came to the sun,
|
|
but the sun looked much too hot and fiery; so she ran away quickly to
|
|
the moon, but the moon was cold and chilly, and said, ‘I smell flesh
|
|
and blood this way!’ so she took herself away in a hurry and came to the
|
|
stars, and the stars were friendly and kind to her, and each star sat
|
|
upon his own little stool; but the morning star rose up and gave her a
|
|
little piece of wood, and said, ‘If you have not this little piece of
|
|
wood, you cannot unlock the castle that stands on the glass-mountain,
|
|
and there your brothers live.’ The little girl took the piece of wood,
|
|
rolled it up in a little cloth, and went on again until she came to the
|
|
glass-mountain, and found the door shut. Then she felt for the little
|
|
piece of wood; but when she unwrapped the cloth it was not there, and
|
|
she saw she had lost the gift of the good stars. What was to be done?
|
|
She wanted to save her brothers, and had no key of the castle of the
|
|
glass-mountain; so this faithful little sister took a knife out of her
|
|
pocket and cut off her little finger, that was just the size of the
|
|
piece of wood she had lost, and put it in the door and opened it.
|
|
|
|
As she went in, a little dwarf came up to her, and said, ‘What are you
|
|
seeking for?’ ‘I seek for my brothers, the seven ravens,’ answered she.
|
|
Then the dwarf said, ‘My masters are not at home; but if you will wait
|
|
till they come, pray step in.’ Now the little dwarf was getting their
|
|
dinner ready, and he brought their food upon seven little plates, and
|
|
their drink in seven little glasses, and set them upon the table, and
|
|
out of each little plate their sister ate a small piece, and out of each
|
|
little glass she drank a small drop; but she let the ring that she had
|
|
brought with her fall into the last glass.
|
|
|
|
On a sudden she heard a fluttering and croaking in the air, and the
|
|
dwarf said, ‘Here come my masters.’ When they came in, they wanted to
|
|
eat and drink, and looked for their little plates and glasses. Then said
|
|
one after the other,
|
|
|
|
‘Who has eaten from my little plate? And who has been drinking out of my
|
|
little glass?’
|
|
|
|
‘Caw! Caw! well I ween
|
|
Mortal lips have this way been.’
|
|
|
|
When the seventh came to the bottom of his glass, and found there the
|
|
ring, he looked at it, and knew that it was his father’s and mother’s,
|
|
and said, ‘O that our little sister would but come! then we should be
|
|
free.’ When the little girl heard this (for she stood behind the door
|
|
all the time and listened), she ran forward, and in an instant all
|
|
the ravens took their right form again; and all hugged and kissed each
|
|
other, and went merrily home.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE WEDDING OF MRS FOX
|
|
|
|
|
|
FIRST STORY
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time an old fox with nine tails, who believed that
|
|
his wife was not faithful to him, and wished to put her to the test. He
|
|
stretched himself out under the bench, did not move a limb, and behaved
|
|
as if he were stone dead. Mrs Fox went up to her room, shut herself in,
|
|
and her maid, Miss Cat, sat by the fire, and did the cooking. When it
|
|
became known that the old fox was dead, suitors presented themselves.
|
|
The maid heard someone standing at the house-door, knocking. She went
|
|
and opened it, and it was a young fox, who said:
|
|
|
|
‘What may you be about, Miss Cat?
|
|
Do you sleep or do you wake?’
|
|
|
|
She answered:
|
|
|
|
‘I am not sleeping, I am waking,
|
|
Would you know what I am making?
|
|
I am boiling warm beer with butter,
|
|
Will you be my guest for supper?’
|
|
|
|
‘No, thank you, miss,’ said the fox, ‘what is Mrs Fox doing?’ The maid
|
|
replied:
|
|
|
|
‘She is sitting in her room,
|
|
Moaning in her gloom,
|
|
Weeping her little eyes quite red,
|
|
Because old Mr Fox is dead.’
|
|
|
|
‘Do just tell her, miss, that a young fox is here, who would like to woo
|
|
her.’ ‘Certainly, young sir.’
|
|
|
|
The cat goes up the stairs trip, trap,
|
|
The door she knocks at tap, tap, tap,
|
|
‘Mistress Fox, are you inside?’
|
|
‘Oh, yes, my little cat,’ she cried.
|
|
‘A wooer he stands at the door out there.’
|
|
‘What does he look like, my dear?’
|
|
|
|
‘Has he nine as beautiful tails as the late Mr Fox?’ ‘Oh, no,’ answered
|
|
the cat, ‘he has only one.’ ‘Then I will not have him.’
|
|
|
|
Miss Cat went downstairs and sent the wooer away. Soon afterwards there
|
|
was another knock, and another fox was at the door who wished to woo Mrs
|
|
Fox. He had two tails, but he did not fare better than the first. After
|
|
this still more came, each with one tail more than the other, but they
|
|
were all turned away, until at last one came who had nine tails, like
|
|
old Mr Fox. When the widow heard that, she said joyfully to the cat:
|
|
|
|
‘Now open the gates and doors all wide,
|
|
And carry old Mr Fox outside.’
|
|
|
|
But just as the wedding was going to be solemnized, old Mr Fox stirred
|
|
under the bench, and cudgelled all the rabble, and drove them and Mrs
|
|
Fox out of the house.
|
|
|
|
|
|
SECOND STORY
|
|
|
|
When old Mr Fox was dead, the wolf came as a suitor, and knocked at the
|
|
door, and the cat who was servant to Mrs Fox, opened it for him. The
|
|
wolf greeted her, and said:
|
|
|
|
‘Good day, Mrs Cat of Kehrewit,
|
|
How comes it that alone you sit?
|
|
What are you making good?’
|
|
|
|
The cat replied:
|
|
|
|
‘In milk I’m breaking bread so sweet,
|
|
Will you be my guest, and eat?’
|
|
|
|
‘No, thank you, Mrs Cat,’ answered the wolf. ‘Is Mrs Fox not at home?’
|
|
|
|
The cat said:
|
|
|
|
‘She sits upstairs in her room,
|
|
Bewailing her sorrowful doom,
|
|
Bewailing her trouble so sore,
|
|
For old Mr Fox is no more.’
|
|
|
|
The wolf answered:
|
|
|
|
‘If she’s in want of a husband now,
|
|
Then will it please her to step below?’
|
|
The cat runs quickly up the stair,
|
|
And lets her tail fly here and there,
|
|
Until she comes to the parlour door.
|
|
With her five gold rings at the door she knocks:
|
|
‘Are you within, good Mistress Fox?
|
|
If you’re in want of a husband now,
|
|
Then will it please you to step below?
|
|
|
|
Mrs Fox asked: ‘Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has he a pointed
|
|
mouth?’ ‘No,’ answered the cat. ‘Then he won’t do for me.’
|
|
|
|
When the wolf was gone, came a dog, a stag, a hare, a bear, a lion, and
|
|
all the beasts of the forest, one after the other. But one of the good
|
|
qualities which old Mr Fox had possessed, was always lacking, and the
|
|
cat had continually to send the suitors away. At length came a young
|
|
fox. Then Mrs Fox said: ‘Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has a
|
|
little pointed mouth?’ ‘Yes,’ said the cat, ‘he has.’ ‘Then let him come
|
|
upstairs,’ said Mrs Fox, and ordered the servant to prepare the wedding
|
|
feast.
|
|
|
|
‘Sweep me the room as clean as you can,
|
|
Up with the window, fling out my old man!
|
|
For many a fine fat mouse he brought,
|
|
Yet of his wife he never thought,
|
|
But ate up every one he caught.’
|
|
|
|
Then the wedding was solemnized with young Mr Fox, and there was much
|
|
rejoicing and dancing; and if they have not left off, they are dancing
|
|
still.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE SALAD
|
|
|
|
As a merry young huntsman was once going briskly along through a wood,
|
|
there came up a little old woman, and said to him, ‘Good day, good day;
|
|
you seem merry enough, but I am hungry and thirsty; do pray give me
|
|
something to eat.’ The huntsman took pity on her, and put his hand in
|
|
his pocket and gave her what he had. Then he wanted to go his way; but
|
|
she took hold of him, and said, ‘Listen, my friend, to what I am going
|
|
to tell you; I will reward you for your kindness; go your way, and after
|
|
a little time you will come to a tree where you will see nine birds
|
|
sitting on a cloak. Shoot into the midst of them, and one will fall down
|
|
dead: the cloak will fall too; take it, it is a wishing-cloak, and when
|
|
you wear it you will find yourself at any place where you may wish to
|
|
be. Cut open the dead bird, take out its heart and keep it, and you will
|
|
find a piece of gold under your pillow every morning when you rise. It
|
|
is the bird’s heart that will bring you this good luck.’
|
|
|
|
The huntsman thanked her, and thought to himself, ‘If all this does
|
|
happen, it will be a fine thing for me.’ When he had gone a hundred
|
|
steps or so, he heard a screaming and chirping in the branches over him,
|
|
and looked up and saw a flock of birds pulling a cloak with their bills
|
|
and feet; screaming, fighting, and tugging at each other as if
|
|
each wished to have it himself. ‘Well,’ said the huntsman, ‘this is
|
|
wonderful; this happens just as the old woman said’; then he shot into
|
|
the midst of them so that their feathers flew all about. Off went the
|
|
flock chattering away; but one fell down dead, and the cloak with it.
|
|
Then the huntsman did as the old woman told him, cut open the bird, took
|
|
out the heart, and carried the cloak home with him.
|
|
|
|
The next morning when he awoke he lifted up his pillow, and there lay
|
|
the piece of gold glittering underneath; the same happened next day, and
|
|
indeed every day when he arose. He heaped up a great deal of gold, and
|
|
at last thought to himself, ‘Of what use is this gold to me whilst I am
|
|
at home? I will go out into the world and look about me.’
|
|
|
|
Then he took leave of his friends, and hung his bag and bow about his
|
|
neck, and went his way. It so happened that his road one day led through
|
|
a thick wood, at the end of which was a large castle in a green meadow,
|
|
and at one of the windows stood an old woman with a very beautiful young
|
|
lady by her side looking about them. Now the old woman was a witch, and
|
|
said to the young lady, ‘There is a young man coming out of the wood who
|
|
carries a wonderful prize; we must get it away from him, my dear child,
|
|
for it is more fit for us than for him. He has a bird’s heart that
|
|
brings a piece of gold under his pillow every morning.’ Meantime the
|
|
huntsman came nearer and looked at the lady, and said to himself, ‘I
|
|
have been travelling so long that I should like to go into this castle
|
|
and rest myself, for I have money enough to pay for anything I want’;
|
|
but the real reason was, that he wanted to see more of the beautiful
|
|
lady. Then he went into the house, and was welcomed kindly; and it was
|
|
not long before he was so much in love that he thought of nothing else
|
|
but looking at the lady’s eyes, and doing everything that she wished.
