{"id":110,"date":"2016-03-06T00:26:30","date_gmt":"2016-03-06T00:26:30","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/patrickcarpen.com\/books-republished\/?page_id=110"},"modified":"2016-03-06T00:26:30","modified_gmt":"2016-03-06T00:26:30","slug":"fairy-tales-by-the-brothers-grimm","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/patrickcarpen.com\/books-republished\/fairy-tales-by-the-brothers-grimm\/","title":{"rendered":"Fairy Tales by the Brothers Grimm"},"content":{"rendered":"

This page was first created on the 5th of March, 2016 and last updated on the 5th of March, 2016 by Patrick Carpen.<\/a><\/em><\/p>\n

THE BROTHERS GRIMM FAIRY TALES<\/b> <\/a><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

THE GOLDEN BIRD <\/a><\/p>\n

HANS IN LUCK <\/a><\/p>\n

JORINDA AND JORINDEL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS <\/a><\/p>\n

OLD SULTAN <\/a><\/p>\n

THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN <\/a><\/p>\n

BRIAR ROSE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE DOG AND THE SPARROW <\/a><\/p>\n

THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES <\/a><\/p>\n

THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR <\/a><\/p>\n

THE FROG-PRINCE <\/a><\/p>\n

CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP <\/a><\/p>\n

THE GOOSE-GIRL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET <\/a><\/p>\n

RAPUNZEL <\/a><\/p>\n

FUNDEVOGEL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR <\/a><\/p>\n

HANSEL AND GRETEL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE <\/a><\/p>\n

MOTHER HOLLE <\/a><\/p>\n

LITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD] <\/a><\/p>\n

THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM <\/a><\/p>\n

TOM THUMB <\/a><\/p>\n

RUMPELSTILTSKIN <\/a><\/p>\n

CLEVER GRETEL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON <\/a><\/p>\n

THE LITTLE PEASANT <\/a><\/p>\n

FREDERICK AND CATHERINE <\/a><\/p>\n

SWEETHEART ROLAND <\/a><\/p>\n

SNOWDROP <\/a><\/p>\n

THE PINK <\/a><\/p>\n

CLEVER ELSIE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE MISER IN THE BUSH <\/a><\/p>\n

ASHPUTTEL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE WHITE SNAKE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS <\/a><\/p>\n

THE QUEEN BEE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER <\/a><\/p>\n

THE JUNIPER-TREE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE TURNIP <\/a><\/p>\n

CLEVER HANS <\/a><\/p>\n

THE THREE LANGUAGES <\/a><\/p>\n

THE FOX AND THE CAT <\/a><\/p>\n

THE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS <\/a><\/p>\n

LILY AND THE LION <\/a><\/p>\n

THE FOX AND THE HORSE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE BLUE LIGHT <\/a><\/p>\n

THE RAVEN <\/a><\/p>\n

THE GOLDEN GOOSE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE WATER OF LIFE <\/a><\/p>\n

THE TWELVE HUNTSMEN <\/a><\/p>\n

THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN <\/a><\/p>\n

DOCTOR KNOWALL <\/a><\/p>\n

THE SEVEN RAVENS <\/a><\/p>\n

THE WEDDING OF MRS FOX <\/a><\/p>\n

THE SALAD <\/a><\/p>\n

THE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN
\nWHAT FEAR WAS <\/a><\/p>\n

KING GRISLY-BEARD <\/a><\/p>\n

IRON HANS <\/a><\/p>\n

CAT-SKIN <\/a><\/p>\n

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED <\/a><\/p>\n

\n

<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n

THE BROTHERS GRIMM FAIRY TALES<\/h1>\n

<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

THE GOLDEN BIRD<\/h2>\n

A certain king had a beautiful garden, and in the garden stood a tree
\nwhich bore golden apples. These apples were always counted, and about the
\ntime when they began to grow ripe it was found that every night one of
\nthem was gone. The king became very angry at this, and ordered the
\ngardener to keep watch all night under the tree. The gardener set his
\neldest son to watch; but about twelve o’clock he fell asleep, and in the
\nmorning another of the apples was missing. Then the second son was ordered
\nto watch; and at midnight he too fell asleep, and in the morning another
\napple was gone. Then the third son offered to keep watch; but the gardener
\nat first would not let him, for fear some harm should come to him:
\nhowever, at last he consented, and the young man laid himself under the
\ntree to watch. As the clock struck twelve he heard a rustling noise in the
\nair, and a bird came flying that was of pure gold; and as it was snapping
\nat one of the apples with its beak, the gardener’s son jumped up and shot
\nan arrow at it. But the arrow did the bird no harm; only it dropped a
\ngolden feather from its tail, and then flew away. The golden feather was
\nbrought to the king in the morning, and all the council was called
\ntogether. Everyone agreed that it was worth more than all the wealth of
\nthe kingdom: but the king said, ‘One feather is of no use to me, I must
\nhave the whole bird.’<\/p>\n

Then the gardener’s eldest son set out and thought to find the golden bird
\nvery easily; and when he had gone but a little way, he came to a wood, and
\nby the side of the wood he saw a fox sitting; so he took his bow and made
\nready to shoot at it. Then the fox said, ‘Do not shoot me, for I will give
\nyou good counsel; I know what your business is, and that you want to find
\nthe golden bird. You will reach a village in the evening; and when you get
\nthere, you will see two inns opposite to each other, one of which is very
\npleasant and beautiful to look at: go not in there, but rest for the night
\nin the other, though it may appear to you to be very poor and mean.’ But
\nthe son thought to himself, ‘What can such a beast as this know about the
\nmatter?’ So he shot his arrow at the fox; but he missed it, and it set up
\nits tail above its back and ran into the wood. Then he went his way, and
\nin the evening came to the village where the two inns were; and in one of
\nthese were people singing, and dancing, and feasting; but the other looked
\nvery dirty, and poor. ‘I should be very silly,’ said he, ‘if I went to
\nthat shabby house, and left this charming place’; so he went into the
\nsmart house, and ate and drank at his ease, and forgot the bird, and his
\ncountry too.<\/p>\n

Time passed on; and as the eldest son did not come back, and no tidings
\nwere heard of him, the second son set out, and the same thing happened to
\nhim. He met the fox, who gave him the good advice: but when he came to the
\ntwo inns, his eldest brother was standing at the window where the
\nmerrymaking was, and called to him to come in; and he could not withstand
\nthe temptation, but went in, and forgot the golden bird and his country in
\nthe same manner.<\/p>\n

Time passed on again, and the youngest son too wished to set out into the
\nwide world to seek for the golden bird; but his father would not listen to
\nit for a long while, for he was very fond of his son, and was afraid that
\nsome ill luck might happen to him also, and prevent his coming back.
\nHowever, at last it was agreed he should go, for he would not rest at
\nhome; and as he came to the wood, he met the fox, and heard the same good
\ncounsel. But he was thankful to the fox, and did not attempt his life as
\nhis brothers had done; so the fox said, ‘Sit upon my tail, and you will
\ntravel faster.’ So he sat down, and the fox began to run, and away they
\nwent over stock and stone so quick that their hair whistled in the wind.<\/p>\n

When they came to the village, the son followed the fox’s counsel, and
\nwithout looking about him went to the shabby inn and rested there all
\nnight at his ease. In the morning came the fox again and met him as he was
\nbeginning his journey, and said, ‘Go straight forward, till you come to a
\ncastle, before which lie a whole troop of soldiers fast asleep and
\nsnoring: take no notice of them, but go into the castle and pass on and on
\ntill you come to a room, where the golden bird sits in a wooden cage;
\nclose by it stands a beautiful golden cage; but do not try to take the
\nbird out of the shabby cage and put it into the handsome one, otherwise
\nyou will repent it.’ Then the fox stretched out his tail again, and the
\nyoung man sat himself down, and away they went over stock and stone till
\ntheir hair whistled in the wind.<\/p>\n

Before the castle gate all was as the fox had said: so the son went in and
\nfound the chamber where the golden bird hung in a wooden cage, and below stood the golden cage, and the three golden apples that had been lost were
\nlying close by it. Then thought he to himself, ‘It will be a very droll
\nthing to bring away such a fine bird in this shabby cage’; so he opened
\nthe door and took hold of it and put it into the golden cage. But the bird
\nset up such a loud scream that all the soldiers awoke, and they took him
\nprisoner and carried him before the king. The next morning the court sat
\nto judge him; and when all was heard, it sentenced him to die, unless he
\nshould bring the king the golden horse which could run as swiftly as the
\nwind; and if he did this, he was to have the golden bird given him for his
\nown.<\/p>\n

So he set out once more on his journey, sighing, and in great despair,
\nwhen on a sudden his friend the fox met him, and said, ‘You see now what
\nhas happened on account of your not listening to my counsel. I will still,
\nhowever, tell you how to find the golden horse, if you will do as I bid
\nyou. You must go straight on till you come to the castle where the horse
\nstands in his stall: by his side will lie the groom fast asleep and
\nsnoring: take away the horse quietly, but be sure to put the old leathern
\nsaddle upon him, and not the golden one that is close by it.’ Then the son
\nsat down on the fox’s tail, and away they went over stock and stone till
\ntheir hair whistled in the wind.<\/p>\n

All went right, and the groom lay snoring with his hand upon the golden
\nsaddle. But when the son looked at the horse, he thought it a great pity
\nto put the leathern saddle upon it. ‘I will give him the good one,’ said
\nhe; ‘I am sure he deserves it.’ As he took up the golden saddle the groom
\nawoke and cried out so loud, that all the guards ran in and took him
\nprisoner, and in the morning he was again brought before the court to be
\njudged, and was sentenced to die. But it was agreed, that, if he could
\nbring thither the beautiful princess, he should live, and have the bird
\nand the horse given him for his own.<\/p>\n

Then he went his way very sorrowful; but the old fox came and said, ‘Why
\ndid not you listen to me? If you had, you would have carried away both the
\nbird and the horse; yet will I once more give you counsel. Go straight on,
\nand in the evening you will arrive at a castle. At twelve o’clock at night
\nthe princess goes to the bathing-house: go up to her and give her a kiss,
\nand she will let you lead her away; but take care you do not suffer her to
\ngo and take leave of her father and mother.’ Then the fox stretched out
\nhis tail, and so away they went over stock and stone till their hair
\nwhistled again.<\/p>\n

As they came to the castle, all was as the fox had said, and at twelve
\no’clock the young man met the princess going to the bath and gave her the
\nkiss, and she agreed to run away with him, but begged with many tears that
\nhe would let her take leave of her father. At first he refused, but she
\nwept still more and more, and fell at his feet, till at last he consented;
\nbut the moment she came to her father’s house the guards awoke and he was
\ntaken prisoner again.<\/p>\n

Then he was brought before the king, and the king said, ‘You shall never
\nhave my daughter unless in eight days you dig away the hill that stops the
\nview from my window.’ Now this hill was so big that the whole world could
\nnot take it away: and when he had worked for seven days, and had done very
\nlittle, the fox came and said. ‘Lie down and go to sleep; I will work for
\nyou.’ And in the morning he awoke and the hill was gone; so he went
\nmerrily to the king, and told him that now that it was removed he must
\ngive him the princess.<\/p>\n

Then the king was obliged to keep his word, and away went the young man
\nand the princess; and the fox came and said to him, ‘We will have all
\nthree, the princess, the horse, and the bird.’ ‘Ah!’ said the young man,
\n‘that would be a great thing, but how can you contrive it?’<\/p>\n

‘If you will only listen,’ said the fox, ‘it can be done. When you come to
\nthe king, and he asks for the beautiful princess, you must say, “Here she
\nis!” Then he will be very joyful; and you will mount the golden horse that
\nthey are to give you, and put out your hand to take leave of them; but
\nshake hands with the princess last. Then lift her quickly on to the horse
\nbehind you; clap your spurs to his side, and gallop away as fast as you
\ncan.’<\/p>\n

All went right: then the fox said, ‘When you come to the castle where the
\nbird is, I will stay with the princess at the door, and you will ride in
\nand speak to the king; and when he sees that it is the right horse, he
\nwill bring out the bird; but you must sit still, and say that you want to
\nlook at it, to see whether it is the true golden bird; and when you get it
\ninto your hand, ride away.’<\/p>\n

This, too, happened as the fox said; they carried off the bird, the
\nprincess mounted again, and they rode on to a great wood. Then the fox
\ncame, and said, ‘Pray kill me, and cut off my head and my feet.’ But the
\nyoung man refused to do it: so the fox said, ‘I will at any rate give you
\ngood counsel: beware of two things; ransom no one from the gallows, and
\nsit down by the side of no river.’ Then away he went. ‘Well,’ thought the
\nyoung man, ‘it is no hard matter to keep that advice.’<\/p>\n

He rode on with the princess, till at last he came to the village where he
\nhad left his two brothers. And there he heard a great noise and uproar;
\nand when he asked what was the matter, the people said, ‘Two men are going
\nto be hanged.’ As he came nearer, he saw that the two men were his
\nbrothers, who had turned robbers; so he said, ‘Cannot they in any way be
\nsaved?’ But the people said ‘No,’ unless he would bestow all his money
\nupon the rascals and buy their liberty. Then he did not stay to think
\nabout the matter, but paid what was asked, and his brothers were given up,
\nand went on with him towards their home.<\/p>\n

And as they came to the wood where the fox first met them, it was so cool
\nand pleasant that the two brothers said, ‘Let us sit down by the side of
\nthe river, and rest a while, to eat and drink.’ So he said, ‘Yes,’ and
\nforgot the fox’s counsel, and sat down on the side of the river; and while
\nhe suspected nothing, they came behind, and threw him down the bank, and
\ntook the princess, the horse, and the bird, and went home to the king
\ntheir master, and said. ‘All this have we won by our labour.’ Then there
\nwas great rejoicing made; but the horse would not eat, the bird would not
\nsing, and the princess wept.<\/p>\n

The youngest son fell to the bottom of the river’s bed: luckily it was
\nnearly dry, but his bones were almost broken, and the bank was so steep
\nthat he could find no way to get out. Then the old fox came once more, and
\nscolded him for not following his advice; otherwise no evil would have
\nbefallen him: ‘Yet,’ said he, ‘I cannot leave you here, so lay hold of my
\ntail and hold fast.’ Then he pulled him out of the river, and said to him,
\nas he got upon the bank, ‘Your brothers have set watch to kill you, if
\nthey find you in the kingdom.’ So he dressed himself as a poor man, and
\ncame secretly to the king’s court, and was scarcely within the doors when
\nthe horse began to eat, and the bird to sing, and the princess left off
\nweeping. Then he went to the king, and told him all his brothers’ roguery;
\nand they were seized and punished, and he had the princess given to him
\nagain; and after the king’s death he was heir to his kingdom.<\/p>\n

A long while after, he went to walk one day in the wood, and the old fox
\nmet him, and besought him with tears in his eyes to kill him, and cut off
\nhis head and feet. And at last he did so, and in a moment the fox was
\nchanged into a man, and turned out to be the brother of the princess, who
\nhad been lost a great many many years.<\/p>\n

<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n

<\/div>\n

HANS IN LUCK<\/h2>\n

Some men are born to good luck: all they do or try to do comes right\u2014all
\nthat falls to them is so much gain\u2014all their geese are swans\u2014all
\ntheir cards are trumps\u2014toss them which way you will, they will
\nalways, like poor puss, alight upon their legs, and only move on so much
\nthe faster. The world may very likely not always think of them as they
\nthink of themselves, but what care they for the world? what can it know
\nabout the matter?<\/p>\n

One of these lucky beings was neighbour Hans. Seven long years he had
\nworked hard for his master. At last he said, ‘Master, my time is up; I
\nmust go home and see my poor mother once more: so pray pay me my wages and
\nlet me go.’ And the master said, ‘You have been a faithful and good
\nservant, Hans, so your pay shall be handsome.’ Then he gave him a lump of
\nsilver as big as his head.<\/p>\n

Hans took out his pocket-handkerchief, put the piece of silver into it,
\nthrew it over his shoulder, and jogged off on his road homewards. As he
\nwent lazily on, dragging one foot after another, a man came in sight,
\ntrotting gaily along on a capital horse. ‘Ah!’ said Hans aloud, ‘what a
\nfine thing it is to ride on horseback! There he sits as easy and happy as
\nif he was at home, in the chair by his fireside; he trips against no
\nstones, saves shoe-leather, and gets on he hardly knows how.’ Hans did not
\nspeak so softly but the horseman heard it all, and said, ‘Well, friend,
\nwhy do you go on foot then?’ ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘I have this load to carry: to
\nbe sure it is silver, but it is so heavy that I can’t hold up my head, and
\nyou must know it hurts my shoulder sadly.’ ‘What do you say of making an
\nexchange?’ said the horseman. ‘I will give you my horse, and you shall
\ngive me the silver; which will save you a great deal of trouble in
\ncarrying such a heavy load about with you.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said
\nHans: ‘but as you are so kind to me, I must tell you one thing\u2014you
\nwill have a weary task to draw that silver about with you.’ However, the
\nhorseman got off, took the silver, helped Hans up, gave him the bridle
\ninto one hand and the whip into the other, and said, ‘When you want to go
\nvery fast, smack your lips loudly together, and cry “Jip!”‘<\/p>\n

Hans was delighted as he sat on the horse, drew himself up, squared his
\nelbows, turned out his toes, cracked his whip, and rode merrily off, one
\nminute whistling a merry tune, and another singing,<\/p>\n