|
|
Then the old woman said, ‘Now is the time for getting the bird’s heart.’
|
|
So the lady stole it away, and he never found any more gold under his
|
|
pillow, for it lay now under the young lady’s, and the old woman took it
|
|
away every morning; but he was so much in love that he never missed his
|
|
prize.
|
|
|
|
‘Well,’ said the old witch, ‘we have got the bird’s heart, but not the
|
|
wishing-cloak yet, and that we must also get.’ ‘Let us leave him that,’
|
|
said the young lady; ‘he has already lost his wealth.’ Then the witch
|
|
was very angry, and said, ‘Such a cloak is a very rare and wonderful
|
|
thing, and I must and will have it.’ So she did as the old woman told
|
|
her, and set herself at the window, and looked about the country and
|
|
seemed very sorrowful; then the huntsman said, ‘What makes you so sad?’
|
|
‘Alas! dear sir,’ said she, ‘yonder lies the granite rock where all the
|
|
costly diamonds grow, and I want so much to go there, that whenever I
|
|
think of it I cannot help being sorrowful, for who can reach it? only
|
|
the birds and the flies--man cannot.’ ‘If that’s all your grief,’ said
|
|
the huntsman, ‘I’ll take you there with all my heart’; so he drew her under
|
|
his cloak, and the moment he wished to be on the granite mountain they
|
|
were both there. The diamonds glittered so on all sides that they were
|
|
delighted with the sight and picked up the finest. But the old witch
|
|
made a deep sleep come upon him, and he said to the young lady, ‘Let us
|
|
sit down and rest ourselves a little, I am so tired that I cannot stand
|
|
any longer.’ So they sat down, and he laid his head in her lap and
|
|
fell asleep; and whilst he was sleeping on she took the cloak from
|
|
his shoulders, hung it on her own, picked up the diamonds, and wished
|
|
herself home again.
|
|
|
|
When he awoke and found that his lady had tricked him, and left him
|
|
alone on the wild rock, he said, ‘Alas! what roguery there is in the
|
|
world!’ and there he sat in great grief and fear, not knowing what to
|
|
do. Now this rock belonged to fierce giants who lived upon it; and as
|
|
he saw three of them striding about, he thought to himself, ‘I can only
|
|
save myself by feigning to be asleep’; so he laid himself down as if he
|
|
were in a sound sleep. When the giants came up to him, the first pushed
|
|
him with his foot, and said, ‘What worm is this that lies here curled
|
|
up?’ ‘Tread upon him and kill him,’ said the second. ‘It’s not worth the
|
|
trouble,’ said the third; ‘let him live, he’ll go climbing higher up the
|
|
mountain, and some cloud will come rolling and carry him away.’ And they
|
|
passed on. But the huntsman had heard all they said; and as soon as they
|
|
were gone, he climbed to the top of the mountain, and when he had sat
|
|
there a short time a cloud came rolling around him, and caught him in a
|
|
whirlwind and bore him along for some time, till it settled in a garden,
|
|
and he fell quite gently to the ground amongst the greens and cabbages.
|
|
|
|
Then he looked around him, and said, ‘I wish I had something to eat, if
|
|
not I shall be worse off than before; for here I see neither apples
|
|
nor pears, nor any kind of fruits, nothing but vegetables.’ At last he
|
|
thought to himself, ‘I can eat salad, it will refresh and strengthen
|
|
me.’ So he picked out a fine head and ate of it; but scarcely had he
|
|
swallowed two bites when he felt himself quite changed, and saw with
|
|
horror that he was turned into an ass. However, he still felt very
|
|
hungry, and the salad tasted very nice; so he ate on till he came
|
|
to another kind of salad, and scarcely had he tasted it when he felt
|
|
another change come over him, and soon saw that he was lucky enough to
|
|
have found his old shape again.
|
|
|
|
Then he laid himself down and slept off a little of his weariness; and
|
|
when he awoke the next morning he broke off a head both of the good and
|
|
the bad salad, and thought to himself, ‘This will help me to my fortune
|
|
again, and enable me to pay off some folks for their treachery.’ So he
|
|
went away to try and find the castle of his friends; and after wandering
|
|
about a few days he luckily found it. Then he stained his face all over
|
|
brown, so that even his mother would not have known him, and went into
|
|
the castle and asked for a lodging; ‘I am so tired,’ said he, ‘that I
|
|
can go no farther.’ ‘Countryman,’ said the witch, ‘who are you? and what
|
|
is your business?’ ‘I am,’ said he, ‘a messenger sent by the king to
|
|
find the finest salad that grows under the sun. I have been lucky
|
|
enough to find it, and have brought it with me; but the heat of the sun
|
|
scorches so that it begins to wither, and I don’t know that I can carry
|
|
it farther.’
|
|
|
|
When the witch and the young lady heard of his beautiful salad, they
|
|
longed to taste it, and said, ‘Dear countryman, let us just taste it.’
|
|
‘To be sure,’ answered he; ‘I have two heads of it with me, and will
|
|
give you one’; so he opened his bag and gave them the bad. Then the
|
|
witch herself took it into the kitchen to be dressed; and when it was
|
|
ready she could not wait till it was carried up, but took a few leaves
|
|
immediately and put them in her mouth, and scarcely were they swallowed
|
|
when she lost her own form and ran braying down into the court in the
|
|
form of an ass. Now the servant-maid came into the kitchen, and seeing
|
|
the salad ready, was going to carry it up; but on the way she too felt a
|
|
wish to taste it as the old woman had done, and ate some leaves; so she
|
|
also was turned into an ass and ran after the other, letting the dish
|
|
with the salad fall on the ground. The messenger sat all this time with
|
|
the beautiful young lady, and as nobody came with the salad and she
|
|
longed to taste it, she said, ‘I don’t know where the salad can be.’
|
|
Then he thought something must have happened, and said, ‘I will go
|
|
into the kitchen and see.’ And as he went he saw two asses in the court
|
|
running about, and the salad lying on the ground. ‘All right!’ said
|
|
he; ‘those two have had their share.’ Then he took up the rest of
|
|
the leaves, laid them on the dish and brought them to the young lady,
|
|
saying, ‘I bring you the dish myself that you may not wait any longer.’
|
|
So she ate of it, and like the others ran off into the court braying
|
|
away.
|
|
|
|
Then the huntsman washed his face and went into the court that they
|
|
might know him. ‘Now you shall be paid for your roguery,’ said he; and
|
|
tied them all three to a rope and took them along with him till he
|
|
came to a mill and knocked at the window. ‘What’s the matter?’ said the
|
|
miller. ‘I have three tiresome beasts here,’ said the other; ‘if you
|
|
will take them, give them food and room, and treat them as I tell you,
|
|
I will pay you whatever you ask.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said the miller;
|
|
‘but how shall I treat them?’ Then the huntsman said, ‘Give the old
|
|
one stripes three times a day and hay once; give the next (who was
|
|
the servant-maid) stripes once a day and hay three times; and give
|
|
the youngest (who was the beautiful lady) hay three times a day and
|
|
no stripes’: for he could not find it in his heart to have her beaten.
|
|
After this he went back to the castle, where he found everything he
|
|
wanted.
|
|
|
|
Some days after, the miller came to him and told him that the old ass
|
|
was dead; ‘The other two,’ said he, ‘are alive and eat, but are so
|
|
sorrowful that they cannot last long.’ Then the huntsman pitied them,
|
|
and told the miller to drive them back to him, and when they came, he
|
|
gave them some of the good salad to eat. And the beautiful young lady
|
|
fell upon her knees before him, and said, ‘O dearest huntsman! forgive
|
|
me all the ill I have done you; my mother forced me to it, it was
|
|
against my will, for I always loved you very much. Your wishing-cloak
|
|
hangs up in the closet, and as for the bird’s heart, I will give it you
|
|
too.’ But he said, ‘Keep it, it will be just the same thing, for I mean
|
|
to make you my wife.’ So they were married, and lived together very
|
|
happily till they died.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
THE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN WHAT FEAR WAS
|
|
|
|
A certain father had two sons, the elder of who was smart and sensible,
|
|
and could do everything, but the younger was stupid and could neither
|
|
learn nor understand anything, and when people saw him they said:
|
|
‘There’s a fellow who will give his father some trouble!’ When anything
|
|
had to be done, it was always the elder who was forced to do it; but
|
|
if his father bade him fetch anything when it was late, or in the
|
|
night-time, and the way led through the churchyard, or any other dismal
|
|
place, he answered: ‘Oh, no father, I’ll not go there, it makes me
|
|
shudder!’ for he was afraid. Or when stories were told by the fire at
|
|
night which made the flesh creep, the listeners sometimes said: ‘Oh,
|
|
it makes us shudder!’ The younger sat in a corner and listened with
|
|
the rest of them, and could not imagine what they could mean. ‘They are
|
|
always saying: “It makes me shudder, it makes me shudder!” It does not
|
|
make me shudder,’ thought he. ‘That, too, must be an art of which I
|
|
understand nothing!’
|
|
|
|
Now it came to pass that his father said to him one day: ‘Hearken to me,
|
|
you fellow in the corner there, you are growing tall and strong, and you
|
|
too must learn something by which you can earn your bread. Look how your
|
|
brother works, but you do not even earn your salt.’ ‘Well, father,’ he
|
|
replied, ‘I am quite willing to learn something--indeed, if it could but
|
|
be managed, I should like to learn how to shudder. I don’t understand
|
|
that at all yet.’ The elder brother smiled when he heard that, and
|
|
thought to himself: ‘Goodness, what a blockhead that brother of mine is!
|
|
He will never be good for anything as long as he lives! He who wants to
|
|
be a sickle must bend himself betimes.’
|
|
|
|
The father sighed, and answered him: ‘You shall soon learn what it is to
|
|
shudder, but you will not earn your bread by that.’