 'No care and no sorrow,\r\n  A fig for the morrow!\r\n  We'll laugh and be merry,\r\n  Sing neigh down derry!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
After a time he thought he should like to go a little faster, so he
\nsmacked his lips and cried ‘Jip!’ Away went the horse full gallop; and
\nbefore Hans knew what he was about, he was thrown off, and lay on his back
\nby the road-side. His horse would have ran off, if a shepherd who was
\ncoming by, driving a cow, had not stopped it. Hans soon came to himself,
\nand got upon his legs again, sadly vexed, and said to the shepherd, ‘This
\nriding is no joke, when a man has the luck to get upon a beast like this
\nthat stumbles and flings him off as if it would break his neck. However,
\nI’m off now once for all: I like your cow now a great deal better than
\nthis smart beast that played me this trick, and has spoiled my best coat,
\nyou see, in this puddle; which, by the by, smells not very like a nosegay.
\nOne can walk along at one’s leisure behind that cow\u2014keep good
\ncompany, and have milk, butter, and cheese, every day, into the bargain.
\nWhat would I give to have such a prize!’ ‘Well,’ said the shepherd, ‘if
\nyou are so fond of her, I will change my cow for your horse; I like to do
\ngood to my neighbours, even though I lose by it myself.’ ‘Done!’ said
\nHans, merrily. ‘What a noble heart that good man has!’ thought he. Then
\nthe shepherd jumped upon the horse, wished Hans and the cow good morning,
\nand away he rode.<\/p>\n
Hans brushed his coat, wiped his face and hands, rested a while, and then
\ndrove off his cow quietly, and thought his bargain a very lucky one. ‘If I
\nhave only a piece of bread (and I certainly shall always be able to get
\nthat), I can, whenever I like, eat my butter and cheese with it; and when
\nI am thirsty I can milk my cow and drink the milk: and what can I wish for
\nmore?’ When he came to an inn, he halted, ate up all his bread, and gave
\naway his last penny for a glass of beer. When he had rested himself he set
\noff again, driving his cow towards his mother’s village. But the heat grew
\ngreater as soon as noon came on, till at last, as he found himself on a
\nwide heath that would take him more than an hour to cross, he began to be
\nso hot and parched that his tongue clave to the roof of his mouth. ‘I can
\nfind a cure for this,’ thought he; ‘now I will milk my cow and quench my
\nthirst’: so he tied her to the stump of a tree, and held his leathern cap
\nto milk into; but not a drop was to be had. Who would have thought that
\nthis cow, which was to bring him milk and butter and cheese, was all that
\ntime utterly dry? Hans had not thought of looking to that.<\/p>\n
While he was trying his luck in milking, and managing the matter very
\nclumsily, the uneasy beast began to think him very troublesome; and at
\nlast gave him such a kick on the head as knocked him down; and there he
\nlay a long while senseless. Luckily a butcher soon came by, driving a pig
\nin a wheelbarrow. ‘What is the matter with you, my man?’ said the butcher,
\nas he helped him up. Hans told him what had happened, how he was dry, and
\nwanted to milk his cow, but found the cow was dry too. Then the butcher
\ngave him a flask of ale, saying, ‘There, drink and refresh yourself; your
\ncow will give you no milk: don’t you see she is an old beast, good for
\nnothing but the slaughter-house?’ ‘Alas, alas!’ said Hans, ‘who would have
\nthought it? What a shame to take my horse, and give me only a dry cow! If
\nI kill her, what will she be good for? I hate cow-beef; it is not tender
\nenough for me. If it were a pig now\u2014like that fat gentleman you are
\ndriving along at his ease\u2014one could do something with it; it would
\nat any rate make sausages.’ ‘Well,’ said the butcher, ‘I don’t like to say
\nno, when one is asked to do a kind, neighbourly thing. To please you I
\nwill change, and give you my fine fat pig for the cow.’ ‘Heaven reward you
\nfor your kindness and self-denial!’ said Hans, as he gave the butcher the
\ncow; and taking the pig off the wheel-barrow, drove it away, holding it by
\nthe string that was tied to its leg.<\/p>\n
So on he jogged, and all seemed now to go right with him: he had met with
\nsome misfortunes, to be sure; but he was now well repaid for all. How
\ncould it be otherwise with such a travelling companion as he had at last
\ngot?<\/p>\n
The next man he met was a countryman carrying a fine white goose. The
\ncountryman stopped to ask what was o’clock; this led to further chat; and
\nHans told him all his luck, how he had so many good bargains, and how all
\nthe world went gay and smiling with him. The countryman then began to tell
\nhis tale, and said he was going to take the goose to a christening.
\n‘Feel,’ said he, ‘how heavy it is, and yet it is only eight weeks old.
\nWhoever roasts and eats it will find plenty of fat upon it, it has lived
\nso well!’ ‘You’re right,’ said Hans, as he weighed it in his hand; ‘but if
\nyou talk of fat, my pig is no trifle.’ Meantime the countryman began to
\nlook grave, and shook his head. ‘Hark ye!’ said he, ‘my worthy friend, you
\nseem a good sort of fellow, so I can’t help doing you a kind turn. Your
\npig may get you into a scrape. In the village I just came from, the squire
\nhas had a pig stolen out of his sty. I was dreadfully afraid when I saw
\nyou that you had got the squire’s pig. If you have, and they catch you, it
\nwill be a bad job for you. The least they will do will be to throw you
\ninto the horse-pond. Can you swim?’<\/p>\n
Poor Hans was sadly frightened. ‘Good man,’ cried he, ‘pray get me out of
\nthis scrape. I know nothing of where the pig was either bred or born; but
\nhe may have been the squire’s for aught I can tell: you know this country
\nbetter than I do, take my pig and give me the goose.’ ‘I ought to have
\nsomething into the bargain,’ said the countryman; ‘give a fat goose for a
\npig, indeed! ‘Tis not everyone would do so much for you as that. However,
\nI will not be hard upon you, as you are in trouble.’ Then he took the
\nstring in his hand, and drove off the pig by a side path; while Hans went
\non the way homewards free from care. ‘After all,’ thought he, ‘that chap
\nis pretty well taken in. I don’t care whose pig it is, but wherever it
\ncame from it has been a very good friend to me. I have much the best of
\nthe bargain. First there will be a capital roast; then the fat will find
\nme in goose-grease for six months; and then there are all the beautiful
\nwhite feathers. I will put them into my pillow, and then I am sure I shall
\nsleep soundly without rocking. How happy my mother will be! Talk of a pig,
\nindeed! Give me a fine fat goose.’<\/p>\n
As he came to the next village, he saw a scissor-grinder with his wheel,
\nworking and singing,<\/p>\n
 'O'er hill and o'er dale\r\n  So happy I roam,\r\n  Work light and live well,\r\n  All the world is my home;\r\n  Then who so blythe, so merry as I?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Hans stood looking on for a while, and at last said, ‘You must be well
\noff, master grinder! you seem so happy at your work.’ ‘Yes,’ said the
\nother, ‘mine is a golden trade; a good grinder never puts his hand into
\nhis pocket without finding money in it\u2014but where did you get that
\nbeautiful goose?’ ‘I did not buy it, I gave a pig for it.’ ‘And where did
\nyou get the pig?’ ‘I gave a cow for it.’ ‘And the cow?’ ‘I gave a horse
\nfor it.’ ‘And the horse?’ ‘I gave a lump of silver as big as my head for
\nit.’ ‘And the silver?’ ‘Oh! I worked hard for that seven long years.’ ‘You
\nhave thriven well in the world hitherto,’ said the grinder, ‘now if you
\ncould find money in your pocket whenever you put your hand in it, your
\nfortune would be made.’ ‘Very true: but how is that to be managed?’ ‘How?
\nWhy, you must turn grinder like myself,’ said the other; ‘you only want a
\ngrindstone; the rest will come of itself. Here is one that is but little
\nthe worse for wear: I would not ask more than the value of your goose for
\nit\u2014will you buy?’ ‘How can you ask?’ said Hans; ‘I should be the
\nhappiest man in the world, if I could have money whenever I put my hand in
\nmy pocket: what could I want more? there’s the goose.’ ‘Now,’ said the
\ngrinder, as he gave him a common rough stone that lay by his side, ‘this
\nis a most capital stone; do but work it well enough, and you can make an
\nold nail cut with it.’<\/p>\n
Hans took the stone, and went his way with a light heart: his eyes
\nsparkled for joy, and he said to himself, ‘Surely I must have been born in
\na lucky hour; everything I could want or wish for comes of itself. People
\nare so kind; they seem really to think I do them a favour in letting them
\nmake me rich, and giving me good bargains.’<\/p>\n
Meantime he began to be tired, and hungry too, for he had given away his
\nlast penny in his joy at getting the cow.<\/p>\n
At last he could go no farther, for the stone tired him sadly: and he
\ndragged himself to the side of a river, that he might take a drink of
\nwater, and rest a while. So he laid the stone carefully by his side on the
\nbank: but, as he stooped down to drink, he forgot it, pushed it a little,
\nand down it rolled, plump into the stream.<\/p>\n
For a while he watched it sinking in the deep clear water; then sprang up
\nand danced for joy, and again fell upon his knees and thanked Heaven, with
\ntears in his eyes, for its kindness in taking away his only plague, the
\nugly heavy stone.<\/p>\n
‘How happy am I!’ cried he; ‘nobody was ever so lucky as I.’ Then up he
\ngot with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till he
\nreached his mother’s house, and told her how very easy the road to good
\nluck was.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
JORINDA AND JORINDEL<\/h2>\n
There was once an old castle, that stood in the middle of a deep gloomy
\nwood, and in the castle lived an old fairy. Now this fairy could take any
\nshape she pleased. All the day long she flew about in the form of an owl,
\nor crept about the country like a cat; but at night she always became an
\nold woman again. When any young man came within a hundred paces of her
\ncastle, he became quite fixed, and could not move a step till she came and
\nset him free; which she would not do till he had given her his word never
\nto come there again: but when any pretty maiden came within that space she
\nwas changed into a bird, and the fairy put her into a cage, and hung her
\nup in a chamber in the castle. There were seven hundred of these cages
\nhanging in the castle, and all with beautiful birds in them.<\/p>\n
Now there was once a maiden whose name was Jorinda. She was prettier than
\nall the pretty girls that ever were seen before, and a shepherd lad, whose
\nname was Jorindel, was very fond of her, and they were soon to be married.
\nOne day they went to walk in the wood, that they might be alone; and
\nJorindel said, ‘We must take care that we don’t go too near to the fairy’s
\ncastle.’ It was a beautiful evening; the last rays of the setting sun
\nshone bright through the long stems of the trees upon the green underwood
\nbeneath, and the turtle-doves sang from the tall birches.<\/p>\n
Jorinda sat down to gaze upon the sun; Jorindel sat by her side; and both
\nfelt sad, they knew not why; but it seemed as if they were to be parted
\nfrom one another for ever. They had wandered a long way; and when they
\nlooked to see which way they should go home, they found themselves at a
\nloss to know what path to take.<\/p>\n
The sun was setting fast, and already half of its circle had sunk behind
\nthe hill: Jorindel on a sudden looked behind him, and saw through the
\nbushes that they had, without knowing it, sat down close under the old
\nwalls of the castle. Then he shrank for fear, turned pale, and trembled.
\nJorinda was just singing,<\/p>\n
 'The ring-dove sang from the willow spray,\r\n  Well-a-day! Well-a-day!\r\n  He mourn'd for the fate of his darling mate,\r\n  Well-a-day!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
when her song stopped suddenly. Jorindel turned to see the reason, and
\nbeheld his Jorinda changed into a nightingale, so that her song ended with
\na mournful jug, jug<\/i>. An owl with fiery eyes flew three times round
\nthem, and three times screamed:<\/p>\n
 'Tu whu! Tu whu! Tu whu!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Jorindel could not move; he stood fixed as a stone, and could neither
\nweep, nor speak, nor stir hand or foot. And now the sun went quite down;
\nthe gloomy night came; the owl flew into a bush; and a moment after the
\nold fairy came forth pale and meagre, with staring eyes, and a nose and
\nchin that almost met one another.<\/p>\n
She mumbled something to herself, seized the nightingale, and went away
\nwith it in her hand. Poor Jorindel saw the nightingale was gone\u2014but
\nwhat could he do? He could not speak, he could not move from the spot
\nwhere he stood. At last the fairy came back and sang with a hoarse voice:<\/p>\n
 'Till the prisoner is fast,\r\n  And her doom is cast,\r\n  There stay! Oh, stay!\r\n  When the charm is around her,\r\n  And the spell has bound her,\r\n  Hie away! away!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
On a sudden Jorindel found himself free. Then he fell on his knees before
\nthe fairy, and prayed her to give him back his dear Jorinda: but she
\nlaughed at him, and said he should never see her again; then she went her
\nway.<\/p>\n
He prayed, he wept, he sorrowed, but all in vain. ‘Alas!’ he said, ‘what
\nwill become of me?’ He could not go back to his own home, so he went to a
\nstrange village, and employed himself in keeping sheep. Many a time did he
\nwalk round and round as near to the hated castle as he dared go, but all
\nin vain; he heard or saw nothing of Jorinda.<\/p>\n
At last he dreamt one night that he found a beautiful purple flower, and
\nthat in the middle of it lay a costly pearl; and he dreamt that he plucked
\nthe flower, and went with it in his hand into the castle, and that
\neverything he touched with it was disenchanted, and that there he found
\nhis Jorinda again.<\/p>\n
In the morning when he awoke, he began to search over hill and dale for
\nthis pretty flower; and eight long days he sought for it in vain: but on
\nthe ninth day, early in the morning, he found the beautiful purple flower;
\nand in the middle of it was a large dewdrop, as big as a costly pearl.
\nThen he plucked the flower, and set out and travelled day and night, till
\nhe came again to the castle.<\/p>\n
He walked nearer than a hundred paces to it, and yet he did not become
\nfixed as before, but found that he could go quite close up to the door.
\nJorindel was very glad indeed to see this. Then he touched the door with
\nthe flower, and it sprang open; so that he went in through the court, and
\nlistened when he heard so many birds singing. At last he came to the
\nchamber where the fairy sat, with the seven hundred birds singing in the
\nseven hundred cages. When she saw Jorindel she was very angry, and
\nscreamed with rage; but she could not come within two yards of him, for
\nthe flower he held in his hand was his safeguard. He looked around at the
\nbirds, but alas! there were many, many nightingales, and how then should
\nhe find out which was his Jorinda? While he was thinking what to do, he
\nsaw the fairy had taken down one of the cages, and was making the best of
\nher way off through the door. He ran or flew after her, touched the cage
\nwith the flower, and Jorinda stood before him, and threw her arms round
\nhis neck looking as beautiful as ever, as beautiful as when they walked
\ntogether in the wood.<\/p>\n
Then he touched all the other birds with the flower, so that they all took
\ntheir old forms again; and he took Jorinda home, where they were married,
\nand lived happily together many years: and so did a good many other lads,
\nwhose maidens had been forced to sing in the old fairy’s cages by
\nthemselves, much longer than they liked.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS<\/h2>\n
An honest farmer had once an ass that had been a faithful servant to him a
\ngreat many years, but was now growing old and every day more and more
\nunfit for work. His master therefore was tired of keeping him and began to
\nthink of putting an end to him; but the ass, who saw that some mischief
\nwas in the wind, took himself slyly off, and began his journey towards the
\ngreat city, ‘For there,’ thought he, ‘I may turn musician.’<\/p>\n
After he had travelled a little way, he spied a dog lying by the roadside
\nand panting as if he were tired. ‘What makes you pant so, my friend?’ said
\nthe ass. ‘Alas!’ said the dog, ‘my master was going to knock me on the
\nhead, because I am old and weak, and can no longer make myself useful to
\nhim in hunting; so I ran away; but what can I do to earn my livelihood?’
\n‘Hark ye!’ said the ass, ‘I am going to the great city to turn musician:
\nsuppose you go with me, and try what you can do in the same way?’ The dog
\nsaid he was willing, and they jogged on together.<\/p>\n
They had not gone far before they saw a cat sitting in the middle of the
\nroad and making a most rueful face. ‘Pray, my good lady,’ said the ass,
\n‘what’s the matter with you? You look quite out of spirits!’ ‘Ah, me!’
\nsaid the cat, ‘how can one be in good spirits when one’s life is in
\ndanger? Because I am beginning to grow old, and had rather lie at my ease
\nby the fire than run about the house after the mice, my mistress laid hold
\nof me, and was going to drown me; and though I have been lucky enough to
\nget away from her, I do not know what I am to live upon.’ ‘Oh,’ said the
\nass, ‘by all means go with us to the great city; you are a good night
\nsinger, and may make your fortune as a musician.’ The cat was pleased with
\nthe thought, and joined the party.<\/p>\n
Soon afterwards, as they were passing by a farmyard, they saw a cock
\nperched upon a gate, and screaming out with all his might and main.
\n‘Bravo!’ said the ass; ‘upon my word, you make a famous noise; pray what
\nis all this about?’ ‘Why,’ said the cock, ‘I was just now saying that we
\nshould have fine weather for our washing-day, and yet my mistress and the
\ncook don’t thank me for my pains, but threaten to cut off my head
\ntomorrow, and make broth of me for the guests that are coming on Sunday!’
\n‘Heaven forbid!’ said the ass, ‘come with us Master Chanticleer; it will
\nbe better, at any rate, than staying here to have your head cut off!
\nBesides, who knows? If we care to sing in tune, we may get up some kind of
\na concert; so come along with us.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said the cock: so
\nthey all four went on jollily together.<\/p>\n
They could not, however, reach the great city the first day; so when night
\ncame on, they went into a wood to sleep. The ass and the dog laid
\nthemselves down under a great tree, and the cat climbed up into the
\nbranches; while the cock, thinking that the higher he sat the safer he
\nshould be, flew up to the very top of the tree, and then, according to his
\ncustom, before he went to sleep, looked out on all sides of him to see
\nthat everything was well. In doing this, he saw afar off something bright
\nand shining and calling to his companions said, ‘There must be a house no
\ngreat way off, for I see a light.’ ‘If that be the case,’ said the ass,
\n‘we had better change our quarters, for our lodging is not the best in the
\nworld!’ ‘Besides,’ added the dog, ‘I should not be the worse for a bone or
\ntwo, or a bit of meat.’ So they walked off together towards the spot where
\nChanticleer had seen the light, and as they drew near it became larger and
\nbrighter, till they at last came close to a house in which a gang of
\nrobbers lived.<\/p>\n
The ass, being the tallest of the company, marched up to the window and
\npeeped in. ‘Well, Donkey,’ said Chanticleer, ‘what do you see?’ ‘What do I
\nsee?’ replied the ass. ‘Why, I see a table spread with all kinds of good
\nthings, and robbers sitting round it making merry.’ ‘That would be a noble
\nlodging for us,’ said the cock. ‘Yes,’ said the ass, ‘if we could only get
\nin’; so they consulted together how they should contrive to get the
\nrobbers out; and at last they hit upon a plan. The ass placed himself
\nupright on his hind legs, with his forefeet resting against the window;
\nthe dog got upon his back; the cat scrambled up to the dog’s shoulders,
\nand the cock flew up and sat upon the cat’s head. When all was ready a
\nsignal was given, and they began their music. The ass brayed, the dog
\nbarked, the cat mewed, and the cock screamed; and then they all broke
\nthrough the window at once, and came tumbling into the room, amongst the
\nbroken glass, with a most hideous clatter! The robbers, who had been not a
\nlittle frightened by the opening concert, had now no doubt that some
\nfrightful hobgoblin had broken in upon them, and scampered away as fast as
\nthey could.<\/p>\n
The coast once clear, our travellers soon sat down and dispatched what the
\nrobbers had left, with as much eagerness as if they had not expected to
\neat again for a month. As soon as they had satisfied themselves, they put
\nout the lights, and each once more sought out a resting-place to his own
\nliking. The donkey laid himself down upon a heap of straw in the yard, the
\ndog stretched himself upon a mat behind the door, the cat rolled herself
\nup on the hearth before the warm ashes, and the cock perched upon a beam
\non the top of the house; and, as they were all rather tired with their
\njourney, they soon fell asleep.<\/p>\n
But about midnight, when the robbers saw from afar that the lights were
\nout and that all seemed quiet, they began to think that they had been in
\ntoo great a hurry to run away; and one of them, who was bolder than the
\nrest, went to see what was going on. Finding everything still, he marched
\ninto the kitchen, and groped about till he found a match in order to light
\na candle; and then, espying the glittering fiery eyes of the cat, he
\nmistook them for live coals, and held the match to them to light it. But
\nthe cat, not understanding this joke, sprang at his face, and spat, and
\nscratched at him. This frightened him dreadfully, and away he ran to the
\nback door; but there the dog jumped up and bit him in the leg; and as he
\nwas crossing over the yard the ass kicked him; and the cock, who had been
\nawakened by the noise, crowed with all his might. At this the robber ran
\nback as fast as he could to his comrades, and told the captain how a
\nhorrid witch had got into the house, and had spat at him and scratched his
\nface with her long bony fingers; how a man with a knife in his hand had
\nhidden himself behind the door, and stabbed him in the leg; how a black
\nmonster stood in the yard and struck him with a club, and how the devil
\nhad sat upon the top of the house and cried out, ‘Throw the rascal up
\nhere!’ After this the robbers never dared to go back to the house; but the
\nmusicians were so pleased with their quarters that they took up their
\nabode there; and there they are, I dare say, at this very day.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
OLD SULTAN<\/h2>\n
A shepherd had a faithful dog, called Sultan, who was grown very old, and
\nhad lost all his teeth. And one day when the shepherd and his wife were
\nstanding together before the house the shepherd said, ‘I will shoot old
\nSultan tomorrow morning, for he is of no use now.’ But his wife said,
\n‘Pray let the poor faithful creature live; he has served us well a great
\nmany years, and we ought to give him a livelihood for the rest of his
\ndays.’ ‘But what can we do with him?’ said the shepherd, ‘he has not a
\ntooth in his head, and the thieves don’t care for him at all; to be sure
\nhe has served us, but then he did it to earn his livelihood; tomorrow
\nshall be his last day, depend upon it.’<\/p>\n
Poor Sultan, who was lying close by them, heard all that the shepherd and
\nhis wife said to one another, and was very much frightened to think
\ntomorrow would be his last day; so in the evening he went to his good
\nfriend the wolf, who lived in the wood, and told him all his sorrows, and
\nhow his master meant to kill him in the morning. ‘Make yourself easy,’
\nsaid the wolf, ‘I will give you some good advice. Your master, you know,
\ngoes out every morning very early with his wife into the field; and they
\ntake their little child with them, and lay it down behind the hedge in the
\nshade while they are at work. Now do you lie down close by the child, and
\npretend to be watching it, and I will come out of the wood and run away
\nwith it; you must run after me as fast as you can, and I will let it drop;
\nthen you may carry it back, and they will think you have saved their
\nchild, and will be so thankful to you that they will take care of you as
\nlong as you live.’ The dog liked this plan very well; and accordingly so
\nit was managed. The wolf ran with the child a little way; the shepherd and
\nhis wife screamed out; but Sultan soon overtook him, and carried the poor
\nlittle thing back to his master and mistress. Then the shepherd patted him
\non the head, and said, ‘Old Sultan has saved our child from the wolf, and
\ntherefore he shall live and be well taken care of, and have plenty to eat.
\nWife, go home, and give him a good dinner, and let him have my old cushion
\nto sleep on as long as he lives.’ So from this time forward Sultan had all
\nthat he could wish for.<\/p>\n
Soon afterwards the wolf came and wished him joy, and said, ‘Now, my good
\nfellow, you must tell no tales, but turn your head the other way when I
\nwant to taste one of the old shepherd’s fine fat sheep.’ ‘No,’ said the
\nSultan; ‘I will be true to my master.’ However, the wolf thought he was in
\njoke, and came one night to get a dainty morsel. But Sultan had told his
\nmaster what the wolf meant to do; so he laid wait for him behind the barn
\ndoor, and when the wolf was busy looking out for a good fat sheep, he had
\na stout cudgel laid about his back, that combed his locks for him finely.<\/p>\n
Then the wolf was very angry, and called Sultan ‘an old rogue,’ and swore
\nhe would have his revenge. So the next morning the wolf sent the boar to
\nchallenge Sultan to come into the wood to fight the matter. Now Sultan had
\nnobody he could ask to be his second but the shepherd’s old three-legged
\ncat; so he took her with him, and as the poor thing limped along with some
\ntrouble, she stuck up her tail straight in the air.<\/p>\n
The wolf and the wild boar were first on the ground; and when they espied
\ntheir enemies coming, and saw the cat’s long tail standing straight in the
\nair, they thought she was carrying a sword for Sultan to fight with; and
\nevery time she limped, they thought she was picking up a stone to throw at
\nthem; so they said they should not like this way of fighting, and the boar
\nlay down behind a bush, and the wolf jumped up into a tree. Sultan and the
\ncat soon came up, and looked about and wondered that no one was there. The
\nboar, however, had not quite hidden himself, for his ears stuck out of the
\nbush; and when he shook one of them a little, the cat, seeing something
\nmove, and thinking it was a mouse, sprang upon it, and bit and scratched
\nit, so that the boar jumped up and grunted, and ran away, roaring out,
\n‘Look up in the tree, there sits the one who is to blame.’ So they looked
\nup, and espied the wolf sitting amongst the branches; and they called him
\na cowardly rascal, and would not suffer him to come down till he was
\nheartily ashamed of himself, and had promised to be good friends again
\nwith old Sultan.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN<\/h2>\n
In a village dwelt a poor old woman, who had gathered together a dish of
\nbeans and wanted to cook them. So she made a fire on her hearth, and that
\nit might burn the quicker, she lighted it with a handful of straw. When
\nshe was emptying the beans into the pan, one dropped without her observing
\nit, and lay on the ground beside a straw, and soon afterwards a burning
\ncoal from the fire leapt down to the two. Then the straw began and said:
\n‘Dear friends, from whence do you come here?’ The coal replied: ‘I
\nfortunately sprang out of the fire, and if I had not escaped by sheer
\nforce, my death would have been certain,\u2014I should have been burnt to
\nashes.’ The bean said: ‘I too have escaped with a whole skin, but if the
\nold woman had got me into the pan, I should have been made into broth
\nwithout any mercy, like my comrades.’ ‘And would a better fate have fallen
\nto my lot?’ said the straw. ‘The old woman has destroyed all my brethren
\nin fire and smoke; she seized sixty of them at once, and took their lives.
\nI luckily slipped through her fingers.’<\/p>\n
‘But what are we to do now?’ said the coal.<\/p>\n
‘I think,’ answered the bean, ‘that as we have so fortunately escaped
\ndeath, we should keep together like good companions, and lest a new
\nmischance should overtake us here, we should go away together, and repair
\nto a foreign country.’<\/p>\n
The proposition pleased the two others, and they set out on their way
\ntogether. Soon, however, they came to a little brook, and as there was no
\nbridge or foot-plank, they did not know how they were to get over it. The
\nstraw hit on a good idea, and said: ‘I will lay myself straight across,
\nand then you can walk over on me as on a bridge.’ The straw therefore
\nstretched itself from one bank to the other, and the coal, who was of an
\nimpetuous disposition, tripped quite boldly on to the newly-built bridge.
\nBut when she had reached the middle, and heard the water rushing beneath
\nher, she was after all, afraid, and stood still, and ventured no farther.
\nThe straw, however, began to burn, broke in two pieces, and fell into the
\nstream. The coal slipped after her, hissed when she got into the water,
\nand breathed her last. The bean, who had prudently stayed behind on the
\nshore, could not but laugh at the event, was unable to stop, and laughed
\nso heartily that she burst. It would have been all over with her,
\nlikewise, if, by good fortune, a tailor who was travelling in search of
\nwork, had not sat down to rest by the brook. As he had a compassionate
\nheart he pulled out his needle and thread, and sewed her together. The
\nbean thanked him most prettily, but as the tailor used black thread, all
\nbeans since then have a black seam.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
BRIAR ROSE<\/h2>\n
A king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off,
\nwhere there were in those days fairies. Now this king and queen had plenty
\nof money, and plenty of fine clothes to wear, and plenty of good things to
\neat and drink, and a coach to ride out in every day: but though they had
\nbeen married many years they had no children, and this grieved them very
\nmuch indeed. But one day as the queen was walking by the side of the
\nriver, at the bottom of the garden, she saw a poor little fish, that had
\nthrown itself out of the water, and lay gasping and nearly dead on the
\nbank. Then the queen took pity on the little fish, and threw it back again
\ninto the river; and before it swam away it lifted its head out of the
\nwater and said, ‘I know what your wish is, and it shall be fulfilled, in
\nreturn for your kindness to me\u2014you will soon have a daughter.’ What
\nthe little fish had foretold soon came to pass; and the queen had a little
\ngirl, so very beautiful that the king could not cease looking on it for
\njoy, and said he would hold a great feast and make merry, and show the
\nchild to all the land. So he asked his kinsmen, and nobles, and friends,
\nand neighbours. But the queen said, ‘I will have the fairies also, that
\nthey might be kind and good to our little daughter.’ Now there were
\nthirteen fairies in the kingdom; but as the king and queen had only twelve
\ngolden dishes for them to eat out of, they were forced to leave one of the
\nfairies without asking her. So twelve fairies came, each with a high red
\ncap on her head, and red shoes with high heels on her feet, and a long
\nwhite wand in her hand: and after the feast was over they gathered round
\nin a ring and gave all their best gifts to the little princess. One gave
\nher goodness, another beauty, another riches, and so on till she had all
\nthat was good in the world.<\/p>\n
Just as eleven of them had done blessing her, a great noise was heard in
\nthe courtyard, and word was brought that the thirteenth fairy was come,
\nwith a black cap on her head, and black shoes on her feet, and a
\nbroomstick in her hand: and presently up she came into the dining-hall.
\nNow, as she had not been asked to the feast she was very angry, and
\nscolded the king and queen very much, and set to work to take her revenge.
\nSo she cried out, ‘The king’s daughter shall, in her fifteenth year, be
\nwounded by a spindle, and fall down dead.’ Then the twelfth of the
\nfriendly fairies, who had not yet given her gift, came forward, and said
\nthat the evil wish must be fulfilled, but that she could soften its
\nmischief; so her gift was, that the king’s daughter, when the spindle
\nwounded her, should not really die, but should only fall asleep for a
\nhundred years.<\/p>\n
However, the king hoped still to save his dear child altogether from the
\nthreatened evil; so he ordered that all the spindles in the kingdom should
\nbe bought up and burnt. But all the gifts of the first eleven fairies were
\nin the meantime fulfilled; for the princess was so beautiful, and well
\nbehaved, and good, and wise, that everyone who knew her loved her.<\/p>\n
It happened that, on the very day she was fifteen years old, the king and
\nqueen were not at home, and she was left alone in the palace. So she roved
\nabout by herself, and looked at all the rooms and chambers, till at last
\nshe came to an old tower, to which there was a narrow staircase ending
\nwith a little door. In the door there was a golden key, and when she
\nturned it the door sprang open, and there sat an old lady spinning away
\nvery busily. ‘Why, how now, good mother,’ said the princess; ‘what are you
\ndoing there?’ ‘Spinning,’ said the old lady, and nodded her head, humming
\na tune, while buzz! went the wheel. ‘How prettily that little thing turns
\nround!’ said the princess, and took the spindle and began to try and spin.
\nBut scarcely had she touched it, before the fairy’s prophecy was
\nfulfilled; the spindle wounded her, and she fell down lifeless on the
\nground.<\/p>\n
However, she was not dead, but had only fallen into a deep sleep; and the
\nking and the queen, who had just come home, and all their court, fell
\nasleep too; and the horses slept in the stables, and the dogs in the
\ncourt, the pigeons on the house-top, and the very flies slept upon the
\nwalls. Even the fire on the hearth left off blazing, and went to sleep;
\nthe jack stopped, and the spit that was turning about with a goose upon it
\nfor the king’s dinner stood still; and the cook, who was at that moment
\npulling the kitchen-boy by the hair to give him a box on the ear for
\nsomething he had done amiss, let him go, and both fell asleep; the butler,
\nwho was slyly tasting the ale, fell asleep with the jug at his lips: and
\nthus everything stood still, and slept soundly.<\/p>\n
A large hedge of thorns soon grew round the palace, and every year it
\nbecame higher and thicker; till at last the old palace was surrounded and
\nhidden, so that not even the roof or the chimneys could be seen. But there
\nwent a report through all the land of the beautiful sleeping Briar Rose
\n(for so the king’s daughter was called): so that, from time to time,
\nseveral kings’ sons came, and tried to break through the thicket into the
\npalace. This, however, none of them could ever do; for the thorns and
\nbushes laid hold of them, as it were with hands; and there they stuck
\nfast, and died wretchedly.<\/p>\n
After many, many years there came a king’s son into that land: and an old
\nman told him the story of the thicket of thorns; and how a beautiful
\npalace stood behind it, and how a wonderful princess, called Briar Rose,
\nlay in it asleep, with all her court. He told, too, how he had heard from
\nhis grandfather that many, many princes had come, and had tried to break
\nthrough the thicket, but that they had all stuck fast in it, and died.
\nThen the young prince said, ‘All this shall not frighten me; I will go and
\nsee this Briar Rose.’ The old man tried to hinder him, but he was bent
\nupon going.<\/p>\n
Now that very day the hundred years were ended; and as the prince came to
\nthe thicket he saw nothing but beautiful flowering shrubs, through which
\nhe went with ease, and they shut in after him as thick as ever. Then he
\ncame at last to the palace, and there in the court lay the dogs asleep;
\nand the horses were standing in the stables; and on the roof sat the
\npigeons fast asleep, with their heads under their wings. And when he came
\ninto the palace, the flies were sleeping on the walls; the spit was
\nstanding still; the butler had the jug of ale at his lips, going to drink
\na draught; the maid sat with a fowl in her lap ready to be plucked; and
\nthe cook in the kitchen was still holding up her hand, as if she was going
\nto beat the boy.<\/p>\n
Then he went on still farther, and all was so still that he could hear
\nevery breath he drew; till at last he came to the old tower, and opened
\nthe door of the little room in which Briar Rose was; and there she lay,
\nfast asleep on a couch by the window. She looked so beautiful that he
\ncould not take his eyes off her, so he stooped down and gave her a kiss.
\nBut the moment he kissed her she opened her eyes and awoke, and smiled
\nupon him; and they went out together; and soon the king and queen also
\nawoke, and all the court, and gazed on each other with great wonder. And
\nthe horses shook themselves, and the dogs jumped up and barked; the
\npigeons took their heads from under their wings, and looked about and flew
\ninto the fields; the flies on the walls buzzed again; the fire in the
\nkitchen blazed up; round went the jack, and round went the spit, with the
\ngoose for the king’s dinner upon it; the butler finished his draught of
\nale; the maid went on plucking the fowl; and the cook gave the boy the box
\non his ear.<\/p>\n
And then the prince and Briar Rose were married, and the wedding feast was
\ngiven; and they lived happily together all their lives long.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE DOG AND THE SPARROW<\/h2>\n
A shepherd’s dog had a master who took no care of him, but often let him
\nsuffer the greatest hunger. At last he could bear it no longer; so he took
\nto his heels, and off he ran in a very sad and sorrowful mood. On the road
\nhe met a sparrow that said to him, ‘Why are you so sad, my friend?’
\n‘Because,’ said the dog, ‘I am very very hungry, and have nothing to eat.’
\n‘If that be all,’ answered the sparrow, ‘come with me into the next town,
\nand I will soon find you plenty of food.’ So on they went together into
\nthe town: and as they passed by a butcher’s shop, the sparrow said to the
\ndog, ‘Stand there a little while till I peck you down a piece of meat.’ So
\nthe sparrow perched upon the shelf: and having first looked carefully
\nabout her to see if anyone was watching her, she pecked and scratched at a
\nsteak that lay upon the edge of the shelf, till at last down it fell. Then
\nthe dog snapped it up, and scrambled away with it into a corner, where he
\nsoon ate it all up. ‘Well,’ said the sparrow, ‘you shall have some more if
\nyou will; so come with me to the next shop, and I will peck you down
\nanother steak.’ When the dog had eaten this too, the sparrow said to him,
\n‘Well, my good friend, have you had enough now?’ ‘I have had plenty of
\nmeat,’ answered he, ‘but I should like to have a piece of bread to eat
\nafter it.’ ‘Come with me then,’ said the sparrow, ‘and you shall soon have
\nthat too.’ So she took him to a baker’s shop, and pecked at two rolls that
\nlay in the window, till they fell down: and as the dog still wished for
\nmore, she took him to another shop and pecked down some more for him. When
\nthat was eaten, the sparrow asked him whether he had had enough now.
\n‘Yes,’ said he; ‘and now let us take a walk a little way out of the town.’
\nSo they both went out upon the high road; but as the weather was warm,
\nthey had not gone far before the dog said, ‘I am very much tired\u2014I
\nshould like to take a nap.’ ‘Very well,’ answered the sparrow, ‘do so, and
\nin the meantime I will perch upon that bush.’ So the dog stretched himself
\nout on the road, and fell fast asleep. Whilst he slept, there came by a
\ncarter with a cart drawn by three horses, and loaded with two casks of
\nwine. The sparrow, seeing that the carter did not turn out of the way, but
\nwould go on in the track in which the dog lay, so as to drive over him,
\ncalled out, ‘Stop! stop! Mr Carter, or it shall be the worse for you.’ But
\nthe carter, grumbling to himself, ‘You make it the worse for me, indeed!
\nwhat can you do?’ cracked his whip, and drove his cart over the poor dog,
\nso that the wheels crushed him to death. ‘There,’ cried the sparrow, ‘thou
\ncruel villain, thou hast killed my friend the dog. Now mind what I say.
\nThis deed of thine shall cost thee all thou art worth.’ ‘Do your worst,
\nand welcome,’ said the brute, ‘what harm can you do me?’ and passed on.
\nBut the sparrow crept under the tilt of the cart, and pecked at the bung
\nof one of the casks till she loosened it; and then all the wine ran out,
\nwithout the carter seeing it. At last he looked round, and saw that the
\ncart was dripping, and the cask quite empty. ‘What an unlucky wretch I
\nam!’ cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said the sparrow, as she alighted
\nupon the head of one of the horses, and pecked at him till he reared up
\nand kicked. When the carter saw this, he drew out his hatchet and aimed a
\nblow at the sparrow, meaning to kill her; but she flew away, and the blow
\nfell upon the poor horse’s head with such force, that he fell down dead.
\n‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’ cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said the
\nsparrow. And as the carter went on with the other two horses, she again
\ncrept under the tilt of the cart, and pecked out the bung of the second
\ncask, so that all the wine ran out. When the carter saw this, he again
\ncried out, ‘Miserable wretch that I am!’ But the sparrow answered, ‘Not
\nwretch enough yet!’ and perched on the head of the second horse, and
\npecked at him too. The carter ran up and struck at her again with his
\nhatchet; but away she flew, and the blow fell upon the second horse and
\nkilled him on the spot. ‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’ said he. ‘Not wretch
\nenough yet!’ said the sparrow; and perching upon the third horse, she
\nbegan to peck him too. The carter was mad with fury; and without looking
\nabout him, or caring what he was about, struck again at the sparrow; but
\nkilled his third horse as he done the other two. ‘Alas! miserable wretch
\nthat I am!’ cried he. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ answered the sparrow as she
\nflew away; ‘now will I plague and punish thee at thy own house.’ The
\ncarter was forced at last to leave his cart behind him, and to go home
\noverflowing with rage and vexation. ‘Alas!’ said he to his wife, ‘what ill
\nluck has befallen me!\u2014my wine is all spilt, and my horses all three
\ndead.’ ‘Alas! husband,’ replied she, ‘and a wicked bird has come into the
\nhouse, and has brought with her all the birds in the world, I am sure, and
\nthey have fallen upon our corn in the loft, and are eating it up at such a
\nrate!’ Away ran the husband upstairs, and saw thousands of birds sitting
\nupon the floor eating up his corn, with the sparrow in the midst of them.
\n‘Unlucky wretch that I am!’ cried the carter; for he saw that the corn was
\nalmost all gone. ‘Not wretch enough yet!’ said the sparrow; ‘thy cruelty
\nshall cost thee thy life yet!’ and away she flew.<\/p>\n
The carter seeing that he had thus lost all that he had, went down into
\nhis kitchen; and was still not sorry for what he had done, but sat himself
\nangrily and sulkily in the chimney corner. But the sparrow sat on the
\noutside of the window, and cried ‘Carter! thy cruelty shall cost thee thy
\nlife!’ With that he jumped up in a rage, seized his hatchet, and threw it
\nat the sparrow; but it missed her, and only broke the window. The sparrow
\nnow hopped in, perched upon the window-seat, and cried, ‘Carter! it shall
\ncost thee thy life!’ Then he became mad and blind with rage, and struck
\nthe window-seat with such force that he cleft it in two: and as the
\nsparrow flew from place to place, the carter and his wife were so furious,
\nthat they broke all their furniture, glasses, chairs, benches, the table,
\nand at last the walls, without touching the bird at all. In the end,
\nhowever, they caught her: and the wife said, ‘Shall I kill her at once?’
\n‘No,’ cried he, ‘that is letting her off too easily: she shall die a much
\nmore cruel death; I will eat her.’ But the sparrow began to flutter about,
\nand stretch out her neck and cried, ‘Carter! it shall cost thee thy life
\nyet!’ With that he could wait no longer: so he gave his wife the hatchet,
\nand cried, ‘Wife, strike at the bird and kill her in my hand.’ And the
\nwife struck; but she missed her aim, and hit her husband on the head so
\nthat he fell down dead, and the sparrow flew quietly home to her nest.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES<\/h2>\n
There was a king who had twelve beautiful daughters. They slept in twelve
\nbeds all in one room; and when they went to bed, the doors were shut and
\nlocked up; but every morning their shoes were found to be quite worn
\nthrough as if they had been danced in all night; and yet nobody could find
\nout how it happened, or where they had been.<\/p>\n
Then the king made it known to all the land, that if any person could
\ndiscover the secret, and find out where it was that the princesses danced
\nin the night, he should have the one he liked best for his wife, and
\nshould be king after his death; but whoever tried and did not succeed,
\nafter three days and nights, should be put to death.<\/p>\n
A king’s son soon came. He was well entertained, and in the evening was
\ntaken to the chamber next to the one where the princesses lay in their
\ntwelve beds. There he was to sit and watch where they went to dance; and,
\nin order that nothing might pass without his hearing it, the door of his
\nchamber was left open. But the king’s son soon fell asleep; and when he
\nawoke in the morning he found that the princesses had all been dancing,
\nfor the soles of their shoes were full of holes. The same thing happened
\nthe second and third night: so the king ordered his head to be cut off.
\nAfter him came several others; but they had all the same luck, and all
\nlost their lives in the same manner.<\/p>\n
Now it chanced that an old soldier, who had been wounded in battle and
\ncould fight no longer, passed through the country where this king reigned:
\nand as he was travelling through a wood, he met an old woman, who asked
\nhim where he was going. ‘I hardly know where I am going, or what I had
\nbetter do,’ said the soldier; ‘but I think I should like very well to find
\nout where it is that the princesses dance, and then in time I might be a
\nking.’ ‘Well,’ said the old dame, ‘that is no very hard task: only take
\ncare not to drink any of the wine which one of the princesses will bring
\nto you in the evening; and as soon as she leaves you pretend to be fast
\nasleep.’<\/p>\n
Then she gave him a cloak, and said, ‘As soon as you put that on you will