|
|
|
|
Soon after this the sexton came to the house on a visit, and the father
|
|
bewailed his trouble, and told him how his younger son was so backward
|
|
in every respect that he knew nothing and learnt nothing. ‘Just think,’
|
|
said he, ‘when I asked him how he was going to earn his bread, he
|
|
actually wanted to learn to shudder.’ ‘If that be all,’ replied the
|
|
sexton, ‘he can learn that with me. Send him to me, and I will soon
|
|
polish him.’ The father was glad to do it, for he thought: ‘It will
|
|
train the boy a little.’ The sexton therefore took him into his house,
|
|
and he had to ring the church bell. After a day or two, the sexton awoke
|
|
him at midnight, and bade him arise and go up into the church tower and
|
|
ring the bell. ‘You shall soon learn what shuddering is,’ thought he,
|
|
and secretly went there before him; and when the boy was at the top of
|
|
the tower and turned round, and was just going to take hold of the bell
|
|
rope, he saw a white figure standing on the stairs opposite the sounding
|
|
hole. ‘Who is there?’ cried he, but the figure made no reply, and did
|
|
not move or stir. ‘Give an answer,’ cried the boy, ‘or take yourself
|
|
off, you have no business here at night.’
|
|
|
|
The sexton, however, remained standing motionless that the boy might
|
|
think he was a ghost. The boy cried a second time: ‘What do you want
|
|
here?--speak if you are an honest fellow, or I will throw you down the
|
|
steps!’ The sexton thought: ‘He can’t mean to be as bad as his words,’
|
|
uttered no sound and stood as if he were made of stone. Then the boy
|
|
called to him for the third time, and as that was also to no purpose,
|
|
he ran against him and pushed the ghost down the stairs, so that it fell
|
|
down the ten steps and remained lying there in a corner. Thereupon he
|
|
rang the bell, went home, and without saying a word went to bed, and
|
|
fell asleep. The sexton’s wife waited a long time for her husband, but
|
|
he did not come back. At length she became uneasy, and wakened the boy,
|
|
and asked: ‘Do you know where my husband is? He climbed up the tower
|
|
before you did.’ ‘No, I don’t know,’ replied the boy, ‘but someone was
|
|
standing by the sounding hole on the other side of the steps, and as he
|
|
would neither give an answer nor go away, I took him for a scoundrel,
|
|
and threw him downstairs. Just go there and you will see if it was he.
|
|
I should be sorry if it were.’ The woman ran away and found her husband,
|
|
who was lying moaning in the corner, and had broken his leg.
|
|
|
|
She carried him down, and then with loud screams she hastened to the
|
|
boy’s father, ‘Your boy,’ cried she, ‘has been the cause of a great
|
|
misfortune! He has thrown my husband down the steps so that he broke his
|
|
leg. Take the good-for-nothing fellow out of our house.’ The father was
|
|
terrified, and ran thither and scolded the boy. ‘What wicked tricks
|
|
are these?’ said he. ‘The devil must have put them into your head.’
|
|
‘Father,’ he replied, ‘do listen to me. I am quite innocent. He was
|
|
standing there by night like one intent on doing evil. I did not know
|
|
who it was, and I entreated him three times either to speak or to go
|
|
away.’ ‘Ah,’ said the father, ‘I have nothing but unhappiness with you.
|
|
Go out of my sight. I will see you no more.’
|
|
|
|
‘Yes, father, right willingly, wait only until it is day. Then will I
|
|
go forth and learn how to shudder, and then I shall, at any rate,
|
|
understand one art which will support me.’ ‘Learn what you will,’ spoke
|
|
the father, ‘it is all the same to me. Here are fifty talers for you.
|
|
Take these and go into the wide world, and tell no one from whence you
|
|
come, and who is your father, for I have reason to be ashamed of you.’
|
|
‘Yes, father, it shall be as you will. If you desire nothing more than
|
|
that, I can easily keep it in mind.’
|
|
|
|
When the day dawned, therefore, the boy put his fifty talers into his
|
|
pocket, and went forth on the great highway, and continually said to
|
|
himself: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!’ Then a man
|
|
approached who heard this conversation which the youth was holding with
|
|
himself, and when they had walked a little farther to where they could
|
|
see the gallows, the man said to him: ‘Look, there is the tree where
|
|
seven men have married the ropemaker’s daughter, and are now learning
|
|
how to fly. Sit down beneath it, and wait till night comes, and you will
|
|
soon learn how to shudder.’ ‘If that is all that is wanted,’ answered
|
|
the youth, ‘it is easily done; but if I learn how to shudder as fast as
|
|
that, you shall have my fifty talers. Just come back to me early in the
|
|
morning.’ Then the youth went to the gallows, sat down beneath it, and
|
|
waited till evening came. And as he was cold, he lighted himself a fire,
|
|
but at midnight the wind blew so sharply that in spite of his fire, he
|
|
could not get warm. And as the wind knocked the hanged men against each
|
|
other, and they moved backwards and forwards, he thought to himself:
|
|
‘If you shiver below by the fire, how those up above must freeze and
|
|
suffer!’ And as he felt pity for them, he raised the ladder, and climbed
|
|
up, unbound one of them after the other, and brought down all seven.
|
|
Then he stoked the fire, blew it, and set them all round it to warm
|
|
themselves. But they sat there and did not stir, and the fire caught
|
|
their clothes. So he said: ‘Take care, or I will hang you up again.’ The
|
|
dead men, however, did not hear, but were quite silent, and let their
|
|
rags go on burning. At this he grew angry, and said: ‘If you will not
|
|
take care, I cannot help you, I will not be burnt with you,’ and he hung
|
|
them up again each in his turn. Then he sat down by his fire and fell
|
|
asleep, and the next morning the man came to him and wanted to have
|
|
the fifty talers, and said: ‘Well do you know how to shudder?’ ‘No,’
|
|
answered he, ‘how should I know? Those fellows up there did not open
|
|
their mouths, and were so stupid that they let the few old rags which
|
|
they had on their bodies get burnt.’ Then the man saw that he would not
|
|
get the fifty talers that day, and went away saying: ‘Such a youth has
|
|
never come my way before.’
|
|
|
|
The youth likewise went his way, and once more began to mutter to
|
|
himself: ‘Ah, if I could but shudder! Ah, if I could but shudder!’ A
|
|
waggoner who was striding behind him heard this and asked: ‘Who are
|
|
you?’ ‘I don’t know,’ answered the youth. Then the waggoner asked: ‘From
|
|
whence do you come?’ ‘I know not.’ ‘Who is your father?’ ‘That I may
|
|
not tell you.’ ‘What is it that you are always muttering between your
|
|
teeth?’ ‘Ah,’ replied the youth, ‘I do so wish I could shudder, but
|
|
no one can teach me how.’ ‘Enough of your foolish chatter,’ said the
|
|
waggoner. ‘Come, go with me, I will see about a place for you.’ The
|
|
youth went with the waggoner, and in the evening they arrived at an inn
|
|
where they wished to pass the night. Then at the entrance of the parlour
|
|
the youth again said quite loudly: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could
|
|
but shudder!’ The host who heard this, laughed and said: ‘If that is
|
|
your desire, there ought to be a good opportunity for you here.’ ‘Ah,
|
|
be silent,’ said the hostess, ‘so many prying persons have already lost
|
|
their lives, it would be a pity and a shame if such beautiful eyes as
|
|
these should never see the daylight again.’
|
|
|
|
But the youth said: ‘However difficult it may be, I will learn it. For
|
|
this purpose indeed have I journeyed forth.’ He let the host have
|
|
no rest, until the latter told him, that not far from thence stood a
|
|
haunted castle where anyone could very easily learn what shuddering was,
|
|
if he would but watch in it for three nights. The king had promised that
|
|
he who would venture should have his daughter to wife, and she was the
|
|
most beautiful maiden the sun shone on. Likewise in the castle lay great
|
|
treasures, which were guarded by evil spirits, and these treasures would
|
|
then be freed, and would make a poor man rich enough. Already many men
|
|
had gone into the castle, but as yet none had come out again. Then the
|
|
youth went next morning to the king, and said: ‘If it be allowed, I will
|
|
willingly watch three nights in the haunted castle.’
|
|
|
|
The king looked at him, and as the youth pleased him, he said: ‘You may
|
|
ask for three things to take into the castle with you, but they must
|
|
be things without life.’ Then he answered: ‘Then I ask for a fire, a
|
|
turning lathe, and a cutting-board with the knife.’
|
|
|
|
The king had these things carried into the castle for him during the
|
|
day. When night was drawing near, the youth went up and made himself
|
|
a bright fire in one of the rooms, placed the cutting-board and knife
|
|
beside it, and seated himself by the turning-lathe. ‘Ah, if I could
|
|
but shudder!’ said he, ‘but I shall not learn it here either.’ Towards
|
|
midnight he was about to poke his fire, and as he was blowing it,
|
|
something cried suddenly from one corner: ‘Au, miau! how cold we are!’
|
|
‘You fools!’ cried he, ‘what are you crying about? If you are cold, come
|
|
and take a seat by the fire and warm yourselves.’ And when he had said
|
|
that, two great black cats came with one tremendous leap and sat down
|
|
on each side of him, and looked savagely at him with their fiery
|
|
eyes. After a short time, when they had warmed themselves, they said:
|
|
‘Comrade, shall we have a game of cards?’ ‘Why not?’ he replied, ‘but
|
|
just show me your paws.’ Then they stretched out their claws. ‘Oh,’ said
|
|
he, ‘what long nails you have! Wait, I must first cut them for you.’
|
|
Thereupon he seized them by the throats, put them on the cutting-board
|
|
and screwed their feet fast. ‘I have looked at your fingers,’ said he,
|
|
‘and my fancy for card-playing has gone,’ and he struck them dead and
|
|
threw them out into the water. But when he had made away with these two,
|
|
and was about to sit down again by his fire, out from every hole and
|
|
corner came black cats and black dogs with red-hot chains, and more
|
|
and more of them came until he could no longer move, and they yelled
|
|
horribly, and got on his fire, pulled it to pieces, and tried to put
|
|
it out. He watched them for a while quietly, but at last when they were
|
|
going too far, he seized his cutting-knife, and cried: ‘Away with you,
|
|
vermin,’ and began to cut them down. Some of them ran away, the others
|
|
he killed, and threw out into the fish-pond. When he came back he fanned
|
|
the embers of his fire again and warmed himself. And as he thus sat, his
|
|
eyes would keep open no longer, and he felt a desire to sleep. Then he
|
|
looked round and saw a great bed in the corner. ‘That is the very thing
|
|
for me,’ said he, and got into it. When he was just going to shut his
|
|
eyes, however, the bed began to move of its own accord, and went over
|
|
the whole of the castle. ‘That’s right,’ said he, ‘but go faster.’ Then
|
|
the bed rolled on as if six horses were harnessed to it, up and down,
|
|
over thresholds and stairs, but suddenly hop, hop, it turned over upside
|
|
down, and lay on him like a mountain. But he threw quilts and pillows up
|
|
in the air, got out and said: ‘Now anyone who likes, may drive,’ and
|
|
lay down by his fire, and slept till it was day. In the morning the king
|
|
came, and when he saw him lying there on the ground, he thought the evil
|
|
spirits had killed him and he was dead. Then said he: ‘After all it is a
|
|
pity,--for so handsome a man.’ The youth heard it, got up, and said: ‘It
|
|
has not come to that yet.’ Then the king was astonished, but very glad,
|
|
and asked how he had fared. ‘Very well indeed,’ answered he; ‘one
|
|
night is past, the two others will pass likewise.’ Then he went to the
|
|
innkeeper, who opened his eyes very wide, and said: ‘I never expected to
|
|
see you alive again! Have you learnt how to shudder yet?’ ‘No,’ said he,
|
|
‘it is all in vain. If someone would but tell me!’
|
|
|
|
The second night he again went up into the old castle, sat down by the
|
|
fire, and once more began his old song: ‘If I could but shudder!’ When
|
|
midnight came, an uproar and noise of tumbling about was heard; at
|
|
first it was low, but it grew louder and louder. Then it was quiet for
|
|
a while, and at length with a loud scream, half a man came down the
|
|
chimney and fell before him. ‘Hullo!’ cried he, ‘another half belongs
|
|
to this. This is not enough!’ Then the uproar began again, there was a
|
|
roaring and howling, and the other half fell down likewise. ‘Wait,’ said
|
|
he, ‘I will just stoke up the fire a little for you.’ When he had done
|
|
that and looked round again, the two pieces were joined together, and a
|
|
hideous man was sitting in his place. ‘That is no part of our bargain,’
|
|
said the youth, ‘the bench is mine.’ The man wanted to push him away;
|
|
the youth, however, would not allow that, but thrust him off with all
|
|
his strength, and seated himself again in his own place. Then still more
|
|
men fell down, one after the other; they brought nine dead men’s legs
|
|
and two skulls, and set them up and played at nine-pins with them. The
|
|
youth also wanted to play and said: ‘Listen you, can I join you?’ ‘Yes,
|
|
if you have any money.’ ‘Money enough,’ replied he, ‘but your balls are
|
|
not quite round.’ Then he took the skulls and put them in the lathe and
|
|
turned them till they were round. ‘There, now they will roll better!’
|
|
said he. ‘Hurrah! now we’ll have fun!’ He played with them and lost some
|
|
of his money, but when it struck twelve, everything vanished from his
|
|
sight. He lay down and quietly fell asleep. Next morning the king came
|
|
to inquire after him. ‘How has it fared with you this time?’ asked he.
|
|
‘I have been playing at nine-pins,’ he answered, ‘and have lost a couple
|
|
of farthings.’ ‘Have you not shuddered then?’ ‘What?’ said he, ‘I have
|
|
had a wonderful time! If I did but know what it was to shudder!’
|
|
|
|
The third night he sat down again on his bench and said quite sadly:
|
|
‘If I could but shudder.’ When it grew late, six tall men came in and
|
|
brought a coffin. Then he said: ‘Ha, ha, that is certainly my little
|
|
cousin, who died only a few days ago,’ and he beckoned with his finger,
|
|
and cried: ‘Come, little cousin, come.’ They placed the coffin on the
|
|
ground, but he went to it and took the lid off, and a dead man lay
|
|
therein. He felt his face, but it was cold as ice. ‘Wait,’ said he, ‘I
|
|
will warm you a little,’ and went to the fire and warmed his hand and
|
|
laid it on the dead man’s face, but he remained cold. Then he took him
|
|
out, and sat down by the fire and laid him on his breast and rubbed his
|
|
arms that the blood might circulate again. As this also did no good, he
|
|
thought to himself: ‘When two people lie in bed together, they warm each
|
|
other,’ and carried him to the bed, covered him over and lay down by
|
|
him. After a short time the dead man became warm too, and began to move.
|
|
Then said the youth, ‘See, little cousin, have I not warmed you?’ The
|
|
dead man, however, got up and cried: ‘Now will I strangle you.’
|
|
|
|
‘What!’ said he, ‘is that the way you thank me? You shall at once go
|
|
into your coffin again,’ and he took him up, threw him into it, and shut
|
|
the lid. Then came the six men and carried him away again. ‘I cannot
|
|
manage to shudder,’ said he. ‘I shall never learn it here as long as I
|
|
live.’
|
|
|
|
Then a man entered who was taller than all others, and looked terrible.
|
|
He was old, however, and had a long white beard. ‘You wretch,’ cried he,
|
|
‘you shall soon learn what it is to shudder, for you shall die.’ ‘Not so
|
|
fast,’ replied the youth. ‘If I am to die, I shall have to have a say
|
|
in it.’ ‘I will soon seize you,’ said the fiend. ‘Softly, softly, do not
|
|
talk so big. I am as strong as you are, and perhaps even stronger.’
|
|
‘We shall see,’ said the old man. ‘If you are stronger, I will let you
|
|
go--come, we will try.’ Then he led him by dark passages to a smith’s
|
|
forge, took an axe, and with one blow struck an anvil into the ground.
|
|
‘I can do better than that,’ said the youth, and went to the other
|
|
anvil. The old man placed himself near and wanted to look on, and his
|
|
white beard hung down. Then the youth seized the axe, split the anvil
|
|
with one blow, and in it caught the old man’s beard. ‘Now I have you,’
|
|
said the youth. ‘Now it is your turn to die.’ Then he seized an iron bar
|
|
and beat the old man till he moaned and entreated him to stop, when he
|
|
would give him great riches. The youth drew out the axe and let him go.
|
|
The old man led him back into the castle, and in a cellar showed him
|
|
three chests full of gold. ‘Of these,’ said he, ‘one part is for the
|
|
poor, the other for the king, the third yours.’ In the meantime it
|
|
struck twelve, and the spirit disappeared, so that the youth stood in
|
|
darkness. ‘I shall still be able to find my way out,’ said he, and felt
|
|
about, found the way into the room, and slept there by his fire.
|
|
Next morning the king came and said: ‘Now you must have learnt what
|
|
shuddering is?’ ‘No,’ he answered; ‘what can it be? My dead cousin was
|
|
here, and a bearded man came and showed me a great deal of money down
|
|
below, but no one told me what it was to shudder.’ ‘Then,’ said the
|
|
king, ‘you have saved the castle, and shall marry my daughter.’ ‘That
|
|
is all very well,’ said he, ‘but still I do not know what it is to
|
|
shudder!’
|
|
|
|
Then the gold was brought up and the wedding celebrated; but howsoever
|
|
much the young king loved his wife, and however happy he was, he still
|
|
said always: ‘If I could but shudder--if I could but shudder.’ And this
|
|
at last angered her. Her waiting-maid said: ‘I will find a cure for him;
|
|
he shall soon learn what it is to shudder.’ She went out to the stream
|
|
which flowed through the garden, and had a whole bucketful of gudgeons
|
|
brought to her. At night when the young king was sleeping, his wife was
|
|
to draw the clothes off him and empty the bucket full of cold water
|
|
with the gudgeons in it over him, so that the little fishes would
|
|
sprawl about him. Then he woke up and cried: ‘Oh, what makes me shudder
|
|
so?--what makes me shudder so, dear wife? Ah! now I know what it is to
|
|
shudder!’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
KING GRISLY-BEARD
|
|
|
|
A great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very
|
|
beautiful, but so proud, and haughty, and conceited, that none of the
|
|
princes who came to ask her in marriage was good enough for her, and she
|
|
only made sport of them.
|
|
|
|
Once upon a time the king held a great feast, and asked thither all
|
|
her suitors; and they all sat in a row, ranged according to their
|
|
rank--kings, and princes, and dukes, and earls, and counts, and barons,
|
|
and knights. Then the princess came in, and as she passed by them she
|
|
had something spiteful to say to every one. The first was too fat: ‘He’s
|
|
as round as a tub,’ said she. The next was too tall: ‘What a maypole!’
|
|
said she. The next was too short: ‘What a dumpling!’ said she. The
|
|
fourth was too pale, and she called him ‘Wallface.’ The fifth was too
|
|
red, so she called him ‘Coxcomb.’ The sixth was not straight enough;
|
|
so she said he was like a green stick, that had been laid to dry over
|
|
a baker’s oven. And thus she had some joke to crack upon every one: but
|
|
she laughed more than all at a good king who was there. ‘Look at
|
|
him,’ said she; ‘his beard is like an old mop; he shall be called
|
|
Grisly-beard.’ So the king got the nickname of Grisly-beard.
|
|
|
|
But the old king was very angry when he saw how his daughter behaved,
|
|
and how she ill-treated all his guests; and he vowed that, willing or
|
|
unwilling, she should marry the first man, be he prince or beggar, that
|
|
came to the door.
|
|
|
|
Two days after there came by a travelling fiddler, who began to play
|
|
under the window and beg alms; and when the king heard him, he said,
|
|
‘Let him come in.’ So they brought in a dirty-looking fellow; and when
|
|
he had sung before the king and the princess, he begged a boon. Then the
|
|
king said, ‘You have sung so well, that I will give you my daughter for
|
|
your wife.’ The princess begged and prayed; but the king said, ‘I have
|
|
sworn to give you to the first comer, and I will keep my word.’ So words
|
|
and tears were of no avail; the parson was sent for, and she was married
|
|
to the fiddler. When this was over the king said, ‘Now get ready to
|
|
go--you must not stay here--you must travel on with your husband.’
|
|
|
|
Then the fiddler went his way, and took her with him, and they soon came
|
|
to a great wood. ‘Pray,’ said she, ‘whose is this wood?’ ‘It belongs
|
|
to King Grisly-beard,’ answered he; ‘hadst thou taken him, all had been
|
|
thine.’ ‘Ah! unlucky wretch that I am!’ sighed she; ‘would that I had
|
|
married King Grisly-beard!’ Next they came to some fine meadows. ‘Whose
|
|
are these beautiful green meadows?’ said she. ‘They belong to King
|
|
Grisly-beard, hadst thou taken him, they had all been thine.’ ‘Ah!