\nbecome invisible, and you will then be able to follow the princesses
\nwherever they go.’ When the soldier heard all this good counsel, he
\ndetermined to try his luck: so he went to the king, and said he was
\nwilling to undertake the task.<\/p>\n
He was as well received as the others had been, and the king ordered fine
\nroyal robes to be given him; and when the evening came he was led to the
\nouter chamber. Just as he was going to lie down, the eldest of the
\nprincesses brought him a cup of wine; but the soldier threw it all away
\nsecretly, taking care not to drink a drop. Then he laid himself down on
\nhis bed, and in a little while began to snore very loud as if he was fast
\nasleep. When the twelve princesses heard this they laughed heartily; and
\nthe eldest said, ‘This fellow too might have done a wiser thing than lose
\nhis life in this way!’ Then they rose up and opened their drawers and
\nboxes, and took out all their fine clothes, and dressed themselves at the
\nglass, and skipped about as if they were eager to begin dancing. But the
\nyoungest said, ‘I don’t know how it is, while you are so happy I feel very
\nuneasy; I am sure some mischance will befall us.’ ‘You simpleton,’ said
\nthe eldest, ‘you are always afraid; have you forgotten how many kings’
\nsons have already watched in vain? And as for this soldier, even if I had
\nnot given him his sleeping draught, he would have slept soundly enough.’<\/p>\n
When they were all ready, they went and looked at the soldier; but he
\nsnored on, and did not stir hand or foot: so they thought they were quite
\nsafe; and the eldest went up to her own bed and clapped her hands, and the
\nbed sank into the floor and a trap-door flew open. The soldier saw them
\ngoing down through the trap-door one after another, the eldest leading the
\nway; and thinking he had no time to lose, he jumped up, put on the cloak
\nwhich the old woman had given him, and followed them; but in the middle of
\nthe stairs he trod on the gown of the youngest princess, and she cried out
\nto her sisters, ‘All is not right; someone took hold of my gown.’ ‘You
\nsilly creature!’ said the eldest, ‘it is nothing but a nail in the wall.’
\nThen down they all went, and at the bottom they found themselves in a most
\ndelightful grove of trees; and the leaves were all of silver, and
\nglittered and sparkled beautifully. The soldier wished to take away some
\ntoken of the place; so he broke off a little branch, and there came a loud
\nnoise from the tree. Then the youngest daughter said again, ‘I am sure all
\nis not right\u2014did not you hear that noise? That never happened
\nbefore.’ But the eldest said, ‘It is only our princes, who are shouting
\nfor joy at our approach.’<\/p>\n
Then they came to another grove of trees, where all the leaves were of
\ngold; and afterwards to a third, where the leaves were all glittering
\ndiamonds. And the soldier broke a branch from each; and every time there
\nwas a loud noise, which made the youngest sister tremble with fear; but
\nthe eldest still said, it was only the princes, who were crying for joy.
\nSo they went on till they came to a great lake; and at the side of the
\nlake there lay twelve little boats with twelve handsome princes in them,
\nwho seemed to be waiting there for the princesses.<\/p>\n
One of the princesses went into each boat, and the soldier stepped into
\nthe same boat with the youngest. As they were rowing over the lake, the
\nprince who was in the boat with the youngest princess and the soldier
\nsaid, ‘I do not know why it is, but though I am rowing with all my might
\nwe do not get on so fast as usual, and I am quite tired: the boat seems
\nvery heavy today.’ ‘It is only the heat of the weather,’ said the
\nprincess: ‘I feel it very warm too.’<\/p>\n
On the other side of the lake stood a fine illuminated castle, from which
\ncame the merry music of horns and trumpets. There they all landed, and
\nwent into the castle, and each prince danced with his princess; and the
\nsoldier, who was all the time invisible, danced with them too; and when
\nany of the princesses had a cup of wine set by her, he drank it all up, so
\nthat when she put the cup to her mouth it was empty. At this, too, the
\nyoungest sister was terribly frightened, but the eldest always silenced
\nher. They danced on till three o’clock in the morning, and then all their
\nshoes were worn out, so that they were obliged to leave off. The princes
\nrowed them back again over the lake (but this time the soldier placed
\nhimself in the boat with the eldest princess); and on the opposite shore
\nthey took leave of each other, the princesses promising to come again the
\nnext night.<\/p>\n
When they came to the stairs, the soldier ran on before the princesses,
\nand laid himself down; and as the twelve sisters slowly came up very much
\ntired, they heard him snoring in his bed; so they said, ‘Now all is quite
\nsafe’; then they undressed themselves, put away their fine clothes, pulled
\noff their shoes, and went to bed. In the morning the soldier said nothing
\nabout what had happened, but determined to see more of this strange
\nadventure, and went again the second and third night; and every thing
\nhappened just as before; the princesses danced each time till their shoes
\nwere worn to pieces, and then returned home. However, on the third night
\nthe soldier carried away one of the golden cups as a token of where he had
\nbeen.<\/p>\n
As soon as the time came when he was to declare the secret, he was taken
\nbefore the king with the three branches and the golden cup; and the twelve
\nprincesses stood listening behind the door to hear what he would say. And
\nwhen the king asked him. ‘Where do my twelve daughters dance at night?’ he
\nanswered, ‘With twelve princes in a castle under ground.’ And then he told
\nthe king all that had happened, and showed him the three branches and the
\ngolden cup which he had brought with him. Then the king called for the
\nprincesses, and asked them whether what the soldier said was true: and
\nwhen they saw that they were discovered, and that it was of no use to deny
\nwhat had happened, they confessed it all. And the king asked the soldier
\nwhich of them he would choose for his wife; and he answered, ‘I am not
\nvery young, so I will have the eldest.’\u2014And they were married that
\nvery day, and the soldier was chosen to be the king’s heir.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE<\/h2>\n
There was once a fisherman who lived with his wife in a pigsty, close by
\nthe seaside. The fisherman used to go out all day long a-fishing; and one
\nday, as he sat on the shore with his rod, looking at the sparkling waves
\nand watching his line, all on a sudden his float was dragged away deep
\ninto the water: and in drawing it up he pulled out a great fish. But the
\nfish said, ‘Pray let me live! I am not a real fish; I am an enchanted
\nprince: put me in the water again, and let me go!’ ‘Oh, ho!’ said the man,
\n‘you need not make so many words about the matter; I will have nothing to
\ndo with a fish that can talk: so swim away, sir, as soon as you please!’
\nThen he put him back into the water, and the fish darted straight down to
\nthe bottom, and left a long streak of blood behind him on the wave.<\/p>\n
When the fisherman went home to his wife in the pigsty, he told her how he
\nhad caught a great fish, and how it had told him it was an enchanted
\nprince, and how, on hearing it speak, he had let it go again. ‘Did not you
\nask it for anything?’ said the wife, ‘we live very wretchedly here, in
\nthis nasty dirty pigsty; do go back and tell the fish we want a snug
\nlittle cottage.’<\/p>\n
The fisherman did not much like the business: however, he went to the
\nseashore; and when he came back there the water looked all yellow and
\ngreen. And he stood at the water’s edge, and said:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the fish came swimming to him, and said, ‘Well, what is her will?
\nWhat does your wife want?’ ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman, ‘she says that when I
\nhad caught you, I ought to have asked you for something before I let you
\ngo; she does not like living any longer in the pigsty, and wants a snug
\nlittle cottage.’ ‘Go home, then,’ said the fish; ‘she is in the cottage
\nalready!’ So the man went home, and saw his wife standing at the door of a
\nnice trim little cottage. ‘Come in, come in!’ said she; ‘is not this much
\nbetter than the filthy pigsty we had?’ And there was a parlour, and a
\nbedchamber, and a kitchen; and behind the cottage there was a little
\ngarden, planted with all sorts of flowers and fruits; and there was a
\ncourtyard behind, full of ducks and chickens. ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman,
\n‘how happily we shall live now!’ ‘We will try to do so, at least,’ said
\nhis wife.<\/p>\n
Everything went right for a week or two, and then Dame Ilsabill said,
\n‘Husband, there is not near room enough for us in this cottage; the
\ncourtyard and the garden are a great deal too small; I should like to have
\na large stone castle to live in: go to the fish again and tell him to give
\nus a castle.’ ‘Wife,’ said the fisherman, ‘I don’t like to go to him
\nagain, for perhaps he will be angry; we ought to be easy with this pretty
\ncottage to live in.’ ‘Nonsense!’ said the wife; ‘he will do it very
\nwillingly, I know; go along and try!’<\/p>\n
The fisherman went, but his heart was very heavy: and when he came to the
\nsea, it looked blue and gloomy, though it was very calm; and he went close
\nto the edge of the waves, and said:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Well, what does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the man,
\ndolefully, ‘my wife wants to live in a stone castle.’ ‘Go home, then,’
\nsaid the fish; ‘she is standing at the gate of it already.’ So away went
\nthe fisherman, and found his wife standing before the gate of a great
\ncastle. ‘See,’ said she, ‘is not this grand?’ With that they went into the
\ncastle together, and found a great many servants there, and the rooms all
\nrichly furnished, and full of golden chairs and tables; and behind the
\ncastle was a garden, and around it was a park half a mile long, full of
\nsheep, and goats, and hares, and deer; and in the courtyard were stables
\nand cow-houses. ‘Well,’ said the man, ‘now we will live cheerful and happy
\nin this beautiful castle for the rest of our lives.’ ‘Perhaps we may,’
\nsaid the wife; ‘but let us sleep upon it, before we make up our minds to
\nthat.’ So they went to bed.<\/p>\n
The next morning when Dame Ilsabill awoke it was broad daylight, and she
\njogged the fisherman with her elbow, and said, ‘Get up, husband, and
\nbestir yourself, for we must be king of all the land.’ ‘Wife, wife,’ said
\nthe man, ‘why should we wish to be the king? I will not be king.’ ‘Then I
\nwill,’ said she. ‘But, wife,’ said the fisherman, ‘how can you be king\u2014the
\nfish cannot make you a king?’ ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘say no more about it,
\nbut go and try! I will be king.’ So the man went away quite sorrowful to
\nthink that his wife should want to be king. This time the sea looked a
\ndark grey colour, and was overspread with curling waves and the ridges of
\nfoam as he cried out:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Well, what would she have now?’ said the fish. ‘Alas!’ said the poor man,
\n‘my wife wants to be king.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is king
\nalready.’<\/p>\n
Then the fisherman went home; and as he came close to the palace he saw a
\ntroop of soldiers, and heard the sound of drums and trumpets. And when he
\nwent in he saw his wife sitting on a throne of gold and diamonds, with a
\ngolden crown upon her head; and on each side of her stood six fair
\nmaidens, each a head taller than the other. ‘Well, wife,’ said the
\nfisherman, ‘are you king?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am king.’ And when he had
\nlooked at her for a long time, he said, ‘Ah, wife! what a fine thing it is
\nto be king! Now we shall never have anything more to wish for as long as
\nwe live.’ ‘I don’t know how that may be,’ said she; ‘never is a long time.
\nI am king, it is true; but I begin to be tired of that, and I think I
\nshould like to be emperor.’ ‘Alas, wife! why should you wish to be
\nemperor?’ said the fisherman. ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘go to the fish! I say
\nI will be emperor.’ ‘Ah, wife!’ replied the fisherman, ‘the fish cannot
\nmake an emperor, I am sure, and I should not like to ask him for such a
\nthing.’ ‘I am king,’ said Ilsabill, ‘and you are my slave; so go at once!’<\/p>\n
So the fisherman was forced to go; and he muttered as he went along, ‘This
\nwill come to no good, it is too much to ask; the fish will be tired at
\nlast, and then we shall be sorry for what we have done.’ He soon came to
\nthe seashore; and the water was quite black and muddy, and a mighty
\nwhirlwind blew over the waves and rolled them about, but he went as near
\nas he could to the water’s brink, and said:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘What would she have now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman, ‘she
\nwants to be emperor.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is emperor already.’<\/p>\n
So he went home again; and as he came near he saw his wife Ilsabill
\nsitting on a very lofty throne made of solid gold, with a great crown on
\nher head full two yards high; and on each side of her stood her guards and
\nattendants in a row, each one smaller than the other, from the tallest
\ngiant down to a little dwarf no bigger than my finger. And before her
\nstood princes, and dukes, and earls: and the fisherman went up to her and
\nsaid, ‘Wife, are you emperor?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am emperor.’ ‘Ah!’ said
\nthe man, as he gazed upon her, ‘what a fine thing it is to be emperor!’
\n‘Husband,’ said she, ‘why should we stop at being emperor? I will be pope
\nnext.’ ‘O wife, wife!’ said he, ‘how can you be pope? there is but one
\npope at a time in Christendom.’ ‘Husband,’ said she, ‘I will be pope this
\nvery day.’ ‘But,’ replied the husband, ‘the fish cannot make you pope.’
\n‘What nonsense!’ said she; ‘if he can make an emperor, he can make a pope:
\ngo and try him.’<\/p>\n
So the fisherman went. But when he came to the shore the wind was raging
\nand the sea was tossed up and down in boiling waves, and the ships were in
\ntrouble, and rolled fearfully upon the tops of the billows. In the middle
\nof the heavens there was a little piece of blue sky, but towards the south
\nall was red, as if a dreadful storm was rising. At this sight the
\nfisherman was dreadfully frightened, and he trembled so that his knees
\nknocked together: but still he went down near to the shore, and said:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘What does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said the fisherman, ‘my
\nwife wants to be pope.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish; ‘she is pope already.’<\/p>\n
Then the fisherman went home, and found Ilsabill sitting on a throne that
\nwas two miles high. And she had three great crowns on her head, and around
\nher stood all the pomp and power of the Church. And on each side of her
\nwere two rows of burning lights, of all sizes, the greatest as large as
\nthe highest and biggest tower in the world, and the least no larger than a
\nsmall rushlight. ‘Wife,’ said the fisherman, as he looked at all this
\ngreatness, ‘are you pope?’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘I am pope.’ ‘Well, wife,’
\nreplied he, ‘it is a grand thing to be pope; and now you must be easy, for
\nyou can be nothing greater.’ ‘I will think about that,’ said the wife.
\nThen they went to bed: but Dame Ilsabill could not sleep all night for
\nthinking what she should be next. At last, as she was dropping asleep,
\nmorning broke, and the sun rose. ‘Ha!’ thought she, as she woke up and
\nlooked at it through the window, ‘after all I cannot prevent the sun
\nrising.’ At this thought she was very angry, and wakened her husband, and
\nsaid, ‘Husband, go to the fish and tell him I must be lord of the sun and
\nmoon.’ The fisherman was half asleep, but the thought frightened him so
\nmuch that he started and fell out of bed. ‘Alas, wife!’ said he, ‘cannot
\nyou be easy with being pope?’ ‘No,’ said she, ‘I am very uneasy as long as
\nthe sun and moon rise without my leave. Go to the fish at once!’<\/p>\n
Then the man went shivering with fear; and as he was going down to the
\nshore a dreadful storm arose, so that the trees and the very rocks shook.
\nAnd all the heavens became black with stormy clouds, and the lightnings
\nplayed, and the thunders rolled; and you might have seen in the sea great
\nblack waves, swelling up like mountains with crowns of white foam upon
\ntheir heads. And the fisherman crept towards the sea, and cried out, as
\nwell as he could:<\/p>\n
 'O man of the sea!\r\n  Hearken to me!\r\n  My wife Ilsabill\r\n  Will have her own will,\r\n  And hath sent me to beg a boon of thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘What does she want now?’ said the fish. ‘Ah!’ said he, ‘she wants to be
\nlord of the sun and moon.’ ‘Go home,’ said the fish, ‘to your pigsty
\nagain.’<\/p>\n
And there they live to this very day.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR<\/h2>\n
Once in summer-time the bear and the wolf were walking in the forest, and
\nthe bear heard a bird singing so beautifully that he said: ‘Brother wolf,
\nwhat bird is it that sings so well?’ ‘That is the King of birds,’ said the
\nwolf, ‘before whom we must bow down.’ In reality the bird was the
\nwillow-wren. ‘IF that’s the case,’ said the bear, ‘I should very much like
\nto see his royal palace; come, take me thither.’ ‘That is not done quite
\nas you seem to think,’ said the wolf; ‘you must wait until the Queen
\ncomes,’ Soon afterwards, the Queen arrived with some food in her beak, and
\nthe lord King came too, and they began to feed their young ones. The bear
\nwould have liked to go at once, but the wolf held him back by the sleeve,
\nand said: ‘No, you must wait until the lord and lady Queen have gone away
\nagain.’ So they took stock of the hole where the nest lay, and trotted
\naway. The bear, however, could not rest until he had seen the royal
\npalace, and when a short time had passed, went to it again. The King and
\nQueen had just flown out, so he peeped in and saw five or six young ones
\nlying there. ‘Is that the royal palace?’ cried the bear; ‘it is a wretched
\npalace, and you are not King’s children, you are disreputable children!’
\nWhen the young wrens heard that, they were frightfully angry, and
\nscreamed: ‘No, that we are not! Our parents are honest people! Bear, you
\nwill have to pay for that!’<\/p>\n
The bear and the wolf grew uneasy, and turned back and went into their
\nholes. The young willow-wrens, however, continued to cry and scream, and
\nwhen their parents again brought food they said: ‘We will not so much as
\ntouch one fly’s leg, no, not if we were dying of hunger, until you have
\nsettled whether we are respectable children or not; the bear has been here
\nand has insulted us!’ Then the old King said: ‘Be easy, he shall be
\npunished,’ and he at once flew with the Queen to the bear’s cave, and
\ncalled in: ‘Old Growler, why have you insulted my children? You shall
\nsuffer for it\u2014we will punish you by a bloody war.’ Thus war was
\nannounced to the Bear, and all four-footed animals were summoned to take
\npart in it, oxen, asses, cows, deer, and every other animal the earth
\ncontained. And the willow-wren summoned everything which flew in the air,
\nnot only birds, large and small, but midges, and hornets, bees and flies
\nhad to come.<\/p>\n
When the time came for the war to begin, the willow-wren sent out spies to
\ndiscover who was the enemy’s commander-in-chief. The gnat, who was the
\nmost crafty, flew into the forest where the enemy was assembled, and hid
\nherself beneath a leaf of the tree where the password was to be announced.
\nThere stood the bear, and he called the fox before him and said: ‘Fox, you
\nare the most cunning of all animals, you shall be general and lead us.’
\n‘Good,’ said the fox, ‘but what signal shall we agree upon?’ No one knew
\nthat, so the fox said: ‘I have a fine long bushy tail, which almost looks
\nlike a plume of red feathers. When I lift my tail up quite high, all is
\ngoing well, and you must charge; but if I let it hang down, run away as
\nfast as you can.’ When the gnat had heard that, she flew away again, and
\nrevealed everything, down to the minutest detail, to the willow-wren. When
\nday broke, and the battle was to begin, all the four-footed animals came
\nrunning up with such a noise that the earth trembled. The willow-wren with
\nhis army also came flying through the air with such a humming, and
\nwhirring, and swarming that every one was uneasy and afraid, and on both
\nsides they advanced against each other. But the willow-wren sent down the
\nhornet, with orders to settle beneath the fox’s tail, and sting with all
\nhis might. When the fox felt the first string, he started so that he
\nlifted one leg, from pain, but he bore it, and still kept his tail high in
\nthe air; at the second sting, he was forced to put it down for a moment;
\nat the third, he could hold out no longer, screamed, and put his tail
\nbetween his legs. When the animals saw that, they thought all was lost,
\nand began to flee, each into his hole, and the birds had won the battle.<\/p>\n
Then the King and Queen flew home to their children and cried: ‘Children,
\nrejoice, eat and drink to your heart’s content, we have won the battle!’
\nBut the young wrens said: ‘We will not eat yet, the bear must come to the
\nnest, and beg for pardon and say that we are honourable children, before
\nwe will do that.’ Then the willow-wren flew to the bear’s hole and cried:
\n‘Growler, you are to come to the nest to my children, and beg their
\npardon, or else every rib of your body shall be broken.’ So the bear crept
\nthither in the greatest fear, and begged their pardon. And now at last the
\nyoung wrens were satisfied, and sat down together and ate and drank, and
\nmade merry till quite late into the night.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE FROG-PRINCE<\/h2>\n
One fine evening a young princess put on her bonnet and clogs, and went
\nout to take a walk by herself in a wood; and when she came to a cool
\nspring of water, that rose in the midst of it, she sat herself down to
\nrest a while. Now she had a golden ball in her hand, which was her
\nfavourite plaything; and she was always tossing it up into the air, and
\ncatching it again as it fell. After a time she threw it up so high that
\nshe missed catching it as it fell; and the ball bounded away, and rolled
\nalong upon the ground, till at last it fell down into the spring. The
\nprincess looked into the spring after her ball, but it was very deep, so
\ndeep that she could not see the bottom of it. Then she began to bewail her
\nloss, and said, ‘Alas! if I could only get my ball again, I would give all
\nmy fine clothes and jewels, and everything that I have in the world.’<\/p>\n
Whilst she was speaking, a frog put its head out of the water, and said,
\n‘Princess, why do you weep so bitterly?’ ‘Alas!’ said she, ‘what can you
\ndo for me, you nasty frog? My golden ball has fallen into the spring.’ The
\nfrog said, ‘I want not your pearls, and jewels, and fine clothes; but if
\nyou will love me, and let me live with you and eat from off your golden
\nplate, and sleep upon your bed, I will bring you your ball again.’ ‘What
\nnonsense,’ thought the princess, ‘this silly frog is talking! He can never
\neven get out of the spring to visit me, though he may be able to get my
\nball for me, and therefore I will tell him he shall have what he asks.’ So
\nshe said to the frog, ‘Well, if you will bring me my ball, I will do all
\nyou ask.’ Then the frog put his head down, and dived deep under the water;
\nand after a little while he came up again, with the ball in his mouth, and
\nthrew it on the edge of the spring. As soon as the young princess saw her
\nball, she ran to pick it up; and she was so overjoyed to have it in her
\nhand again, that she never thought of the frog, but ran home with it as
\nfast as she could. The frog called after her, ‘Stay, princess, and take me
\nwith you as you said,’ But she did not stop to hear a word.<\/p>\n
The next day, just as the princess had sat down to dinner, she heard a
\nstrange noise\u2014tap, tap\u2014plash, plash\u2014as if something was
\ncoming up the marble staircase: and soon afterwards there was a gentle
\nknock at the door, and a little voice cried out and said:<\/p>\n
 'Open the door, my princess dear,\r\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\r\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\r\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the princess ran to the door and opened it, and there she saw the
\nfrog, whom she had quite forgotten. At this sight she was sadly
\nfrightened, and shutting the door as fast as she could came back to her
\nseat. The king, her father, seeing that something had frightened her,
\nasked her what was the matter. ‘There is a nasty frog,’ said she, ‘at the
\ndoor, that lifted my ball for me out of the spring this morning: I told
\nhim that he should live with me here, thinking that he could never get out
\nof the spring; but there he is at the door, and he wants to come in.’<\/p>\n
While she was speaking the frog knocked again at the door, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Open the door, my princess dear,\r\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\r\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\r\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the king said to the young princess, ‘As you have given your word you
\nmust keep it; so go and let him in.’ She did so, and the frog hopped into
\nthe room, and then straight on\u2014tap, tap\u2014plash, plash\u2014from
\nthe bottom of the room to the top, till he came up close to the table
\nwhere the princess sat. ‘Pray lift me upon chair,’ said he to the
\nprincess, ‘and let me sit next to you.’ As soon as she had done this, the
\nfrog said, ‘Put your plate nearer to me, that I may eat out of it.’ This
\nshe did, and when he had eaten as much as he could, he said, ‘Now I am
\ntired; carry me upstairs, and put me into your bed.’ And the princess,
\nthough very unwilling, took him up in her hand, and put him upon the
\npillow of her own bed, where he slept all night long. As soon as it was
\nlight he jumped up, hopped downstairs, and went out of the house. ‘Now,
\nthen,’ thought the princess, ‘at last he is gone, and I shall be troubled
\nwith him no more.’<\/p>\n
But she was mistaken; for when night came again she heard the same tapping
\nat the door; and the frog came once more, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Open the door, my princess dear,\r\n  Open the door to thy true love here!\r\n  And mind the words that thou and I said\r\n  By the fountain cool, in the greenwood shade.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And when the princess opened the door the frog came in, and slept upon her
\npillow as before, till the morning broke. And the third night he did the
\nsame. But when the princess awoke on the following morning she was
\nastonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome prince, gazing on her
\nwith the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at the head
\nof her bed.<\/p>\n
He told her that he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, who had
\nchanged him into a frog; and that he had been fated so to abide till some
\nprincess should take him out of the spring, and let him eat from her
\nplate, and sleep upon her bed for three nights. ‘You,’ said the prince,
\n‘have broken his cruel charm, and now I have nothing to wish for but that
\nyou should go with me into my father’s kingdom, where I will marry you,
\nand love you as long as you live.’<\/p>\n
The young princess, you may be sure, was not long in saying ‘Yes’ to all
\nthis; and as they spoke a gay coach drove up, with eight beautiful horses,
\ndecked with plumes of feathers and a golden harness; and behind the coach
\nrode the prince’s servant, faithful Heinrich, who had bewailed the
\nmisfortunes of his dear master during his enchantment so long and so
\nbitterly, that his heart had well-nigh burst.<\/p>\n
They then took leave of the king, and got into the coach with eight
\nhorses, and all set out, full of joy and merriment, for the prince’s
\nkingdom, which they reached safely; and there they lived happily a great
\nmany years.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP<\/h2>\n
A certain cat had made the acquaintance of a mouse, and had said so much
\nto her about the great love and friendship she felt for her, that at
\nlength the mouse agreed that they should live and keep house together.
\n‘But we must make a provision for winter, or else we shall suffer from
\nhunger,’ said the cat; ‘and you, little mouse, cannot venture everywhere,
\nor you will be caught in a trap some day.’ The good advice was followed,
\nand a pot of fat was bought, but they did not know where to put it. At
\nlength, after much consideration, the cat said: ‘I know no place where it
\nwill be better stored up than in the church, for no one dares take
\nanything away from there. We will set it beneath the altar, and not touch
\nit until we are really in need of it.’ So the pot was placed in safety,
\nbut it was not long before the cat had a great yearning for it, and said
\nto the mouse: ‘I want to tell you something, little mouse; my cousin has
\nbrought a little son into the world, and has asked me to be godmother; he
\nis white with brown spots, and I am to hold him over the font at the
\nchristening. Let me go out today, and you look after the house by
\nyourself.’ ‘Yes, yes,’ answered the mouse, ‘by all means go, and if you
\nget anything very good to eat, think of me. I should like a drop of sweet
\nred christening wine myself.’ All this, however, was untrue; the cat had
\nno cousin, and had not been asked to be godmother. She went straight to
\nthe church, stole to the pot of fat, began to lick at it, and licked the
\ntop of the fat off. Then she took a walk upon the roofs of the town,
\nlooked out for opportunities, and then stretched herself in the sun, and
\nlicked her lips whenever she thought of the pot of fat, and not until it
\nwas evening did she return home. ‘Well, here you are again,’ said the
\nmouse, ‘no doubt you have had a merry day.’ ‘All went off well,’ answered
\nthe cat. ‘What name did they give the child?’ ‘Top off!’ said the cat
\nquite coolly. ‘Top off!’ cried the mouse, ‘that is a very odd and uncommon
\nname, is it a usual one in your family?’ ‘What does that matter,’ said the
\ncat, ‘it is no worse than Crumb-stealer, as your godchildren are called.’<\/p>\n
Before long the cat was seized by another fit of yearning. She said to the
\nmouse: ‘You must do me a favour, and once more manage the house for a day
\nalone. I am again asked to be godmother, and, as the child has a white
\nring round its neck, I cannot refuse.’ The good mouse consented, but the
\ncat crept behind the town walls to the church, and devoured half the pot
\nof fat. ‘Nothing ever seems so good as what one keeps to oneself,’ said
\nshe, and was quite satisfied with her day’s work. When she went home the
\nmouse inquired: ‘And what was the child christened?’ ‘Half-done,’ answered
\nthe cat. ‘Half-done! What are you saying? I never heard the name in my
\nlife, I’ll wager anything it is not in the calendar!’<\/p>\n
The cat’s mouth soon began to water for some more licking. ‘All good
\nthings go in threes,’ said she, ‘I am asked to stand godmother again. The
\nchild is quite black, only it has white paws, but with that exception, it
\nhas not a single white hair on its whole body; this only happens once
\nevery few years, you will let me go, won’t you?’ ‘Top-off! Half-done!’
\nanswered the mouse, ‘they are such odd names, they make me very
\nthoughtful.’ ‘You sit at home,’ said the cat, ‘in your dark-grey fur coat
\nand long tail, and are filled with fancies, that’s because you do not go
\nout in the daytime.’ During the cat’s absence the mouse cleaned the house,
\nand put it in order, but the greedy cat entirely emptied the pot of fat.
\n‘When everything is eaten up one has some peace,’ said she to herself, and
\nwell filled and fat she did not return home till night. The mouse at once
\nasked what name had been given to the third child. ‘It will not please you
\nmore than the others,’ said the cat. ‘He is called All-gone.’ ‘All-gone,’
\ncried the mouse ‘that is the most suspicious name of all! I have never
\nseen it in print. All-gone; what can that mean?’ and she shook her head,
\ncurled herself up, and lay down to sleep.<\/p>\n
From this time forth no one invited the cat to be godmother, but when the
\nwinter had come and there was no longer anything to be found outside, the
\nmouse thought of their provision, and said: ‘Come, cat, we will go to our
\npot of fat which we have stored up for ourselves\u2014we shall enjoy
\nthat.’ ‘Yes,’ answered the cat, ‘you will enjoy it as much as you would
\nenjoy sticking that dainty tongue of yours out of the window.’ They set
\nout on their way, but when they arrived, the pot of fat certainly was
\nstill in its place, but it was empty. ‘Alas!’ said the mouse, ‘now I see
\nwhat has happened, now it comes to light! You are a true friend! You have
\ndevoured all when you were standing godmother. First top off, then
\nhalf-done, then\u2014’ ‘Will you hold your tongue,’ cried the cat, ‘one
\nword more, and I will eat you too.’ ‘All-gone’ was already on the poor
\nmouse’s lips; scarcely had she spoken it before the cat sprang on her,
\nseized her, and swallowed her down. Verily, that is the way of the world.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE GOOSE-GIRL<\/h2>\n
The king of a great land died, and left his queen to take care of their
\nonly child. This child was a daughter, who was very beautiful; and her
\nmother loved her dearly, and was very kind to her. And there was a good
\nfairy too, who was fond of the princess, and helped her mother to watch
\nover her. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a
\ngreat way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she got
\nready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen her mother,
\npacked up a great many costly things; jewels, and gold, and silver;
\ntrinkets, fine dresses, and in short everything that became a royal bride.
\nAnd she gave her a waiting-maid to ride with her, and give her into the
\nbridegroom’s hands; and each had a horse for the journey. Now the
\nprincess’s horse was the fairy’s gift, and it was called Falada, and could
\nspeak.<\/p>\n
When the time came for them to set out, the fairy went into her
\nbed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair, and
\ngave it to the princess, and said, ‘Take care of it, dear child; for it is
\na charm that may be of use to you on the road.’ Then they all took a
\nsorrowful leave of the princess; and she put the lock of hair into her
\nbosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her journey to her bridegroom’s
\nkingdom.<\/p>\n
One day, as they were riding along by a brook, the princess began to feel
\nvery thirsty: and she said to her maid, ‘Pray get down, and fetch me some
\nwater in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to drink.’ ‘Nay,’
\nsaid the maid, ‘if you are thirsty, get off yourself, and stoop down by
\nthe water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid any longer.’ Then
\nshe was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt over the little brook, and
\ndrank; for she was frightened, and dared not bring out her golden cup; and
\nshe wept and said, ‘Alas! what will become of me?’ And the lock answered
\nher, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\r\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
But the princess was very gentle and meek, so she said nothing to her
\nmaid’s ill behaviour, but got upon her horse again.<\/p>\n
Then all rode farther on their journey, till the day grew so warm, and the
\nsun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty again; and at
\nlast, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid’s rude speech, and
\nsaid, ‘Pray get down, and fetch me some water to drink in my golden cup.’
\nBut the maid answered her, and even spoke more haughtily than before:
\n‘Drink if you will, but I shall not be your waiting-maid.’ Then the
\nprincess was so thirsty that she got off her horse, and lay down, and held
\nher head over the running stream, and cried and said, ‘What will become of
\nme?’ And the lock of hair answered her again:<\/p>\n
 'Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\r\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And as she leaned down to drink, the lock of hair fell from her bosom, and
\nfloated away with the water. Now she was so frightened that she did not
\nsee it; but her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the charm;
\nand she saw that the poor bride would be in her power, now that she had
\nlost the hair. So when the bride had done drinking, and would have got
\nupon Falada again, the maid said, ‘I shall ride upon Falada, and you may
\nhave my horse instead’; so she was forced to give up her horse, and soon
\nafterwards to take off her royal clothes and put on her maid’s shabby
\nones.<\/p>\n
At last, as they drew near the end of their journey, this treacherous
\nservant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had
\nhappened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well.<\/p>\n
Then the waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride rode upon the
\nother horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the
\nroyal court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince flew to
\nmeet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one
\nwho was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber; but
\nthe true princess was told to stay in the court below.<\/p>\n
Now the old king happened just then to have nothing else to do; so he
\namused himself by sitting at his kitchen window, looking at what was going
\non; and he saw her in the courtyard. As she looked very pretty, and too
\ndelicate for a waiting-maid, he went up into the royal chamber to ask the
\nbride who it was she had brought with her, that was thus left standing in
\nthe court below. ‘I brought her with me for the sake of her company on the
\nroad,’ said she; ‘pray give the girl some work to do, that she may not be
\nidle.’ The old king could not for some time think of any work for her to
\ndo; but at last he said, ‘I have a lad who takes care of my geese; she may
\ngo and help him.’ Now the name of this lad, that the real bride was to
\nhelp in watching the king’s geese, was Curdken.<\/p>\n
But the false bride said to the prince, ‘Dear husband, pray do me one
\npiece of kindness.’ ‘That I will,’ said the prince. ‘Then tell one of your
\nslaughterers to cut off the head of the horse I rode upon, for it was very
\nunruly, and plagued me sadly on the road’; but the truth was, she was very
\nmuch afraid lest Falada should some day or other speak, and tell all she
\nhad done to the princess. She carried her point, and the faithful Falada
\nwas killed; but when the true princess heard of it, she wept, and begged
\nthe man to nail up Falada’s head against a large dark gate of the city,
\nthrough which she had to pass every morning and evening, that there she
\nmight still see him sometimes. Then the slaughterer said he would do as
\nshe wished; and cut off the head, and nailed it up under the dark gate.<\/p>\n
Early the next morning, as she and Curdken went out through the gate, she
\nsaid sorrowfully:<\/p>\n
 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
and the head answered:<\/p>\n
 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\r\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\r\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then they went out of the city, and drove the geese on. And when she came
\nto the meadow, she sat down upon a bank there, and let down her waving
\nlocks of hair, which were all of pure silver; and when Curdken saw it
\nglitter in the sun, he ran up, and would have pulled some of the locks
\nout, but she cried:<\/p>\n
 'Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\r\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let him after it go!\r\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\r\n  Away be it whirl'd\r\n  Till the silvery locks\r\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then there came a wind, so strong that it blew off Curdken’s hat; and away
\nit flew over the hills: and he was forced to turn and run after it; till,
\nby the time he came back, she had done combing and curling her hair, and
\nhad put it up again safe. Then he was very angry and sulky, and would not
\nspeak to her at all; but they watched the geese until it grew dark in the
\nevening, and then drove them homewards.<\/p>\n
The next morning, as they were going through the dark gate, the poor girl
\nlooked up at Falada’s head, and cried:<\/p>\n
 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
and the head answered:<\/p>\n
 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\r\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\r\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then she drove on the geese, and sat down again in the meadow, and began
\nto comb out her hair as before; and Curdken ran up to her, and wanted to
\ntake hold of it; but she cried out quickly:<\/p>\n
 'Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\r\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let him after it go!\r\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\r\n  Away be it whirl'd\r\n  Till the silvery locks\r\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the wind came and blew away his hat; and off it flew a great way,
\nover the hills and far away, so that he had to run after it; and when he
\ncame back she had bound up her hair again, and all was safe. So they
\nwatched the geese till it grew dark.<\/p>\n
In the evening, after they came home, Curdken went to the old king, and
\nsaid, ‘I cannot have that strange girl to help me to keep the geese any
\nlonger.’ ‘Why?’ said the king. ‘Because, instead of doing any good, she
\ndoes nothing but tease me all day long.’ Then the king made him tell him
\nwhat had happened. And Curdken said, ‘When we go in the morning through
\nthe dark gate with our flock of geese, she cries and talks with the head
\nof a horse that hangs upon the wall, and says:<\/p>\n
 'Falada, Falada, there thou hangest!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
and the head answers:<\/p>\n
 'Bride, bride, there thou gangest!\r\n  Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,\r\n  Sadly, sadly, would she rue it.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And Curdken went on telling the king what had happened upon the meadow
\nwhere the geese fed; how his hat was blown away; and how he was forced to
\nrun after it, and to leave his flock of geese to themselves. But the old
\nking told the boy to go out again the next day: and when morning came, he
\nplaced himself behind the dark gate, and heard how she spoke to Falada,
\nand how Falada answered. Then he went into the field, and hid himself in a
\nbush by the meadow’s side; and he soon saw with his own eyes how they
\ndrove the flock of geese; and how, after a little time, she let down her
\nhair that glittered in the sun. And then he heard her say:<\/p>\n
 'Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let Curdken's hat go!\r\n  Blow, breezes, blow!\r\n  Let him after it go!\r\n  O'er hills, dales, and rocks,\r\n  Away be it whirl'd\r\n  Till the silvery locks\r\n  Are all comb'd and curl'd!\r\n<\/pre>\n
And soon came a gale of wind, and carried away Curdken’s hat, and away
\nwent Curdken after it, while the girl went on combing and curling her
\nhair. All this the old king saw: so he went home without being seen; and
\nwhen the little goose-girl came back in the evening he called her aside,
\nand asked her why she did so: but she burst into tears, and said, ‘That I
\nmust not tell you or any man, or I shall lose my life.’<\/p>\n
But the old king begged so hard, that she had no peace till she had told
\nhim all the tale, from beginning to end, word for word. And it was very
\nlucky for her that she did so, for when she had done the king ordered
\nroyal clothes to be put upon her, and gazed on her with wonder, she was so
\nbeautiful. Then he called his son and told him that he had only a false
\nbride; for that she was merely a waiting-maid, while the true bride stood
\nby. And the young king rejoiced when he saw her beauty, and heard how meek
\nand patient she had been; and without saying anything to the false bride,
\nthe king ordered a great feast to be got ready for all his court. The
\nbridegroom sat at the top, with the false princess on one side, and the
\ntrue one on the other; but nobody knew her again, for her beauty was quite
\ndazzling to their eyes; and she did not seem at all like the little
\ngoose-girl, now that she had her brilliant dress on.<\/p>\n
When they had eaten and drank, and were very merry, the old king said he
\nwould tell them a tale. So he began, and told all the story of the
\nprincess, as if it was one that he had once heard; and he asked the true
\nwaiting-maid what she thought ought to be done to anyone who would behave
\nthus. ‘Nothing better,’ said this false bride, ‘than that she should be
\nthrown into a cask stuck round with sharp nails, and that two white horses
\nshould be put to it, and should drag it from street to street till she was
\ndead.’ ‘Thou art she!’ said the old king; ‘and as thou has judged thyself,
\nso shall it be done to thee.’ And the young king was then married to his
\ntrue wife, and they reigned over the kingdom in peace and happiness all
\ntheir lives; and the good fairy came to see them, and restored the
\nfaithful Falada to life again.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET<\/h2>\n
1. HOW THEY WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO EAT NUTS<\/p>\n
‘The nuts are quite ripe now,’ said Chanticleer to his wife Partlet,
\n‘suppose we go together to the mountains, and eat as many as we can,
\nbefore the squirrel takes them all away.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said
\nPartlet, ‘let us go and make a holiday of it together.’<\/p>\n
So they went to the mountains; and as it was a lovely day, they stayed
\nthere till the evening. Now, whether it was that they had eaten so many
\nnuts that they could not walk, or whether they were lazy and would not, I
\ndo not know: however, they took it into their heads that it did not become
\nthem to go home on foot. So Chanticleer began to build a little carriage
\nof nutshells: and when it was finished, Partlet jumped into it and sat
\ndown, and bid Chanticleer harness himself to it and draw her home. ‘That’s
\na good joke!’ said Chanticleer; ‘no, that will never do; I had rather by
\nhalf walk home; I’ll sit on the box and be coachman, if you like, but I’ll
\nnot draw.’ While this was passing, a duck came quacking up and cried out,
\n‘You thieving vagabonds, what business have you in my grounds? I’ll give
\nit you well for your insolence!’ and upon that she fell upon Chanticleer
\nmost lustily. But Chanticleer was no coward, and returned the duck’s blows
\nwith his sharp spurs so fiercely that she soon began to cry out for mercy;
\nwhich was only granted her upon condition that she would draw the carriage
\nhome for them. This she agreed to do; and Chanticleer got upon the box,
\nand drove, crying, ‘Now, duck, get on as fast as you can.’ And away they
\nwent at a pretty good pace.<\/p>\n
After they had travelled along a little way, they met a needle and a pin
\nwalking together along the road: and the needle cried out, ‘Stop, stop!’
\nand said it was so dark that they could hardly find their way, and such
\ndirty walking they could not get on at all: he told them that he and his
\nfriend, the pin, had been at a public-house a few miles off, and had sat
\ndrinking till they had forgotten how late it was; he begged therefore that
\nthe travellers would be so kind as to give them a lift in their carriage.
\nChanticleer observing that they were but thin fellows, and not likely to
\ntake up much room, told them they might ride, but made them promise not to
\ndirty the wheels of the carriage in getting in, nor to tread on Partlet’s
\ntoes.<\/p>\n
Late at night they arrived at an inn; and as it was bad travelling in the
\ndark, and the duck seemed much tired, and waddled about a good deal from
\none side to the other, they made up their minds to fix their quarters
\nthere: but the landlord at first was unwilling, and said his house was
\nfull, thinking they might not be very respectable company: however, they
\nspoke civilly to him, and gave him the egg which Partlet had laid by the
\nway, and said they would give him the duck, who was in the habit of laying
\none every day: so at last he let them come in, and they bespoke a handsome
\nsupper, and spent the evening very jollily.<\/p>\n
Early in the morning, before it was quite light, and when nobody was
\nstirring in the inn, Chanticleer awakened his wife, and, fetching the egg,
\nthey pecked a hole in it, ate it up, and threw the shells into the
\nfireplace: they then went to the pin and needle, who were fast asleep, and
\nseizing them by the heads, stuck one into the landlord’s easy chair and
\nthe other into his handkerchief; and, having done this, they crept away as
\nsoftly as possible. However, the duck, who slept in the open air in the
\nyard, heard them coming, and jumping into the brook which ran close by the
\ninn, soon swam out of their reach.<\/p>\n
An hour or two afterwards the landlord got up, and took his handkerchief
\nto wipe his face, but the pin ran into him and pricked him: then he walked
\ninto the kitchen to light his pipe at the fire, but when he stirred it up
\nthe eggshells flew into his eyes, and almost blinded him. ‘Bless me!’ said
\nhe, ‘all the world seems to have a design against my head this morning’:
\nand so saying, he threw himself sulkily into his easy chair; but, oh dear!
\nthe needle ran into him; and this time the pain was not in his head. He
\nnow flew into a very great passion, and, suspecting the company who had
\ncome in the night before, he went to look after them, but they were all
\noff; so he swore that he never again would take in such a troop of
\nvagabonds, who ate a great deal, paid no reckoning, and gave him nothing
\nfor his trouble but their apish tricks.<\/p>\n
2. HOW CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET WENT TO VISIT MR KORBES<\/p>\n
Another day, Chanticleer and Partlet wished to ride out together; so
\nChanticleer built a handsome carriage with four red wheels, and harnessed
\nsix mice to it; and then he and Partlet got into the carriage, and away
\nthey drove. Soon afterwards a cat met them, and said, ‘Where are you
\ngoing?’ And Chanticleer replied,<\/p>\n
 'All on our way\r\n  A visit to pay\r\n  To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the cat said, ‘Take me with you,’ Chanticleer said, ‘With all my
\nheart: get up behind, and be sure you do not fall off.’<\/p>\n
 'Take care of this handsome coach of mine,\r\n  Nor dirty my pretty red wheels so fine!\r\n  Now, mice, be ready,\r\n  And, wheels, run steady!\r\n  For we are going a visit to pay\r\n  To Mr Korbes, the fox, today.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Soon after came up a millstone, an egg, a duck, and a pin; and Chanticleer
\ngave them all leave to get into the carriage and go with them.<\/p>\n
When they arrived at Mr Korbes’s house, he was not at home; so the mice
\ndrew the carriage into the coach-house, Chanticleer and Partlet flew upon
\na beam, the cat sat down in the fireplace, the duck got into the washing
\ncistern, the pin stuck himself into the bed pillow, the millstone laid
\nhimself over the house door, and the egg rolled himself up in the towel.<\/p>\n
When Mr Korbes came home, he went to the fireplace to make a fire; but the
\ncat threw all the ashes in his eyes: so he ran to the kitchen to wash
\nhimself; but there the duck splashed all the water in his face; and when
\nhe tried to wipe himself, the egg broke to pieces in the towel all over
\nhis face and eyes. Then he was very angry, and went without his supper to
\nbed; but when he laid his head on the pillow, the pin ran into his cheek:
\nat this he became quite furious, and, jumping up, would have run out of
\nthe house; but when he came to the door, the millstone fell down on his
\nhead, and killed him on the spot.<\/p>\n
3. HOW PARTLET DIED AND WAS BURIED, AND HOW CHANTICLEER DIED OF GRIEF<\/p>\n
Another day Chanticleer and Partlet agreed to go again to the mountains to
\neat nuts; and it was settled that all the nuts which they found should be
\nshared equally between them. Now Partlet found a very large nut; but she
\nsaid nothing about it to Chanticleer, and kept it all to herself: however,
\nit was so big that she could not swallow it, and it stuck in her throat.
\nThen she was in a great fright, and cried out to Chanticleer, ‘Pray run as
\nfast as you can, and fetch me some water, or I shall be choked.’
\nChanticleer ran as fast as he could to the river, and said, ‘River, give
\nme some water, for Partlet lies in the mountain, and will be choked by a
\ngreat nut.’ The river said, ‘Run first to the bride, and ask her for a
\nsilken cord to draw up the water.’ Chanticleer ran to the bride, and said,
\n‘Bride, you must give me a silken cord, for then the river will give me
\nwater, and the water I will carry to Partlet, who lies on the mountain,
\nand will be choked by a great nut.’ But the bride said, ‘Run first, and
\nbring me my garland that is hanging on a willow in the garden.’ Then
\nChanticleer ran to the garden, and took the garland from the bough where
\nit hung, and brought it to the bride; and then the bride gave him the
\nsilken cord, and he took the silken cord to the river, and the river gave
\nhim water, and he carried the water to Partlet; but in the meantime she
\nwas choked by the great nut, and lay quite dead, and never moved any more.<\/p>\n
Then Chanticleer was very sorry, and cried bitterly; and all the beasts
\ncame and wept with him over poor Partlet. And six mice built a little
\nhearse to carry her to her grave; and when it was ready they harnessed
\nthemselves before it, and Chanticleer drove them. On the way they met the
\nfox. ‘Where are you going, Chanticleer?’ said he. ‘To bury my Partlet,’
\nsaid the other. ‘May I go with you?’ said the fox. ‘Yes; but you must get
\nup behind, or my horses will not be able to draw you.’ Then the fox got up
\nbehind; and presently the wolf, the bear, the goat, and all the beasts of
\nthe wood, came and climbed upon the hearse.<\/p>\n
So on they went till they came to a rapid stream. ‘How shall we get over?’
\nsaid Chanticleer. Then said a straw, ‘I will lay myself across, and you
\nmay pass over upon me.’ But as the mice were going over, the straw slipped
\naway and fell into the water, and the six mice all fell in and were
\ndrowned. What was to be done? Then a large log of wood came and said, ‘I
\nam big enough; I will lay myself across the stream, and you shall pass
\nover upon me.’ So he laid himself down; but they managed so clumsily, that
\nthe log of wood fell in and was carried away by the stream. Then a stone,
\nwho saw what had happened, came up and kindly offered to help poor
\nChanticleer by laying himself across the stream; and this time he got
\nsafely to the other side with the hearse, and managed to get Partlet out
\nof it; but the fox and the other mourners, who were sitting behind, were
\ntoo heavy, and fell back into the water and were all carried away by the
\nstream and drowned.<\/p>\n
Thus Chanticleer was left alone with his dead Partlet; and having dug a
\ngrave for her, he laid her in it, and made a little hillock over her. Then
\nhe sat down by the grave, and wept and mourned, till at last he died too;
\nand so all were dead.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
RAPUNZEL<\/h2>\n
There were once a man and a woman who had long in vain wished for a child.
\nAt length the woman hoped that God was about to grant her desire. These
\npeople had a little window at the back of their house from which a
\nsplendid garden could be seen, which was full of the most beautiful
\nflowers and herbs. It was, however, surrounded by a high wall, and no one
\ndared to go into it because it belonged to an enchantress, who had great
\npower and was dreaded by all the world. One day the woman was standing by
\nthis window and looking down into the garden, when she saw a bed which was
\nplanted with the most beautiful rampion (rapunzel), and it looked so fresh
\nand green that she longed for it, she quite pined away, and began to look
\npale and miserable. Then her husband was alarmed, and asked: ‘What ails
\nyou, dear wife?’ ‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘if I can’t eat some of the rampion,
\nwhich is in the garden behind our house, I shall die.’ The man, who loved
\nher, thought: ‘Sooner than let your wife die, bring her some of the
\nrampion yourself, let it cost what it will.’ At twilight, he clambered
\ndown over the wall into the garden of the enchantress, hastily clutched a
\nhandful of rampion, and took it to his wife. She at once made herself a
\nsalad of it, and ate it greedily. It tasted so good to her\u2014so very
\ngood, that the next day she longed for it three times as much as before.
\nIf he was to have any rest, her husband must once more descend into the
\ngarden. In the gloom of evening therefore, he let himself down again; but
\nwhen he had clambered down the wall he was terribly afraid, for he saw the
\nenchantress standing before him. ‘How can you dare,’ said she with angry
\nlook, ‘descend into my garden and steal my rampion like a thief? You shall
\nsuffer for it!’ ‘Ah,’ answered he, ‘let mercy take the place of justice, I
\nonly made up my mind to do it out of necessity. My wife saw your rampion
\nfrom the window, and felt such a longing for it that she would have died
\nif she had not got some to eat.’ Then the enchantress allowed her anger to
\nbe softened, and said to him: ‘If the case be as you say, I will allow you
\nto take away with you as much rampion as you will, only I make one
\ncondition, you must give me the child which your wife will bring into the
\nworld; it shall be well treated, and I will care for it like a mother.’
\nThe man in his terror consented to everything, and when the woman was
\nbrought to bed, the enchantress appeared at once, gave the child the name
\nof Rapunzel, and took it away with her.<\/p>\n
Rapunzel grew into the most beautiful child under the sun. When she was
\ntwelve years old, the enchantress shut her into a tower, which lay in a
\nforest, and had neither stairs nor door, but quite at the top was a little
\nwindow. When the enchantress wanted to go in, she placed herself beneath
\nit and cried:<\/p>\n
 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\r\n  Let down your hair to me.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Rapunzel had magnificent long hair, fine as spun gold, and when she heard
\nthe voice of the enchantress she unfastened her braided tresses, wound
\nthem round one of the hooks of the window above, and then the hair fell
\ntwenty ells down, and the enchantress climbed up by it.<\/p>\n
After a year or two, it came to pass that the king’s son rode through the
\nforest and passed by the tower. Then he heard a song, which was so
\ncharming that he stood still and listened. This was Rapunzel, who in her
\nsolitude passed her time in letting her sweet voice resound. The king’s
\nson wanted to climb up to her, and looked for the door of the tower, but
\nnone was to be found. He rode home, but the singing had so deeply touched
\nhis heart, that every day he went out into the forest and listened to it.
\nOnce when he was thus standing behind a tree, he saw that an enchantress
\ncame there, and he heard how she cried:<\/p>\n
 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\r\n  Let down your hair to me.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then Rapunzel let down the braids of her hair, and the enchantress climbed
\nup to her. ‘If that is the ladder by which one mounts, I too will try my
\nfortune,’ said he, and the next day when it began to grow dark, he went to
\nthe tower and cried:<\/p>\n
 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\r\n  Let down your hair to me.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Immediately the hair fell down and the king’s son climbed up.<\/p>\n
At first Rapunzel was terribly frightened when a man, such as her eyes had
\nnever yet beheld, came to her; but the king’s son began to talk to her
\nquite like a friend, and told her that his heart had been so stirred that
\nit had let him have no rest, and he had been forced to see her. Then
\nRapunzel lost her fear, and when he asked her if she would take him for
\nher husband, and she saw that he was young and handsome, she thought: ‘He
\nwill love me more than old Dame Gothel does’; and she said yes, and laid
\nher hand in his. She said: ‘I will willingly go away with you, but I do
\nnot know how to get down. Bring with you a skein of silk every time that
\nyou come, and I will weave a ladder with it, and when that is ready I will
\ndescend, and you will take me on your horse.’ They agreed that until that
\ntime he should come to her every evening, for the old woman came by day.
\nThe enchantress remarked nothing of this, until once Rapunzel said to her:
\n‘Tell me, Dame Gothel, how it happens that you are so much heavier for me
\nto draw up than the young king’s son\u2014he is with me in a moment.’
\n‘Ah! you wicked child,’ cried the enchantress. ‘What do I hear you say! I
\nthought I had separated you from all the world, and yet you have deceived
\nme!’ In her anger she clutched Rapunzel’s beautiful tresses, wrapped them
\ntwice round her left hand, seized a pair of scissors with the right, and
\nsnip, snap, they were cut off, and the lovely braids lay on the ground.
\nAnd she was so pitiless that she took poor Rapunzel into a desert where
\nshe had to live in great grief and misery.<\/p>\n
On the same day that she cast out Rapunzel, however, the enchantress
\nfastened the braids of hair, which she had cut off, to the hook of the
\nwindow, and when the king’s son came and cried:<\/p>\n
 'Rapunzel, Rapunzel,\r\n  Let down your hair to me.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
she let the hair down. The king’s son ascended, but instead of finding his
\ndearest Rapunzel, he found the enchantress, who gazed at him with wicked
\nand venomous looks. ‘Aha!’ she cried mockingly, ‘you would fetch your
\ndearest, but the beautiful bird sits no longer singing in the nest; the
\ncat has got it, and will scratch out your eyes as well. Rapunzel is lost
\nto you; you will never see her again.’ The king’s son was beside himself
\nwith pain, and in his despair he leapt down from the tower. He escaped
\nwith his life, but the thorns into which he fell pierced his eyes. Then he
\nwandered quite blind about the forest, ate nothing but roots and berries,
\nand did naught but lament and weep over the loss of his dearest wife. Thus
\nhe roamed about in misery for some years, and at length came to the desert
\nwhere Rapunzel, with the twins to which she had given birth, a boy and a
\ngirl, lived in wretchedness. He heard a voice, and it seemed so familiar
\nto him that he went towards it, and when he approached, Rapunzel knew him
\nand fell on his neck and wept. Two of her tears wetted his eyes and they
\ngrew clear again, and he could see with them as before. He led her to his
\nkingdom where he was joyfully received, and they lived for a long time
\nafterwards, happy and contented.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
FUNDEVOGEL<\/h2>\n
There was once a forester who went into the forest to hunt, and as he
\nentered it he heard a sound of screaming as if a little child were there.
\nHe followed the sound, and at last came to a high tree, and at the top of
\nthis a little child was sitting, for the mother had fallen asleep under
\nthe tree with the child, and a bird of prey had seen it in her arms, had
\nflown down, snatched it away, and set it on the high tree.<\/p>\n
The forester climbed up, brought the child down, and thought to himself:
\n‘You will take him home with you, and bring him up with your Lina.’ He
\ntook it home, therefore, and the two children grew up together. And the
\none, which he had found on a tree was called Fundevogel, because a bird
\nhad carried it away. Fundevogel and Lina loved each other so dearly that
\nwhen they did not see each other they were sad.<\/p>\n
Now the forester had an old cook, who one evening took two pails and began
\nto fetch water, and did not go once only, but many times, out to the
\nspring. Lina saw this and said, ‘Listen, old Sanna, why are you fetching
\nso much water?’ ‘If you will never repeat it to anyone, I will tell you
\nwhy.’ So Lina said, no, she would never repeat it to anyone, and then the
\ncook said: ‘Early tomorrow morning, when the forester is out hunting, I
\nwill heat the water, and when it is boiling in the kettle, I will throw in
\nFundevogel, and will boil him in it.’<\/p>\n
Early next morning the forester got up and went out hunting, and when he
\nwas gone the children were still in bed. Then Lina said to Fundevogel: ‘If
\nyou will never leave me, I too will never leave you.’ Fundevogel said:
\n‘Neither now, nor ever will I leave you.’ Then said Lina: ‘Then will I
\ntell you. Last night, old Sanna carried so many buckets of water into the
\nhouse that I asked her why she was doing that, and she said that if I
\nwould promise not to tell anyone, and she said that early tomorrow morning
\nwhen father was out hunting, she would set the kettle full of water, throw
\nyou into it and boil you; but we will get up quickly, dress ourselves, and
\ngo away together.’<\/p>\n
The two children therefore got up, dressed themselves quickly, and went
\naway. When the water in the kettle was boiling, the cook went into the
\nbedroom to fetch Fundevogel and throw him into it. But when she came in,
\nand went to the beds, both the children were gone. Then she was terribly
\nalarmed, and she said to herself: ‘What shall I say now when the forester
\ncomes home and sees that the children are gone? They must be followed
\ninstantly to get them back again.’<\/p>\n
Then the cook sent three servants after them, who were to run and overtake
\nthe children. The children, however, were sitting outside the forest, and
\nwhen they saw from afar the three servants running, Lina said to
\nFundevogel: ‘Never leave me, and I will never leave you.’ Fundevogel said:
\n‘Neither now, nor ever.’ Then said Lina: ‘Do you become a rose-tree, and I
\nthe rose upon it.’ When the three servants came to the forest, nothing was
\nthere but a rose-tree and one rose on it, but the children were nowhere.
\nThen said they: ‘There is nothing to be done here,’ and they went home and
\ntold the cook that they had seen nothing in the forest but a little
\nrose-bush with one rose on it. Then the old cook scolded and said: ‘You
\nsimpletons, you should have cut the rose-bush in two, and have broken off
\nthe rose and brought it home with you; go, and do it at once.’ They had
\ntherefore to go out and look for the second time. The children, however,
\nsaw them coming from a distance. Then Lina said: ‘Fundevogel, never leave
\nme, and I will never leave you.’ Fundevogel said: ‘Neither now; nor ever.’
\nSaid Lina: ‘Then do you become a church, and I’ll be the chandelier in
\nit.’ So when the three servants came, nothing was there but a church, with
\na chandelier in it. They said therefore to each other: ‘What can we do
\nhere, let us go home.’ When they got home, the cook asked if they had not
\nfound them; so they said no, they had found nothing but a church, and
\nthere was a chandelier in it. And the cook scolded them and said: ‘You
\nfools! why did you not pull the church to pieces, and bring the chandelier
\nhome with you?’ And now the old cook herself got on her legs, and went
\nwith the three servants in pursuit of the children. The children, however,
\nsaw from afar that the three servants were coming, and the cook waddling
\nafter them. Then said Lina: ‘Fundevogel, never leave me, and I will never
\nleave you.’ Then said Fundevogel: ‘Neither now, nor ever.’ Said Lina: ‘Be
\na fishpond, and I will be the duck upon it.’ The cook, however, came up to
\nthem, and when she saw the pond she lay down by it, and was about to drink
\nit up. But the duck swam quickly to her, seized her head in its beak and
\ndrew her into the water, and there the old witch had to drown. Then the
\nchildren went home together, and were heartily delighted, and if they have
\nnot died, they are living still.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR<\/h2>\n
One summer’s morning a little tailor was sitting on his table by the
\nwindow; he was in good spirits, and sewed with all his might. Then came a
\npeasant woman down the street crying: ‘Good jams, cheap! Good jams,
\ncheap!’ This rang pleasantly in the tailor’s ears; he stretched his
\ndelicate head out of the window, and called: ‘Come up here, dear woman;
\nhere you will get rid of your goods.’ The woman came up the three steps to
\nthe tailor with her heavy basket, and he made her unpack all the pots for
\nhim. He inspected each one, lifted it up, put his nose to it, and at
\nlength said: ‘The jam seems to me to be good, so weigh me out four ounces,
\ndear woman, and if it is a quarter of a pound that is of no consequence.’
\nThe woman who had hoped to find a good sale, gave him what he desired, but
\nwent away quite angry and grumbling. ‘Now, this jam shall be blessed by
\nGod,’ cried the little tailor, ‘and give me health and strength’; so he
\nbrought the bread out of the cupboard, cut himself a piece right across
\nthe loaf and spread the jam over it. ‘This won’t taste bitter,’ said he,
\n‘but I will just finish the jacket before I take a bite.’ He laid the
\nbread near him, sewed on, and in his joy, made bigger and bigger stitches.
\nIn the meantime the smell of the sweet jam rose to where the flies were
\nsitting in great numbers, and they were attracted and descended on it in
\nhosts. ‘Hi! who invited you?’ said the little tailor, and drove the
\nunbidden guests away. The flies, however, who understood no German, would
\nnot be turned away, but came back again in ever-increasing companies. The
\nlittle tailor at last lost all patience, and drew a piece of cloth from
\nthe hole under his work-table, and saying: ‘Wait, and I will give it to
\nyou,’ struck it mercilessly on them. When he drew it away and counted,
\nthere lay before him no fewer than seven, dead and with legs stretched
\nout. ‘Are you a fellow of that sort?’ said he, and could not help admiring
\nhis own bravery. ‘The whole town shall know of this!’ And the little
\ntailor hastened to cut himself a girdle, stitched it, and embroidered on
\nit in large letters: ‘Seven at one stroke!’ ‘What, the town!’ he
\ncontinued, ‘the whole world shall hear of it!’ and his heart wagged with
\njoy like a lamb’s tail. The tailor put on the girdle, and resolved to go
\nforth into the world, because he thought his workshop was too small for
\nhis valour. Before he went away, he sought about in the house to see if
\nthere was anything which he could take with him; however, he found nothing
\nbut an old cheese, and that he put in his pocket. In front of the door he
\nobserved a bird which had caught itself in the thicket. It had to go into
\nhis pocket with the cheese. Now he took to the road boldly, and as he was
\nlight and nimble, he felt no fatigue. The road led him up a mountain, and
\nwhen he had reached the highest point of it, there sat a powerful giant
\nlooking peacefully about him. The little tailor went bravely up, spoke to
\nhim, and said: ‘Good day, comrade, so you are sitting there overlooking
\nthe wide-spread world! I am just on my way thither, and want to try my
\nluck. Have you any inclination to go with me?’ The giant looked
\ncontemptuously at the tailor, and said: ‘You ragamuffin! You miserable
\ncreature!’<\/p>\n
‘Oh, indeed?’ answered the little tailor, and unbuttoned his coat, and
\nshowed the giant the girdle, ‘there may you read what kind of a man I am!’
\nThe giant read: ‘Seven at one stroke,’ and thought that they had been men
\nwhom the tailor had killed, and began to feel a little respect for the
\ntiny fellow. Nevertheless, he wished to try him first, and took a stone in
\nhis hand and squeezed it together so that water dropped out of it. ‘Do
\nthat likewise,’ said the giant, ‘if you have strength.’ ‘Is that all?’
\nsaid the tailor, ‘that is child’s play with us!’ and put his hand into his
\npocket, brought out the soft cheese, and pressed it until the liquid ran
\nout of it. ‘Faith,’ said he, ‘that was a little better, wasn’t it?’ The
\ngiant did not know what to say, and could not believe it of the little
\nman. Then the giant picked up a stone and threw it so high that the eye
\ncould scarcely follow it. ‘Now, little mite of a man, do that likewise,’
\n‘Well thrown,’ said the tailor, ‘but after all the stone came down to
\nearth again; I will throw you one which shall never come back at all,’ and
\nhe put his hand into his pocket, took out the bird, and threw it into the
\nair. The bird, delighted with its liberty, rose, flew away and did not
\ncome back. ‘How does that shot please you, comrade?’ asked the tailor.
\n‘You can certainly throw,’ said the giant, ‘but now we will see if you are
\nable to carry anything properly.’ He took the little tailor to a mighty
\noak tree which lay there felled on the ground, and said: ‘If you are
\nstrong enough, help me to carry the tree out of the forest.’ ‘Readily,’
\nanswered the little man; ‘take you the trunk on your shoulders, and I will
\nraise up the branches and twigs; after all, they are the heaviest.’ The
\ngiant took the trunk on his shoulder, but the tailor seated himself on a
\nbranch, and the giant, who could not look round, had to carry away the
\nwhole tree, and the little tailor into the bargain: he behind, was quite
\nmerry and happy, and whistled the song: ‘Three tailors rode forth from the
\ngate,’ as if carrying the tree were child’s play. The giant, after he had
\ndragged the heavy burden part of the way, could go no further, and cried:
\n‘Hark you, I shall have to let the tree fall!’ The tailor sprang nimbly
\ndown, seized the tree with both arms as if he had been carrying it, and
\nsaid to the giant: ‘You are such a great fellow, and yet cannot even carry
\nthe tree!’<\/p>\n
They went on together, and as they passed a cherry-tree, the giant laid
\nhold of the top of the tree where the ripest fruit was hanging, bent it
\ndown, gave it into the tailor’s hand, and bade him eat. But the little
\ntailor was much too weak to hold the tree, and when the giant let it go,
\nit sprang back again, and the tailor was tossed into the air with it. When
\nhe had fallen down again without injury, the giant said: ‘What is this?
\nHave you not strength enough to hold the weak twig?’ ‘There is no lack of
\nstrength,’ answered the little tailor. ‘Do you think that could be
\nanything to a man who has struck down seven at one blow? I leapt over the
\ntree because the huntsmen are shooting down there in the thicket. Jump as
\nI did, if you can do it.’ The giant made the attempt but he could not get
\nover the tree, and remained hanging in the branches, so that in this also
\nthe tailor kept the upper hand.<\/p>\n
The giant said: ‘If you are such a valiant fellow, come with me into our
\ncavern and spend the night with us.’ The little tailor was willing, and
\nfollowed him. When they went into the cave, other giants were sitting
\nthere by the fire, and each of them had a roasted sheep in his hand and
\nwas eating it. The little tailor looked round and thought: ‘It is much
\nmore spacious here than in my workshop.’ The giant showed him a bed, and
\nsaid he was to lie down in it and sleep. The bed, however, was too big for
\nthe little tailor; he did not lie down in it, but crept into a corner.
\nWhen it was midnight, and the giant thought that the little tailor was
\nlying in a sound sleep, he got up, took a great iron bar, cut through the
\nbed with one blow, and thought he had finished off the grasshopper for
\ngood. With the earliest dawn the giants went into the forest, and had
\nquite forgotten the little tailor, when all at once he walked up to them
\nquite merrily and boldly. The giants were terrified, they were afraid that
\nhe would strike them all dead, and ran away in a great hurry.<\/p>\n
The little tailor went onwards, always following his own pointed nose.
\nAfter he had walked for a long time, he came to the courtyard of a royal
\npalace, and as he felt weary, he lay down on the grass and fell asleep.
\nWhilst he lay there, the people came and inspected him on all sides, and
\nread on his girdle: ‘Seven at one stroke.’ ‘Ah!’ said they, ‘what does the
\ngreat warrior want here in the midst of peace? He must be a mighty lord.’
\nThey went and announced him to the king, and gave it as their opinion that
\nif war should break out, this would be a weighty and useful man who ought
\non no account to be allowed to depart. The counsel pleased the king, and
\nhe sent one of his courtiers to the little tailor to offer him military
\nservice when he awoke. The ambassador remained standing by the sleeper,
\nwaited until he stretched his limbs and opened his eyes, and then conveyed
\nto him this proposal. ‘For this very reason have I come here,’ the tailor
\nreplied, ‘I am ready to enter the king’s service.’ He was therefore
\nhonourably received, and a special dwelling was assigned him.<\/p>\n
The soldiers, however, were set against the little tailor, and wished him
\na thousand miles away. ‘What is to be the end of this?’ they said among
\nthemselves. ‘If we quarrel with him, and he strikes about him, seven of us
\nwill fall at every blow; not one of us can stand against him.’ They came
\ntherefore to a decision, betook themselves in a body to the king, and
\nbegged for their dismissal. ‘We are not prepared,’ said they, ‘to stay
\nwith a man who kills seven at one stroke.’ The king was sorry that for the
\nsake of one he should lose all his faithful servants, wished that he had
\nnever set eyes on the tailor, and would willingly have been rid of him
\nagain. But he did not venture to give him his dismissal, for he dreaded
\nlest he should strike him and all his people dead, and place himself on
\nthe royal throne. He thought about it for a long time, and at last found
\ngood counsel. He sent to the little tailor and caused him to be informed
\nthat as he was a great warrior, he had one request to make to him. In a
\nforest of his country lived two giants, who caused great mischief with
\ntheir robbing, murdering, ravaging, and burning, and no one could approach
\nthem without putting himself in danger of death. If the tailor conquered
\nand killed these two giants, he would give him his only daughter to wife,
\nand half of his kingdom as a dowry, likewise one hundred horsemen should
\ngo with him to assist him. ‘That would indeed be a fine thing for a man
\nlike me!’ thought the little tailor. ‘One is not offered a beautiful
\nprincess and half a kingdom every day of one’s life!’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he
\nreplied, ‘I will soon subdue the giants, and do not require the help of
\nthe hundred horsemen to do it; he who can hit seven with one blow has no
\nneed to be afraid of two.’<\/p>\n
The little tailor went forth, and the hundred horsemen followed him. When
\nhe came to the outskirts of the forest, he said to his followers: ‘Just
\nstay waiting here, I alone will soon finish off the giants.’ Then he
\nbounded into the forest and looked about right and left. After a while he
\nperceived both giants. They lay sleeping under a tree, and snored so that
\nthe branches waved up and down. The little tailor, not idle, gathered two
\npocketsful of stones, and with these climbed up the tree. When he was
\nhalfway up, he slipped down by a branch, until he sat just above the
\nsleepers, and then let one stone after another fall on the breast of one
\nof the giants. For a long time the giant felt nothing, but at last he
\nawoke, pushed his comrade, and said: ‘Why are you knocking me?’ ‘You must
\nbe dreaming,’ said the other, ‘I am not knocking you.’ They laid
\nthemselves down to sleep again, and then the tailor threw a stone down on
\nthe second. ‘What is the meaning of this?’ cried the other ‘Why are you
\npelting me?’ ‘I am not pelting you,’ answered the first, growling. They
\ndisputed about it for a time, but as they were weary they let the matter
\nrest, and their eyes closed once more. The little tailor began his game
\nagain, picked out the biggest stone, and threw it with all his might on
\nthe breast of the first giant. ‘That is too bad!’ cried he, and sprang up
\nlike a madman, and pushed his companion against the tree until it shook.
\nThe other paid him back in the same coin, and they got into such a rage
\nthat they tore up trees and belaboured each other so long, that at last
\nthey both fell down dead on the ground at the same time. Then the little
\ntailor leapt down. ‘It is a lucky thing,’ said he, ‘that they did not tear
\nup the tree on which I was sitting, or I should have had to sprint on to
\nanother like a squirrel; but we tailors are nimble.’ He drew out his sword
\nand gave each of them a couple of thrusts in the breast, and then went out
\nto the horsemen and said: ‘The work is done; I have finished both of them
\noff, but it was hard work! They tore up trees in their sore need, and
\ndefended themselves with them, but all that is to no purpose when a man
\nlike myself comes, who can kill seven at one blow.’ ‘But are you not
\nwounded?’ asked the horsemen. ‘You need not concern yourself about that,’
\nanswered the tailor, ‘they have not bent one hair of mine.’ The horsemen
\nwould not believe him, and rode into the forest; there they found the
\ngiants swimming in their blood, and all round about lay the torn-up trees.<\/p>\n
The little tailor demanded of the king the promised reward; he, however,
\nrepented of his promise, and again bethought himself how he could get rid
\nof the hero. ‘Before you receive my daughter, and the half of my kingdom,’
\nsaid he to him, ‘you must perform one more heroic deed. In the forest
\nroams a unicorn which does great harm, and you must catch it first.’ ‘I
\nfear one unicorn still less than two giants. Seven at one blow, is my kind
\nof affair.’ He took a rope and an axe with him, went forth into the
\nforest, and again bade those who were sent with him to wait outside. He
\nhad not long to seek. The unicorn soon came towards him, and rushed
\ndirectly on the tailor, as if it would gore him with its horn without more
\nado. ‘Softly, softly; it can’t be done as quickly as that,’ said he, and
\nstood still and waited until the animal was quite close, and then sprang
\nnimbly behind the tree. The unicorn ran against the tree with all its
\nstrength, and stuck its horn so fast in the trunk that it had not the
\nstrength enough to draw it out again, and thus it was caught. ‘Now, I have
\ngot the bird,’ said the tailor, and came out from behind the tree and put
\nthe rope round its neck, and then with his axe he hewed the horn out of
\nthe tree, and when all was ready he led the beast away and took it to the
\nking.<\/p>\n
The king still would not give him the promised reward, and made a third
\ndemand. Before the wedding the tailor was to catch him a wild boar that
\nmade great havoc in the forest, and the huntsmen should give him their
\nhelp. ‘Willingly,’ said the tailor, ‘that is child’s play!’ He did not
\ntake the huntsmen with him into the forest, and they were well pleased
\nthat he did not, for the wild boar had several times received them in such
\na manner that they had no inclination to lie in wait for him. When the
\nboar perceived the tailor, it ran on him with foaming mouth and whetted
\ntusks, and was about to throw him to the ground, but the hero fled and
\nsprang into a chapel which was near and up to the window at once, and in
\none bound out again. The boar ran after him, but the tailor ran round
\noutside and shut the door behind it, and then the raging beast, which was
\nmuch too heavy and awkward to leap out of the window, was caught. The
\nlittle tailor called the huntsmen thither that they might see the prisoner
\nwith their own eyes. The hero, however, went to the king, who was now,
\nwhether he liked it or not, obliged to keep his promise, and gave his
\ndaughter and the half of his kingdom. Had he known that it was no warlike
\nhero, but a little tailor who was standing before him, it would have gone
\nto his heart still more than it did. The wedding was held with great
\nmagnificence and small joy, and out of a tailor a king was made.<\/p>\n
After some time the young queen heard her husband say in his dreams at
\nnight: ‘Boy, make me the doublet, and patch the pantaloons, or else I will
\nrap the yard-measure over your ears.’ Then she discovered in what state of
\nlife the young lord had been born, and next morning complained of her
\nwrongs to her father, and begged him to help her to get rid of her
\nhusband, who was nothing else but a tailor. The king comforted her and
\nsaid: ‘Leave your bedroom door open this night, and my servants shall
\nstand outside, and when he has fallen asleep shall go in, bind him, and
\ntake him on board a ship which shall carry him into the wide world.’ The
\nwoman was satisfied with this; but the king’s armour-bearer, who had heard
\nall, was friendly with the young lord, and informed him of the whole plot.
\n‘I’ll put a screw into that business,’ said the little tailor. At night he
\nwent to bed with his wife at the usual time, and when she thought that he
\nhad fallen asleep, she got up, opened the door, and then lay down again.
\nThe little tailor, who was only pretending to be asleep, began to cry out
\nin a clear voice: ‘Boy, make me the doublet and patch me the pantaloons,
\nor I will rap the yard-measure over your ears. I smote seven at one blow.
\nI killed two giants, I brought away one unicorn, and caught a wild boar,
\nand am I to fear those who are standing outside the room.’ When these men
\nheard the tailor speaking thus, they were overcome by a great dread, and
\nran as if the wild huntsman were behind them, and none of them would
\nventure anything further against him. So the little tailor was and
\nremained a king to the end of his life.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
HANSEL AND GRETEL<\/h2>\n
Hard by a great forest dwelt a poor wood-cutter with his wife and his two
\nchildren. The boy was called Hansel and the girl Gretel. He had little to
\nbite and to break, and once when great dearth fell on the land, he could
\nno longer procure even daily bread. Now when he thought over this by night
\nin his bed, and tossed about in his anxiety, he groaned and said to his
\nwife: ‘What is to become of us? How are we to feed our poor children, when
\nwe no longer have anything even for ourselves?’ ‘I’ll tell you what,
\nhusband,’ answered the woman, ‘early tomorrow morning we will take the
\nchildren out into the forest to where it is the thickest; there we will
\nlight a fire for them, and give each of them one more piece of bread, and
\nthen we will go to our work and leave them alone. They will not find the
\nway home again, and we shall be rid of them.’ ‘No, wife,’ said the man, ‘I
\nwill not do that; how can I bear to leave my children alone in the forest?\u2014the
\nwild animals would soon come and tear them to pieces.’ ‘O, you fool!’ said
\nshe, ‘then we must all four die of hunger, you may as well plane the
\nplanks for our coffins,’ and she left him no peace until he consented.
\n‘But I feel very sorry for the poor children, all the same,’ said the man.<\/p>\n
The two children had also not been able to sleep for hunger, and had heard
\nwhat their stepmother had said to their father. Gretel wept bitter tears,
\nand said to Hansel: ‘Now all is over with us.’ ‘Be quiet, Gretel,’ said
\nHansel, ‘do not distress yourself, I will soon find a way to help us.’ And
\nwhen the old folks had fallen asleep, he got up, put on his little coat,
\nopened the door below, and crept outside. The moon shone brightly, and the
\nwhite pebbles which lay in front of the house glittered like real silver
\npennies. Hansel stooped and stuffed the little pocket of his coat with as
\nmany as he could get in. Then he went back and said to Gretel: ‘Be
\ncomforted, dear little sister, and sleep in peace, God will not forsake
\nus,’ and he lay down again in his bed. When day dawned, but before the sun
\nhad risen, the woman came and awoke the two children, saying: ‘Get up, you
\nsluggards! we are going into the forest to fetch wood.’ She gave each a
\nlittle piece of bread, and said: ‘There is something for your dinner, but
\ndo not eat it up before then, for you will get nothing else.’ Gretel took
\nthe bread under her apron, as Hansel had the pebbles in his pocket. Then
\nthey all set out together on the way to the forest. When they had walked a
\nshort time, Hansel stood still and peeped back at the house, and did so
\nagain and again. His father said: ‘Hansel, what are you looking at there
\nand staying behind for? Pay attention, and do not forget how to use your
\nlegs.’ ‘Ah, father,’ said Hansel, ‘I am looking at my little white cat,
\nwhich is sitting up on the roof, and wants to say goodbye to me.’ The wife
\nsaid: ‘Fool, that is not your little cat, that is the morning sun which is
\nshining on the chimneys.’ Hansel, however, had not been looking back at
\nthe cat, but had been constantly throwing one of the white pebble-stones
\nout of his pocket on the road.<\/p>\n
When they had reached the middle of the forest, the father said: ‘Now,
\nchildren, pile up some wood, and I will light a fire that you may not be
\ncold.’ Hansel and Gretel gathered brushwood together, as high as a little
\nhill. The brushwood was lighted, and when the flames were burning very
\nhigh, the woman said: ‘Now, children, lay yourselves down by the fire and
\nrest, we will go into the forest and cut some wood. When we have done, we
\nwill come back and fetch you away.’<\/p>\n
Hansel and Gretel sat by the fire, and when noon came, each ate a little
\npiece of bread, and as they heard the strokes of the wood-axe they
\nbelieved that their father was near. It was not the axe, however, but a
\nbranch which he had fastened to a withered tree which the wind was blowing
\nbackwards and forwards. And as they had been sitting such a long time,
\ntheir eyes closed with fatigue, and they fell fast asleep. When at last
\nthey awoke, it was already dark night. Gretel began to cry and said: ‘How
\nare we to get out of the forest now?’ But Hansel comforted her and said:
\n‘Just wait a little, until the moon has risen, and then we will soon find
\nthe way.’ And when the full moon had risen, Hansel took his little sister
\nby the hand, and followed the pebbles which shone like newly-coined silver
\npieces, and showed them the way.<\/p>\n
They walked the whole night long, and by break of day came once more to
\ntheir father’s house. They knocked at the door, and when the woman opened
\nit and saw that it was Hansel and Gretel, she said: ‘You naughty children,
\nwhy have you slept so long in the forest?\u2014we thought you were never
\ncoming back at all!’ The father, however, rejoiced, for it had cut him to
\nthe heart to leave them behind alone.<\/p>\n
Not long afterwards, there was once more great dearth throughout the land,
\nand the children heard their mother saying at night to their father:
\n‘Everything is eaten again, we have one half loaf left, and that is the
\nend. The children must go, we will take them farther into the wood, so
\nthat they will not find their way out again; there is no other means of
\nsaving ourselves!’ The man’s heart was heavy, and he thought: ‘It would be
\nbetter for you to share the last mouthful with your children.’ The woman,
\nhowever, would listen to nothing that he had to say, but scolded and
\nreproached him. He who says A must say B, likewise, and as he had yielded
\nthe first time, he had to do so a second time also.<\/p>\n
The children, however, were still awake and had heard the conversation.
\nWhen the old folks were asleep, Hansel again got up, and wanted to go out
\nand pick up pebbles as he had done before, but the woman had locked the
\ndoor, and Hansel could not get out. Nevertheless he comforted his little
\nsister, and said: ‘Do not cry, Gretel, go to sleep quietly, the good God
\nwill help us.’<\/p>\n
Early in the morning came the woman, and took the children out of their
\nbeds. Their piece of bread was given to them, but it was still smaller
\nthan the time before. On the way into the forest Hansel crumbled his in
\nhis pocket, and often stood still and threw a morsel on the ground.
\n‘Hansel, why do you stop and look round?’ said the father, ‘go on.’ ‘I am
\nlooking back at my little pigeon which is sitting on the roof, and wants
\nto say goodbye to me,’ answered Hansel. ‘Fool!’ said the woman, ‘that is
\nnot your little pigeon, that is the morning sun that is shining on the
\nchimney.’ Hansel, however little by little, threw all the crumbs on the
\npath.<\/p>\n
The woman led the children still deeper into the forest, where they had
\nnever in their lives been before. Then a great fire was again made, and
\nthe mother said: ‘Just sit there, you children, and when you are tired you
\nmay sleep a little; we are going into the forest to cut wood, and in the
\nevening when we are done, we will come and fetch you away.’ When it was
\nnoon, Gretel shared her piece of bread with Hansel, who had scattered his
\nby the way. Then they fell asleep and evening passed, but no one came to
\nthe poor children. They did not awake until it was dark night, and Hansel
\ncomforted his little sister and said: ‘Just wait, Gretel, until the moon
\nrises, and then we shall see the crumbs of bread which I have strewn
\nabout, they will show us our way home again.’ When the moon came they set
\nout, but they found no crumbs, for the many thousands of birds which fly
\nabout in the woods and fields had picked them all up. Hansel said to
\nGretel: ‘We shall soon find the way,’ but they did not find it. They
\nwalked the whole night and all the next day too from morning till evening,
\nbut they did not get out of the forest, and were very hungry, for they had
\nnothing to eat but two or three berries, which grew on the ground. And as
\nthey were so weary that their legs would carry them no longer, they lay
\ndown beneath a tree and fell asleep.<\/p>\n
It was now three mornings since they had left their father’s house. They
\nbegan to walk again, but they always came deeper into the forest, and if
\nhelp did not come soon, they must die of hunger and weariness. When it was
\nmid-day, they saw a beautiful snow-white bird sitting on a bough, which