|
|
unlucky wretch that I am!’ said she; ‘would that I had married King
|
|
Grisly-beard!’
|
|
|
|
Then they came to a great city. ‘Whose is this noble city?’ said she.
|
|
‘It belongs to King Grisly-beard; hadst thou taken him, it had all been
|
|
thine.’ ‘Ah! wretch that I am!’ sighed she; ‘why did I not marry King
|
|
Grisly-beard?’ ‘That is no business of mine,’ said the fiddler: ‘why
|
|
should you wish for another husband? Am not I good enough for you?’
|
|
|
|
At last they came to a small cottage. ‘What a paltry place!’ said she;
|
|
‘to whom does that little dirty hole belong?’ Then the fiddler said,
|
|
‘That is your and my house, where we are to live.’ ‘Where are your
|
|
servants?’ cried she. ‘What do we want with servants?’ said he; ‘you
|
|
must do for yourself whatever is to be done. Now make the fire, and put
|
|
on water and cook my supper, for I am very tired.’ But the princess knew
|
|
nothing of making fires and cooking, and the fiddler was forced to help
|
|
her. When they had eaten a very scanty meal they went to bed; but the
|
|
fiddler called her up very early in the morning to clean the house. Thus
|
|
they lived for two days: and when they had eaten up all there was in the
|
|
cottage, the man said, ‘Wife, we can’t go on thus, spending money and
|
|
earning nothing. You must learn to weave baskets.’ Then he went out and
|
|
cut willows, and brought them home, and she began to weave; but it made
|
|
her fingers very sore. ‘I see this work won’t do,’ said he: ‘try and
|
|
spin; perhaps you will do that better.’ So she sat down and tried to
|
|
spin; but the threads cut her tender fingers till the blood ran. ‘See
|
|
now,’ said the fiddler, ‘you are good for nothing; you can do no work:
|
|
what a bargain I have got! However, I’ll try and set up a trade in pots
|
|
and pans, and you shall stand in the market and sell them.’ ‘Alas!’
|
|
sighed she, ‘if any of my father’s court should pass by and see me
|
|
standing in the market, how they will laugh at me!’
|
|
|
|
But her husband did not care for that, and said she must work, if she
|
|
did not wish to die of hunger. At first the trade went well; for many
|
|
people, seeing such a beautiful woman, went to buy her wares, and paid
|
|
their money without thinking of taking away the goods. They lived on
|
|
this as long as it lasted; and then her husband bought a fresh lot of
|
|
ware, and she sat herself down with it in the corner of the market; but
|
|
a drunken soldier soon came by, and rode his horse against her stall,
|
|
and broke all her goods into a thousand pieces. Then she began to cry,
|
|
and knew not what to do. ‘Ah! what will become of me?’ said she; ‘what
|
|
will my husband say?’ So she ran home and told him all. ‘Who would
|
|
have thought you would have been so silly,’ said he, ‘as to put an
|
|
earthenware stall in the corner of the market, where everybody passes?
|
|
but let us have no more crying; I see you are not fit for this sort of
|
|
work, so I have been to the king’s palace, and asked if they did not
|
|
want a kitchen-maid; and they say they will take you, and there you will
|
|
have plenty to eat.’
|
|
|
|
Thus the princess became a kitchen-maid, and helped the cook to do all
|
|
the dirtiest work; but she was allowed to carry home some of the meat
|
|
that was left, and on this they lived.
|
|
|
|
She had not been there long before she heard that the king’s eldest son
|
|
was passing by, going to be married; and she went to one of the windows
|
|
and looked out. Everything was ready, and all the pomp and brightness of
|
|
the court was there. Then she bitterly grieved for the pride and folly
|
|
which had brought her so low. And the servants gave her some of the rich
|
|
meats, which she put into her basket to take home.
|
|
|
|
All on a sudden, as she was going out, in came the king’s son in golden
|
|
clothes; and when he saw a beautiful woman at the door, he took her
|
|
by the hand, and said she should be his partner in the dance; but she
|
|
trembled for fear, for she saw that it was King Grisly-beard, who was
|
|
making sport of her. However, he kept fast hold, and led her in; and the
|
|
cover of the basket came off, so that the meats in it fell about. Then
|
|
everybody laughed and jeered at her; and she was so abashed, that she
|
|
wished herself a thousand feet deep in the earth. She sprang to the
|
|
door to run away; but on the steps King Grisly-beard overtook her, and
|
|
brought her back and said, ‘Fear me not! I am the fiddler who has lived
|
|
with you in the hut. I brought you there because I really loved you. I
|
|
am also the soldier that overset your stall. I have done all this only
|
|
to cure you of your silly pride, and to show you the folly of your
|
|
ill-treatment of me. Now all is over: you have learnt wisdom, and it is
|
|
time to hold our marriage feast.’
|
|
|
|
Then the chamberlains came and brought her the most beautiful robes; and
|
|
her father and his whole court were there already, and welcomed her home
|
|
on her marriage. Joy was in every face and every heart. The feast was
|
|
grand; they danced and sang; all were merry; and I only wish that you
|
|
and I had been of the party.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
IRON HANS
|
|
|
|
There was once upon a time a king who had a great forest near his
|
|
palace, full of all kinds of wild animals. One day he sent out a
|
|
huntsman to shoot him a roe, but he did not come back. ‘Perhaps some
|
|
accident has befallen him,’ said the king, and the next day he sent out
|
|
two more huntsmen who were to search for him, but they too stayed away.
|
|
Then on the third day, he sent for all his huntsmen, and said: ‘Scour
|
|
the whole forest through, and do not give up until you have found all
|
|
three.’ But of these also, none came home again, none were seen again.
|
|
From that time forth, no one would any longer venture into the forest,
|
|
and it lay there in deep stillness and solitude, and nothing was seen
|
|
of it, but sometimes an eagle or a hawk flying over it. This lasted for
|
|
many years, when an unknown huntsman announced himself to the king as
|
|
seeking a situation, and offered to go into the dangerous forest. The
|
|
king, however, would not give his consent, and said: ‘It is not safe in
|
|
there; I fear it would fare with you no better than with the others,
|
|
and you would never come out again.’ The huntsman replied: ‘Lord, I will
|
|
venture it at my own risk, of fear I know nothing.’
|
|
|
|
The huntsman therefore betook himself with his dog to the forest. It was
|
|
not long before the dog fell in with some game on the way, and wanted to
|
|
pursue it; but hardly had the dog run two steps when it stood before a
|
|
deep pool, could go no farther, and a naked arm stretched itself out of
|
|
the water, seized it, and drew it under. When the huntsman saw that, he
|
|
went back and fetched three men to come with buckets and bale out the
|
|
water. When they could see to the bottom there lay a wild man whose body
|
|
was brown like rusty iron, and whose hair hung over his face down to his
|
|
knees. They bound him with cords, and led him away to the castle. There
|
|
was great astonishment over the wild man; the king, however, had him put
|
|
in an iron cage in his courtyard, and forbade the door to be opened
|
|
on pain of death, and the queen herself was to take the key into her
|
|
keeping. And from this time forth everyone could again go into the
|
|
forest with safety.
|
|
|
|
The king had a son of eight years, who was once playing in the
|
|
courtyard, and while he was playing, his golden ball fell into the cage.
|
|
The boy ran thither and said: ‘Give me my ball out.’ ‘Not till you have
|
|
opened the door for me,’ answered the man. ‘No,’ said the boy, ‘I will
|
|
not do that; the king has forbidden it,’ and ran away. The next day he
|
|
again went and asked for his ball; the wild man said: ‘Open my door,’
|
|
but the boy would not. On the third day the king had ridden out hunting,
|
|
and the boy went once more and said: ‘I cannot open the door even if I
|
|
wished, for I have not the key.’ Then the wild man said: ‘It lies under
|
|
your mother’s pillow, you can get it there.’ The boy, who wanted to have
|
|
his ball back, cast all thought to the winds, and brought the key. The
|
|
door opened with difficulty, and the boy pinched his fingers. When it
|
|
was open the wild man stepped out, gave him the golden ball, and hurried
|
|
away. The boy had become afraid; he called and cried after him: ‘Oh,
|
|
wild man, do not go away, or I shall be beaten!’ The wild man turned
|
|
back, took him up, set him on his shoulder, and went with hasty steps
|
|
into the forest. When the king came home, he observed the empty cage,
|
|
and asked the queen how that had happened. She knew nothing about it,
|
|
and sought the key, but it was gone. She called the boy, but no one
|
|
answered. The king sent out people to seek for him in the fields, but
|
|
they did not find him. Then he could easily guess what had happened, and
|
|
much grief reigned in the royal court.
|
|
|
|
When the wild man had once more reached the dark forest, he took the boy
|
|
down from his shoulder, and said to him: ‘You will never see your father
|
|
and mother again, but I will keep you with me, for you have set me free,
|
|
and I have compassion on you. If you do all I bid you, you shall fare
|
|
well. Of treasure and gold have I enough, and more than anyone in the
|
|
world.’ He made a bed of moss for the boy on which he slept, and the
|
|
next morning the man took him to a well, and said: ‘Behold, the gold
|
|
well is as bright and clear as crystal, you shall sit beside it, and
|
|
take care that nothing falls into it, or it will be polluted. I will
|
|
come every evening to see if you have obeyed my order.’ The boy placed
|
|
himself by the brink of the well, and often saw a golden fish or a
|
|
golden snake show itself therein, and took care that nothing fell in.
|
|
As he was thus sitting, his finger hurt him so violently that he
|
|
involuntarily put it in the water. He drew it quickly out again, but saw
|
|
that it was quite gilded, and whatsoever pains he took to wash the gold
|
|
off again, all was to no purpose. In the evening Iron Hans came back,
|
|
looked at the boy, and said: ‘What has happened to the well?’ ‘Nothing
|
|
nothing,’ he answered, and held his finger behind his back, that the
|
|
man might not see it. But he said: ‘You have dipped your finger into
|
|
the water, this time it may pass, but take care you do not again let
|
|
anything go in.’ By daybreak the boy was already sitting by the well and
|
|
watching it. His finger hurt him again and he passed it over his head,
|
|
and then unhappily a hair fell down into the well. He took it quickly
|
|
out, but it was already quite gilded. Iron Hans came, and already knew
|
|
what had happened. ‘You have let a hair fall into the well,’ said he.
|
|
‘I will allow you to watch by it once more, but if this happens for the
|
|
third time then the well is polluted and you can no longer remain with
|
|
me.’
|
|
|
|
On the third day, the boy sat by the well, and did not stir his finger,
|
|
however much it hurt him. But the time was long to him, and he looked at
|
|
the reflection of his face on the surface of the water. And as he
|
|
still bent down more and more while he was doing so, and trying to look
|
|
straight into the eyes, his long hair fell down from his shoulders into
|
|
the water. He raised himself up quickly, but the whole of the hair of
|
|
his head was already golden and shone like the sun. You can imagine how
|
|
terrified the poor boy was! He took his pocket-handkerchief and tied it
|
|
round his head, in order that the man might not see it. When he came he
|
|
already knew everything, and said: ‘Take the handkerchief off.’ Then the
|
|
golden hair streamed forth, and let the boy excuse himself as he might,
|
|
it was of no use. ‘You have not stood the trial and can stay here no
|
|
longer. Go forth into the world, there you will learn what poverty is.
|
|
But as you have not a bad heart, and as I mean well by you, there is
|
|
one thing I will grant you; if you fall into any difficulty, come to the
|
|
forest and cry: “Iron Hans,” and then I will come and help you. My
|
|
power is great, greater than you think, and I have gold and silver in
|
|
abundance.’
|
|
|
|
Then the king’s son left the forest, and walked by beaten and unbeaten
|
|
paths ever onwards until at length he reached a great city. There he
|
|
looked for work, but could find none, and he learnt nothing by which he
|
|
could help himself. At length he went to the palace, and asked if they
|
|
would take him in. The people about court did not at all know what use
|
|
they could make of him, but they liked him, and told him to stay. At
|
|
length the cook took him into his service, and said he might carry wood
|
|
and water, and rake the cinders together. Once when it so happened that
|
|
no one else was at hand, the cook ordered him to carry the food to the
|
|
royal table, but as he did not like to let his golden hair be seen, he
|
|
kept his little cap on. Such a thing as that had never yet come under
|
|
the king’s notice, and he said: ‘When you come to the royal table you
|
|
must take your hat off.’ He answered: ‘Ah, Lord, I cannot; I have a bad
|
|
sore place on my head.’ Then the king had the cook called before him
|
|
and scolded him, and asked how he could take such a boy as that into his
|
|
service; and that he was to send him away at once. The cook, however,
|
|
had pity on him, and exchanged him for the gardener’s boy.
|
|
|
|
And now the boy had to plant and water the garden, hoe and dig, and bear
|
|
the wind and bad weather. Once in summer when he was working alone in
|
|
the garden, the day was so warm he took his little cap off that the air
|
|
might cool him. As the sun shone on his hair it glittered and flashed so
|
|
that the rays fell into the bedroom of the king’s daughter, and up she
|
|
sprang to see what that could be. Then she saw the boy, and cried to
|
|
him: ‘Boy, bring me a wreath of flowers.’ He put his cap on with all
|
|
haste, and gathered wild field-flowers and bound them together. When he
|
|
was ascending the stairs with them, the gardener met him, and said: ‘How
|
|
can you take the king’s daughter a garland of such common flowers? Go
|
|
quickly, and get another, and seek out the prettiest and rarest.’ ‘Oh,
|
|
no,’ replied the boy, ‘the wild ones have more scent, and will please
|
|
her better.’ When he got into the room, the king’s daughter said: ‘Take
|
|
your cap off, it is not seemly to keep it on in my presence.’ He again
|
|
said: ‘I may not, I have a sore head.’ She, however, caught at his
|
|
cap and pulled it off, and then his golden hair rolled down on his
|
|
shoulders, and it was splendid to behold. He wanted to run out, but she
|
|
held him by the arm, and gave him a handful of ducats. With these he
|
|
departed, but he cared nothing for the gold pieces. He took them to the
|
|
gardener, and said: ‘I present them to your children, they can play with
|
|
them.’ The following day the king’s daughter again called to him that he
|
|
was to bring her a wreath of field-flowers, and then he went in with it,
|
|
she instantly snatched at his cap, and wanted to take it away from him,
|
|
but he held it fast with both hands. She again gave him a handful of
|
|
ducats, but he would not keep them, and gave them to the gardener for
|
|
playthings for his children. On the third day things went just the
|
|
same; she could not get his cap away from him, and he would not have her
|
|
money.
|
|
|
|
Not long afterwards, the country was overrun by war. The king gathered
|
|
together his people, and did not know whether or not he could offer any
|
|
opposition to the enemy, who was superior in strength and had a mighty
|
|
army. Then said the gardener’s boy: ‘I am grown up, and will go to the
|
|
wars also, only give me a horse.’ The others laughed, and said: ‘Seek
|
|
one for yourself when we are gone, we will leave one behind us in the
|
|
stable for you.’ When they had gone forth, he went into the stable, and
|
|
led the horse out; it was lame of one foot, and limped hobblety jib,
|
|
hobblety jib; nevertheless he mounted it, and rode away to the dark
|
|
forest. When he came to the outskirts, he called ‘Iron Hans’ three
|
|
times so loudly that it echoed through the trees. Thereupon the wild man
|
|
appeared immediately, and said: ‘What do you desire?’ ‘I want a strong
|
|
steed, for I am going to the wars.’ ‘That you shall have, and still more
|
|
than you ask for.’ Then the wild man went back into the forest, and it
|
|
was not long before a stable-boy came out of it, who led a horse that
|
|
snorted with its nostrils, and could hardly be restrained, and behind
|
|
them followed a great troop of warriors entirely equipped in iron, and
|
|
their swords flashed in the sun. The youth made over his three-legged
|
|
horse to the stable-boy, mounted the other, and rode at the head of the
|
|
soldiers. When he got near the battlefield a great part of the king’s
|
|
men had already fallen, and little was wanting to make the rest give
|
|
way. Then the youth galloped thither with his iron soldiers, broke like
|
|
a hurricane over the enemy, and beat down all who opposed him. They
|
|
began to flee, but the youth pursued, and never stopped, until there
|
|
was not a single man left. Instead of returning to the king, however, he
|
|
conducted his troop by byways back to the forest, and called forth Iron
|
|
Hans. ‘What do you desire?’ asked the wild man. ‘Take back your horse
|
|
and your troops, and give me my three-legged horse again.’ All that he
|
|
asked was done, and soon he was riding on his three-legged horse. When
|
|
the king returned to his palace, his daughter went to meet him, and
|
|
wished him joy of his victory. ‘I am not the one who carried away the
|
|
victory,’ said he, ‘but a strange knight who came to my assistance with
|
|
his soldiers.’ The daughter wanted to hear who the strange knight was,
|
|
but the king did not know, and said: ‘He followed the enemy, and I did
|
|
not see him again.’ She inquired of the gardener where his boy was, but
|
|
he smiled, and said: ‘He has just come home on his three-legged horse,
|
|
and the others have been mocking him, and crying: “Here comes our
|
|
hobblety jib back again!” They asked, too: “Under what hedge have you
|
|
been lying sleeping all the time?” So he said: “I did the best of all,
|
|
and it would have gone badly without me.” And then he was still more
|
|
ridiculed.’
|
|
|
|
The king said to his daughter: ‘I will proclaim a great feast that shall
|
|
last for three days, and you shall throw a golden apple. Perhaps the
|
|
unknown man will show himself.’ When the feast was announced, the youth
|
|
went out to the forest, and called Iron Hans. ‘What do you desire?’
|
|
asked he. ‘That I may catch the king’s daughter’s golden apple.’ ‘It is
|
|
as safe as if you had it already,’ said Iron Hans. ‘You shall likewise
|
|
have a suit of red armour for the occasion, and ride on a spirited
|
|
chestnut-horse.’ When the day came, the youth galloped to the spot, took
|
|
his place amongst the knights, and was recognized by no one. The king’s
|
|
daughter came forward, and threw a golden apple to the knights, but none
|
|
of them caught it but he, only as soon as he had it he galloped away.
|
|
|
|
On the second day Iron Hans equipped him as a white knight, and gave him
|
|
a white horse. Again he was the only one who caught the apple, and
|
|
he did not linger an instant, but galloped off with it. The king grew
|
|
angry, and said: ‘That is not allowed; he must appear before me and tell
|
|
his name.’ He gave the order that if the knight who caught the apple,
|
|
should go away again they should pursue him, and if he would not come
|
|
back willingly, they were to cut him down and stab him.
|
|
|
|
On the third day, he received from Iron Hans a suit of black armour and
|
|
a black horse, and again he caught the apple. But when he was riding off
|
|
with it, the king’s attendants pursued him, and one of them got so near
|
|
him that he wounded the youth’s leg with the point of his sword. The
|
|
youth nevertheless escaped from them, but his horse leapt so violently
|
|
that the helmet fell from the youth’s head, and they could see that he
|
|
had golden hair. They rode back and announced this to the king.
|
|
|
|
The following day the king’s daughter asked the gardener about his
|
|
boy. ‘He is at work in the garden; the queer creature has been at the
|
|
festival too, and only came home yesterday evening; he has likewise
|
|
shown my children three golden apples which he has won.’
|
|
|
|
The king had him summoned into his presence, and he came and again had
|
|
his little cap on his head. But the king’s daughter went up to him and
|
|
took it off, and then his golden hair fell down over his shoulders, and
|
|
he was so handsome that all were amazed. ‘Are you the knight who came
|
|
every day to the festival, always in different colours, and who caught
|
|
the three golden apples?’ asked the king. ‘Yes,’ answered he, ‘and here
|
|
the apples are,’ and he took them out of his pocket, and returned them
|
|
to the king. ‘If you desire further proof, you may see the wound which
|
|
your people gave me when they followed me. But I am likewise the knight
|
|
who helped you to your victory over your enemies.’ ‘If you can perform
|
|
such deeds as that, you are no gardener’s boy; tell me, who is your
|
|
father?’ ‘My father is a mighty king, and gold have I in plenty as great
|
|
as I require.’ ‘I well see,’ said the king, ‘that I owe my thanks to
|
|
you; can I do anything to please you?’ ‘Yes,’ answered he, ‘that indeed
|
|
you can. Give me your daughter to wife.’ The maiden laughed, and said:
|
|
‘He does not stand much on ceremony, but I have already seen by his
|
|
golden hair that he was no gardener’s boy,’ and then she went and
|
|
kissed him. His father and mother came to the wedding, and were in great
|
|
delight, for they had given up all hope of ever seeing their dear
|
|
son again. And as they were sitting at the marriage-feast, the music
|
|
suddenly stopped, the doors opened, and a stately king came in with a
|
|
great retinue. He went up to the youth, embraced him and said: ‘I am
|
|
Iron Hans, and was by enchantment a wild man, but you have set me free;
|
|
all the treasures which I possess, shall be your property.’