\nsang so delightfully that they stood still and listened to it. And when
\nits song was over, it spread its wings and flew away before them, and they
\nfollowed it until they reached a little house, on the roof of which it
\nalighted; and when they approached the little house they saw that it was
\nbuilt of bread and covered with cakes, but that the windows were of clear
\nsugar. ‘We will set to work on that,’ said Hansel, ‘and have a good meal.
\nI will eat a bit of the roof, and you Gretel, can eat some of the window,
\nit will taste sweet.’ Hansel reached up above, and broke off a little of
\nthe roof to try how it tasted, and Gretel leant against the window and
\nnibbled at the panes. Then a soft voice cried from the parlour:<\/p>\n
 'Nibble, nibble, gnaw,\r\n  Who is nibbling at my little house?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The children answered:<\/p>\n
 'The wind, the wind,\r\n  The heaven-born wind,'\r\n<\/pre>\n
and went on eating without disturbing themselves. Hansel, who liked the
\ntaste of the roof, tore down a great piece of it, and Gretel pushed out
\nthe whole of one round window-pane, sat down, and enjoyed herself with it.
\nSuddenly the door opened, and a woman as old as the hills, who supported
\nherself on crutches, came creeping out. Hansel and Gretel were so terribly
\nfrightened that they let fall what they had in their hands. The old woman,
\nhowever, nodded her head, and said: ‘Oh, you dear children, who has
\nbrought you here? do come in, and stay with me. No harm shall happen to
\nyou.’ She took them both by the hand, and led them into her little house.
\nThen good food was set before them, milk and pancakes, with sugar, apples,
\nand nuts. Afterwards two pretty little beds were covered with clean white
\nlinen, and Hansel and Gretel lay down in them, and thought they were in
\nheaven.<\/p>\n
The old woman had only pretended to be so kind; she was in reality a
\nwicked witch, who lay in wait for children, and had only built the little
\nhouse of bread in order to entice them there. When a child fell into her
\npower, she killed it, cooked and ate it, and that was a feast day with
\nher. Witches have red eyes, and cannot see far, but they have a keen scent
\nlike the beasts, and are aware when human beings draw near. When Hansel
\nand Gretel came into her neighbourhood, she laughed with malice, and said
\nmockingly: ‘I have them, they shall not escape me again!’ Early in the
\nmorning before the children were awake, she was already up, and when she
\nsaw both of them sleeping and looking so pretty, with their plump and rosy
\ncheeks she muttered to herself: ‘That will be a dainty mouthful!’ Then she
\nseized Hansel with her shrivelled hand, carried him into a little stable,
\nand locked him in behind a grated door. Scream as he might, it would not
\nhelp him. Then she went to Gretel, shook her till she awoke, and cried:
\n‘Get up, lazy thing, fetch some water, and cook something good for your
\nbrother, he is in the stable outside, and is to be made fat. When he is
\nfat, I will eat him.’ Gretel began to weep bitterly, but it was all in
\nvain, for she was forced to do what the wicked witch commanded.<\/p>\n
And now the best food was cooked for poor Hansel, but Gretel got nothing
\nbut crab-shells. Every morning the woman crept to the little stable, and
\ncried: ‘Hansel, stretch out your finger that I may feel if you will soon
\nbe fat.’ Hansel, however, stretched out a little bone to her, and the old
\nwoman, who had dim eyes, could not see it, and thought it was Hansel’s
\nfinger, and was astonished that there was no way of fattening him. When
\nfour weeks had gone by, and Hansel still remained thin, she was seized
\nwith impatience and would not wait any longer. ‘Now, then, Gretel,’ she
\ncried to the girl, ‘stir yourself, and bring some water. Let Hansel be fat
\nor lean, tomorrow I will kill him, and cook him.’ Ah, how the poor little
\nsister did lament when she had to fetch the water, and how her tears did
\nflow down her cheeks! ‘Dear God, do help us,’ she cried. ‘If the wild
\nbeasts in the forest had but devoured us, we should at any rate have died
\ntogether.’ ‘Just keep your noise to yourself,’ said the old woman, ‘it
\nwon’t help you at all.’<\/p>\n
Early in the morning, Gretel had to go out and hang up the cauldron with
\nthe water, and light the fire. ‘We will bake first,’ said the old woman,
\n‘I have already heated the oven, and kneaded the dough.’ She pushed poor
\nGretel out to the oven, from which flames of fire were already darting.
\n‘Creep in,’ said the witch, ‘and see if it is properly heated, so that we
\ncan put the bread in.’ And once Gretel was inside, she intended to shut
\nthe oven and let her bake in it, and then she would eat her, too. But
\nGretel saw what she had in mind, and said: ‘I do not know how I am to do
\nit; how do I get in?’ ‘Silly goose,’ said the old woman. ‘The door is big
\nenough; just look, I can get in myself!’ and she crept up and thrust her
\nhead into the oven. Then Gretel gave her a push that drove her far into
\nit, and shut the iron door, and fastened the bolt. Oh! then she began to
\nhowl quite horribly, but Gretel ran away and the godless witch was
\nmiserably burnt to death.<\/p>\n
Gretel, however, ran like lightning to Hansel, opened his little stable,
\nand cried: ‘Hansel, we are saved! The old witch is dead!’ Then Hansel
\nsprang like a bird from its cage when the door is opened. How they did
\nrejoice and embrace each other, and dance about and kiss each other! And
\nas they had no longer any need to fear her, they went into the witch’s
\nhouse, and in every corner there stood chests full of pearls and jewels.
\n‘These are far better than pebbles!’ said Hansel, and thrust into his
\npockets whatever could be got in, and Gretel said: ‘I, too, will take
\nsomething home with me,’ and filled her pinafore full. ‘But now we must be
\noff,’ said Hansel, ‘that we may get out of the witch’s forest.’<\/p>\n
When they had walked for two hours, they came to a great stretch of water.
\n‘We cannot cross,’ said Hansel, ‘I see no foot-plank, and no bridge.’ ‘And
\nthere is also no ferry,’ answered Gretel, ‘but a white duck is swimming
\nthere: if I ask her, she will help us over.’ Then she cried:<\/p>\n
 'Little duck, little duck, dost thou see,\r\n  Hansel and Gretel are waiting for thee?\r\n  There's never a plank, or bridge in sight,\r\n  Take us across on thy back so white.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The duck came to them, and Hansel seated himself on its back, and told his
\nsister to sit by him. ‘No,’ replied Gretel, ‘that will be too heavy for
\nthe little duck; she shall take us across, one after the other.’ The good
\nlittle duck did so, and when they were once safely across and had walked
\nfor a short time, the forest seemed to be more and more familiar to them,
\nand at length they saw from afar their father’s house. Then they began to
\nrun, rushed into the parlour, and threw themselves round their father’s
\nneck. The man had not known one happy hour since he had left the children
\nin the forest; the woman, however, was dead. Gretel emptied her pinafore
\nuntil pearls and precious stones ran about the room, and Hansel threw one
\nhandful after another out of his pocket to add to them. Then all anxiety
\nwas at an end, and they lived together in perfect happiness. My tale is
\ndone, there runs a mouse; whosoever catches it, may make himself a big fur
\ncap out of it.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE<\/h2>\n
Once upon a time, a mouse, a bird, and a sausage, entered into partnership
\nand set up house together. For a long time all went well; they lived in
\ngreat comfort, and prospered so far as to be able to add considerably to
\ntheir stores. The bird’s duty was to fly daily into the wood and bring in
\nfuel; the mouse fetched the water, and the sausage saw to the cooking.<\/p>\n
When people are too well off they always begin to long for something new.
\nAnd so it came to pass, that the bird, while out one day, met a fellow
\nbird, to whom he boastfully expatiated on the excellence of his household
\narrangements. But the other bird sneered at him for being a poor
\nsimpleton, who did all the hard work, while the other two stayed at home
\nand had a good time of it. For, when the mouse had made the fire and
\nfetched in the water, she could retire into her little room and rest until
\nit was time to set the table. The sausage had only to watch the pot to see
\nthat the food was properly cooked, and when it was near dinner-time, he
\njust threw himself into the broth, or rolled in and out among the
\nvegetables three or four times, and there they were, buttered, and salted,
\nand ready to be served. Then, when the bird came home and had laid aside
\nhis burden, they sat down to table, and when they had finished their meal,
\nthey could sleep their fill till the following morning: and that was
\nreally a very delightful life.<\/p>\n
Influenced by those remarks, the bird next morning refused to bring in the
\nwood, telling the others that he had been their servant long enough, and
\nhad been a fool into the bargain, and that it was now time to make a
\nchange, and to try some other way of arranging the work. Beg and pray as
\nthe mouse and the sausage might, it was of no use; the bird remained
\nmaster of the situation, and the venture had to be made. They therefore
\ndrew lots, and it fell to the sausage to bring in the wood, to the mouse
\nto cook, and to the bird to fetch the water.<\/p>\n
And now what happened? The sausage started in search of wood, the bird
\nmade the fire, and the mouse put on the pot, and then these two waited
\ntill the sausage returned with the fuel for the following day. But the
\nsausage remained so long away, that they became uneasy, and the bird flew
\nout to meet him. He had not flown far, however, when he came across a dog
\nwho, having met the sausage, had regarded him as his legitimate booty, and
\nso seized and swallowed him. The bird complained to the dog of this
\nbare-faced robbery, but nothing he said was of any avail, for the dog
\nanswered that he found false credentials on the sausage, and that was the
\nreason his life had been forfeited.<\/p>\n
He picked up the wood, and flew sadly home, and told the mouse all he had
\nseen and heard. They were both very unhappy, but agreed to make the best
\nof things and to remain with one another.<\/p>\n
So now the bird set the table, and the mouse looked after the food and,
\nwishing to prepare it in the same way as the sausage, by rolling in and
\nout among the vegetables to salt and butter them, she jumped into the pot;
\nbut she stopped short long before she reached the bottom, having already
\nparted not only with her skin and hair, but also with life.<\/p>\n
Presently the bird came in and wanted to serve up the dinner, but he could
\nnowhere see the cook. In his alarm and flurry, he threw the wood here and
\nthere about the floor, called and searched, but no cook was to be found.
\nThen some of the wood that had been carelessly thrown down, caught fire
\nand began to blaze. The bird hastened to fetch some water, but his pail
\nfell into the well, and he after it, and as he was unable to recover
\nhimself, he was drowned.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
MOTHER HOLLE<\/h2>\n
Once upon a time there was a widow who had two daughters; one of them was
\nbeautiful and industrious, the other ugly and lazy. The mother, however,
\nloved the ugly and lazy one best, because she was her own daughter, and so
\nthe other, who was only her stepdaughter, was made to do all the work of
\nthe house, and was quite the Cinderella of the family. Her stepmother sent
\nher out every day to sit by the well in the high road, there to spin until
\nshe made her fingers bleed. Now it chanced one day that some blood fell on
\nto the spindle, and as the girl stopped over the well to wash it off, the
\nspindle suddenly sprang out of her hand and fell into the well. She ran
\nhome crying to tell of her misfortune, but her stepmother spoke harshly to
\nher, and after giving her a violent scolding, said unkindly, ‘As you have
\nlet the spindle fall into the well you may go yourself and fetch it out.’<\/p>\n
The girl went back to the well not knowing what to do, and at last in her
\ndistress she jumped into the water after the spindle.<\/p>\n
She remembered nothing more until she awoke and found herself in a
\nbeautiful meadow, full of sunshine, and with countless flowers blooming in
\nevery direction.<\/p>\n
She walked over the meadow, and presently she came upon a baker’s oven
\nfull of bread, and the loaves cried out to her, ‘Take us out, take us out,
\nor alas! we shall be burnt to a cinder; we were baked through long ago.’
\nSo she took the bread-shovel and drew them all out.<\/p>\n
She went on a little farther, till she came to a tree full of apples.
\n‘Shake me, shake me, I pray,’ cried the tree; ‘my apples, one and all, are
\nripe.’ So she shook the tree, and the apples came falling down upon her
\nlike rain; but she continued shaking until there was not a single apple
\nleft upon it. Then she carefully gathered the apples together in a heap
\nand walked on again.<\/p>\n
The next thing she came to was a little house, and there she saw an old
\nwoman looking out, with such large teeth, that she was terrified, and
\nturned to run away. But the old woman called after her, ‘What are you
\nafraid of, dear child? Stay with me; if you will do the work of my house
\nproperly for me, I will make you very happy. You must be very careful,
\nhowever, to make my bed in the right way, for I wish you always to shake
\nit thoroughly, so that the feathers fly about; then they say, down there
\nin the world, that it is snowing; for I am Mother Holle.’ The old woman
\nspoke so kindly, that the girl summoned up courage and agreed to enter
\ninto her service.<\/p>\n
She took care to do everything according to the old woman’s bidding and
\nevery time she made the bed she shook it with all her might, so that the
\nfeathers flew about like so many snowflakes. The old woman was as good as
\nher word: she never spoke angrily to her, and gave her roast and boiled
\nmeats every day.<\/p>\n
So she stayed on with Mother Holle for some time, and then she began to
\ngrow unhappy. She could not at first tell why she felt sad, but she became
\nconscious at last of great longing to go home; then she knew she was
\nhomesick, although she was a thousand times better off with Mother Holle
\nthan with her mother and sister. After waiting awhile, she went to Mother
\nHolle and said, ‘I am so homesick, that I cannot stay with you any longer,
\nfor although I am so happy here, I must return to my own people.’<\/p>\n
Then Mother Holle said, ‘I am pleased that you should want to go back to
\nyour own people, and as you have served me so well and faithfully, I will
\ntake you home myself.’<\/p>\n
Thereupon she led the girl by the hand up to a broad gateway. The gate was
\nopened, and as the girl passed through, a shower of gold fell upon her,
\nand the gold clung to her, so that she was covered with it from head to
\nfoot.<\/p>\n
‘That is a reward for your industry,’ said Mother Holle, and as she spoke
\nshe handed her the spindle which she had dropped into the well.<\/p>\n
The gate was then closed, and the girl found herself back in the old world
\nclose to her mother’s house. As she entered the courtyard, the cock who
\nwas perched on the well, called out:<\/p>\n
 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!\r\n  Your golden daughter's come back to you.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then she went in to her mother and sister, and as she was so richly
\ncovered with gold, they gave her a warm welcome. She related to them all
\nthat had happened, and when the mother heard how she had come by her great
\nriches, she thought she should like her ugly, lazy daughter to go and try
\nher fortune. So she made the sister go and sit by the well and spin, and
\nthe girl pricked her finger and thrust her hand into a thorn-bush, so that
\nshe might drop some blood on to the spindle; then she threw it into the
\nwell, and jumped in herself.<\/p>\n
Like her sister she awoke in the beautiful meadow, and walked over it till
\nshe came to the oven. ‘Take us out, take us out, or alas! we shall be
\nburnt to a cinder; we were baked through long ago,’ cried the loaves as
\nbefore. But the lazy girl answered, ‘Do you think I am going to dirty my
\nhands for you?’ and walked on.<\/p>\n
Presently she came to the apple-tree. ‘Shake me, shake me, I pray; my
\napples, one and all, are ripe,’ it cried. But she only answered, ‘A nice
\nthing to ask me to do, one of the apples might fall on my head,’ and
\npassed on.<\/p>\n
At last she came to Mother Holle’s house, and as she had heard all about
\nthe large teeth from her sister, she was not afraid of them, and engaged
\nherself without delay to the old woman.<\/p>\n
The first day she was very obedient and industrious, and exerted herself
\nto please Mother Holle, for she thought of the gold she should get in
\nreturn. The next day, however, she began to dawdle over her work, and the
\nthird day she was more idle still; then she began to lie in bed in the
\nmornings and refused to get up. Worse still, she neglected to make the old
\nwoman’s bed properly, and forgot to shake it so that the feathers might
\nfly about. So Mother Holle very soon got tired off her, and told her she
\nmight go. The lazy girl was delighted at this, and thought to herself,
\n‘The gold will soon be mine.’ Mother Holle led her, as she had led her
\nsister, to the broad gateway; but as she was passing through, instead of
\nthe shower of gold, a great bucketful of pitch came pouring over her.<\/p>\n
‘That is in return for your services,’ said the old woman, and she shut
\nthe gate.<\/p>\n
So the lazy girl had to go home covered with pitch, and the cock on the
\nwell called out as she saw her:<\/p>\n
 'Cock-a-doodle-doo!\r\n  Your dirty daughter's come back to you.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
But, try what she would, she could not get the pitch off and it stuck to
\nher as long as she lived.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
LITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD]<\/h2>\n
Once upon a time there was a dear little girl who was loved by everyone
\nwho looked at her, but most of all by her grandmother, and there was
\nnothing that she would not have given to the child. Once she gave her a
\nlittle cap of red velvet, which suited her so well that she would never
\nwear anything else; so she was always called ‘Little Red-Cap.’<\/p>\n
One day her mother said to her: ‘Come, Little Red-Cap, here is a piece of
\ncake and a bottle of wine; take them to your grandmother, she is ill and
\nweak, and they will do her good. Set out before it gets hot, and when you
\nare going, walk nicely and quietly and do not run off the path, or you may
\nfall and break the bottle, and then your grandmother will get nothing; and
\nwhen you go into her room, don’t forget to say, “Good morning”, and don’t
\npeep into every corner before you do it.’<\/p>\n
‘I will take great care,’ said Little Red-Cap to her mother, and gave her
\nhand on it.<\/p>\n
The grandmother lived out in the wood, half a league from the village, and
\njust as Little Red-Cap entered the wood, a wolf met her. Red-Cap did not
\nknow what a wicked creature he was, and was not at all afraid of him.<\/p>\n
‘Good day, Little Red-Cap,’ said he.<\/p>\n
‘Thank you kindly, wolf.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away so early, Little Red-Cap?’<\/p>\n
‘To my grandmother’s.’<\/p>\n
‘What have you got in your apron?’<\/p>\n
‘Cake and wine; yesterday was baking-day, so poor sick grandmother is to
\nhave something good, to make her stronger.’<\/p>\n
‘Where does your grandmother live, Little Red-Cap?’<\/p>\n
‘A good quarter of a league farther on in the wood; her house stands under
\nthe three large oak-trees, the nut-trees are just below; you surely must
\nknow it,’ replied Little Red-Cap.<\/p>\n
The wolf thought to himself: ‘What a tender young creature! what a nice
\nplump mouthful\u2014she will be better to eat than the old woman. I must
\nact craftily, so as to catch both.’ So he walked for a short time by the
\nside of Little Red-Cap, and then he said: ‘See, Little Red-Cap, how pretty
\nthe flowers are about here\u2014why do you not look round? I believe,
\ntoo, that you do not hear how sweetly the little birds are singing; you
\nwalk gravely along as if you were going to school, while everything else
\nout here in the wood is merry.’<\/p>\n
Little Red-Cap raised her eyes, and when she saw the sunbeams dancing here
\nand there through the trees, and pretty flowers growing everywhere, she
\nthought: ‘Suppose I take grandmother a fresh nosegay; that would please
\nher too. It is so early in the day that I shall still get there in good
\ntime’; and so she ran from the path into the wood to look for flowers. And
\nwhenever she had picked one, she fancied that she saw a still prettier one
\nfarther on, and ran after it, and so got deeper and deeper into the wood.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile the wolf ran straight to the grandmother’s house and knocked at
\nthe door.<\/p>\n
‘Who is there?’<\/p>\n
‘Little Red-Cap,’ replied the wolf. ‘She is bringing cake and wine; open
\nthe door.’<\/p>\n
‘Lift the latch,’ called out the grandmother, ‘I am too weak, and cannot
\nget up.’<\/p>\n
The wolf lifted the latch, the door sprang open, and without saying a word
\nhe went straight to the grandmother’s bed, and devoured her. Then he put
\non her clothes, dressed himself in her cap laid himself in bed and drew
\nthe curtains.<\/p>\n
Little Red-Cap, however, had been running about picking flowers, and when
\nshe had gathered so many that she could carry no more, she remembered her
\ngrandmother, and set out on the way to her.<\/p>\n
She was surprised to find the cottage-door standing open, and when she
\nwent into the room, she had such a strange feeling that she said to
\nherself: ‘Oh dear! how uneasy I feel today, and at other times I like
\nbeing with grandmother so much.’ She called out: ‘Good morning,’ but
\nreceived no answer; so she went to the bed and drew back the curtains.
\nThere lay her grandmother with her cap pulled far over her face, and
\nlooking very strange.<\/p>\n
‘Oh! grandmother,’ she said, ‘what big ears you have!’<\/p>\n
‘The better to hear you with, my child,’ was the reply.<\/p>\n
‘But, grandmother, what big eyes you have!’ she said.<\/p>\n
‘The better to see you with, my dear.’<\/p>\n
‘But, grandmother, what large hands you have!’<\/p>\n
‘The better to hug you with.’<\/p>\n
‘Oh! but, grandmother, what a terrible big mouth you have!’<\/p>\n
‘The better to eat you with!’<\/p>\n
And scarcely had the wolf said this, than with one bound he was out of bed
\nand swallowed up Red-Cap.<\/p>\n
When the wolf had appeased his appetite, he lay down again in the bed,
\nfell asleep and began to snore very loud. The huntsman was just passing
\nthe house, and thought to himself: ‘How the old woman is snoring! I must
\njust see if she wants anything.’ So he went into the room, and when he
\ncame to the bed, he saw that the wolf was lying in it. ‘Do I find you
\nhere, you old sinner!’ said he. ‘I have long sought you!’ Then just as he
\nwas going to fire at him, it occurred to him that the wolf might have
\ndevoured the grandmother, and that she might still be saved, so he did not
\nfire, but took a pair of scissors, and began to cut open the stomach of
\nthe sleeping wolf. When he had made two snips, he saw the little Red-Cap
\nshining, and then he made two snips more, and the little girl sprang out,
\ncrying: ‘Ah, how frightened I have been! How dark it was inside the wolf’;
\nand after that the aged grandmother came out alive also, but scarcely able
\nto breathe. Red-Cap, however, quickly fetched great stones with which they
\nfilled the wolf’s belly, and when he awoke, he wanted to run away, but the
\nstones were so heavy that he collapsed at once, and fell dead.<\/p>\n
Then all three were delighted. The huntsman drew off the wolf’s skin and
\nwent home with it; the grandmother ate the cake and drank the wine which
\nRed-Cap had brought, and revived, but Red-Cap thought to herself: ‘As long
\nas I live, I will never by myself leave the path, to run into the wood,
\nwhen my mother has forbidden me to do so.’<\/p>\n
It also related that once when Red-Cap was again taking cakes to the old
\ngrandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and tried to entice her from the
\npath. Red-Cap, however, was on her guard, and went straight forward on her
\nway, and told her grandmother that she had met the wolf, and that he had
\nsaid ‘good morning’ to her, but with such a wicked look in his eyes, that
\nif they had not been on the public road she was certain he would have
\neaten her up. ‘Well,’ said the grandmother, ‘we will shut the door, that
\nhe may not come in.’ Soon afterwards the wolf knocked, and cried: ‘Open
\nthe door, grandmother, I am Little Red-Cap, and am bringing you some
\ncakes.’ But they did not speak, or open the door, so the grey-beard stole
\ntwice or thrice round the house, and at last jumped on the roof, intending
\nto wait until Red-Cap went home in the evening, and then to steal after
\nher and devour her in the darkness. But the grandmother saw what was in
\nhis thoughts. In front of the house was a great stone trough, so she said
\nto the child: ‘Take the pail, Red-Cap; I made some sausages yesterday, so
\ncarry the water in which I boiled them to the trough.’ Red-Cap carried
\nuntil the great trough was quite full. Then the smell of the sausages
\nreached the wolf, and he sniffed and peeped down, and at last stretched
\nout his neck so far that he could no longer keep his footing and began to
\nslip, and slipped down from the roof straight into the great trough, and
\nwas drowned. But Red-Cap went joyously home, and no one ever did anything
\nto harm her again.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM<\/h2>\n
There was once a miller who had one beautiful daughter, and as she was
\ngrown up, he was anxious that she should be well married and provided for.
\nHe said to himself, ‘I will give her to the first suitable man who comes
\nand asks for her hand.’ Not long after a suitor appeared, and as he
\nappeared to be very rich and the miller could see nothing in him with
\nwhich to find fault, he betrothed his daughter to him. But the girl did
\nnot care for the man as a girl ought to care for her betrothed husband.
\nShe did not feel that she could trust him, and she could not look at him
\nnor think of him without an inward shudder. One day he said to her, ‘You
\nhave not yet paid me a visit, although we have been betrothed for some
\ntime.’ ‘I do not know where your house is,’ she answered. ‘My house is out
\nthere in the dark forest,’ he said. She tried to excuse herself by saying
\nthat she would not be able to find the way thither. Her betrothed only
\nreplied, ‘You must come and see me next Sunday; I have already invited
\nguests for that day, and that you may not mistake the way, I will strew
\nashes along the path.’<\/p>\n
When Sunday came, and it was time for the girl to start, a feeling of
\ndread came over her which she could not explain, and that she might be
\nable to find her path again, she filled her pockets with peas and lentils
\nto sprinkle on the ground as she went along. On reaching the entrance to
\nthe forest she found the path strewed with ashes, and these she followed,
\nthrowing down some peas on either side of her at every step she took. She
\nwalked the whole day until she came to the deepest, darkest part of the
\nforest. There she saw a lonely house, looking so grim and mysterious, that
\nit did not please her at all. She stepped inside, but not a soul was to be
\nseen, and a great silence reigned throughout. Suddenly a voice cried:<\/p>\n
 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\r\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The girl looked up and saw that the voice came from a bird hanging in a
\ncage on the wall. Again it cried:<\/p>\n
 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\r\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The girl passed on, going from room to room of the house, but they were
\nall empty, and still she saw no one. At last she came to the cellar, and
\nthere sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her head from
\nshaking. ‘Can you tell me,’ asked the girl, ‘if my betrothed husband lives
\nhere?’<\/p>\n
‘Ah, you poor child,’ answered the old woman, ‘what a place for you to
\ncome to! This is a murderers’ den. You think yourself a promised bride,
\nand that your marriage will soon take place, but it is with death that you
\nwill keep your marriage feast. Look, do you see that large cauldron of
\nwater which I am obliged to keep on the fire! As soon as they have you in
\ntheir power they will kill you without mercy, and cook and eat you, for
\nthey are eaters of men. If I did not take pity on you and save you, you
\nwould be lost.’<\/p>\n
Thereupon the old woman led her behind a large cask, which quite hid her
\nfrom view. ‘Keep as still as a mouse,’ she said; ‘do not move or speak, or
\nit will be all over with you. Tonight, when the robbers are all asleep, we
\nwill flee together. I have long been waiting for an opportunity to
\nescape.’<\/p>\n
The words were hardly out of her mouth when the godless crew returned,
\ndragging another young girl along with them. They were all drunk, and paid
\nno heed to her cries and lamentations. They gave her wine to drink, three
\nglasses full, one of white wine, one of red, and one of yellow, and with
\nthat her heart gave way and she died. Then they tore off her dainty
\nclothing, laid her on a table, and cut her beautiful body into pieces, and
\nsprinkled salt upon it.<\/p>\n
The poor betrothed girl crouched trembling and shuddering behind the cask,
\nfor she saw what a terrible fate had been intended for her by the robbers.
\nOne of them now noticed a gold ring still remaining on the little finger
\nof the murdered girl, and as he could not draw it off easily, he took a
\nhatchet and cut off the finger; but the finger sprang into the air, and
\nfell behind the cask into the lap of the girl who was hiding there. The
\nrobber took a light and began looking for it, but he could not find it.
\n‘Have you looked behind the large cask?’ said one of the others. But the
\nold woman called out, ‘Come and eat your suppers, and let the thing be
\ntill tomorrow; the finger won’t run away.’<\/p>\n
‘The old woman is right,’ said the robbers, and they ceased looking for
\nthe finger and sat down.<\/p>\n
The old woman then mixed a sleeping draught with their wine, and before
\nlong they were all lying on the floor of the cellar, fast asleep and
\nsnoring. As soon as the girl was assured of this, she came from behind the
\ncask. She was obliged to step over the bodies of the sleepers, who were
\nlying close together, and every moment she was filled with renewed dread
\nlest she should awaken them. But God helped her, so that she passed safely
\nover them, and then she and the old woman went upstairs, opened the door,
\nand hastened as fast as they could from the murderers’ den. They found the
\nashes scattered by the wind, but the peas and lentils had sprouted, and
\ngrown sufficiently above the ground, to guide them in the moonlight along
\nthe path. All night long they walked, and it was morning before they
\nreached the mill. Then the girl told her father all that had happened.<\/p>\n
The day came that had been fixed for the marriage. The bridegroom arrived
\nand also a large company of guests, for the miller had taken care to
\ninvite all his friends and relations. As they sat at the feast, each guest
\nin turn was asked to tell a tale; the bride sat still and did not say a
\nword.<\/p>\n
‘And you, my love,’ said the bridegroom, turning to her, ‘is there no tale
\nyou know? Tell us something.’<\/p>\n
‘I will tell you a dream, then,’ said the bride. ‘I went alone through a
\nforest and came at last to a house; not a soul could I find within, but a
\nbird that was hanging in a cage on the wall cried:<\/p>\n
 'Turn back, turn back, young maiden fair,\r\n  Linger not in this murderers' lair.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And again a second time it said these words.’<\/p>\n
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’<\/p>\n
‘I went on through the house from room to room, but they were all empty,
\nand everything was so grim and mysterious. At last I went down to the
\ncellar, and there sat a very, very old woman, who could not keep her head
\nstill. I asked her if my betrothed lived here, and she answered, “Ah, you
\npoor child, you are come to a murderers’ den; your betrothed does indeed
\nlive here, but he will kill you without mercy and afterwards cook and eat
\nyou.”‘<\/p>\n
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’<\/p>\n
‘The old woman hid me behind a large cask, and scarcely had she done this
\nwhen the robbers returned home, dragging a young girl along with them.
\nThey gave her three kinds of wine to drink, white, red, and yellow, and
\nwith that she died.’<\/p>\n
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’<\/p>\n
‘Then they tore off her dainty clothing, and cut her beautiful body into
\npieces and sprinkled salt upon it.’<\/p>\n
‘My darling, this is only a dream.’<\/p>\n
‘And one of the robbers saw that there was a gold ring still left on her
\nfinger, and as it was difficult to draw off, he took a hatchet and cut off
\nher finger; but the finger sprang into the air and fell behind the great
\ncask into my lap. And here is the finger with the ring.’ And with these
\nwords the bride drew forth the finger and shewed it to the assembled
\nguests.<\/p>\n
The bridegroom, who during this recital had grown deadly pale, up and
\ntried to escape, but the guests seized him and held him fast. They
\ndelivered him up to justice, and he and all his murderous band were
\ncondemned to death for their wicked deeds.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
TOM THUMB<\/h2>\n
A poor woodman sat in his cottage one night, smoking his pipe by the
\nfireside, while his wife sat by his side spinning. ‘How lonely it is,
\nwife,’ said he, as he puffed out a long curl of smoke, ‘for you and me to
\nsit here by ourselves, without any children to play about and amuse us
\nwhile other people seem so happy and merry with their children!’ ‘What you
\nsay is very true,’ said the wife, sighing, and turning round her wheel;
\n‘how happy should I be if I had but one child! If it were ever so small\u2014nay,
\nif it were no bigger than my thumb\u2014I should be very happy, and love
\nit dearly.’ Now\u2014odd as you may think it\u2014it came to pass that
\nthis good woman’s wish was fulfilled, just in the very way she had wished
\nit; for, not long afterwards, she had a little boy, who was quite healthy
\nand strong, but was not much bigger than my thumb. So they said, ‘Well, we
\ncannot say we have not got what we wished for, and, little as he is, we
\nwill love him dearly.’ And they called him Thomas Thumb.<\/p>\n
They gave him plenty of food, yet for all they could do he never grew
\nbigger, but kept just the same size as he had been when he was born.
\nStill, his eyes were sharp and sparkling, and he soon showed himself to be
\na clever little fellow, who always knew well what he was about.<\/p>\n
One day, as the woodman was getting ready to go into the wood to cut fuel,
\nhe said, ‘I wish I had someone to bring the cart after me, for I want to
\nmake haste.’ ‘Oh, father,’ cried Tom, ‘I will take care of that; the cart
\nshall be in the wood by the time you want it.’ Then the woodman laughed,
\nand said, ‘How can that be? you cannot reach up to the horse’s bridle.’
\n‘Never mind that, father,’ said Tom; ‘if my mother will only harness the
\nhorse, I will get into his ear and tell him which way to go.’ ‘Well,’ said
\nthe father, ‘we will try for once.’<\/p>\n
When the time came the mother harnessed the horse to the cart, and put Tom
\ninto his ear; and as he sat there the little man told the beast how to go,
\ncrying out, ‘Go on!’ and ‘Stop!’ as he wanted: and thus the horse went on
\njust as well as if the woodman had driven it himself into the wood. It
\nhappened that as the horse was going a little too fast, and Tom was
\ncalling out, ‘Gently! gently!’ two strangers came up. ‘What an odd thing
\nthat is!’ said one: ‘there is a cart going along, and I hear a carter
\ntalking to the horse, but yet I can see no one.’ ‘That is queer, indeed,’
\nsaid the other; ‘let us follow the cart, and see where it goes.’ So they
\nwent on into the wood, till at last they came to the place where the
\nwoodman was. Then Tom Thumb, seeing his father, cried out, ‘See, father,
\nhere I am with the cart, all right and safe! now take me down!’ So his
\nfather took hold of the horse with one hand, and with the other took his
\nson out of the horse’s ear, and put him down upon a straw, where he sat as
\nmerry as you please.<\/p>\n
The two strangers were all this time looking on, and did not know what to
\nsay for wonder. At last one took the other aside, and said, ‘That little
\nurchin will make our fortune, if we can get him, and carry him about from
\ntown to town as a show; we must buy him.’ So they went up to the woodman,
\nand asked him what he would take for the little man. ‘He will be better
\noff,’ said they, ‘with us than with you.’ ‘I won’t sell him at all,’ said
\nthe father; ‘my own flesh and blood is dearer to me than all the silver
\nand gold in the world.’ But Tom, hearing of the bargain they wanted to
\nmake, crept up his father’s coat to his shoulder and whispered in his ear,
\n‘Take the money, father, and let them have me; I’ll soon come back to
\nyou.’<\/p>\n
So the woodman at last said he would sell Tom to the strangers for a large
\npiece of gold, and they paid the price. ‘Where would you like to sit?’
\nsaid one of them. ‘Oh, put me on the rim of your hat; that will be a nice
\ngallery for me; I can walk about there and see the country as we go
\nalong.’ So they did as he wished; and when Tom had taken leave of his
\nfather they took him away with them.<\/p>\n
They journeyed on till it began to be dusky, and then the little man said,
\n‘Let me get down, I’m tired.’ So the man took off his hat, and put him
\ndown on a clod of earth, in a ploughed field by the side of the road. But
\nTom ran about amongst the furrows, and at last slipped into an old
\nmouse-hole. ‘Good night, my masters!’ said he, ‘I’m off! mind and look
\nsharp after me the next time.’ Then they ran at once to the place, and
\npoked the ends of their sticks into the mouse-hole, but all in vain; Tom
\nonly crawled farther and farther in; and at last it became quite dark, so
\nthat they were forced to go their way without their prize, as sulky as
\ncould be.<\/p>\n
When Tom found they were gone, he came out of his hiding-place. ‘What
\ndangerous walking it is,’ said he, ‘in this ploughed field! If I were to
\nfall from one of these great clods, I should undoubtedly break my neck.’
\nAt last, by good luck, he found a large empty snail-shell. ‘This is
\nlucky,’ said he, ‘I can sleep here very well’; and in he crept.<\/p>\n
Just as he was falling asleep, he heard two men passing by, chatting
\ntogether; and one said to the other, ‘How can we rob that rich parson’s
\nhouse of his silver and gold?’ ‘I’ll tell you!’ cried Tom. ‘What noise was
\nthat?’ said the thief, frightened; ‘I’m sure I heard someone speak.’ They
\nstood still listening, and Tom said, ‘Take me with you, and I’ll soon show
\nyou how to get the parson’s money.’ ‘But where are you?’ said they. ‘Look
\nabout on the ground,’ answered he, ‘and listen where the sound comes
\nfrom.’ At last the thieves found him out, and lifted him up in their
\nhands. ‘You little urchin!’ they said, ‘what can you do for us?’ ‘Why, I
\ncan get between the iron window-bars of the parson’s house, and throw you
\nout whatever you want.’ ‘That’s a good thought,’ said the thieves; ‘come
\nalong, we shall see what you can do.’<\/p>\n
When they came to the parson’s house, Tom slipped through the window-bars
\ninto the room, and then called out as loud as he could bawl, ‘Will you
\nhave all that is here?’ At this the thieves were frightened, and said,
\n‘Softly, softly! Speak low, that you may not awaken anybody.’ But Tom
\nseemed as if he did not understand them, and bawled out again, ‘How much
\nwill you have? Shall I throw it all out?’ Now the cook lay in the next
\nroom; and hearing a noise she raised herself up in her bed and listened.
\nMeantime the thieves were frightened, and ran off a little way; but at
\nlast they plucked up their hearts, and said, ‘The little urchin is only
\ntrying to make fools of us.’ So they came back and whispered softly to
\nhim, saying, ‘Now let us have no more of your roguish jokes; but throw us
\nout some of the money.’ Then Tom called out as loud as he could, ‘Very
\nwell! hold your hands! here it comes.’<\/p>\n
The cook heard this quite plain, so she sprang out of bed, and ran to open
\nthe door. The thieves ran off as if a wolf was at their tails: and the
\nmaid, having groped about and found nothing, went away for a light. By the
\ntime she came back, Tom had slipped off into the barn; and when she had
\nlooked about and searched every hole and corner, and found nobody, she
\nwent to bed, thinking she must have been dreaming with her eyes open.<\/p>\n
The little man crawled about in the hay-loft, and at last found a snug
\nplace to finish his night’s rest in; so he laid himself down, meaning to
\nsleep till daylight, and then find his way home to his father and mother.
\nBut alas! how woefully he was undone! what crosses and sorrows happen to
\nus all in this world! The cook got up early, before daybreak, to feed the
\ncows; and going straight to the hay-loft, carried away a large bundle of
\nhay, with the little man in the middle of it, fast asleep. He still,
\nhowever, slept on, and did not awake till he found himself in the mouth of
\nthe cow; for the cook had put the hay into the cow’s rick, and the cow had
\ntaken Tom up in a mouthful of it. ‘Good lack-a-day!’ said he, ‘how came I
\nto tumble into the mill?’ But he soon found out where he really was; and
\nwas forced to have all his wits about him, that he might not get between
\nthe cow’s teeth, and so be crushed to death. At last down he went into her
\nstomach. ‘It is rather dark,’ said he; ‘they forgot to build windows in
\nthis room to let the sun in; a candle would be no bad thing.’<\/p>\n
Though he made the best of his bad luck, he did not like his quarters at
\nall; and the worst of it was, that more and more hay was always coming
\ndown, and the space left for him became smaller and smaller. At last he
\ncried out as loud as he could, ‘Don’t bring me any more hay! Don’t bring
\nme any more hay!’<\/p>\n
The maid happened to be just then milking the cow; and hearing someone
\nspeak, but seeing nobody, and yet being quite sure it was the same voice
\nthat she had heard in the night, she was so frightened that she fell off
\nher stool, and overset the milk-pail. As soon as she could pick herself up
\nout of the dirt, she ran off as fast as she could to her master the
\nparson, and said, ‘Sir, sir, the cow is talking!’ But the parson said,
\n‘Woman, thou art surely mad!’ However, he went with her into the
\ncow-house, to try and see what was the matter.<\/p>\n
Scarcely had they set foot on the threshold, when Tom called out, ‘Don’t
\nbring me any more hay!’ Then the parson himself was frightened; and
\nthinking the cow was surely bewitched, told his man to kill her on the
\nspot. So the cow was killed, and cut up; and the stomach, in which Tom
\nlay, was thrown out upon a dunghill.<\/p>\n
Tom soon set himself to work to get out, which was not a very easy task;
\nbut at last, just as he had made room to get his head out, fresh ill-luck
\nbefell him. A hungry wolf sprang out, and swallowed up the whole stomach,
\nwith Tom in it, at one gulp, and ran away.<\/p>\n
Tom, however, was still not disheartened; and thinking the wolf would not
\ndislike having some chat with him as he was going along, he called out,
\n‘My good friend, I can show you a famous treat.’ ‘Where’s that?’ said the
\nwolf. ‘In such and such a house,’ said Tom, describing his own father’s
\nhouse. ‘You can crawl through the drain into the kitchen and then into the
\npantry, and there you will find cakes, ham, beef, cold chicken, roast pig,
\napple-dumplings, and everything that your heart can wish.’<\/p>\n
The wolf did not want to be asked twice; so that very night he went to the
\nhouse and crawled through the drain into the kitchen, and then into the
\npantry, and ate and drank there to his heart’s content. As soon as he had
\nhad enough he wanted to get away; but he had eaten so much that he could
\nnot go out by the same way he came in.<\/p>\n
This was just what Tom had reckoned upon; and now he began to set up a
\ngreat shout, making all the noise he could. ‘Will you be easy?’ said the
\nwolf; ‘you’ll awaken everybody in the house if you make such a clatter.’
\n‘What’s that to me?’ said the little man; ‘you have had your frolic, now
\nI’ve a mind to be merry myself’; and he began, singing and shouting as
\nloud as he could.<\/p>\n
The woodman and his wife, being awakened by the noise, peeped through a
\ncrack in the door; but when they saw a wolf was there, you may well
\nsuppose that they were sadly frightened; and the woodman ran for his axe,
\nand gave his wife a scythe. ‘Do you stay behind,’ said the woodman, ‘and
\nwhen I have knocked him on the head you must rip him up with the scythe.’
\nTom heard all this, and cried out, ‘Father, father! I am here, the wolf
\nhas swallowed me.’ And his father said, ‘Heaven be praised! we have found
\nour dear child again’; and he told his wife not to use the scythe for fear
\nshe should hurt him. Then he aimed a great blow, and struck the wolf on
\nthe head, and killed him on the spot! and when he was dead they cut open
\nhis body, and set Tommy free. ‘Ah!’ said the father, ‘what fears we have
\nhad for you!’ ‘Yes, father,’ answered he; ‘I have travelled all over the
\nworld, I think, in one way or other, since we parted; and now I am very
\nglad to come home and get fresh air again.’ ‘Why, where have you been?’
\nsaid his father. ‘I have been in a mouse-hole\u2014and in a snail-shell\u2014and
\ndown a cow’s throat\u2014and in the wolf’s belly; and yet here I am
\nagain, safe and sound.’<\/p>\n
‘Well,’ said they, ‘you are come back, and we will not sell you again for
\nall the riches in the world.’<\/p>\n
Then they hugged and kissed their dear little son, and gave him plenty to
\neat and drink, for he was very hungry; and then they fetched new clothes
\nfor him, for his old ones had been quite spoiled on his journey. So Master
\nThumb stayed at home with his father and mother, in peace; for though he
\nhad been so great a traveller, and had done and seen so many fine things,
\nand was fond enough of telling the whole story, he always agreed that,
\nafter all, there’s no place like HOME!<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
RUMPELSTILTSKIN<\/h2>\n
By the side of a wood, in a country a long way off, ran a fine stream of
\nwater; and upon the stream there stood a mill. The miller’s house was
\nclose by, and the miller, you must know, had a very beautiful daughter.
\nShe was, moreover, very shrewd and clever; and the miller was so proud of
\nher, that he one day told the king of the land, who used to come and hunt
\nin the wood, that his daughter could spin gold out of straw. Now this king
\nwas very fond of money; and when he heard the miller’s boast his
\ngreediness was raised, and he sent for the girl to be brought before him.
\nThen he led her to a chamber in his palace where there was a great heap of
\nstraw, and gave her a spinning-wheel, and said, ‘All this must be spun
\ninto gold before morning, as you love your life.’ It was in vain that the
\npoor maiden said that it was only a silly boast of her father, for that
\nshe could do no such thing as spin straw into gold: the chamber door was
\nlocked, and she was left alone.<\/p>\n
She sat down in one corner of the room, and began to bewail her hard fate;
\nwhen on a sudden the door opened, and a droll-looking little man hobbled
\nin, and said, ‘Good morrow to you, my good lass; what are you weeping
\nfor?’ ‘Alas!’ said she, ‘I must spin this straw into gold, and I know not
\nhow.’ ‘What will you give me,’ said the hobgoblin, ‘to do it for you?’ ‘My
\nnecklace,’ replied the maiden. He took her at her word, and sat himself
\ndown to the wheel, and whistled and sang:<\/p>\n
 'Round about, round about,\r\n    Lo and behold!\r\n  Reel away, reel away,\r\n    Straw into gold!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And round about the wheel went merrily; the work was quickly done, and the
\nstraw was all spun into gold.<\/p>\n
When the king came and saw this, he was greatly astonished and pleased;
\nbut his heart grew still more greedy of gain, and he shut up the poor
\nmiller’s daughter again with a fresh task. Then she knew not what to do,
\nand sat down once more to weep; but the dwarf soon opened the door, and
\nsaid, ‘What will you give me to do your task?’ ‘The ring on my finger,’
\nsaid she. So her little friend took the ring, and began to work at the
\nwheel again, and whistled and sang:<\/p>\n
 'Round about, round about,\r\n    Lo and behold!\r\n  Reel away, reel away,\r\n    Straw into gold!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
till, long before morning, all was done again.<\/p>\n
The king was greatly delighted to see all this glittering treasure; but
\nstill he had not enough: so he took the miller’s daughter to a yet larger
\nheap, and said, ‘All this must be spun tonight; and if it is, you shall be
\nmy queen.’ As soon as she was alone that dwarf came in, and said, ‘What
\nwill you give me to spin gold for you this third time?’ ‘I have nothing
\nleft,’ said she. ‘Then say you will give me,’ said the little man, ‘the
\nfirst little child that you may have when you are queen.’ ‘That may never
\nbe,’ thought the miller’s daughter: and as she knew no other way to get
\nher task done, she said she would do what he asked. Round went the wheel
\nagain to the old song, and the manikin once more spun the heap into gold.
\nThe king came in the morning, and, finding all he wanted, was forced to
\nkeep his word; so he married the miller’s daughter, and she really became
\nqueen.<\/p>\n
At the birth of her first little child she was very glad, and forgot the
\ndwarf, and what she had said. But one day he came into her room, where she
\nwas sitting playing with her baby, and put her in mind of it. Then she
\ngrieved sorely at her misfortune, and said she would give him all the
\nwealth of the kingdom if he would let her off, but in vain; till at last
\nher tears softened him, and he said, ‘I will give you three days’ grace,
\nand if during that time you tell me my name, you shall keep your child.’<\/p>\n
Now the queen lay awake all night, thinking of all the odd names that she
\nhad ever heard; and she sent messengers all over the land to find out new
\nones. The next day the little man came, and she began with TIMOTHY,
\nICHABOD, BENJAMIN, JEREMIAH, and all the names she could remember; but to
\nall and each of them he said, ‘Madam, that is not my name.’<\/p>\n
The second day she began with all the comical names she could hear of,
\nBANDY-LEGS, HUNCHBACK, CROOK-SHANKS, and so on; but the little gentleman
\nstill said to every one of them, ‘Madam, that is not my name.’<\/p>\n
The third day one of the messengers came back, and said, ‘I have travelled
\ntwo days without hearing of any other names; but yesterday, as I was
\nclimbing a high hill, among the trees of the forest where the fox and the
\nhare bid each other good night, I saw a little hut; and before the hut
\nburnt a fire; and round about the fire a funny little dwarf was dancing
\nupon one leg, and singing:<\/p>\n
  \"Merrily the feast I'll make.\r\n  Today I'll brew, tomorrow bake;\r\n  Merrily I'll dance and sing,\r\n  For next day will a stranger bring.\r\n  Little does my lady dream\r\n  Rumpelstiltskin is my name!\"\r\n<\/pre>\n
When the queen heard this she jumped for joy, and as soon as her little
\nfriend came she sat down upon her throne, and called all her court round
\nto enjoy the fun; and the nurse stood by her side with the baby in her
\narms, as if it was quite ready to be given up. Then the little man began
\nto chuckle at the thought of having the poor child, to take home with him
\nto his hut in the woods; and he cried out, ‘Now, lady, what is my name?’
\n‘Is it JOHN?’ asked she. ‘No, madam!’ ‘Is it TOM?’ ‘No, madam!’ ‘Is it
\nJEMMY?’ ‘It is not.’ ‘Can your name be RUMPELSTILTSKIN?’ said the lady
\nslyly. ‘Some witch told you that!\u2014some witch told you that!’ cried
\nthe little man, and dashed his right foot in a rage so deep into the
\nfloor, that he was forced to lay hold of it with both hands to pull it
\nout.<\/p>\n
Then he made the best of his way off, while the nurse laughed and the baby
\ncrowed; and all the court jeered at him for having had so much trouble for
\nnothing, and said, ‘We wish you a very good morning, and a merry feast, Mr
\nRUMPLESTILTSKIN!’<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
CLEVER GRETEL<\/h2>\n
There was once a cook named Gretel, who wore shoes with red heels, and
\nwhen she walked out with them on, she turned herself this way and that,
\nwas quite happy and thought: ‘You certainly are a pretty girl!’ And when
\nshe came home she drank, in her gladness of heart, a draught of wine, and
\nas wine excites a desire to eat, she tasted the best of whatever she was
\ncooking until she was satisfied, and said: ‘The cook must know what the
\nfood is like.’<\/p>\n
It came to pass that the master one day said to her: ‘Gretel, there is a
\nguest coming this evening; prepare me two fowls very daintily.’ ‘I will
\nsee to it, master,’ answered Gretel. She killed two fowls, scalded them,
\nplucked them, put them on the spit, and towards evening set them before
\nthe fire, that they might roast. The fowls began to turn brown, and were
\nnearly ready, but the guest had not yet arrived. Then Gretel called out to
\nher master: ‘If the guest does not come, I must take the fowls away from
\nthe fire, but it will be a sin and a shame if they are not eaten the
\nmoment they are at their juiciest.’ The master said: ‘I will run myself,
\nand fetch the guest.’ When the master had turned his back, Gretel laid the
\nspit with the fowls on one side, and thought: ‘Standing so long by the
\nfire there, makes one sweat and thirsty; who knows when they will come?
\nMeanwhile, I will run into the cellar, and take a drink.’ She ran down,
\nset a jug, said: ‘God bless it for you, Gretel,’ and took a good drink,
\nand thought that wine should flow on, and should not be interrupted, and
\ntook yet another hearty draught.<\/p>\n
Then she went and put the fowls down again to the fire, basted them, and
\ndrove the spit merrily round. But as the roast meat smelt so good, Gretel
\nthought: ‘Something might be wrong, it ought to be tasted!’ She touched it
\nwith her finger, and said: ‘Ah! how good fowls are! It certainly is a sin
\nand a shame that they are not eaten at the right time!’ She ran to the
\nwindow, to see if the master was not coming with his guest, but she saw no
\none, and went back to the fowls and thought: ‘One of the wings is burning!
\nI had better take it off and eat it.’ So she cut it off, ate it, and
\nenjoyed it, and when she had done, she thought: ‘The other must go down
\ntoo, or else master will observe that something is missing.’ When the two
\nwings were eaten, she went and looked for her master, and did not see him.
\nIt suddenly occurred to her: ‘Who knows? They are perhaps not coming at
\nall, and have turned in somewhere.’ Then she said: ‘Well, Gretel, enjoy
\nyourself, one fowl has been cut into, take another drink, and eat it up
\nentirely; when it is eaten you will have some peace, why should God’s good
\ngifts be spoilt?’ So she ran into the cellar again, took an enormous drink
\nand ate up the one chicken in great glee. When one of the chickens was
\nswallowed down, and still her master did not come, Gretel looked at the
\nother and said: ‘What one is, the other should be likewise, the two go
\ntogether; what’s right for the one is right for the other; I think if I
\nwere to take another draught it would do me no harm.’ So she took another
\nhearty drink, and let the second chicken follow the first.<\/p>\n
While she was making the most of it, her master came and cried: ‘Hurry up,
\nGretel, the guest is coming directly after me!’ ‘Yes, sir, I will soon
\nserve up,’ answered Gretel. Meantime the master looked to see that the
\ntable was properly laid, and took the great knife, wherewith he was going
\nto carve the chickens, and sharpened it on the steps. Presently the guest
\ncame, and knocked politely and courteously at the house-door. Gretel ran,
\nand looked to see who was there, and when she saw the guest, she put her
\nfinger to her lips and said: ‘Hush! hush! go away as quickly as you can,
\nif my master catches you it will be the worse for you; he certainly did
\nask you to supper, but his intention is to cut off your two ears. Just
\nlisten how he is sharpening the knife for it!’ The guest heard the
\nsharpening, and hurried down the steps again as fast as he could. Gretel
\nwas not idle; she ran screaming to her master, and cried: ‘You have
\ninvited a fine guest!’ ‘Why, Gretel? What do you mean by that?’ ‘Yes,’
\nsaid she, ‘he has taken the chickens which I was just going to serve up,
\noff the dish, and has run away with them!’ ‘That’s a nice trick!’ said her
\nmaster, and lamented the fine chickens. ‘If he had but left me one, so
\nthat something remained for me to eat.’ He called to him to stop, but the
\nguest pretended not to hear. Then he ran after him with the knife still in
\nhis hand, crying: ‘Just one, just one,’ meaning that the guest should
\nleave him just one chicken, and not take both. The guest, however, thought
\nno otherwise than that he was to give up one of his ears, and ran as if
\nfire were burning under him, in order to take them both with him.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON<\/h2>\n
There was once a very old man, whose eyes had become dim, his ears dull of
\nhearing, his knees trembled, and when he sat at table he could hardly hold
\nthe spoon, and spilt the broth upon the table-cloth or let it run out of
\nhis mouth. His son and his son’s wife were disgusted at this, so the old
\ngrandfather at last had to sit in the corner behind the stove, and they
\ngave him his food in an earthenware bowl, and not even enough of it. And
\nhe used to look towards the table with his eyes full of tears. Once, too,
\nhis trembling hands could not hold the bowl, and it fell to the ground and
\nbroke. The young wife scolded him, but he said nothing and only sighed.
\nThen they brought him a wooden bowl for a few half-pence, out of which he
\nhad to eat.<\/p>\n
They were once sitting thus when the little grandson of four years old
\nbegan to gather together some bits of wood upon the ground. ‘What are you
\ndoing there?’ asked the father. ‘I am making a little trough,’ answered
\nthe child, ‘for father and mother to eat out of when I am big.’<\/p>\n
The man and his wife looked at each other for a while, and presently began
\nto cry. Then they took the old grandfather to the table, and henceforth
\nalways let him eat with them, and likewise said nothing if he did spill a
\nlittle of anything.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE LITTLE PEASANT<\/h2>\n
There was a certain village wherein no one lived but really rich peasants,
\nand just one poor one, whom they called the little peasant. He had not
\neven so much as a cow, and still less money to buy one, and yet he and his
\nwife did so wish to have one. One day he said to her: ‘Listen, I have a
\ngood idea, there is our gossip the carpenter, he shall make us a wooden
\ncalf, and paint it brown, so that it looks like any other, and in time it
\nwill certainly get big and be a cow.’ the woman also liked the idea, and
\ntheir gossip the carpenter cut and planed the calf, and painted it as it
\nought to be, and made it with its head hanging down as if it were eating.<\/p>\n
Next morning when the cows were being driven out, the little peasant
\ncalled the cow-herd in and said: ‘Look, I have a little calf there, but it
\nis still small and has to be carried.’ The cow-herd said: ‘All right,’ and
\ntook it in his arms and carried it to the pasture, and set it among the
\ngrass. The little calf always remained standing like one which was eating,
\nand the cow-herd said: ‘It will soon run by itself, just look how it eats
\nalready!’ At night when he was going to drive the herd home again, he said
\nto the calf: ‘If you can stand there and eat your fill, you can also go on
\nyour four legs; I don’t care to drag you home again in my arms.’ But the
\nlittle peasant stood at his door, and waited for his little calf, and when
\nthe cow-herd drove the cows through the village, and the calf was missing,
\nhe inquired where it was. The cow-herd answered: ‘It is still standing out
\nthere eating. It would not stop and come with us.’ But the little peasant
\nsaid: ‘Oh, but I must have my beast back again.’ Then they went back to
\nthe meadow together, but someone had stolen the calf, and it was gone. The
\ncow-herd said: ‘It must have run away.’ The peasant, however, said: ‘Don’t
\ntell me that,’ and led the cow-herd before the mayor, who for his
\ncarelessness condemned him to give the peasant a cow for the calf which
\nhad run away.<\/p>\n
And now the little peasant and his wife had the cow for which they had so
\nlong wished, and they were heartily glad, but they had no food for it, and
\ncould give it nothing to eat, so it soon had to be killed. They salted the
\nflesh, and the peasant went into the town and wanted to sell the skin
\nthere, so that he might buy a new calf with the proceeds. On the way he
\npassed by a mill, and there sat a raven with broken wings, and out of pity
\nhe took him and wrapped him in the skin. But as the weather grew so bad
\nand there was a storm of rain and wind, he could go no farther, and turned
\nback to the mill and begged for shelter. The miller’s wife was alone in
\nthe house, and said to the peasant: ‘Lay yourself on the straw there,’ and
\ngave him a slice of bread and cheese. The peasant ate it, and lay down
\nwith his skin beside him, and the woman thought: ‘He is tired and has gone
\nto sleep.’ In the meantime came the parson; the miller’s wife received him
\nwell, and said: ‘My husband is out, so we will have a feast.’ The peasant
\nlistened, and when he heard them talk about feasting he was vexed that he
\nhad been forced to make shift with a slice of bread and cheese. Then the
\nwoman served up four different things, roast meat, salad, cakes, and wine.<\/p>\n
Just as they were about to sit down and eat, there was a knocking outside.
\nThe woman said: ‘Oh, heavens! It is my husband!’ she quickly hid the roast
\nmeat inside the tiled stove, the wine under the pillow, the salad on the
\nbed, the cakes under it, and the parson in the closet on the porch. Then
\nshe opened the door for her husband, and said: ‘Thank heaven, you are back
\nagain! There is such a storm, it looks as if the world were coming to an
\nend.’ The miller saw the peasant lying on the straw, and asked, ‘What is
\nthat fellow doing there?’ ‘Ah,’ said the wife, ‘the poor knave came in the
\nstorm and rain, and begged for shelter, so I gave him a bit of bread and
\ncheese, and showed him where the straw was.’ The man said: ‘I have no
\nobjection, but be quick and get me something to eat.’ The woman said: ‘But
\nI have nothing but bread and cheese.’ ‘I am contented with anything,’
\nreplied the husband, ‘so far as I am concerned, bread and cheese will do,’
\nand looked at the peasant and said: ‘Come and eat some more with me.’ The
\npeasant did not require to be invited twice, but got up and ate. After
\nthis the miller saw the skin in which the raven was, lying on the ground,
\nand asked: ‘What have you there?’ The peasant answered: ‘I have a
\nsoothsayer inside it.’ ‘Can he foretell anything to me?’ said the miller.
\n‘Why not?’ answered the peasant: ‘but he only says four things, and the
\nfifth he keeps to himself.’ The miller was curious, and said: ‘Let him
\nforetell something for once.’ Then the peasant pinched the raven’s head,
\nso that he croaked and made a noise like krr, krr. The miller said: ‘What
\ndid he say?’ The peasant answered: ‘In the first place, he says that there
\nis some wine hidden under the pillow.’ ‘Bless me!’ cried the miller, and
\nwent there and found the wine. ‘Now go on,’ said he. The peasant made the
\nraven croak again, and said: ‘In the second place, he says that there is
\nsome roast meat in the tiled stove.’ ‘Upon my word!’ cried the miller, and
\nwent thither, and found the roast meat. The peasant made the raven
\nprophesy still more, and said: ‘Thirdly, he says that there is some salad
\non the bed.’ ‘That would be a fine thing!’ cried the miller, and went
\nthere and found the salad. At last the peasant pinched the raven once more
\ntill he croaked, and said: ‘Fourthly, he says that there are some cakes
\nunder the bed.’ ‘That would be a fine thing!’ cried the miller, and looked
\nthere, and found the cakes.<\/p>\n
And now the two sat down to the table together, but the miller’s wife was
\nfrightened to death, and went to bed and took all the keys with her. The
\nmiller would have liked much to know the fifth, but the little peasant
\nsaid: ‘First, we will quickly eat the four things, for the fifth is
\nsomething bad.’ So they ate, and after that they bargained how much the
\nmiller was to give for the fifth prophecy, until they agreed on three
\nhundred talers. Then the peasant once more pinched the raven’s head till
\nhe croaked loudly. The miller asked: ‘What did he say?’ The peasant
\nreplied: ‘He says that the Devil is hiding outside there in the closet on
\nthe porch.’ The miller said: ‘The Devil must go out,’ and opened the
\nhouse-door; then the woman was forced to give up the keys, and the peasant
\nunlocked the closet. The parson ran out as fast as he could, and the
\nmiller said: ‘It was true; I saw the black rascal with my own eyes.’ The
\npeasant, however, made off next morning by daybreak with the three hundred
\ntalers.<\/p>\n
At home the small peasant gradually launched out; he built a beautiful
\nhouse, and the peasants said: ‘The small peasant has certainly been to the
\nplace where golden snow falls, and people carry the gold home in shovels.’
\nThen the small peasant was brought before the mayor, and bidden to say
\nfrom whence his wealth came. He answered: ‘I sold my cow’s skin in the
\ntown, for three hundred talers.’ When the peasants heard that, they too
\nwished to enjoy this great profit, and ran home, killed all their cows,
\nand stripped off their skins in order to sell them in the town to the
\ngreatest advantage. The mayor, however, said: ‘But my servant must go
\nfirst.’ When she came to the merchant in the town, he did not give her
\nmore than two talers for a skin, and when the others came, he did not give
\nthem so much, and said: ‘What can I do with all these skins?’<\/p>\n
Then the peasants were vexed that the small peasant should have thus
\noutwitted them, wanted to take vengeance on him, and accused him of this
\ntreachery before the mayor. The innocent little peasant was unanimously
\nsentenced to death, and was to be rolled into the water, in a barrel
\npierced full of holes. He was led forth, and a priest was brought who was
\nto say a mass for his soul. The others were all obliged to retire to a
\ndistance, and when the peasant looked at the priest, he recognized the man
\nwho had been with the miller’s wife. He said to him: ‘I set you free from
\nthe closet, set me free from the barrel.’ At this same moment up came,
\nwith a flock of sheep, the very shepherd whom the peasant knew had long
\nbeen wishing to be mayor, so he cried with all his might: ‘No, I will not
\ndo it; if the whole world insists on it, I will not do it!’ The shepherd
\nhearing that, came up to him, and asked: ‘What are you about? What is it
\nthat you will not do?’ The peasant said: ‘They want to make me mayor, if I
\nwill but put myself in the barrel, but I will not do it.’ The shepherd
\nsaid: ‘If nothing more than that is needful in order to be mayor, I would
\nget into the barrel at once.’ The peasant said: ‘If you will get in, you
\nwill be mayor.’ The shepherd was willing, and got in, and the peasant shut
\nthe top down on him; then he took the shepherd’s flock for himself, and
\ndrove it away. The parson went to the crowd, and declared that the mass
\nhad been said. Then they came and rolled the barrel towards the water.
\nWhen the barrel began to roll, the shepherd cried: ‘I am quite willing to
\nbe mayor.’ They believed no otherwise than that it was the peasant who was
\nsaying this, and answered: ‘That is what we intend, but first you shall
\nlook about you a little down below there,’ and they rolled the barrel down
\ninto the water.<\/p>\n
After that the peasants went home, and as they were entering the village,
\nthe small peasant also came quietly in, driving a flock of sheep and
\nlooking quite contented. Then the peasants were astonished, and said:
\n‘Peasant, from whence do you come? Have you come out of the water?’ ‘Yes,
\ntruly,’ replied the peasant, ‘I sank deep, deep down, until at last I got
\nto the bottom; I pushed the bottom out of the barrel, and crept out, and
\nthere were pretty meadows on which a number of lambs were feeding, and
\nfrom thence I brought this flock away with me.’ Said the peasants: ‘Are
\nthere any more there?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ said he, ‘more than I could want.’ Then
\nthe peasants made up their minds that they too would fetch some sheep for
\nthemselves, a flock apiece, but the mayor said: ‘I come first.’ So they
\nwent to the water together, and just then there were some of the small
\nfleecy clouds in the blue sky, which are called little lambs, and they
\nwere reflected in the water, whereupon the peasants cried: ‘We already see
\nthe sheep down below!’ The mayor pressed forward and said: ‘I will go down
\nfirst, and look about me, and if things promise well I’ll call you.’ So he
\njumped in; splash! went the water; it sounded as if he were calling them,
\nand the whole crowd plunged in after him as one man. Then the entire
\nvillage was dead, and the small peasant, as sole heir, became a rich man.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
FREDERICK AND CATHERINE<\/h2>\n
There was once a man called Frederick: he had a wife whose name was
\nCatherine, and they had not long been married. One day Frederick said.
\n‘Kate! I am going to work in the fields; when I come back I shall be
\nhungry so let me have something nice cooked, and a good draught of ale.’
\n‘Very well,’ said she, ‘it shall all be ready.’ When dinner-time drew
\nnigh, Catherine took a nice steak, which was all the meat she had, and put
\nit on the fire to fry. The steak soon began to look brown, and to crackle
\nin the pan; and Catherine stood by with a fork and turned it: then she
\nsaid to herself, ‘The steak is almost ready, I may as well go to the
\ncellar for the ale.’ So she left the pan on the fire and took a large jug
\nand went into the cellar and tapped the ale cask. The beer ran into the
\njug and Catherine stood looking on. At last it popped into her head, ‘The
\ndog is not shut up\u2014he may be running away with the steak; that’s
\nwell thought of.’ So up she ran from the cellar; and sure enough the
\nrascally cur had got the steak in his mouth, and was making off with it.<\/p>\n
Away ran Catherine, and away ran the dog across the field: but he ran
\nfaster than she, and stuck close to the steak. ‘It’s all gone, and “what
\ncan’t be cured must be endured”,’ said Catherine. So she turned round; and
\nas she had run a good way and was tired, she walked home leisurely to cool
\nherself.<\/p>\n
Now all this time the ale was running too, for Catherine had not turned
\nthe cock; and when the jug was full the liquor ran upon the floor till the
\ncask was empty. When she got to the cellar stairs she saw what had
\nhappened. ‘My stars!’ said she, ‘what shall I do to keep Frederick from
\nseeing all this slopping about?’ So she thought a while; and at last
\nremembered that there was a sack of fine meal bought at the last fair, and
\nthat if she sprinkled this over the floor it would suck up the ale nicely.
\n‘What a lucky thing,’ said she, ‘that we kept that meal! we have now a
\ngood use for it.’ So away she went for it: but she managed to set it down
\njust upon the great jug full of beer, and upset it; and thus all the ale
\nthat had been saved was set swimming on the floor also. ‘Ah! well,’ said
\nshe, ‘when one goes another may as well follow.’ Then she strewed the meal
\nall about the cellar, and was quite pleased with her cleverness, and said,
\n‘How very neat and clean it looks!’<\/p>\n
At noon Frederick came home. ‘Now, wife,’ cried he, ‘what have you for
\ndinner?’ ‘O Frederick!’ answered she, ‘I was cooking you a steak; but
\nwhile I went down to draw the ale, the dog ran away with it; and while I
\nran after him, the ale ran out; and when I went to dry up the ale with the
\nsack of meal that we got at the fair, I upset the jug: but the cellar is
\nnow quite dry, and looks so clean!’ ‘Kate, Kate,’ said he, ‘how could you
\ndo all this?’ Why did you leave the steak to fry, and the ale to run, and
\nthen spoil all the meal?’ ‘Why, Frederick,’ said she, ‘I did not know I
\nwas doing wrong; you should have told me before.’<\/p>\n
The husband thought to himself, ‘If my wife manages matters thus, I must
\nlook sharp myself.’ Now he had a good deal of gold in the house: so he
\nsaid to Catherine, ‘What pretty yellow buttons these are! I shall put them
\ninto a box and bury them in the garden; but take care that you never go
\nnear or meddle with them.’ ‘No, Frederick,’ said she, ‘that I never will.’
\nAs soon as he was gone, there came by some pedlars with earthenware plates
\nand dishes, and they asked her whether she would buy. ‘Oh dear me, I
\nshould like to buy very much, but I have no money: if you had any use for
\nyellow buttons, I might deal with you.’ ‘Yellow buttons!’ said they: ‘let
\nus have a look at them.’ ‘Go into the garden and dig where I tell you, and
\nyou will find the yellow buttons: I dare not go myself.’ So the rogues
\nwent: and when they found what these yellow buttons were, they took them
\nall away, and left her plenty of plates and dishes. Then she set them all
\nabout the house for a show: and when Frederick came back, he cried out,
\n‘Kate, what have you been doing?’ ‘See,’ said she, ‘I have bought all
\nthese with your yellow buttons: but I did not touch them myself; the
\npedlars went themselves and dug them up.’ ‘Wife, wife,’ said Frederick,
\n‘what a pretty piece of work you have made! those yellow buttons were all
\nmy money: how came you to do such a thing?’ ‘Why,’ answered she, ‘I did
\nnot know there was any harm in it; you should have told me.’<\/p>\n
Catherine stood musing for a while, and at last said to her husband, ‘Hark
\nye, Frederick, we will soon get the gold back: let us run after the
\nthieves.’ ‘Well, we will try,’ answered he; ‘but take some butter and
\ncheese with you, that we may have something to eat by the way.’ ‘Very
\nwell,’ said she; and they set out: and as Frederick walked the fastest, he
\nleft his wife some way behind. ‘It does not matter,’ thought she: ‘when we
\nturn back, I shall be so much nearer home than he.’<\/p>\n
Presently she came to the top of a hill, down the side of which there was
\na road so narrow that the cart wheels always chafed the trees on each side
\nas they passed. ‘Ah, see now,’ said she, ‘how they have bruised and
\nwounded those poor trees; they will never get well.’ So she took pity on
\nthem, and made use of the butter to grease them all, so that the wheels
\nmight not hurt them so much. While she was doing this kind office one of
\nher cheeses fell out of the basket, and rolled down the hill. Catherine
\nlooked, but could not see where it had gone; so she said, ‘Well, I suppose
\nthe other will go the same way and find you; he has younger legs than I
\nhave.’ Then she rolled the other cheese after it; and away it went, nobody
\nknows where, down the hill. But she said she supposed that they knew the
\nroad, and would follow her, and she could not stay there all day waiting
\nfor them.<\/p>\n
At last she overtook Frederick, who desired her to give him something to
\neat. Then she gave him the dry bread. ‘Where are the butter and cheese?’
\nsaid he. ‘Oh!’ answered she, ‘I used the butter to grease those poor trees
\nthat the wheels chafed so: and one of the cheeses ran away so I sent the
\nother after it to find it, and I suppose they are both on the road
\ntogether somewhere.’ ‘What a goose you are to do such silly things!’ said
\nthe husband. ‘How can you say so?’ said she; ‘I am sure you never told me
\nnot.’<\/p>\n
They ate the dry bread together; and Frederick said, ‘Kate, I hope you
\nlocked the door safe when you came away.’ ‘No,’ answered she, ‘you did not
\ntell me.’ ‘Then go home, and do it now before we go any farther,’ said
\nFrederick, ‘and bring with you something to eat.’<\/p>\n
Catherine did as he told her, and thought to herself by the way,
\n‘Frederick wants something to eat; but I don’t think he is very fond of
\nbutter and cheese: I’ll bring him a bag of fine nuts, and the vinegar, for
\nI have often seen him take some.’<\/p>\n
When she reached home, she bolted the back door, but the front door she
\ntook off the hinges, and said, ‘Frederick told me to lock the door, but
\nsurely it can nowhere be so safe if I take it with me.’ So she took her
\ntime by the way; and when she overtook her husband she cried out, ‘There,
\nFrederick, there is the door itself, you may watch it as carefully as you
\nplease.’ ‘Alas! alas!’ said he, ‘what a clever wife I have! I sent you to
\nmake the house fast, and you take the door away, so that everybody may go
\nin and out as they please\u2014however, as you have brought the door, you
\nshall carry it about with you for your pains.’ ‘Very well,’ answered she,
\n‘I’ll carry the door; but I’ll not carry the nuts and vinegar bottle also\u2014that
\nwould be too much of a load; so if you please, I’ll fasten them to the
\ndoor.’<\/p>\n
Frederick of course made no objection to that plan, and they set off into
\nthe wood to look for the thieves; but they could not find them: and when
\nit grew dark, they climbed up into a tree to spend the night there.
\nScarcely were they up, than who should come by but the very rogues they
\nwere looking for. They were in truth great rascals, and belonged to that
\nclass of people who find things before they are lost; they were tired; so
\nthey sat down and made a fire under the very tree where Frederick and
\nCatherine were. Frederick slipped down on the other side, and picked up
\nsome stones. Then he climbed up again, and tried to hit the thieves on the
\nhead with them: but they only said, ‘It must be near morning, for the wind
\nshakes the fir-apples down.’<\/p>\n
Catherine, who had the door on her shoulder, began to be very tired; but
\nshe thought it was the nuts upon it that were so heavy: so she said
\nsoftly, ‘Frederick, I must let the nuts go.’ ‘No,’ answered he, ‘not now,
\nthey will discover us.’ ‘I can’t help that: they must go.’ ‘Well, then,
\nmake haste and throw them down, if you will.’ Then away rattled the nuts
\ndown among the boughs and one of the thieves cried, ‘Bless me, it is
\nhailing.’<\/p>\n
A little while after, Catherine thought the door was still very heavy: so
\nshe whispered to Frederick, ‘I must throw the vinegar down.’ ‘Pray don’t,’
\nanswered he, ‘it will discover us.’ ‘I can’t help that,’ said she, ‘go it
\nmust.’ So she poured all the vinegar down; and the thieves said, ‘What a
\nheavy dew there is!’<\/p>\n
At last it popped into Catherine’s head that it was the door itself that
\nwas so heavy all the time: so she whispered, ‘Frederick, I must throw the
\ndoor down soon.’ But he begged and prayed her not to do so, for he was
\nsure it would betray them. ‘Here goes, however,’ said she: and down went
\nthe door with such a clatter upon the thieves, that they cried out
\n‘Murder!’ and not knowing what was coming, ran away as fast as they could,
\nand left all the gold. So when Frederick and Catherine came down, there
\nthey found all their money safe and sound.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
SWEETHEART ROLAND<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time a woman who was a real witch and had two
\ndaughters, one ugly and wicked, and this one she loved because she was her
\nown daughter, and one beautiful and good, and this one she hated, because
\nshe was her stepdaughter. The stepdaughter once had a pretty apron, which
\nthe other fancied so much that she became envious, and told her mother
\nthat she must and would have that apron. ‘Be quiet, my child,’ said the
\nold woman, ‘and you shall have it. Your stepsister has long deserved
\ndeath; tonight when she is asleep I will come and cut her head off. Only
\nbe careful that you are at the far side of the bed, and push her well to
\nthe front.’ It would have been all over with the poor girl if she had not
\njust then been standing in a corner, and heard everything. All day long
\nshe dared not go out of doors, and when bedtime had come, the witch’s
\ndaughter got into bed first, so as to lie at the far side, but when she
\nwas asleep, the other pushed her gently to the front, and took for herself
\nthe place at the back, close by the wall. In the night, the old woman came
\ncreeping in, she held an axe in her right hand, and felt with her left to
\nsee if anyone were lying at the outside, and then she grasped the axe with
\nboth hands, and cut her own child’s head off.<\/p>\n
When she had gone away, the girl got up and went to her sweetheart, who
\nwas called Roland, and knocked at his door. When he came out, she said to
\nhim: ‘Listen, dearest Roland, we must fly in all haste; my stepmother
\nwanted to kill me, but has struck her own child. When daylight comes, and
\nshe sees what she has done, we shall be lost.’ ‘But,’ said Roland, ‘I
\ncounsel you first to take away her magic wand, or we cannot escape if she
\npursues us.’ The maiden fetched the magic wand, and she took the dead
\ngirl’s head and dropped three drops of blood on the ground, one in front
\nof the bed, one in the kitchen, and one on the stairs. Then she hurried
\naway with her lover.<\/p>\n
When the old witch got up next morning, she called her daughter, and
\nwanted to give her the apron, but she did not come. Then the witch cried:
\n‘Where are you?’ ‘Here, on the stairs, I am sweeping,’ answered the first
\ndrop of blood. The old woman went out, but saw no one on the stairs, and
\ncried again: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Here in the kitchen, I am warming myself,’
\ncried the second drop of blood. She went into the kitchen, but found no
\none. Then she cried again: ‘Where are you?’ ‘Ah, here in the bed, I am
\nsleeping,’ cried the third drop of blood. She went into the room to the
\nbed. What did she see there? Her own child, whose head she had cut off,
\nbathed in her blood. The witch fell into a passion, sprang to the window,
\nand as she could look forth quite far into the world, she perceived her
\nstepdaughter hurrying away with her sweetheart Roland. ‘That shall not
\nhelp you,’ cried she, ‘even if you have got a long way off, you shall
\nstill not escape me.’ She put on her many-league boots, in which she
\ncovered an hour’s walk at every step, and it was not long before she
\novertook them. The girl, however, when she saw the old woman striding
\ntowards her, changed, with her magic wand, her sweetheart Roland into a
\nlake, and herself into a duck swimming in the middle of it. The witch
\nplaced herself on the shore, threw breadcrumbs in, and went to endless
\ntrouble to entice the duck; but the duck did not let herself be enticed,
\nand the old woman had to go home at night as she had come. At this the
\ngirl and her sweetheart Roland resumed their natural shapes again, and
\nthey walked on the whole night until daybreak. Then the maiden changed
\nherself into a beautiful flower which stood in the midst of a briar hedge,
\nand her sweetheart Roland into a fiddler. It was not long before the witch
\ncame striding up towards them, and said to the musician: ‘Dear musician,
\nmay I pluck that beautiful flower for myself?’ ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied, ‘I
\nwill play to you while you do it.’ As she was hastily creeping into the
\nhedge and was just going to pluck the flower, knowing perfectly well who
\nthe flower was, he began to play, and whether she would or not, she was
\nforced to dance, for it was a magical dance. The faster he played, the
\nmore violent springs was she forced to make, and the thorns tore her
\nclothes from her body, and pricked her and wounded her till she bled, and
\nas he did not stop, she had to dance till she lay dead on the ground.<\/p>\n
As they were now set free, Roland said: ‘Now I will go to my father and
\narrange for the wedding.’ ‘Then in the meantime I will stay here and wait
\nfor you,’ said the girl, ‘and that no one may recognize me, I will change
\nmyself into a red stone landmark.’ Then Roland went away, and the girl
\nstood like a red landmark in the field and waited for her beloved. But
\nwhen Roland got home, he fell into the snares of another, who so
\nfascinated him that he forgot the maiden. The poor girl remained there a
\nlong time, but at length, as he did not return at all, she was sad, and
\nchanged herself into a flower, and thought: ‘Someone will surely come this
\nway, and trample me down.’<\/p>\n
It befell, however, that a shepherd kept his sheep in the field and saw
\nthe flower, and as it was so pretty, plucked it, took it with him, and
\nlaid it away in his chest. From that time forth, strange things happened
\nin the shepherd’s house. When he arose in the morning, all the work was
\nalready done, the room was swept, the table and benches cleaned, the fire
\nin the hearth was lighted, and the water was fetched, and at noon, when he
\ncame home, the table was laid, and a good dinner served. He could not
\nconceive how this came to pass, for he never saw a human being in his
\nhouse, and no one could have concealed himself in it. He was certainly
\npleased with this good attendance, but still at last he was so afraid that
\nhe went to a wise woman and asked for her advice. The wise woman said:
\n‘There is some enchantment behind it, listen very early some morning if
\nanything is moving in the room, and if you see anything, no matter what it
\nis, throw a white cloth over it, and then the magic will be stopped.’<\/p>\n
The shepherd did as she bade him, and next morning just as day dawned, he
\nsaw the chest open, and the flower come out. Swiftly he sprang towards it,
\nand threw a white cloth over it. Instantly the transformation came to an
\nend, and a beautiful girl stood before him, who admitted to him that she
\nhad been the flower, and that up to this time she had attended to his
\nhouse-keeping. She told him her story, and as she pleased him he asked her
\nif she would marry him, but she answered: ‘No,’ for she wanted to remain
\nfaithful to her sweetheart Roland, although he had deserted her.
\nNevertheless, she promised not to go away, but to continue keeping house
\nfor the shepherd.<\/p>\n
And now the time drew near when Roland’s wedding was to be celebrated, and
\nthen, according to an old custom in the country, it was announced that all
\nthe girls were to be present at it, and sing in honour of the bridal pair.
\nWhen the faithful maiden heard of this, she grew so sad that she thought
\nher heart would break, and she would not go thither, but the other girls
\ncame and took her. When it came to her turn to sing, she stepped back,
\nuntil at last she was the only one left, and then she could not refuse.
\nBut when she began her song, and it reached Roland’s ears, he sprang up
\nand cried: ‘I know the voice, that is the true bride, I will have no
\nother!’ Everything he had forgotten, and which had vanished from his mind,
\nhad suddenly come home again to his heart. Then the faithful maiden held
\nher wedding with her sweetheart Roland, and grief came to an end and joy
\nbegan.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
SNOWDROP<\/h2>\n
It was the middle of winter, when the broad flakes of snow were falling
\naround, that the queen of a country many thousand miles off sat working at
\nher window. The frame of the window was made of fine black ebony, and as
\nshe sat looking out upon the snow, she pricked her finger, and three drops
\nof blood fell upon it. Then she gazed thoughtfully upon the red drops that
\nsprinkled the white snow, and said, ‘Would that my little daughter may be
\nas white as that snow, as red as that blood, and as black as this ebony
\nwindowframe!’ And so the little girl really did grow up; her skin was as
\nwhite as snow, her cheeks as rosy as the blood, and her hair as black as
\nebony; and she was called Snowdrop.<\/p>\n
But this queen died; and the king soon married another wife, who became
\nqueen, and was very beautiful, but so vain that she could not bear to
\nthink that anyone could be handsomer than she was. She had a fairy
\nlooking-glass, to which she used to go, and then she would gaze upon
\nherself in it, and say:<\/p>\n
 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\r\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\r\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And the glass had always answered:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all the land.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
But Snowdrop grew more and more beautiful; and when she was seven years
\nold she was as bright as the day, and fairer than the queen herself. Then
\nthe glass one day answered the queen, when she went to look in it as
\nusual:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, queen, art fair, and beauteous to see,\r\n  But Snowdrop is lovelier far than thee!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
When she heard this she turned pale with rage and envy, and called to one
\nof her servants, and said, ‘Take Snowdrop away into the wide wood, that I
\nmay never see her any more.’ Then the servant led her away; but his heart
\nmelted when Snowdrop begged him to spare her life, and he said, ‘I will
\nnot hurt you, thou pretty child.’ So he left her by herself; and though he
\nthought it most likely that the wild beasts would tear her in pieces, he
\nfelt as if a great weight were taken off his heart when he had made up his
\nmind not to kill her but to leave her to her fate, with the chance of
\nsomeone finding and saving her.<\/p>\n
Then poor Snowdrop wandered along through the wood in great fear; and the
\nwild beasts roared about her, but none did her any harm. In the evening
\nshe came to a cottage among the hills, and went in to rest, for her little
\nfeet would carry her no further. Everything was spruce and neat in the
\ncottage: on the table was spread a white cloth, and there were seven
\nlittle plates, seven little loaves, and seven little glasses with wine in
\nthem; and seven knives and forks laid in order; and by the wall stood
\nseven little beds. As she was very hungry, she picked a little piece of
\neach loaf and drank a very little wine out of each glass; and after that
\nshe thought she would lie down and rest. So she tried all the little beds;
\nbut one was too long, and another was too short, till at last the seventh
\nsuited her: and there she laid herself down and went to sleep.<\/p>\n
By and by in came the masters of the cottage. Now they were seven little
\ndwarfs, that lived among the mountains, and dug and searched for gold.
\nThey lighted up their seven lamps, and saw at once that all was not right.
\nThe first said, ‘Who has been sitting on my stool?’ The second, ‘Who has
\nbeen eating off my plate?’ The third, ‘Who has been picking my bread?’ The
\nfourth, ‘Who has been meddling with my spoon?’ The fifth, ‘Who has been
\nhandling my fork?’ The sixth, ‘Who has been cutting with my knife?’ The
\nseventh, ‘Who has been drinking my wine?’ Then the first looked round and
\nsaid, ‘Who has been lying on my bed?’ And the rest came running to him,
\nand everyone cried out that somebody had been upon his bed. But the
\nseventh saw Snowdrop, and called all his brethren to come and see her; and
\nthey cried out with wonder and astonishment and brought their lamps to
\nlook at her, and said, ‘Good heavens! what a lovely child she is!’ And
\nthey were very glad to see her, and took care not to wake her; and the
\nseventh dwarf slept an hour with each of the other dwarfs in turn, till
\nthe night was gone.<\/p>\n
In the morning Snowdrop told them all her story; and they pitied her, and
\nsaid if she would keep all things in order, and cook and wash and knit and
\nspin for them, she might stay where she was, and they would take good care
\nof her. Then they went out all day long to their work, seeking for gold
\nand silver in the mountains: but Snowdrop was left at home; and they
\nwarned her, and said, ‘The queen will soon find out where you are, so take
\ncare and let no one in.’<\/p>\n
But the queen, now that she thought Snowdrop was dead, believed that she
\nmust be the handsomest lady in the land; and she went to her glass and
\nsaid:<\/p>\n
 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\r\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\r\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And the glass answered:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:\r\n  But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,\r\n  Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,\r\n  There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she\r\n  Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the queen was very much frightened; for she knew that the glass
\nalways spoke the truth, and was sure that the servant had betrayed her.
\nAnd she could not bear to think that anyone lived who was more beautiful
\nthan she was; so she dressed herself up as an old pedlar, and went her way
\nover the hills, to the place where the dwarfs dwelt. Then she knocked at
\nthe door, and cried, ‘Fine wares to sell!’ Snowdrop looked out at the
\nwindow, and said, ‘Good day, good woman! what have you to sell?’ ‘Good
\nwares, fine wares,’ said she; ‘laces and bobbins of all colours.’ ‘I will
\nlet the old lady in; she seems to be a very good sort of body,’ thought
\nSnowdrop, as she ran down and unbolted the door. ‘Bless me!’ said the old
\nwoman, ‘how badly your stays are laced! Let me lace them up with one of my
\nnice new laces.’ Snowdrop did not dream of any mischief; so she stood
\nbefore the old woman; but she set to work so nimbly, and pulled the lace
\nso tight, that Snowdrop’s breath was stopped, and she fell down as if she
\nwere dead. ‘There’s an end to all thy beauty,’ said the spiteful queen,
\nand went away home.<\/p>\n
In the evening the seven dwarfs came home; and I need not say how grieved