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
CAT-SKIN
|
|
|
|
There was once a king, whose queen had hair of the purest gold, and was
|
|
so beautiful that her match was not to be met with on the whole face of
|
|
the earth. But this beautiful queen fell ill, and when she felt that her
|
|
end drew near she called the king to her and said, ‘Promise me that you
|
|
will never marry again, unless you meet with a wife who is as beautiful
|
|
as I am, and who has golden hair like mine.’ Then when the king in his
|
|
grief promised all she asked, she shut her eyes and died. But the king
|
|
was not to be comforted, and for a long time never thought of taking
|
|
another wife. At last, however, his wise men said, ‘this will not do;
|
|
the king must marry again, that we may have a queen.’ So messengers were
|
|
sent far and wide, to seek for a bride as beautiful as the late queen.
|
|
But there was no princess in the world so beautiful; and if there had
|
|
been, still there was not one to be found who had golden hair. So the
|
|
messengers came home, and had had all their trouble for nothing.
|
|
|
|
Now the king had a daughter, who was just as beautiful as her mother,
|
|
and had the same golden hair. And when she was grown up, the king looked
|
|
at her and saw that she was just like this late queen: then he said to
|
|
his courtiers, ‘May I not marry my daughter? She is the very image of my
|
|
dead wife: unless I have her, I shall not find any bride upon the whole
|
|
earth, and you say there must be a queen.’ When the courtiers heard this
|
|
they were shocked, and said, ‘Heaven forbid that a father should marry
|
|
his daughter! Out of so great a sin no good can come.’ And his daughter
|
|
was also shocked, but hoped the king would soon give up such thoughts;
|
|
so she said to him, ‘Before I marry anyone I must have three dresses:
|
|
one must be of gold, like the sun; another must be of shining silver,
|
|
like the moon; and a third must be dazzling as the stars: besides this,
|
|
I want a mantle of a thousand different kinds of fur put together, to
|
|
which every beast in the kingdom must give a part of his skin.’ And thus
|
|
she thought he would think of the matter no more. But the king made the
|
|
most skilful workmen in his kingdom weave the three dresses: one golden,
|
|
like the sun; another silvery, like the moon; and a third sparkling,
|
|
like the stars: and his hunters were told to hunt out all the beasts in
|
|
his kingdom, and to take the finest fur out of their skins: and thus a
|
|
mantle of a thousand furs was made.
|
|
|
|
When all were ready, the king sent them to her; but she got up in the
|
|
night when all were asleep, and took three of her trinkets, a golden
|
|
ring, a golden necklace, and a golden brooch, and packed the three
|
|
dresses--of the sun, the moon, and the stars--up in a nutshell, and
|
|
wrapped herself up in the mantle made of all sorts of fur, and besmeared
|
|
her face and hands with soot. Then she threw herself upon Heaven for
|
|
help in her need, and went away, and journeyed on the whole night, till
|
|
at last she came to a large wood. As she was very tired, she sat herself
|
|
down in the hollow of a tree and soon fell asleep: and there she slept
|
|
on till it was midday.
|
|
|
|
Now as the king to whom the wood belonged was hunting in it, his dogs
|
|
came to the tree, and began to snuff about, and run round and round, and
|
|
bark. ‘Look sharp!’ said the king to the huntsmen, ‘and see what sort
|
|
of game lies there.’ And the huntsmen went up to the tree, and when they
|
|
came back again said, ‘In the hollow tree there lies a most wonderful
|
|
beast, such as we never saw before; its skin seems to be of a thousand
|
|
kinds of fur, but there it lies fast asleep.’ ‘See,’ said the king, ‘if
|
|
you can catch it alive, and we will take it with us.’ So the huntsmen
|
|
took it up, and the maiden awoke and was greatly frightened, and said,
|
|
‘I am a poor child that has neither father nor mother left; have pity on
|
|
me and take me with you.’ Then they said, ‘Yes, Miss Cat-skin, you will
|
|
do for the kitchen; you can sweep up the ashes, and do things of that
|
|
sort.’ So they put her into the coach, and took her home to the king’s
|
|
palace. Then they showed her a little corner under the staircase, where
|
|
no light of day ever peeped in, and said, ‘Cat-skin, you may lie and
|
|
sleep there.’ And she was sent into the kitchen, and made to fetch wood
|
|
and water, to blow the fire, pluck the poultry, pick the herbs, sift the
|
|
ashes, and do all the dirty work.
|
|
|
|
Thus Cat-skin lived for a long time very sorrowfully. ‘Ah! pretty
|
|
princess!’ thought she, ‘what will now become of thee?’ But it happened
|
|
one day that a feast was to be held in the king’s castle, so she said to
|
|
the cook, ‘May I go up a little while and see what is going on? I will
|
|
take care and stand behind the door.’ And the cook said, ‘Yes, you may
|
|
go, but be back again in half an hour’s time, to rake out the ashes.’
|
|
Then she took her little lamp, and went into her cabin, and took off the
|
|
fur skin, and washed the soot from off her face and hands, so that her
|
|
beauty shone forth like the sun from behind the clouds. She next opened
|
|
her nutshell, and brought out of it the dress that shone like the sun,
|
|
and so went to the feast. Everyone made way for her, for nobody knew
|
|
her, and they thought she could be no less than a king’s daughter. But
|
|
the king came up to her, and held out his hand and danced with her; and
|
|
he thought in his heart, ‘I never saw any one half so beautiful.’
|
|
|
|
When the dance was at an end she curtsied; and when the king looked
|
|
round for her, she was gone, no one knew wither. The guards that stood
|
|
at the castle gate were called in: but they had seen no one. The truth
|
|
was, that she had run into her little cabin, pulled off her dress,
|
|
blackened her face and hands, put on the fur-skin cloak, and was
|
|
Cat-skin again. When she went into the kitchen to her work, and began
|
|
to rake the ashes, the cook said, ‘Let that alone till the morning, and
|
|
heat the king’s soup; I should like to run up now and give a peep: but
|
|
take care you don’t let a hair fall into it, or you will run a chance of
|
|
never eating again.’
|
|
|
|
As soon as the cook went away, Cat-skin heated the king’s soup, and
|
|
toasted a slice of bread first, as nicely as ever she could; and when it
|
|
was ready, she went and looked in the cabin for her little golden ring,
|
|
and put it into the dish in which the soup was. When the dance was over,
|
|
the king ordered his soup to be brought in; and it pleased him so well,
|
|
that he thought he had never tasted any so good before. At the bottom
|
|
he saw a gold ring lying; and as he could not make out how it had got
|
|
there, he ordered the cook to be sent for. The cook was frightened when
|
|
he heard the order, and said to Cat-skin, ‘You must have let a hair fall
|
|
into the soup; if it be so, you will have a good beating.’ Then he went
|
|
before the king, and he asked him who had cooked the soup. ‘I did,’
|
|
answered the cook. But the king said, ‘That is not true; it was better
|
|
done than you could do it.’ Then he answered, ‘To tell the truth I did
|
|
not cook it, but Cat-skin did.’ ‘Then let Cat-skin come up,’ said the
|
|
king: and when she came he said to her, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am a poor
|
|
child,’ said she, ‘that has lost both father and mother.’ ‘How came you
|
|
in my palace?’ asked he. ‘I am good for nothing,’ said she, ‘but to be
|
|
scullion-girl, and to have boots and shoes thrown at my head.’ ‘But how
|
|
did you get the ring that was in the soup?’ asked the king. Then she
|
|
would not own that she knew anything about the ring; so the king sent
|
|
her away again about her business.
|
|
|
|
After a time there was another feast, and Cat-skin asked the cook to let
|
|
her go up and see it as before. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but come again in half
|
|
an hour, and cook the king the soup that he likes so much.’ Then she
|
|
ran to her little cabin, washed herself quickly, and took her dress
|
|
out which was silvery as the moon, and put it on; and when she went in,
|
|
looking like a king’s daughter, the king went up to her, and rejoiced at
|
|
seeing her again, and when the dance began he danced with her. After the
|
|
dance was at an end she managed to slip out, so slyly that the king did
|
|
not see where she was gone; but she sprang into her little cabin, and
|
|
made herself into Cat-skin again, and went into the kitchen to cook the
|
|
soup. Whilst the cook was above stairs, she got the golden necklace and
|
|
dropped it into the soup; then it was brought to the king, who ate it,
|
|
and it pleased him as well as before; so he sent for the cook, who
|
|
was again forced to tell him that Cat-skin had cooked it. Cat-skin was
|
|
brought again before the king, but she still told him that she was only
|
|
fit to have boots and shoes thrown at her head.
|
|
|
|
But when the king had ordered a feast to be got ready for the third
|
|
time, it happened just the same as before. ‘You must be a witch,
|
|
Cat-skin,’ said the cook; ‘for you always put something into your soup,
|
|
so that it pleases the king better than mine.’ However, he let her go up
|
|
as before. Then she put on her dress which sparkled like the stars, and
|
|
went into the ball-room in it; and the king danced with her again, and
|
|
thought she had never looked so beautiful as she did then. So whilst
|
|
he was dancing with her, he put a gold ring on her finger without her
|
|
seeing it, and ordered that the dance should be kept up a long time.
|
|
When it was at an end, he would have held her fast by the hand, but she
|
|
slipped away, and sprang so quickly through the crowd that he lost sight
|
|
of her: and she ran as fast as she could into her little cabin under
|
|
the stairs. But this time she kept away too long, and stayed beyond the
|
|
half-hour; so she had not time to take off her fine dress, and threw her
|
|
fur mantle over it, and in her haste did not blacken herself all over
|
|
with soot, but left one of her fingers white.
|
|
|
|
Then she ran into the kitchen, and cooked the king’s soup; and as soon
|
|
as the cook was gone, she put the golden brooch into the dish. When the
|
|
king got to the bottom, he ordered Cat-skin to be called once more, and
|
|
soon saw the white finger, and the ring that he had put on it whilst
|
|
they were dancing: so he seized her hand, and kept fast hold of it, and
|
|
when she wanted to loose herself and spring away, the fur cloak fell off
|
|
a little on one side, and the starry dress sparkled underneath it.