\nthey were to see their faithful Snowdrop stretched out upon the ground, as
\nif she was quite dead. However, they lifted her up, and when they found
\nwhat ailed her, they cut the lace; and in a little time she began to
\nbreathe, and very soon came to life again. Then they said, ‘The old woman
\nwas the queen herself; take care another time, and let no one in when we
\nare away.’<\/p>\n
When the queen got home, she went straight to her glass, and spoke to it
\nas before; but to her great grief it still said:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, queen, art the fairest in all this land:\r\n  But over the hills, in the greenwood shade,\r\n  Where the seven dwarfs their dwelling have made,\r\n  There Snowdrop is hiding her head; and she\r\n  Is lovelier far, O queen! than thee.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the blood ran cold in her heart with spite and malice, to see that
\nSnowdrop still lived; and she dressed herself up again, but in quite
\nanother dress from the one she wore before, and took with her a poisoned
\ncomb. When she reached the dwarfs’ cottage, she knocked at the door, and
\ncried, ‘Fine wares to sell!’ But Snowdrop said, ‘I dare not let anyone
\nin.’ Then the queen said, ‘Only look at my beautiful combs!’ and gave her
\nthe poisoned one. And it looked so pretty, that she took it up and put it
\ninto her hair to try it; but the moment it touched her head, the poison
\nwas so powerful that she fell down senseless. ‘There you may lie,’ said
\nthe queen, and went her way. But by good luck the dwarfs came in very
\nearly that evening; and when they saw Snowdrop lying on the ground, they
\nthought what had happened, and soon found the poisoned comb. And when they
\ntook it away she got well, and told them all that had passed; and they
\nwarned her once more not to open the door to anyone.<\/p>\n
Meantime the queen went home to her glass, and shook with rage when she
\nread the very same answer as before; and she said, ‘Snowdrop shall die, if
\nit cost me my life.’ So she went by herself into her chamber, and got
\nready a poisoned apple: the outside looked very rosy and tempting, but
\nwhoever tasted it was sure to die. Then she dressed herself up as a
\npeasant’s wife, and travelled over the hills to the dwarfs’ cottage, and
\nknocked at the door; but Snowdrop put her head out of the window and said,
\n‘I dare not let anyone in, for the dwarfs have told me not.’ ‘Do as you
\nplease,’ said the old woman, ‘but at any rate take this pretty apple; I
\nwill give it you.’ ‘No,’ said Snowdrop, ‘I dare not take it.’ ‘You silly
\ngirl!’ answered the other, ‘what are you afraid of? Do you think it is
\npoisoned? Come! do you eat one part, and I will eat the other.’ Now the
\napple was so made up that one side was good, though the other side was
\npoisoned. Then Snowdrop was much tempted to taste, for the apple looked so
\nvery nice; and when she saw the old woman eat, she could wait no longer.
\nBut she had scarcely put the piece into her mouth, when she fell down dead
\nupon the ground. ‘This time nothing will save thee,’ said the queen; and
\nshe went home to her glass, and at last it said:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, queen, art the fairest of all the fair.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And then her wicked heart was glad, and as happy as such a heart could be.<\/p>\n
When evening came, and the dwarfs had gone home, they found Snowdrop lying
\non the ground: no breath came from her lips, and they were afraid that she
\nwas quite dead. They lifted her up, and combed her hair, and washed her
\nface with wine and water; but all was in vain, for the little girl seemed
\nquite dead. So they laid her down upon a bier, and all seven watched and
\nbewailed her three whole days; and then they thought they would bury her:
\nbut her cheeks were still rosy; and her face looked just as it did while
\nshe was alive; so they said, ‘We will never bury her in the cold ground.’
\nAnd they made a coffin of glass, so that they might still look at her, and
\nwrote upon it in golden letters what her name was, and that she was a
\nking’s daughter. And the coffin was set among the hills, and one of the
\ndwarfs always sat by it and watched. And the birds of the air came too,
\nand bemoaned Snowdrop; and first of all came an owl, and then a raven, and
\nat last a dove, and sat by her side.<\/p>\n
And thus Snowdrop lay for a long, long time, and still only looked as
\nthough she was asleep; for she was even now as white as snow, and as red
\nas blood, and as black as ebony. At last a prince came and called at the
\ndwarfs’ house; and he saw Snowdrop, and read what was written in golden
\nletters. Then he offered the dwarfs money, and prayed and besought them to
\nlet him take her away; but they said, ‘We will not part with her for all
\nthe gold in the world.’ At last, however, they had pity on him, and gave
\nhim the coffin; but the moment he lifted it up to carry it home with him,
\nthe piece of apple fell from between her lips, and Snowdrop awoke, and
\nsaid, ‘Where am I?’ And the prince said, ‘Thou art quite safe with me.’<\/p>\n
Then he told her all that had happened, and said, ‘I love you far better
\nthan all the world; so come with me to my father’s palace, and you shall
\nbe my wife.’ And Snowdrop consented, and went home with the prince; and
\neverything was got ready with great pomp and splendour for their wedding.<\/p>\n
To the feast was asked, among the rest, Snowdrop’s old enemy the queen;
\nand as she was dressing herself in fine rich clothes, she looked in the
\nglass and said:<\/p>\n
 'Tell me, glass, tell me true!\r\n  Of all the ladies in the land,\r\n  Who is fairest, tell me, who?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And the glass answered:<\/p>\n
 'Thou, lady, art loveliest here, I ween;\r\n  But lovelier far is the new-made queen.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
When she heard this she started with rage; but her envy and curiosity were
\nso great, that she could not help setting out to see the bride. And when
\nshe got there, and saw that it was no other than Snowdrop, who, as she
\nthought, had been dead a long while, she choked with rage, and fell down
\nand died: but Snowdrop and the prince lived and reigned happily over that
\nland many, many years; and sometimes they went up into the mountains, and
\npaid a visit to the little dwarfs, who had been so kind to Snowdrop in her
\ntime of need.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE PINK<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time a queen to whom God had given no children.
\nEvery morning she went into the garden and prayed to God in heaven to
\nbestow on her a son or a daughter. Then an angel from heaven came to her
\nand said: ‘Be at rest, you shall have a son with the power of wishing, so
\nthat whatsoever in the world he wishes for, that shall he have.’ Then she
\nwent to the king, and told him the joyful tidings, and when the time was
\ncome she gave birth to a son, and the king was filled with gladness.<\/p>\n
Every morning she went with the child to the garden where the wild beasts
\nwere kept, and washed herself there in a clear stream. It happened once
\nwhen the child was a little older, that it was lying in her arms and she
\nfell asleep. Then came the old cook, who knew that the child had the power
\nof wishing, and stole it away, and he took a hen, and cut it in pieces,
\nand dropped some of its blood on the queen’s apron and on her dress. Then
\nhe carried the child away to a secret place, where a nurse was obliged to
\nsuckle it, and he ran to the king and accused the queen of having allowed
\nher child to be taken from her by the wild beasts. When the king saw the
\nblood on her apron, he believed this, fell into such a passion that he
\nordered a high tower to be built, in which neither sun nor moon could be
\nseen and had his wife put into it, and walled up. Here she was to stay for
\nseven years without meat or drink, and die of hunger. But God sent two
\nangels from heaven in the shape of white doves, which flew to her twice a
\nday, and carried her food until the seven years were over.<\/p>\n
The cook, however, thought to himself: ‘If the child has the power of
\nwishing, and I am here, he might very easily get me into trouble.’ So he
\nleft the palace and went to the boy, who was already big enough to speak,
\nand said to him: ‘Wish for a beautiful palace for yourself with a garden,
\nand all else that pertains to it.’ Scarcely were the words out of the
\nboy’s mouth, when everything was there that he had wished for. After a
\nwhile the cook said to him: ‘It is not well for you to be so alone, wish
\nfor a pretty girl as a companion.’ Then the king’s son wished for one, and
\nshe immediately stood before him, and was more beautiful than any painter
\ncould have painted her. The two played together, and loved each other with
\nall their hearts, and the old cook went out hunting like a nobleman. The
\nthought occurred to him, however, that the king’s son might some day wish
\nto be with his father, and thus bring him into great peril. So he went out
\nand took the maiden aside, and said: ‘Tonight when the boy is asleep, go
\nto his bed and plunge this knife into his heart, and bring me his heart
\nand tongue, and if you do not do it, you shall lose your life.’ Thereupon
\nhe went away, and when he returned next day she had not done it, and said:
\n‘Why should I shed the blood of an innocent boy who has never harmed
\nanyone?’ The cook once more said: ‘If you do not do it, it shall cost you
\nyour own life.’ When he had gone away, she had a little hind brought to
\nher, and ordered her to be killed, and took her heart and tongue, and laid
\nthem on a plate, and when she saw the old man coming, she said to the boy:
\n‘Lie down in your bed, and draw the clothes over you.’ Then the wicked
\nwretch came in and said: ‘Where are the boy’s heart and tongue?’ The girl
\nreached the plate to him, but the king’s son threw off the quilt, and
\nsaid: ‘You old sinner, why did you want to kill me? Now will I pronounce
\nthy sentence. You shall become a black poodle and have a gold collar round
\nyour neck, and shall eat burning coals, till the flames burst forth from
\nyour throat.’ And when he had spoken these words, the old man was changed
\ninto a poodle dog, and had a gold collar round his neck, and the cooks
\nwere ordered to bring up some live coals, and these he ate, until the
\nflames broke forth from his throat. The king’s son remained there a short
\nwhile longer, and he thought of his mother, and wondered if she were still
\nalive. At length he said to the maiden: ‘I will go home to my own country;
\nif you will go with me, I will provide for you.’ ‘Ah,’ she replied, ‘the
\nway is so long, and what shall I do in a strange land where I am unknown?’
\nAs she did not seem quite willing, and as they could not be parted from
\neach other, he wished that she might be changed into a beautiful pink, and
\ntook her with him. Then he went away to his own country, and the poodle
\nhad to run after him. He went to the tower in which his mother was
\nconfined, and as it was so high, he wished for a ladder which would reach
\nup to the very top. Then he mounted up and looked inside, and cried:
\n‘Beloved mother, Lady Queen, are you still alive, or are you dead?’ She
\nanswered: ‘I have just eaten, and am still satisfied,’ for she thought the
\nangels were there. Said he: ‘I am your dear son, whom the wild beasts were
\nsaid to have torn from your arms; but I am alive still, and will soon set
\nyou free.’ Then he descended again, and went to his father, and caused
\nhimself to be announced as a strange huntsman, and asked if he could offer
\nhim service. The king said yes, if he was skilful and could get game for
\nhim, he should come to him, but that deer had never taken up their
\nquarters in any part of the district or country. Then the huntsman
\npromised to procure as much game for him as he could possibly use at the
\nroyal table. So he summoned all the huntsmen together, and bade them go
\nout into the forest with him. And he went with them and made them form a
\ngreat circle, open at one end where he stationed himself, and began to
\nwish. Two hundred deer and more came running inside the circle at once,
\nand the huntsmen shot them. Then they were all placed on sixty country
\ncarts, and driven home to the king, and for once he was able to deck his
\ntable with game, after having had none at all for years.<\/p>\n
Now the king felt great joy at this, and commanded that his entire
\nhousehold should eat with him next day, and made a great feast. When they
\nwere all assembled together, he said to the huntsman: ‘As you are so
\nclever, you shall sit by me.’ He replied: ‘Lord King, your majesty must
\nexcuse me, I am a poor huntsman.’ But the king insisted on it, and said:
\n‘You shall sit by me,’ until he did it. Whilst he was sitting there, he
\nthought of his dearest mother, and wished that one of the king’s principal
\nservants would begin to speak of her, and would ask how it was faring with
\nthe queen in the tower, and if she were alive still, or had perished.
\nHardly had he formed the wish than the marshal began, and said: ‘Your
\nmajesty, we live joyously here, but how is the queen living in the tower?
\nIs she still alive, or has she died?’ But the king replied: ‘She let my
\ndear son be torn to pieces by wild beasts; I will not have her named.’
\nThen the huntsman arose and said: ‘Gracious lord father she is alive
\nstill, and I am her son, and I was not carried away by wild beasts, but by
\nthat wretch the old cook, who tore me from her arms when she was asleep,
\nand sprinkled her apron with the blood of a chicken.’ Thereupon he took
\nthe dog with the golden collar, and said: ‘That is the wretch!’ and caused
\nlive coals to be brought, and these the dog was compelled to devour before
\nthe sight of all, until flames burst forth from its throat. On this the
\nhuntsman asked the king if he would like to see the dog in his true shape,
\nand wished him back into the form of the cook, in the which he stood
\nimmediately, with his white apron, and his knife by his side. When the
\nking saw him he fell into a passion, and ordered him to be cast into the
\ndeepest dungeon. Then the huntsman spoke further and said: ‘Father, will
\nyou see the maiden who brought me up so tenderly and who was afterwards to
\nmurder me, but did not do it, though her own life depended on it?’ The
\nking replied: ‘Yes, I would like to see her.’ The son said: ‘Most gracious
\nfather, I will show her to you in the form of a beautiful flower,’ and he
\nthrust his hand into his pocket and brought forth the pink, and placed it
\non the royal table, and it was so beautiful that the king had never seen
\none to equal it. Then the son said: ‘Now will I show her to you in her own
\nform,’ and wished that she might become a maiden, and she stood there
\nlooking so beautiful that no painter could have made her look more so.<\/p>\n
And the king sent two waiting-maids and two attendants into the tower, to
\nfetch the queen and bring her to the royal table. But when she was led in
\nshe ate nothing, and said: ‘The gracious and merciful God who has
\nsupported me in the tower, will soon set me free.’ She lived three days
\nmore, and then died happily, and when she was buried, the two white doves
\nwhich had brought her food to the tower, and were angels of heaven,
\nfollowed her body and seated themselves on her grave. The aged king
\nordered the cook to be torn in four pieces, but grief consumed the king’s
\nown heart, and he soon died. His son married the beautiful maiden whom he
\nhad brought with him as a flower in his pocket, and whether they are still
\nalive or not, is known to God.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
CLEVER ELSIE<\/h2>\n
There was once a man who had a daughter who was called Clever Elsie. And
\nwhen she had grown up her father said: ‘We will get her married.’ ‘Yes,’
\nsaid the mother, ‘if only someone would come who would have her.’ At
\nlength a man came from a distance and wooed her, who was called Hans; but
\nhe stipulated that Clever Elsie should be really smart. ‘Oh,’ said the
\nfather, ‘she has plenty of good sense’; and the mother said: ‘Oh, she can
\nsee the wind coming up the street, and hear the flies coughing.’ ‘Well,’
\nsaid Hans, ‘if she is not really smart, I won’t have her.’ When they were
\nsitting at dinner and had eaten, the mother said: ‘Elsie, go into the
\ncellar and fetch some beer.’ Then Clever Elsie took the pitcher from the
\nwall, went into the cellar, and tapped the lid briskly as she went, so
\nthat the time might not appear long. When she was below she fetched
\nherself a chair, and set it before the barrel so that she had no need to
\nstoop, and did not hurt her back or do herself any unexpected injury. Then
\nshe placed the can before her, and turned the tap, and while the beer was
\nrunning she would not let her eyes be idle, but looked up at the wall, and
\nafter much peering here and there, saw a pick-axe exactly above her, which
\nthe masons had accidentally left there.<\/p>\n
Then Clever Elsie began to weep and said: ‘If I get Hans, and we have a
\nchild, and he grows big, and we send him into the cellar here to draw
\nbeer, then the pick-axe will fall on his head and kill him.’ Then she sat
\nand wept and screamed with all the strength of her body, over the
\nmisfortune which lay before her. Those upstairs waited for the drink, but
\nClever Elsie still did not come. Then the woman said to the servant: ‘Just
\ngo down into the cellar and see where Elsie is.’ The maid went and found
\nher sitting in front of the barrel, screaming loudly. ‘Elsie why do you
\nweep?’ asked the maid. ‘Ah,’ she answered, ‘have I not reason to weep? If
\nI get Hans, and we have a child, and he grows big, and has to draw beer
\nhere, the pick-axe will perhaps fall on his head, and kill him.’ Then said
\nthe maid: ‘What a clever Elsie we have!’ and sat down beside her and began
\nloudly to weep over the misfortune. After a while, as the maid did not
\ncome back, and those upstairs were thirsty for the beer, the man said to
\nthe boy: ‘Just go down into the cellar and see where Elsie and the girl
\nare.’ The boy went down, and there sat Clever Elsie and the girl both
\nweeping together. Then he asked: ‘Why are you weeping?’ ‘Ah,’ said Elsie,
\n‘have I not reason to weep? If I get Hans, and we have a child, and he
\ngrows big, and has to draw beer here, the pick-axe will fall on his head
\nand kill him.’ Then said the boy: ‘What a clever Elsie we have!’ and sat
\ndown by her, and likewise began to howl loudly. Upstairs they waited for
\nthe boy, but as he still did not return, the man said to the woman: ‘Just
\ngo down into the cellar and see where Elsie is!’ The woman went down, and
\nfound all three in the midst of their lamentations, and inquired what was
\nthe cause; then Elsie told her also that her future child was to be killed
\nby the pick-axe, when it grew big and had to draw beer, and the pick-axe
\nfell down. Then said the mother likewise: ‘What a clever Elsie we have!’
\nand sat down and wept with them. The man upstairs waited a short time, but
\nas his wife did not come back and his thirst grew ever greater, he said:
\n‘I must go into the cellar myself and see where Elsie is.’ But when he got
\ninto the cellar, and they were all sitting together crying, and he heard
\nthe reason, and that Elsie’s child was the cause, and the Elsie might
\nperhaps bring one into the world some day, and that he might be killed by
\nthe pick-axe, if he should happen to be sitting beneath it, drawing beer
\njust at the very time when it fell down, he cried: ‘Oh, what a clever
\nElsie!’ and sat down, and likewise wept with them. The bridegroom stayed
\nupstairs alone for a long time; then as no one would come back he thought:
\n‘They must be waiting for me below: I too must go there and see what they
\nare about.’ When he got down, the five of them were sitting screaming and
\nlamenting quite piteously, each out-doing the other. ‘What misfortune has
\nhappened then?’ asked he. ‘Ah, dear Hans,’ said Elsie, ‘if we marry each
\nother and have a child, and he is big, and we perhaps send him here to
\ndraw something to drink, then the pick-axe which has been left up there
\nmight dash his brains out if it were to fall down, so have we not reason
\nto weep?’ ‘Come,’ said Hans, ‘more understanding than that is not needed
\nfor my household, as you are such a clever Elsie, I will have you,’ and
\nseized her hand, took her upstairs with him, and married her.<\/p>\n
After Hans had had her some time, he said: ‘Wife, I am going out to work
\nand earn some money for us; go into the field and cut the corn that we may
\nhave some bread.’ ‘Yes, dear Hans, I will do that.’ After Hans had gone
\naway, she cooked herself some good broth and took it into the field with
\nher. When she came to the field she said to herself: ‘What shall I do;
\nshall I cut first, or shall I eat first? Oh, I will eat first.’ Then she
\ndrank her cup of broth and when she was fully satisfied, she once more
\nsaid: ‘What shall I do? Shall I cut first, or shall I sleep first? I will
\nsleep first.’ Then she lay down among the corn and fell asleep. Hans had
\nbeen at home for a long time, but Elsie did not come; then said he: ‘What
\na clever Elsie I have; she is so industrious that she does not even come
\nhome to eat.’ But when evening came and she still stayed away, Hans went
\nout to see what she had cut, but nothing was cut, and she was lying among
\nthe corn asleep. Then Hans hastened home and brought a fowler’s net with
\nlittle bells and hung it round about her, and she still went on sleeping.
\nThen he ran home, shut the house-door, and sat down in his chair and
\nworked. At length, when it was quite dark, Clever Elsie awoke and when she
\ngot up there was a jingling all round about her, and the bells rang at
\neach step which she took. Then she was alarmed, and became uncertain
\nwhether she really was Clever Elsie or not, and said: ‘Is it I, or is it
\nnot I?’ But she knew not what answer to make to this, and stood for a time
\nin doubt; at length she thought: ‘I will go home and ask if it be I, or if
\nit be not I, they will be sure to know.’ She ran to the door of her own
\nhouse, but it was shut; then she knocked at the window and cried: ‘Hans,
\nis Elsie within?’ ‘Yes,’ answered Hans, ‘she is within.’ Hereupon she was
\nterrified, and said: ‘Ah, heavens! Then it is not I,’ and went to another
\ndoor; but when the people heard the jingling of the bells they would not
\nopen it, and she could get in nowhere. Then she ran out of the village,
\nand no one has seen her since.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE MISER IN THE BUSH<\/h2>\n
A farmer had a faithful and diligent servant, who had worked hard for him
\nthree years, without having been paid any wages. At last it came into the
\nman’s head that he would not go on thus without pay any longer; so he went
\nto his master, and said, ‘I have worked hard for you a long time, I will
\ntrust to you to give me what I deserve to have for my trouble.’ The farmer
\nwas a sad miser, and knew that his man was very simple-hearted; so he took
\nout threepence, and gave him for every year’s service a penny. The poor
\nfellow thought it was a great deal of money to have, and said to himself,
\n‘Why should I work hard, and live here on bad fare any longer? I can now
\ntravel into the wide world, and make myself merry.’ With that he put his
\nmoney into his purse, and set out, roaming over hill and valley.<\/p>\n
As he jogged along over the fields, singing and dancing, a little dwarf
\nmet him, and asked him what made him so merry. ‘Why, what should make me
\ndown-hearted?’ said he; ‘I am sound in health and rich in purse, what
\nshould I care for? I have saved up my three years’ earnings and have it
\nall safe in my pocket.’ ‘How much may it come to?’ said the little man.
\n‘Full threepence,’ replied the countryman. ‘I wish you would give them to
\nme,’ said the other; ‘I am very poor.’ Then the man pitied him, and gave
\nhim all he had; and the little dwarf said in return, ‘As you have such a
\nkind honest heart, I will grant you three wishes\u2014one for every
\npenny; so choose whatever you like.’ Then the countryman rejoiced at his
\ngood luck, and said, ‘I like many things better than money: first, I will
\nhave a bow that will bring down everything I shoot at; secondly, a fiddle
\nthat will set everyone dancing that hears me play upon it; and thirdly, I
\nshould like that everyone should grant what I ask.’ The dwarf said he
\nshould have his three wishes; so he gave him the bow and fiddle, and went
\nhis way.<\/p>\n
Our honest friend journeyed on his way too; and if he was merry before, he
\nwas now ten times more so. He had not gone far before he met an old miser:
\nclose by them stood a tree, and on the topmost twig sat a thrush singing
\naway most joyfully. ‘Oh, what a pretty bird!’ said the miser; ‘I would
\ngive a great deal of money to have such a one.’ ‘If that’s all,’ said the
\ncountryman, ‘I will soon bring it down.’ Then he took up his bow, and down
\nfell the thrush into the bushes at the foot of the tree. The miser crept
\ninto the bush to find it; but directly he had got into the middle, his
\ncompanion took up his fiddle and played away, and the miser began to dance
\nand spring about, capering higher and higher in the air. The thorns soon
\nbegan to tear his clothes till they all hung in rags about him, and he
\nhimself was all scratched and wounded, so that the blood ran down. ‘Oh,
\nfor heaven’s sake!’ cried the miser, ‘Master! master! pray let the fiddle
\nalone. What have I done to deserve this?’ ‘Thou hast shaved many a poor
\nsoul close enough,’ said the other; ‘thou art only meeting thy reward’: so
\nhe played up another tune. Then the miser began to beg and promise, and
\noffered money for his liberty; but he did not come up to the musician’s
\nprice for some time, and he danced him along brisker and brisker, and the
\nmiser bid higher and higher, till at last he offered a round hundred of
\nflorins that he had in his purse, and had just gained by cheating some
\npoor fellow. When the countryman saw so much money, he said, ‘I will agree
\nto your proposal.’ So he took the purse, put up his fiddle, and travelled
\non very pleased with his bargain.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile the miser crept out of the bush half-naked and in a piteous
\nplight, and began to ponder how he should take his revenge, and serve his
\nlate companion some trick. At last he went to the judge, and complained
\nthat a rascal had robbed him of his money, and beaten him into the
\nbargain; and that the fellow who did it carried a bow at his back and a
\nfiddle hung round his neck. Then the judge sent out his officers to bring
\nup the accused wherever they should find him; and he was soon caught and
\nbrought up to be tried.<\/p>\n
The miser began to tell his tale, and said he had been robbed of his
\nmoney. ‘No, you gave it me for playing a tune to you.’ said the
\ncountryman; but the judge told him that was not likely, and cut the matter
\nshort by ordering him off to the gallows.<\/p>\n
So away he was taken; but as he stood on the steps he said, ‘My Lord
\nJudge, grant me one last request.’ ‘Anything but thy life,’ replied the
\nother. ‘No,’ said he, ‘I do not ask my life; only to let me play upon my
\nfiddle for the last time.’ The miser cried out, ‘Oh, no! no! for heaven’s
\nsake don’t listen to him! don’t listen to him!’ But the judge said, ‘It is
\nonly this once, he will soon have done.’ The fact was, he could not refuse
\nthe request, on account of the dwarf’s third gift.<\/p>\n
Then the miser said, ‘Bind me fast, bind me fast, for pity’s sake.’ But
\nthe countryman seized his fiddle, and struck up a tune, and at the first
\nnote judge, clerks, and jailer were in motion; all began capering, and no
\none could hold the miser. At the second note the hangman let his prisoner
\ngo, and danced also, and by the time he had played the first bar of the
\ntune, all were dancing together\u2014judge, court, and miser, and all the
\npeople who had followed to look on. At first the thing was merry and
\npleasant enough; but when it had gone on a while, and there seemed to be
\nno end of playing or dancing, they began to cry out, and beg him to leave
\noff; but he stopped not a whit the more for their entreaties, till the
\njudge not only gave him his life, but promised to return him the hundred
\nflorins.<\/p>\n
Then he called to the miser, and said, ‘Tell us now, you vagabond, where
\nyou got that gold, or I shall play on for your amusement only,’ ‘I stole
\nit,’ said the miser in the presence of all the people; ‘I acknowledge that
\nI stole it, and that you earned it fairly.’ Then the countryman stopped
\nhis fiddle, and left the miser to take his place at the gallows.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
ASHPUTTEL<\/h2>\n
The wife of a rich man fell sick; and when she felt that her end drew
\nnigh, she called her only daughter to her bed-side, and said, ‘Always be a
\ngood girl, and I will look down from heaven and watch over you.’ Soon
\nafterwards she shut her eyes and died, and was buried in the garden; and
\nthe little girl went every day to her grave and wept, and was always good
\nand kind to all about her. And the snow fell and spread a beautiful white
\ncovering over the grave; but by the time the spring came, and the sun had
\nmelted it away again, her father had married another wife. This new wife
\nhad two daughters of her own, that she brought home with her; they were
\nfair in face but foul at heart, and it was now a sorry time for the poor
\nlittle girl. ‘What does the good-for-nothing want in the parlour?’ said
\nthey; ‘they who would eat bread should first earn it; away with the
\nkitchen-maid!’ Then they took away her fine clothes, and gave her an old
\ngrey frock to put on, and laughed at her, and turned her into the kitchen.<\/p>\n
There she was forced to do hard work; to rise early before daylight, to
\nbring the water, to make the fire, to cook and to wash. Besides that, the
\nsisters plagued her in all sorts of ways, and laughed at her. In the
\nevening when she was tired, she had no bed to lie down on, but was made to
\nlie by the hearth among the ashes; and as this, of course, made her always
\ndusty and dirty, they called her Ashputtel.<\/p>\n
It happened once that the father was going to the fair, and asked his
\nwife’s daughters what he should bring them. ‘Fine clothes,’ said the
\nfirst; ‘Pearls and diamonds,’ cried the second. ‘Now, child,’ said he to
\nhis own daughter, ‘what will you have?’ ‘The first twig, dear father, that
\nbrushes against your hat when you turn your face to come homewards,’ said
\nshe. Then he bought for the first two the fine clothes and pearls and
\ndiamonds they had asked for: and on his way home, as he rode through a
\ngreen copse, a hazel twig brushed against him, and almost pushed off his
\nhat: so he broke it off and brought it away; and when he got home he gave
\nit to his daughter. Then she took it, and went to her mother’s grave and
\nplanted it there; and cried so much that it was watered with her tears;
\nand there it grew and became a fine tree. Three times every day she went
\nto it and cried; and soon a little bird came and built its nest upon the
\ntree, and talked with her, and watched over her, and brought her whatever
\nshe wished for.<\/p>\n
Now it happened that the king of that land held a feast, which was to last
\nthree days; and out of those who came to it his son was to choose a bride
\nfor himself. Ashputtel’s two sisters were asked to come; so they called
\nher up, and said, ‘Now, comb our hair, brush our shoes, and tie our sashes
\nfor us, for we are going to dance at the king’s feast.’ Then she did as
\nshe was told; but when all was done she could not help crying, for she
\nthought to herself, she should so have liked to have gone with them to the
\nball; and at last she begged her mother very hard to let her go. ‘You,
\nAshputtel!’ said she; ‘you who have nothing to wear, no clothes at all,
\nand who cannot even dance\u2014you want to go to the ball? And when she
\nkept on begging, she said at last, to get rid of her, ‘I will throw this
\ndishful of peas into the ash-heap, and if in two hours’ time you have
\npicked them all out, you shall go to the feast too.’<\/p>\n
Then she threw the peas down among the ashes, but the little maiden ran
\nout at the back door into the garden, and cried out:<\/p>\n
 'Hither, hither, through the sky,\r\n  Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!\r\n  Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,\r\n  Hither, hither, haste away!\r\n  One and all come help me, quick!\r\n  Haste ye, haste ye!\u2014pick, pick, pick!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then first came two white doves, flying in at the kitchen window; next
\ncame two turtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under
\nheaven, chirping and fluttering in: and they flew down into the ashes. And
\nthe little doves stooped their heads down and set to work, pick, pick,
\npick; and then the others began to pick, pick, pick: and among them all
\nthey soon picked out all the good grain, and put it into a dish but left
\nthe ashes. Long before the end of the hour the work was quite done, and
\nall flew out again at the windows.<\/p>\n
Then Ashputtel brought the dish to her mother, overjoyed at the thought
\nthat now she should go to the ball. But the mother said, ‘No, no! you
\nslut, you have no clothes, and cannot dance; you shall not go.’ And when
\nAshputtel begged very hard to go, she said, ‘If you can in one hour’s time
\npick two of those dishes of peas out of the ashes, you shall go too.’ And
\nthus she thought she should at least get rid of her. So she shook two
\ndishes of peas into the ashes.<\/p>\n
But the little maiden went out into the garden at the back of the house,
\nand cried out as before:<\/p>\n
 'Hither, hither, through the sky,\r\n  Turtle-doves and linnets, fly!\r\n  Blackbird, thrush, and chaffinch gay,\r\n  Hither, hither, haste away!\r\n  One and all come help me, quick!\r\n  Haste ye, haste ye!\u2014pick, pick, pick!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then first came two white doves in at the kitchen window; next came two
\nturtle-doves; and after them came all the little birds under heaven,
\nchirping and hopping about. And they flew down into the ashes; and the
\nlittle doves put their heads down and set to work, pick, pick, pick; and
\nthen the others began pick, pick, pick; and they put all the good grain
\ninto the dishes, and left all the ashes. Before half an hour’s time all
\nwas done, and out they flew again. And then Ashputtel took the dishes to
\nher mother, rejoicing to think that she should now go to the ball. But her
\nmother said, ‘It is all of no use, you cannot go; you have no clothes, and
\ncannot dance, and you would only put us to shame’: and off she went with
\nher two daughters to the ball.<\/p>\n
Now when all were gone, and nobody left at home, Ashputtel went
\nsorrowfully and sat down under the hazel-tree, and cried out:<\/p>\n
 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\r\n  Gold and silver over me!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then her friend the bird flew out of the tree, and brought a gold and
\nsilver dress for her, and slippers of spangled silk; and she put them on,
\nand followed her sisters to the feast. But they did not know her, and
\nthought it must be some strange princess, she looked so fine and beautiful
\nin her rich clothes; and they never once thought of Ashputtel, taking it
\nfor granted that she was safe at home in the dirt.<\/p>\n
The king’s son soon came up to her, and took her by the hand and danced
\nwith her, and no one else: and he never left her hand; but when anyone
\nelse came to ask her to dance, he said, ‘This lady is dancing with me.’<\/p>\n
Thus they danced till a late hour of the night; and then she wanted to go
\nhome: and the king’s son said, ‘I shall go and take care of you to your
\nhome’; for he wanted to see where the beautiful maiden lived. But she
\nslipped away from him, unawares, and ran off towards home; and as the
\nprince followed her, she jumped up into the pigeon-house and shut the
\ndoor. Then he waited till her father came home, and told him that the
\nunknown maiden, who had been at the feast, had hid herself in the
\npigeon-house. But when they had broken open the door they found no one
\nwithin; and as they came back into the house, Ashputtel was lying, as she
\nalways did, in her dirty frock by the ashes, and her dim little lamp was
\nburning in the chimney. For she had run as quickly as she could through
\nthe pigeon-house and on to the hazel-tree, and had there taken off her
\nbeautiful clothes, and put them beneath the tree, that the bird might
\ncarry them away, and had lain down again amid the ashes in her little grey
\nfrock.<\/p>\n
The next day when the feast was again held, and her father, mother, and
\nsisters were gone, Ashputtel went to the hazel-tree, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\r\n  Gold and silver over me!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And the bird came and brought a still finer dress than the one she had
\nworn the day before. And when she came in it to the ball, everyone
\nwondered at her beauty: but the king’s son, who was waiting for her, took
\nher by the hand, and danced with her; and when anyone asked her to dance,
\nhe said as before, ‘This lady is dancing with me.’<\/p>\n
When night came she wanted to go home; and the king’s son followed here as
\nbefore, that he might see into what house she went: but she sprang away
\nfrom him all at once into the garden behind her father’s house. In this
\ngarden stood a fine large pear-tree full of ripe fruit; and Ashputtel, not
\nknowing where to hide herself, jumped up into it without being seen. Then
\nthe king’s son lost sight of her, and could not find out where she was
\ngone, but waited till her father came home, and said to him, ‘The unknown
\nlady who danced with me has slipped away, and I think she must have sprung
\ninto the pear-tree.’ The father thought to himself, ‘Can it be Ashputtel?’
\nSo he had an axe brought; and they cut down the tree, but found no one
\nupon it. And when they came back into the kitchen, there lay Ashputtel
\namong the ashes; for she had slipped down on the other side of the tree,
\nand carried her beautiful clothes back to the bird at the hazel-tree, and
\nthen put on her little grey frock.<\/p>\n
The third day, when her father and mother and sisters were gone, she went
\nagain into the garden, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Shake, shake, hazel-tree,\r\n  Gold and silver over me!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then her kind friend the bird brought a dress still finer than the former
\none, and slippers which were all of gold: so that when she came to the
\nfeast no one knew what to say, for wonder at her beauty: and the king’s
\nson danced with nobody but her; and when anyone else asked her to dance,
\nhe said, ‘This lady is my<\/i> partner, sir.’<\/p>\n
When night came she wanted to go home; and the king’s son would go with
\nher, and said to himself, ‘I will not lose her this time’; but, however,
\nshe again slipped away from him, though in such a hurry that she dropped
\nher left golden slipper upon the stairs.<\/p>\n
The prince took the shoe, and went the next day to the king his father,
\nand said, ‘I will take for my wife the lady that this golden slipper
\nfits.’ Then both the sisters were overjoyed to hear it; for they had
\nbeautiful feet, and had no doubt that they could wear the golden slipper.
\nThe eldest went first into the room where the slipper was, and wanted to
\ntry it on, and the mother stood by. But her great toe could not go into
\nit, and the shoe was altogether much too small for her. Then the mother
\ngave her a knife, and said, ‘Never mind, cut it off; when you are queen
\nyou will not care about toes; you will not want to walk.’ So the silly
\ngirl cut off her great toe, and thus squeezed on the shoe, and went to the
\nking’s son. Then he took her for his bride, and set her beside him on his
\nhorse, and rode away with her homewards.<\/p>\n
But on their way home they had to pass by the hazel-tree that Ashputtel
\nhad planted; and on the branch sat a little dove singing:<\/p>\n
 'Back again! back again! look to the shoe!\r\n  The shoe is too small, and not made for you!\r\n  Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,\r\n  For she's not the true one that sits by thy side.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the prince got down and looked at her foot; and he saw, by the blood
\nthat streamed from it, what a trick she had played him. So he turned his
\nhorse round, and brought the false bride back to her home, and said, ‘This
\nis not the right bride; let the other sister try and put on the slipper.’
\nThen she went into the room and got her foot into the shoe, all but the
\nheel, which was too large. But her mother squeezed it in till the blood
\ncame, and took her to the king’s son: and he set her as his bride by his
\nside on his horse, and rode away with her.<\/p>\n
But when they came to the hazel-tree the little dove sat there still, and
\nsang:<\/p>\n
 'Back again! back again! look to the shoe!\r\n  The shoe is too small, and not made for you!\r\n  Prince! prince! look again for thy bride,\r\n  For she's not the true one that sits by thy side.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then he looked down, and saw that the blood streamed so much from the
\nshoe, that her white stockings were quite red. So he turned his horse and
\nbrought her also back again. ‘This is not the true bride,’ said he to the
\nfather; ‘have you no other daughters?’ ‘No,’ said he; ‘there is only a
\nlittle dirty Ashputtel here, the child of my first wife; I am sure she
\ncannot be the bride.’ The prince told him to send her. But the mother
\nsaid, ‘No, no, she is much too dirty; she will not dare to show herself.’
\nHowever, the prince would have her come; and she first washed her face and
\nhands, and then went in and curtsied to him, and he reached her the golden
\nslipper. Then she took her clumsy shoe off her left foot, and put on the
\ngolden slipper; and it fitted her as if it had been made for her. And when
\nhe drew near and looked at her face he knew her, and said, ‘This is the
\nright bride.’ But the mother and both the sisters were frightened, and
\nturned pale with anger as he took Ashputtel on his horse, and rode away
\nwith her. And when they came to the hazel-tree, the white dove sang:<\/p>\n
 'Home! home! look at the shoe!\r\n  Princess! the shoe was made for you!\r\n  Prince! prince! take home thy bride,\r\n  For she is the true one that sits by thy side!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And when the dove had done its song, it came flying, and perched upon her
\nright shoulder, and so went home with her.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE WHITE SNAKE<\/h2>\n
A long time ago there lived a king who was famed for his wisdom through
\nall the land. Nothing was hidden from him, and it seemed as if news of the
\nmost secret things was brought to him through the air. But he had a
\nstrange custom; every day after dinner, when the table was cleared, and no
\none else was present, a trusty servant had to bring him one more dish. It
\nwas covered, however, and even the servant did not know what was in it,
\nneither did anyone know, for the king never took off the cover to eat of
\nit until he was quite alone.<\/p>\n
This had gone on for a long time, when one day the servant, who took away
\nthe dish, was overcome with such curiosity that he could not help carrying
\nthe dish into his room. When he had carefully locked the door, he lifted
\nup the cover, and saw a white snake lying on the dish. But when he saw it
\nhe could not deny himself the pleasure of tasting it, so he cut of a
\nlittle bit and put it into his mouth. No sooner had it touched his tongue
\nthan he heard a strange whispering of little voices outside his window. He
\nwent and listened, and then noticed that it was the sparrows who were
\nchattering together, and telling one another of all kinds of things which
\nthey had seen in the fields and woods. Eating the snake had given him
\npower of understanding the language of animals.<\/p>\n
Now it so happened that on this very day the queen lost her most beautiful
\nring, and suspicion of having stolen it fell upon this trusty servant, who
\nwas allowed to go everywhere. The king ordered the man to be brought
\nbefore him, and threatened with angry words that unless he could before
\nthe morrow point out the thief, he himself should be looked upon as guilty
\nand executed. In vain he declared his innocence; he was dismissed with no
\nbetter answer.<\/p>\n
In his trouble and fear he went down into the courtyard and took thought
\nhow to help himself out of his trouble. Now some ducks were sitting
\ntogether quietly by a brook and taking their rest; and, whilst they were
\nmaking their feathers smooth with their bills, they were having a
\nconfidential conversation together. The servant stood by and listened.
\nThey were telling one another of all the places where they had been
\nwaddling about all the morning, and what good food they had found; and one
\nsaid in a pitiful tone: ‘Something lies heavy on my stomach; as I was
\neating in haste I swallowed a ring which lay under the queen’s window.’
\nThe servant at once seized her by the neck, carried her to the kitchen,
\nand said to the cook: ‘Here is a fine duck; pray, kill her.’ ‘Yes,’ said
\nthe cook, and weighed her in his hand; ‘she has spared no trouble to
\nfatten herself, and has been waiting to be roasted long enough.’ So he cut
\noff her head, and as she was being dressed for the spit, the queen’s ring
\nwas found inside her.<\/p>\n
The servant could now easily prove his innocence; and the king, to make
\namends for the wrong, allowed him to ask a favour, and promised him the
\nbest place in the court that he could wish for. The servant refused
\neverything, and only asked for a horse and some money for travelling, as
\nhe had a mind to see the world and go about a little. When his request was
\ngranted he set out on his way, and one day came to a pond, where he saw
\nthree fishes caught in the reeds and gasping for water. Now, though it is
\nsaid that fishes are dumb, he heard them lamenting that they must perish
\nso miserably, and, as he had a kind heart, he got off his horse and put
\nthe three prisoners back into the water. They leapt with delight, put out
\ntheir heads, and cried to him: ‘We will remember you and repay you for
\nsaving us!’<\/p>\n
He rode on, and after a while it seemed to him that he heard a voice in
\nthe sand at his feet. He listened, and heard an ant-king complain: ‘Why
\ncannot folks, with their clumsy beasts, keep off our bodies? That stupid
\nhorse, with his heavy hoofs, has been treading down my people without
\nmercy!’ So he turned on to a side path and the ant-king cried out to him:
\n‘We will remember you\u2014one good turn deserves another!’<\/p>\n
The path led him into a wood, and there he saw two old ravens standing by
\ntheir nest, and throwing out their young ones. ‘Out with you, you idle,
\ngood-for-nothing creatures!’ cried they; ‘we cannot find food for you any
\nlonger; you are big enough, and can provide for yourselves.’ But the poor
\nyoung ravens lay upon the ground, flapping their wings, and crying: ‘Oh,
\nwhat helpless chicks we are! We must shift for ourselves, and yet we
\ncannot fly! What can we do, but lie here and starve?’ So the good young