|
|
|
|
Then he got hold of the fur and tore it off, and her golden hair and
|
|
beautiful form were seen, and she could no longer hide herself: so she
|
|
washed the soot and ashes from her face, and showed herself to be the
|
|
most beautiful princess upon the face of the earth. But the king said,
|
|
‘You are my beloved bride, and we will never more be parted from each
|
|
other.’ And the wedding feast was held, and a merry day it was, as ever
|
|
was heard of or seen in that country, or indeed in any other.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED
|
|
|
|
There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of
|
|
the cottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore
|
|
white and the other red roses. She had two children who were like the
|
|
two rose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose-red.
|
|
They were as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children
|
|
in the world were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than
|
|
Rose-red. Rose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields
|
|
seeking flowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home
|
|
with her mother, and helped her with her housework, or read to her when
|
|
there was nothing to do.
|
|
|
|
The two children were so fond of one another that they always held each
|
|
other by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow-white said:
|
|
‘We will not leave each other,’ Rose-red answered: ‘Never so long as we
|
|
live,’ and their mother would add: ‘What one has she must share with the
|
|
other.’
|
|
|
|
They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no
|
|
beasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little
|
|
hare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by
|
|
their side, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon
|
|
the boughs, and sang whatever they knew.
|
|
|
|
No mishap overtook them; if they had stayed too late in the forest, and
|
|
night came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss,
|
|
and slept until morning came, and their mother knew this and did not
|
|
worry on their account.
|
|
|
|
Once when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused
|
|
them, they saw a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting near
|
|
their bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing
|
|
and went into the forest. And when they looked round they found that
|
|
they had been sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly
|
|
have fallen into it in the darkness if they had gone only a few paces
|
|
further. And their mother told them that it must have been the angel who
|
|
watches over good children.
|
|
|
|
Snow-white and Rose-red kept their mother’s little cottage so neat that
|
|
it was a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer Rose-red took care
|
|
of the house, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother’s
|
|
bed before she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter
|
|
Snow-white lit the fire and hung the kettle on the hob. The kettle
|
|
was of brass and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished. In the
|
|
evening, when the snowflakes fell, the mother said: ‘Go, Snow-white, and
|
|
bolt the door,’ and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took
|
|
her spectacles and read aloud out of a large book, and the two girls
|
|
listened as they sat and spun. And close by them lay a lamb upon the
|
|
floor, and behind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head
|
|
hidden beneath its wings.
|
|
|
|
One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, someone
|
|
knocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said:
|
|
‘Quick, Rose-red, open the door, it must be a traveller who is seeking
|
|
shelter.’ Rose-red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a
|
|
poor man, but it was not; it was a bear that stretched his broad, black
|
|
head within the door.
|
|
|
|
Rose-red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered,
|
|
and Snow-white hid herself behind her mother’s bed. But the bear began
|
|
to speak and said: ‘Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am
|
|
half-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you.’
|
|
|
|
‘Poor bear,’ said the mother, ‘lie down by the fire, only take care that
|
|
you do not burn your coat.’ Then she cried: ‘Snow-white, Rose-red, come
|
|
out, the bear will do you no harm, he means well.’ So they both came
|
|
out, and by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid
|
|
of him. The bear said: ‘Here, children, knock the snow out of my coat a
|
|
little’; so they brought the broom and swept the bear’s hide clean;
|
|
and he stretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and
|
|
comfortably. It was not long before they grew quite at home, and played
|
|
tricks with their clumsy guest. They tugged his hair with their hands,
|
|
put their feet upon his back and rolled him about, or they took a
|
|
hazel-switch and beat him, and when he growled they laughed. But the
|
|
bear took it all in good part, only when they were too rough he called
|
|
out: ‘Leave me alive, children,
|
|
|
|
Snow-white, Rose-red,
|
|
Will you beat your wooer dead?’
|
|
|
|
When it was bed-time, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the
|
|
bear: ‘You can lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from
|
|
the cold and the bad weather.’ As soon as day dawned the two children
|
|
let him out, and he trotted across the snow into the forest.
|
|
|
|
Henceforth the bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself
|
|
down by the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as
|
|
much as they liked; and they got so used to him that the doors were
|
|
never fastened until their black friend had arrived.
|
|
|
|
When spring had come and all outside was green, the bear said one
|
|
morning to Snow-white: ‘Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the
|
|
whole summer.’ ‘Where are you going, then, dear bear?’ asked Snow-white.
|
|
‘I must go into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked
|
|
dwarfs. In the winter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged
|
|
to stay below and cannot work their way through; but now, when the sun
|
|
has thawed and warmed the earth, they break through it, and come out to
|
|
pry and steal; and what once gets into their hands, and in their caves,
|
|
does not easily see daylight again.’
|
|
|
|
Snow-white was quite sorry at his departure, and as she unbolted the
|
|
door for him, and the bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt
|
|
and a piece of his hairy coat was torn off, and it seemed to Snow-white
|
|
as if she had seen gold shining through it, but she was not sure about
|
|
it. The bear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the
|
|
trees.
|
|
|
|
A short time afterwards the mother sent her children into the forest
|
|
to get firewood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the
|
|
ground, and close by the trunk something was jumping backwards and
|
|
forwards in the grass, but they could not make out what it was. When
|
|
they came nearer they saw a dwarf with an old withered face and a
|
|
snow-white beard a yard long. The end of the beard was caught in a
|
|
crevice of the tree, and the little fellow was jumping about like a dog
|
|
tied to a rope, and did not know what to do.
|
|
|
|
He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried: ‘Why do you
|
|
stand there? Can you not come here and help me?’ ‘What are you up to,
|
|
little man?’ asked Rose-red. ‘You stupid, prying goose!’ answered the
|
|
dwarf: ‘I was going to split the tree to get a little wood for cooking.
|
|
The little bit of food that we people get is immediately burnt up with
|
|
heavy logs; we do not swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had
|
|
just driven the wedge safely in, and everything was going as I wished;
|
|
but the cursed wedge was too smooth and suddenly sprang out, and the
|
|
tree closed so quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white
|
|
beard; so now it is tight and I cannot get away, and the silly, sleek,
|
|
milk-faced things laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!’
|
|
|
|
The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it
|
|
was caught too fast. ‘I will run and fetch someone,’ said Rose-red. ‘You
|
|
senseless goose!’ snarled the dwarf; ‘why should you fetch someone? You
|
|
are already two too many for me; can you not think of something better?’
|
|
‘Don’t be impatient,’ said Snow-white, ‘I will help you,’ and she pulled
|
|
her scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.
|
|
|
|
As soon as the dwarf felt himself free he laid hold of a bag which lay
|
|
amongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it
|
|
up, grumbling to himself: ‘Uncouth people, to cut off a piece of my fine
|
|
beard. Bad luck to you!’ and then he swung the bag upon his back, and
|
|
went off without even once looking at the children.
|
|
|
|
Some time afterwards Snow-white and Rose-red went to catch a dish
|
|
of fish. As they came near the brook they saw something like a large
|
|
grasshopper jumping towards the water, as if it were going to leap in.
|
|
They ran to it and found it was the dwarf. ‘Where are you going?’ said
|
|
Rose-red; ‘you surely don’t want to go into the water?’ ‘I am not such
|
|
a fool!’ cried the dwarf; ‘don’t you see that the accursed fish wants
|
|
to pull me in?’ The little man had been sitting there fishing, and
|
|
unluckily the wind had tangled up his beard with the fishing-line; a
|
|
moment later a big fish made a bite and the feeble creature had not
|
|
strength to pull it out; the fish kept the upper hand and pulled the
|
|
dwarf towards him. He held on to all the reeds and rushes, but it was of
|
|
little good, for he was forced to follow the movements of the fish, and
|
|
was in urgent danger of being dragged into the water.
|
|
|
|
The girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his
|
|
beard from the line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast
|
|
together. There was nothing to do but to bring out the scissors and cut
|
|
the beard, whereby a small part of it was lost. When the dwarf saw that
|
|
he screamed out: ‘Is that civil, you toadstool, to disfigure a man’s
|
|
face? Was it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have
|
|
cut off the best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people.
|
|
I wish you had been made to run the soles off your shoes!’ Then he took
|
|
out a sack of pearls which lay in the rushes, and without another word
|
|
he dragged it away and disappeared behind a stone.
|
|
|
|
It happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the
|
|
town to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them
|
|
across a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn about. There
|
|
they noticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and
|
|
round above them; it sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a
|
|
rock not far away. Immediately they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran
|
|
up and saw with horror that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance
|
|
the dwarf, and was going to carry him off.
|
|
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The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the little man,
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and pulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go.
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As soon as the dwarf had recovered from his first fright he cried
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with his shrill voice: ‘Could you not have done it more carefully! You
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dragged at my brown coat so that it is all torn and full of holes, you
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clumsy creatures!’ Then he took up a sack full of precious stones, and
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slipped away again under the rock into his hole. The girls, who by
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this time were used to his ingratitude, went on their way and did their
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business in town.
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As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the
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dwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot,
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and had not thought that anyone would come there so late. The evening
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sun shone upon the brilliant stones; they glittered and sparkled with
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all colours so beautifully that the children stood still and stared
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at them. ‘Why do you stand gaping there?’ cried the dwarf, and his
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ashen-grey face became copper-red with rage. He was still cursing when a
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loud growling was heard, and a black bear came trotting towards them out
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of the forest. The dwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not reach
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his cave, for the bear was already close. Then in the dread of his heart
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he cried: ‘Dear Mr Bear, spare me, I will give you all my treasures;
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look, the beautiful jewels lying there! Grant me my life; what do you
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want with such a slender little fellow as I? you would not feel me
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between your teeth. Come, take these two wicked girls, they are tender
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morsels for you, fat as young quails; for mercy’s sake eat them!’ The
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bear took no heed of his words, but gave the wicked creature a single
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blow with his paw, and he did not move again.
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The girls had run away, but the bear called to them: ‘Snow-white and
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Rose-red, do not be afraid; wait, I will come with you.’ Then they
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recognized his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly
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his bearskin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in
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gold. ‘I am a king’s son,’ he said, ‘and I was bewitched by that wicked
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dwarf, who had stolen my treasures; I have had to run about the forest
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as a savage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his
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well-deserved punishment.
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Snow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they
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divided between them the great treasure which the dwarf had gathered
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together in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with
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her children for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and
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they stood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful
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roses, white and red.
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