\nfellow alighted and killed his horse with his sword, and gave it to them
\nfor food. Then they came hopping up to it, satisfied their hunger, and
\ncried: ‘We will remember you\u2014one good turn deserves another!’<\/p>\n
And now he had to use his own legs, and when he had walked a long way, he
\ncame to a large city. There was a great noise and crowd in the streets,
\nand a man rode up on horseback, crying aloud: ‘The king’s daughter wants a
\nhusband; but whoever seeks her hand must perform a hard task, and if he
\ndoes not succeed he will forfeit his life.’ Many had already made the
\nattempt, but in vain; nevertheless when the youth saw the king’s daughter
\nhe was so overcome by her great beauty that he forgot all danger, went
\nbefore the king, and declared himself a suitor.<\/p>\n
So he was led out to the sea, and a gold ring was thrown into it, before
\nhis eyes; then the king ordered him to fetch this ring up from the bottom
\nof the sea, and added: ‘If you come up again without it you will be thrown
\nin again and again until you perish amid the waves.’ All the people
\ngrieved for the handsome youth; then they went away, leaving him alone by
\nthe sea.<\/p>\n
He stood on the shore and considered what he should do, when suddenly he
\nsaw three fishes come swimming towards him, and they were the very fishes
\nwhose lives he had saved. The one in the middle held a mussel in its
\nmouth, which it laid on the shore at the youth’s feet, and when he had
\ntaken it up and opened it, there lay the gold ring in the shell. Full of
\njoy he took it to the king and expected that he would grant him the
\npromised reward.<\/p>\n
But when the proud princess perceived that he was not her equal in birth,
\nshe scorned him, and required him first to perform another task. She went
\ndown into the garden and strewed with her own hands ten sacksful of
\nmillet-seed on the grass; then she said: ‘Tomorrow morning before sunrise
\nthese must be picked up, and not a single grain be wanting.’<\/p>\n
The youth sat down in the garden and considered how it might be possible
\nto perform this task, but he could think of nothing, and there he sat
\nsorrowfully awaiting the break of day, when he should be led to death. But
\nas soon as the first rays of the sun shone into the garden he saw all the
\nten sacks standing side by side, quite full, and not a single grain was
\nmissing. The ant-king had come in the night with thousands and thousands
\nof ants, and the grateful creatures had by great industry picked up all
\nthe millet-seed and gathered them into the sacks.<\/p>\n
Presently the king’s daughter herself came down into the garden, and was
\namazed to see that the young man had done the task she had given him. But
\nshe could not yet conquer her proud heart, and said: ‘Although he has
\nperformed both the tasks, he shall not be my husband until he had brought
\nme an apple from the Tree of Life.’ The youth did not know where the Tree
\nof Life stood, but he set out, and would have gone on for ever, as long as
\nhis legs would carry him, though he had no hope of finding it. After he
\nhad wandered through three kingdoms, he came one evening to a wood, and
\nlay down under a tree to sleep. But he heard a rustling in the branches,
\nand a golden apple fell into his hand. At the same time three ravens flew
\ndown to him, perched themselves upon his knee, and said: ‘We are the three
\nyoung ravens whom you saved from starving; when we had grown big, and
\nheard that you were seeking the Golden Apple, we flew over the sea to the
\nend of the world, where the Tree of Life stands, and have brought you the
\napple.’ The youth, full of joy, set out homewards, and took the Golden
\nApple to the king’s beautiful daughter, who had now no more excuses left
\nto make. They cut the Apple of Life in two and ate it together; and then
\nher heart became full of love for him, and they lived in undisturbed
\nhappiness to a great age.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time an old goat who had seven little kids, and
\nloved them with all the love of a mother for her children. One day she
\nwanted to go into the forest and fetch some food. So she called all seven
\nto her and said: ‘Dear children, I have to go into the forest, be on your
\nguard against the wolf; if he comes in, he will devour you all\u2014skin,
\nhair, and everything. The wretch often disguises himself, but you will
\nknow him at once by his rough voice and his black feet.’ The kids said:
\n‘Dear mother, we will take good care of ourselves; you may go away without
\nany anxiety.’ Then the old one bleated, and went on her way with an easy
\nmind.<\/p>\n
It was not long before someone knocked at the house-door and called: ‘Open
\nthe door, dear children; your mother is here, and has brought something
\nback with her for each of you.’ But the little kids knew that it was the
\nwolf, by the rough voice. ‘We will not open the door,’ cried they, ‘you
\nare not our mother. She has a soft, pleasant voice, but your voice is
\nrough; you are the wolf!’ Then the wolf went away to a shopkeeper and
\nbought himself a great lump of chalk, ate this and made his voice soft
\nwith it. Then he came back, knocked at the door of the house, and called:
\n‘Open the door, dear children, your mother is here and has brought
\nsomething back with her for each of you.’ But the wolf had laid his black
\npaws against the window, and the children saw them and cried: ‘We will not
\nopen the door, our mother has not black feet like you: you are the wolf!’
\nThen the wolf ran to a baker and said: ‘I have hurt my feet, rub some
\ndough over them for me.’ And when the baker had rubbed his feet over, he
\nran to the miller and said: ‘Strew some white meal over my feet for me.’
\nThe miller thought to himself: ‘The wolf wants to deceive someone,’ and
\nrefused; but the wolf said: ‘If you will not do it, I will devour you.’
\nThen the miller was afraid, and made his paws white for him. Truly, this
\nis the way of mankind.<\/p>\n
So now the wretch went for the third time to the house-door, knocked at it
\nand said: ‘Open the door for me, children, your dear little mother has
\ncome home, and has brought every one of you something back from the forest
\nwith her.’ The little kids cried: ‘First show us your paws that we may
\nknow if you are our dear little mother.’ Then he put his paws in through
\nthe window and when the kids saw that they were white, they believed that
\nall he said was true, and opened the door. But who should come in but the
\nwolf! They were terrified and wanted to hide themselves. One sprang under
\nthe table, the second into the bed, the third into the stove, the fourth
\ninto the kitchen, the fifth into the cupboard, the sixth under the
\nwashing-bowl, and the seventh into the clock-case. But the wolf found them
\nall, and used no great ceremony; one after the other he swallowed them
\ndown his throat. The youngest, who was in the clock-case, was the only one
\nhe did not find. When the wolf had satisfied his appetite he took himself
\noff, laid himself down under a tree in the green meadow outside, and began
\nto sleep. Soon afterwards the old goat came home again from the forest.
\nAh! what a sight she saw there! The house-door stood wide open. The table,
\nchairs, and benches were thrown down, the washing-bowl lay broken to
\npieces, and the quilts and pillows were pulled off the bed. She sought her
\nchildren, but they were nowhere to be found. She called them one after
\nanother by name, but no one answered. At last, when she came to the
\nyoungest, a soft voice cried: ‘Dear mother, I am in the clock-case.’ She
\ntook the kid out, and it told her that the wolf had come and had eaten all
\nthe others. Then you may imagine how she wept over her poor children.<\/p>\n
At length in her grief she went out, and the youngest kid ran with her.
\nWhen they came to the meadow, there lay the wolf by the tree and snored so
\nloud that the branches shook. She looked at him on every side and saw that
\nsomething was moving and struggling in his gorged belly. ‘Ah, heavens,’
\nshe said, ‘is it possible that my poor children whom he has swallowed down
\nfor his supper, can be still alive?’ Then the kid had to run home and
\nfetch scissors, and a needle and thread, and the goat cut open the
\nmonster’s stomach, and hardly had she made one cut, than one little kid
\nthrust its head out, and when she had cut farther, all six sprang out one
\nafter another, and were all still alive, and had suffered no injury
\nwhatever, for in his greediness the monster had swallowed them down whole.
\nWhat rejoicing there was! They embraced their dear mother, and jumped like
\na tailor at his wedding. The mother, however, said: ‘Now go and look for
\nsome big stones, and we will fill the wicked beast’s stomach with them
\nwhile he is still asleep.’ Then the seven kids dragged the stones thither
\nwith all speed, and put as many of them into this stomach as they could
\nget in; and the mother sewed him up again in the greatest haste, so that
\nhe was not aware of anything and never once stirred.<\/p>\n
When the wolf at length had had his fill of sleep, he got on his legs, and
\nas the stones in his stomach made him very thirsty, he wanted to go to a
\nwell to drink. But when he began to walk and to move about, the stones in
\nhis stomach knocked against each other and rattled. Then cried he:<\/p>\n
 'What rumbles and tumbles\r\n  Against my poor bones?\r\n  I thought 'twas six kids,\r\n  But it feels like big stones.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And when he got to the well and stooped over the water to drink, the heavy
\nstones made him fall in, and he drowned miserably. When the seven kids saw
\nthat, they came running to the spot and cried aloud: ‘The wolf is dead!
\nThe wolf is dead!’ and danced for joy round about the well with their
\nmother.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE QUEEN BEE<\/h2>\n
Two kings’ sons once upon a time went into the world to seek their
\nfortunes; but they soon fell into a wasteful foolish way of living, so
\nthat they could not return home again. Then their brother, who was a
\nlittle insignificant dwarf, went out to seek for his brothers: but when he
\nhad found them they only laughed at him, to think that he, who was so
\nyoung and simple, should try to travel through the world, when they, who
\nwere so much wiser, had been unable to get on. However, they all set out
\non their journey together, and came at last to an ant-hill. The two elder
\nbrothers would have pulled it down, in order to see how the poor ants in
\ntheir fright would run about and carry off their eggs. But the little
\ndwarf said, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, I will not suffer you
\nto trouble them.’<\/p>\n
So on they went, and came to a lake where many many ducks were swimming
\nabout. The two brothers wanted to catch two, and roast them. But the dwarf
\nsaid, ‘Let the poor things enjoy themselves, you shall not kill them.’
\nNext they came to a bees’-nest in a hollow tree, and there was so much
\nhoney that it ran down the trunk; and the two brothers wanted to light a
\nfire under the tree and kill the bees, so as to get their honey. But the
\ndwarf held them back, and said, ‘Let the pretty insects enjoy themselves,
\nI cannot let you burn them.’<\/p>\n
At length the three brothers came to a castle: and as they passed by the
\nstables they saw fine horses standing there, but all were of marble, and
\nno man was to be seen. Then they went through all the rooms, till they
\ncame to a door on which were three locks: but in the middle of the door
\nwas a wicket, so that they could look into the next room. There they saw a
\nlittle grey old man sitting at a table; and they called to him once or
\ntwice, but he did not hear: however, they called a third time, and then he
\nrose and came out to them.<\/p>\n
He said nothing, but took hold of them and led them to a beautiful table
\ncovered with all sorts of good things: and when they had eaten and drunk,
\nhe showed each of them to a bed-chamber.<\/p>\n
The next morning he came to the eldest and took him to a marble table,
\nwhere there were three tablets, containing an account of the means by
\nwhich the castle might be disenchanted. The first tablet said: ‘In the
\nwood, under the moss, lie the thousand pearls belonging to the king’s
\ndaughter; they must all be found: and if one be missing by set of sun, he
\nwho seeks them will be turned into marble.’<\/p>\n
The eldest brother set out, and sought for the pearls the whole day: but
\nthe evening came, and he had not found the first hundred: so he was turned
\ninto stone as the tablet had foretold.<\/p>\n
The next day the second brother undertook the task; but he succeeded no
\nbetter than the first; for he could only find the second hundred of the
\npearls; and therefore he too was turned into stone.<\/p>\n
At last came the little dwarf’s turn; and he looked in the moss; but it
\nwas so hard to find the pearls, and the job was so tiresome!\u2014so he
\nsat down upon a stone and cried. And as he sat there, the king of the ants
\n(whose life he had saved) came to help him, with five thousand ants; and
\nit was not long before they had found all the pearls and laid them in a
\nheap.<\/p>\n
The second tablet said: ‘The key of the princess’s bed-chamber must be
\nfished up out of the lake.’ And as the dwarf came to the brink of it, he
\nsaw the two ducks whose lives he had saved swimming about; and they dived
\ndown and soon brought in the key from the bottom.<\/p>\n
The third task was the hardest. It was to choose out the youngest and the
\nbest of the king’s three daughters. Now they were all beautiful, and all
\nexactly alike: but he was told that the eldest had eaten a piece of sugar,
\nthe next some sweet syrup, and the youngest a spoonful of honey; so he was
\nto guess which it was that had eaten the honey.<\/p>\n
Then came the queen of the bees, who had been saved by the little dwarf
\nfrom the fire, and she tried the lips of all three; but at last she sat
\nupon the lips of the one that had eaten the honey: and so the dwarf knew
\nwhich was the youngest. Thus the spell was broken, and all who had been
\nturned into stones awoke, and took their proper forms. And the dwarf
\nmarried the youngest and the best of the princesses, and was king after
\nher father’s death; but his two brothers married the other two sisters.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER<\/h2>\n
There was once a shoemaker, who worked very hard and was very honest: but
\nstill he could not earn enough to live upon; and at last all he had in the
\nworld was gone, save just leather enough to make one pair of shoes.<\/p>\n
Then he cut his leather out, all ready to make up the next day, meaning to
\nrise early in the morning to his work. His conscience was clear and his
\nheart light amidst all his troubles; so he went peaceably to bed, left all
\nhis cares to Heaven, and soon fell asleep. In the morning after he had
\nsaid his prayers, he sat himself down to his work; when, to his great
\nwonder, there stood the shoes all ready made, upon the table. The good man
\nknew not what to say or think at such an odd thing happening. He looked at
\nthe workmanship; there was not one false stitch in the whole job; all was
\nso neat and true, that it was quite a masterpiece.<\/p>\n
The same day a customer came in, and the shoes suited him so well that he
\nwillingly paid a price higher than usual for them; and the poor shoemaker,
\nwith the money, bought leather enough to make two pairs more. In the
\nevening he cut out the work, and went to bed early, that he might get up
\nand begin betimes next day; but he was saved all the trouble, for when he
\ngot up in the morning the work was done ready to his hand. Soon in came
\nbuyers, who paid him handsomely for his goods, so that he bought leather
\nenough for four pair more. He cut out the work again overnight and found
\nit done in the morning, as before; and so it went on for some time: what
\nwas got ready in the evening was always done by daybreak, and the good man
\nsoon became thriving and well off again.<\/p>\n
One evening, about Christmas-time, as he and his wife were sitting over
\nthe fire chatting together, he said to her, ‘I should like to sit up and
\nwatch tonight, that we may see who it is that comes and does my work for
\nme.’ The wife liked the thought; so they left a light burning, and hid
\nthemselves in a corner of the room, behind a curtain that was hung up
\nthere, and watched what would happen.<\/p>\n
As soon as it was midnight, there came in two little naked dwarfs; and
\nthey sat themselves upon the shoemaker’s bench, took up all the work that
\nwas cut out, and began to ply with their little fingers, stitching and
\nrapping and tapping away at such a rate, that the shoemaker was all
\nwonder, and could not take his eyes off them. And on they went, till the
\njob was quite done, and the shoes stood ready for use upon the table. This
\nwas long before daybreak; and then they bustled away as quick as
\nlightning.<\/p>\n
The next day the wife said to the shoemaker. ‘These little wights have
\nmade us rich, and we ought to be thankful to them, and do them a good turn
\nif we can. I am quite sorry to see them run about as they do; and indeed
\nit is not very decent, for they have nothing upon their backs to keep off
\nthe cold. I’ll tell you what, I will make each of them a shirt, and a coat
\nand waistcoat, and a pair of pantaloons into the bargain; and do you make
\neach of them a little pair of shoes.’<\/p>\n
The thought pleased the good cobbler very much; and one evening, when all
\nthe things were ready, they laid them on the table, instead of the work
\nthat they used to cut out, and then went and hid themselves, to watch what
\nthe little elves would do.<\/p>\n
About midnight in they came, dancing and skipping, hopped round the room,
\nand then went to sit down to their work as usual; but when they saw the
\nclothes lying for them, they laughed and chuckled, and seemed mightily
\ndelighted.<\/p>\n
Then they dressed themselves in the twinkling of an eye, and danced and
\ncapered and sprang about, as merry as could be; till at last they danced
\nout at the door, and away over the green.<\/p>\n
The good couple saw them no more; but everything went well with them from
\nthat time forward, as long as they lived.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE JUNIPER-TREE<\/h2>\n
Long, long ago, some two thousand years or so, there lived a rich man with
\na good and beautiful wife. They loved each other dearly, but sorrowed much
\nthat they had no children. So greatly did they desire to have one, that
\nthe wife prayed for it day and night, but still they remained childless.<\/p>\n
In front of the house there was a court, in which grew a juniper-tree. One
\nwinter’s day the wife stood under the tree to peel some apples, and as she
\nwas peeling them, she cut her finger, and the blood fell on the snow.
\n‘Ah,’ sighed the woman heavily, ‘if I had but a child, as red as blood and
\nas white as snow,’ and as she spoke the words, her heart grew light within
\nher, and it seemed to her that her wish was granted, and she returned to
\nthe house feeling glad and comforted. A month passed, and the snow had all
\ndisappeared; then another month went by, and all the earth was green. So
\nthe months followed one another, and first the trees budded in the woods,
\nand soon the green branches grew thickly intertwined, and then the
\nblossoms began to fall. Once again the wife stood under the juniper-tree,
\nand it was so full of sweet scent that her heart leaped for joy, and she
\nwas so overcome with her happiness, that she fell on her knees. Presently
\nthe fruit became round and firm, and she was glad and at peace; but when
\nthey were fully ripe she picked the berries and ate eagerly of them, and
\nthen she grew sad and ill. A little while later she called her husband,
\nand said to him, weeping. ‘If I die, bury me under the juniper-tree.’ Then
\nshe felt comforted and happy again, and before another month had passed
\nshe had a little child, and when she saw that it was as white as snow and
\nas red as blood, her joy was so great that she died.<\/p>\n
Her husband buried her under the juniper-tree, and wept bitterly for her.
\nBy degrees, however, his sorrow grew less, and although at times he still
\ngrieved over his loss, he was able to go about as usual, and later on he
\nmarried again.<\/p>\n
He now had a little daughter born to him; the child of his first wife was
\na boy, who was as red as blood and as white as snow. The mother loved her
\ndaughter very much, and when she looked at her and then looked at the boy,
\nit pierced her heart to think that he would always stand in the way of her
\nown child, and she was continually thinking how she could get the whole of
\nthe property for her. This evil thought took possession of her more and
\nmore, and made her behave very unkindly to the boy. She drove him from
\nplace to place with cuffings and buffetings, so that the poor child went
\nabout in fear, and had no peace from the time he left school to the time
\nhe went back.<\/p>\n
One day the little daughter came running to her mother in the store-room,
\nand said, ‘Mother, give me an apple.’ ‘Yes, my child,’ said the wife, and
\nshe gave her a beautiful apple out of the chest; the chest had a very
\nheavy lid and a large iron lock.<\/p>\n
‘Mother,’ said the little daughter again, ‘may not brother have one too?’
\nThe mother was angry at this, but she answered, ‘Yes, when he comes out of
\nschool.’<\/p>\n
Just then she looked out of the window and saw him coming, and it seemed
\nas if an evil spirit entered into her, for she snatched the apple out of
\nher little daughter’s hand, and said, ‘You shall not have one before your
\nbrother.’ She threw the apple into the chest and shut it to. The little
\nboy now came in, and the evil spirit in the wife made her say kindly to
\nhim, ‘My son, will you have an apple?’ but she gave him a wicked look.
\n‘Mother,’ said the boy, ‘how dreadful you look! Yes, give me an apple.’
\nThe thought came to her that she would kill him. ‘Come with me,’ she said,
\nand she lifted up the lid of the chest; ‘take one out for yourself.’ And
\nas he bent over to do so, the evil spirit urged her, and crash! down went
\nthe lid, and off went the little boy’s head. Then she was overwhelmed with
\nfear at the thought of what she had done. ‘If only I can prevent anyone
\nknowing that I did it,’ she thought. So she went upstairs to her room, and
\ntook a white handkerchief out of her top drawer; then she set the boy’s
\nhead again on his shoulders, and bound it with the handkerchief so that
\nnothing could be seen, and placed him on a chair by the door with an apple
\nin his hand.<\/p>\n
Soon after this, little Marleen came up to her mother who was stirring a
\npot of boiling water over the fire, and said, ‘Mother, brother is sitting
\nby the door with an apple in his hand, and he looks so pale; and when I
\nasked him to give me the apple, he did not answer, and that frightened
\nme.’<\/p>\n
‘Go to him again,’ said her mother, ‘and if he does not answer, give him a
\nbox on the ear.’ So little Marleen went, and said, ‘Brother, give me that
\napple,’ but he did not say a word; then she gave him a box on the ear, and
\nhis head rolled off. She was so terrified at this, that she ran crying and
\nscreaming to her mother. ‘Oh!’ she said, ‘I have knocked off brother’s
\nhead,’ and then she wept and wept, and nothing would stop her.<\/p>\n
‘What have you done!’ said her mother, ‘but no one must know about it, so
\nyou must keep silence; what is done can’t be undone; we will make him into
\npuddings.’ And she took the little boy and cut him up, made him into
\npuddings, and put him in the pot. But Marleen stood looking on, and wept
\nand wept, and her tears fell into the pot, so that there was no need of
\nsalt.<\/p>\n
Presently the father came home and sat down to his dinner; he asked,
\n‘Where is my son?’ The mother said nothing, but gave him a large dish of
\nblack pudding, and Marleen still wept without ceasing.<\/p>\n
The father again asked, ‘Where is my son?’<\/p>\n
‘Oh,’ answered the wife, ‘he is gone into the country to his mother’s
\ngreat uncle; he is going to stay there some time.’<\/p>\n
‘What has he gone there for, and he never even said goodbye to me!’<\/p>\n
‘Well, he likes being there, and he told me he should be away quite six
\nweeks; he is well looked after there.’<\/p>\n
‘I feel very unhappy about it,’ said the husband, ‘in case it should not
\nbe all right, and he ought to have said goodbye to me.’<\/p>\n
With this he went on with his dinner, and said, ‘Little Marleen, why do
\nyou weep? Brother will soon be back.’ Then he asked his wife for more
\npudding, and as he ate, he threw the bones under the table.<\/p>\n
Little Marleen went upstairs and took her best silk handkerchief out of
\nher bottom drawer, and in it she wrapped all the bones from under the
\ntable and carried them outside, and all the time she did nothing but weep.
\nThen she laid them in the green grass under the juniper-tree, and she had
\nno sooner done so, then all her sadness seemed to leave her, and she wept
\nno more. And now the juniper-tree began to move, and the branches waved
\nbackwards and forwards, first away from one another, and then together
\nagain, as it might be someone clapping their hands for joy. After this a
\nmist came round the tree, and in the midst of it there was a burning as of
\nfire, and out of the fire there flew a beautiful bird, that rose high into
\nthe air, singing magnificently, and when it could no more be seen, the
\njuniper-tree stood there as before, and the silk handkerchief and the
\nbones were gone.<\/p>\n
Little Marleen now felt as lighthearted and happy as if her brother were
\nstill alive, and she went back to the house and sat down cheerfully to the
\ntable and ate.<\/p>\n
The bird flew away and alighted on the house of a goldsmith and began to
\nsing:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The goldsmith was in his workshop making a gold chain, when he heard the
\nsong of the bird on his roof. He thought it so beautiful that he got up
\nand ran out, and as he crossed the threshold he lost one of his slippers.
\nBut he ran on into the middle of the street, with a slipper on one foot
\nand a sock on the other; he still had on his apron, and still held the
\ngold chain and the pincers in his hands, and so he stood gazing up at the
\nbird, while the sun came shining brightly down on the street.<\/p>\n
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘how beautifully you sing! Sing me that song again.’<\/p>\n
‘Nay,’ said the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing. Give that gold
\nchain, and I will sing it you again.’<\/p>\n
‘Here is the chain, take it,’ said the goldsmith. ‘Only sing me that
\nagain.’<\/p>\n
The bird flew down and took the gold chain in his right claw, and then he
\nalighted again in front of the goldsmith and sang:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then he flew away, and settled on the roof of a shoemaker’s house and
\nsang:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The shoemaker heard him, and he jumped up and ran out in his
\nshirt-sleeves, and stood looking up at the bird on the roof with his hand
\nover his eyes to keep himself from being blinded by the sun.<\/p>\n
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘how beautifully you sing!’ Then he called through the
\ndoor to his wife: ‘Wife, come out; here is a bird, come and look at it and
\nhear how beautifully it sings.’ Then he called his daughter and the
\nchildren, then the apprentices, girls and boys, and they all ran up the
\nstreet to look at the bird, and saw how splendid it was with its red and
\ngreen feathers, and its neck like burnished gold, and eyes like two bright
\nstars in its head.<\/p>\n
‘Bird,’ said the shoemaker, ‘sing me that song again.’<\/p>\n
‘Nay,’ answered the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing; you must give
\nme something.’<\/p>\n
‘Wife,’ said the man, ‘go into the garret; on the upper shelf you will see
\na pair of red shoes; bring them to me.’ The wife went in and fetched the
\nshoes.<\/p>\n
‘There, bird,’ said the shoemaker, ‘now sing me that song again.’<\/p>\n
The bird flew down and took the red shoes in his left claw, and then he
\nwent back to the roof and sang:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
When he had finished, he flew away. He had the chain in his right claw and
\nthe shoes in his left, and he flew right away to a mill, and the mill went
\n‘Click clack, click clack, click clack.’ Inside the mill were twenty of
\nthe miller’s men hewing a stone, and as they went ‘Hick hack, hick hack,
\nhick hack,’ the mill went ‘Click clack, click clack, click clack.’<\/p>\n
The bird settled on a lime-tree in front of the mill and sang:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n<\/pre>\n
then one of the men left off,<\/p>\n
  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n<\/pre>\n
two more men left off and listened,<\/p>\n
  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n<\/pre>\n
then four more left off,<\/p>\n
  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n<\/pre>\n
Now there were only eight at work,<\/p>\n
  Underneath,\r\n<\/pre>\n
and now only five,<\/p>\n
  the juniper-tree.\r\n<\/pre>\n
and now only one,<\/p>\n
  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
then he looked up and the last one had left off work.<\/p>\n
‘Bird,’ he said, ‘what a beautiful song that is you sing! Let me hear it
\ntoo; sing it again.’<\/p>\n
‘Nay,’ answered the bird, ‘I do not sing twice for nothing; give me that
\nmillstone, and I will sing it again.’<\/p>\n
‘If it belonged to me alone,’ said the man, ‘you should have it.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes, yes,’ said the others: ‘if he will sing again, he can have it.’<\/p>\n
The bird came down, and all the twenty millers set to and lifted up the
\nstone with a beam; then the bird put his head through the hole and took
\nthe stone round his neck like a collar, and flew back with it to the tree
\nand sang\u2014<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And when he had finished his song, he spread his wings, and with the chain
\nin his right claw, the shoes in his left, and the millstone round his
\nneck, he flew right away to his father’s house.<\/p>\n
The father, the mother, and little Marleen were having their dinner.<\/p>\n
‘How lighthearted I feel,’ said the father, ‘so pleased and cheerful.’<\/p>\n
‘And I,’ said the mother, ‘I feel so uneasy, as if a heavy thunderstorm
\nwere coming.’<\/p>\n
But little Marleen sat and wept and wept.<\/p>\n
Then the bird came flying towards the house and settled on the roof.<\/p>\n
‘I do feel so happy,’ said the father, ‘and how beautifully the sun
\nshines; I feel just as if I were going to see an old friend again.’<\/p>\n
‘Ah!’ said the wife, ‘and I am so full of distress and uneasiness that my
\nteeth chatter, and I feel as if there were a fire in my veins,’ and she
\ntore open her dress; and all the while little Marleen sat in the corner
\nand wept, and the plate on her knees was wet with her tears.<\/p>\n
The bird now flew to the juniper-tree and began singing:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n<\/pre>\n
the mother shut her eyes and her ears, that she might see and hear
\nnothing, but there was a roaring sound in her ears like that of a violent
\nstorm, and in her eyes a burning and flashing like lightning:<\/p>\n
  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Look, mother,’ said the man, ‘at the beautiful bird that is singing so
\nmagnificently; and how warm and bright the sun is, and what a delicious
\nscent of spice in the air!’<\/p>\n
  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n<\/pre>\n
then little Marleen laid her head down on her knees and sobbed.<\/p>\n
‘I must go outside and see the bird nearer,’ said the man.<\/p>\n
‘Ah, do not go!’ cried the wife. ‘I feel as if the whole house were in
\nflames!’<\/p>\n
But the man went out and looked at the bird.<\/p>\n
 She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n And took my bones that they might lie\r\n Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
With that the bird let fall the gold chain, and it fell just round the
\nman’s neck, so that it fitted him exactly.<\/p>\n
He went inside, and said, ‘See, what a splendid bird that is; he has given
\nme this beautiful gold chain, and looks so beautiful himself.’<\/p>\n
But the wife was in such fear and trouble, that she fell on the floor, and
\nher cap fell from her head.<\/p>\n
Then the bird began again:<\/p>\n
 'My mother killed her little son;\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Ah me!’ cried the wife, ‘if I were but a thousand feet beneath the earth,
\nthat I might not hear that song.’<\/p>\n
  My father grieved when I was gone;\r\n<\/pre>\n
then the woman fell down again as if dead.<\/p>\n
  My sister loved me best of all;\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Well,’ said little Marleen, ‘I will go out too and see if the bird will
\ngive me anything.’<\/p>\n
So she went out.<\/p>\n
  She laid her kerchief over me,\r\n  And took my bones that they might lie\r\n<\/pre>\n
and he threw down the shoes to her,<\/p>\n
  Underneath the juniper-tree\r\n  Kywitt, Kywitt, what a beautiful bird am I!'\r\n<\/pre>\n
And she now felt quite happy and lighthearted; she put on the shoes and
\ndanced and jumped about in them. ‘I was so miserable,’ she said, ‘when I
\ncame out, but that has all passed away; that is indeed a splendid bird,
\nand he has given me a pair of red shoes.’<\/p>\n
The wife sprang up, with her hair standing out from her head like flames
\nof fire. ‘Then I will go out too,’ she said, ‘and see if it will lighten
\nmy misery, for I feel as if the world were coming to an end.’<\/p>\n
But as she crossed the threshold, crash! the bird threw the millstone down
\non her head, and she was crushed to death.<\/p>\n
The father and little Marleen heard the sound and ran out, but they only
\nsaw mist and flame and fire rising from the spot, and when these had
\npassed, there stood the little brother, and he took the father and little
\nMarleen by the hand; then they all three rejoiced, and went inside
\ntogether and sat down to their dinners and ate.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE TURNIP<\/h2>\n
There were two brothers who were both soldiers; the one was rich and the
\nother poor. The poor man thought he would try to better himself; so,
\npulling off his red coat, he became a gardener, and dug his ground well,
\nand sowed turnips.<\/p>\n
When the seed came up, there was one plant bigger than all the rest; and
\nit kept getting larger and larger, and seemed as if it would never cease
\ngrowing; so that it might have been called the prince of turnips for there
\nnever was such a one seen before, and never will again. At last it was so
\nbig that it filled a cart, and two oxen could hardly draw it; and the
\ngardener knew not what in the world to do with it, nor whether it would be
\na blessing or a curse to him. One day he said to himself, ‘What shall I do
\nwith it? if I sell it, it will bring no more than another; and for eating,
\nthe little turnips are better than this; the best thing perhaps is to
\ncarry it and give it to the king as a mark of respect.’<\/p>\n
Then he yoked his oxen, and drew the turnip to the court, and gave it to
\nthe king. ‘What a wonderful thing!’ said the king; ‘I have seen many
\nstrange things, but such a monster as this I never saw. Where did you get
\nthe seed? or is it only your good luck? If so, you are a true child of
\nfortune.’ ‘Ah, no!’ answered the gardener, ‘I am no child of fortune; I am
\na poor soldier, who never could get enough to live upon; so I laid aside
\nmy red coat, and set to work, tilling the ground. I have a brother, who is
\nrich, and your majesty knows him well, and all the world knows him; but
\nbecause I am poor, everybody forgets me.’<\/p>\n
The king then took pity on him, and said, ‘You shall be poor no longer. I
\nwill give you so much that you shall be even richer than your brother.’
\nThen he gave him gold and lands and flocks, and made him so rich that his
\nbrother’s fortune could not at all be compared with his.<\/p>\n
When the brother heard of all this, and how a turnip had made the gardener
\nso rich, he envied him sorely, and bethought himself how he could contrive
\nto get the same good fortune for himself. However, he determined to manage
\nmore cleverly than his brother, and got together a rich present of gold
\nand fine horses for the king; and thought he must have a much larger gift
\nin return; for if his brother had received so much for only a turnip, what
\nmust his present be worth?<\/p>\n
The king took the gift very graciously, and said he knew not what to give
\nin return more valuable and wonderful than the great turnip; so the
\nsoldier was forced to put it into a cart, and drag it home with him. When
\nhe reached home, he knew not upon whom to vent his rage and spite; and at
\nlength wicked thoughts came into his head, and he resolved to kill his
\nbrother.<\/p>\n
So he hired some villains to murder him; and having shown them where to
\nlie in ambush, he went to his brother, and said, ‘Dear brother, I have
\nfound a hidden treasure; let us go and dig it up, and share it between
\nus.’ The other had no suspicions of his roguery: so they went out
\ntogether, and as they were travelling along, the murderers rushed out upon
\nhim, bound him, and were going to hang him on a tree.<\/p>\n
But whilst they were getting all ready, they heard the trampling of a
\nhorse at a distance, which so frightened them that they pushed their
\nprisoner neck and shoulders together into a sack, and swung him up by a
\ncord to the tree, where they left him dangling, and ran away. Meantime he
\nworked and worked away, till he made a hole large enough to put out his
\nhead.<\/p>\n
When the horseman came up, he proved to be a student, a merry fellow, who
\nwas journeying along on his nag, and singing as he went. As soon as the
\nman in the sack saw him passing under the tree, he cried out, ‘Good
\nmorning! good morning to thee, my friend!’ The student looked about
\neverywhere; and seeing no one, and not knowing where the voice came from,
\ncried out, ‘Who calls me?’<\/p>\n
Then the man in the tree answered, ‘Lift up thine eyes, for behold here I
\nsit in the sack of wisdom; here have I, in a short time, learned great and
\nwondrous things. Compared to this seat, all the learning of the schools is
\nas empty air. A little longer, and I shall know all that man can know, and
\nshall come forth wiser than the wisest of mankind. Here I discern the
\nsigns and motions of the heavens and the stars; the laws that control the
\nwinds; the number of the sands on the seashore; the healing of the sick;
\nthe virtues of all simples, of birds, and of precious stones. Wert thou
\nbut once here, my friend, though wouldst feel and own the power of
\nknowledge.<\/p>\n
The student listened to all this and wondered much; at last he said,
\n‘Blessed be the day and hour when I found you; cannot you contrive to let
\nme into the sack for a little while?’ Then the other answered, as if very
\nunwillingly, ‘A little space I may allow thee to sit here, if thou wilt
\nreward me well and entreat me kindly; but thou must tarry yet an hour
\nbelow, till I have learnt some little matters that are yet unknown to me.’<\/p>\n
So the student sat himself down and waited a while; but the time hung
\nheavy upon him, and he begged earnestly that he might ascend forthwith,
\nfor his thirst for knowledge was great. Then the other pretended to give
\nway, and said, ‘Thou must let the sack of wisdom descend, by untying
\nyonder cord, and then thou shalt enter.’ So the student let him down,
\nopened the sack, and set him free. ‘Now then,’ cried he, ‘let me ascend
\nquickly.’ As he began to put himself into the sack heels first, ‘Wait a
\nwhile,’ said the gardener, ‘that is not the way.’ Then he pushed him in
\nhead first, tied up the sack, and soon swung up the searcher after wisdom
\ndangling in the air. ‘How is it with thee, friend?’ said he, ‘dost thou
\nnot feel that wisdom comes unto thee? Rest there in peace, till thou art a
\nwiser man than thou wert.’<\/p>\n
So saying, he trotted off on the student’s nag, and left the poor fellow
\nto gather wisdom till somebody should come and let him down.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
CLEVER HANS<\/h2>\n
The mother of Hans said: ‘Whither away, Hans?’ Hans answered: ‘To Gretel.’
\n‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh, I’ll behave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye,
\nHans.’ Hans comes to Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What do
\nyou bring that is good?’ ‘I bring nothing, I want to have something given
\nme.’ Gretel presents Hans with a needle, Hans says: ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’
\n‘Goodbye, Hans.’<\/p>\n
Hans takes the needle, sticks it into a hay-cart, and follows the cart
\nhome. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’
\n‘With Gretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘Took nothing; had something given
\nme.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘Gave me a needle.’ ‘Where is the needle,
\nHans?’ ‘Stuck in the hay-cart.’ ‘That was ill done, Hans. You should have
\nstuck the needle in your sleeve.’ ‘Never mind, I’ll do better next time.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh, I’ll
\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel.
\n‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What do you bring that is good?’ ‘I
\nbring nothing. I want to have something given to me.’ Gretel presents Hans
\nwith a knife. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans takes the knife,
\nsticks it in his sleeve, and goes home. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good
\nevening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ What did you take
\nher?’ ‘Took her nothing, she gave me something.’ ‘What did Gretel give
\nyou?’ ‘Gave me a knife.’ ‘Where is the knife, Hans?’ ‘Stuck in my sleeve.’
\n‘That’s ill done, Hans, you should have put the knife in your pocket.’
\n‘Never mind, will do better next time.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh, I’ll
\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel.
\n‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good thing do you bring?’ ‘I
\nbring nothing, I want something given me.’ Gretel presents Hans with a
\nyoung goat. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans takes the goat, ties
\nits legs, and puts it in his pocket. When he gets home it is suffocated.
\n‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With
\nGretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘Took nothing, she gave me something.’
\n‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘She gave me a goat.’ ‘Where is the goat,
\nHans?’ ‘Put it in my pocket.’ ‘That was ill done, Hans, you should have
\nput a rope round the goat’s neck.’ ‘Never mind, will do better next time.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘Oh, I’ll
\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel.
\n‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good thing do you bring?’ ‘I
\nbring nothing, I want something given me.’ Gretel presents Hans with a
\npiece of bacon. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’<\/p>\n
Hans takes the bacon, ties it to a rope, and drags it away behind him. The
\ndogs come and devour the bacon. When he gets home, he has the rope in his
\nhand, and there is no longer anything hanging on to it. ‘Good evening,
\nmother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ ‘What
\ndid you take her?’ ‘I took her nothing, she gave me something.’ ‘What did
\nGretel give you?’ ‘Gave me a bit of bacon.’ ‘Where is the bacon, Hans?’ ‘I
\ntied it to a rope, brought it home, dogs took it.’ ‘That was ill done,
\nHans, you should have carried the bacon on your head.’ ‘Never mind, will
\ndo better next time.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘I’ll
\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’ Hans comes to Gretel.
\n‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans, What good thing do you bring?’ ‘I
\nbring nothing, but would have something given.’ Gretel presents Hans with
\na calf. ‘Goodbye, Gretel.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’<\/p>\n
Hans takes the calf, puts it on his head, and the calf kicks his face.
\n‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good evening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With
\nGretel.’ ‘What did you take her?’ ‘I took nothing, but had something given
\nme.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘A calf.’ ‘Where have you the calf,
\nHans?’ ‘I set it on my head and it kicked my face.’ ‘That was ill done,
\nHans, you should have led the calf, and put it in the stall.’ ‘Never mind,
\nwill do better next time.’<\/p>\n
‘Whither away, Hans?’ ‘To Gretel, mother.’ ‘Behave well, Hans.’ ‘I’ll
\nbehave well. Goodbye, mother.’ ‘Goodbye, Hans.’<\/p>\n
Hans comes to Gretel. ‘Good day, Gretel.’ ‘Good day, Hans. What good thing
\ndo you bring?’ ‘I bring nothing, but would have something given.’ Gretel
\nsays to Hans: ‘I will go with you.’<\/p>\n
Hans takes Gretel, ties her to a rope, leads her to the rack, and binds
\nher fast. Then Hans goes to his mother. ‘Good evening, mother.’ ‘Good
\nevening, Hans. Where have you been?’ ‘With Gretel.’ ‘What did you take
\nher?’ ‘I took her nothing.’ ‘What did Gretel give you?’ ‘She gave me
\nnothing, she came with me.’ ‘Where have you left Gretel?’ ‘I led her by
\nthe rope, tied her to the rack, and scattered some grass for her.’ ‘That
\nwas ill done, Hans, you should have cast friendly eyes on her.’ ‘Never
\nmind, will do better.’<\/p>\n
Hans went into the stable, cut out all the calves’ and sheep’s eyes, and
\nthrew them in Gretel’s face. Then Gretel became angry, tore herself loose
\nand ran away, and was no longer the bride of Hans.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE THREE LANGUAGES<\/h2>\n
An aged count once lived in Switzerland, who had an only son, but he was
\nstupid, and could learn nothing. Then said the father: ‘Hark you, my son,
\ntry as I will I can get nothing into your head. You must go from hence, I
\nwill give you into the care of a celebrated master, who shall see what he
\ncan do with you.’ The youth was sent into a strange town, and remained a
\nwhole year with the master. At the end of this time, he came home again,
\nand his father asked: ‘Now, my son, what have you learnt?’ ‘Father, I have
\nlearnt what the dogs say when they bark.’ ‘Lord have mercy on us!’ cried
\nthe father; ‘is that all you have learnt? I will send you into another
\ntown, to another master.’ The youth was taken thither, and stayed a year
\nwith this master likewise. When he came back the father again asked: ‘My
\nson, what have you learnt?’ He answered: ‘Father, I have learnt what the
\nbirds say.’ Then the father fell into a rage and said: ‘Oh, you lost man,
\nyou have spent the precious time and learnt nothing; are you not ashamed
\nto appear before my eyes? I will send you to a third master, but if you
\nlearn nothing this time also, I will no longer be your father.’ The youth
\nremained a whole year with the third master also, and when he came home
\nagain, and his father inquired: ‘My son, what have you learnt?’ he
\nanswered: ‘Dear father, I have this year learnt what the frogs croak.’
\nThen the father fell into the most furious anger, sprang up, called his
\npeople thither, and said: ‘This man is no longer my son, I drive him
\nforth, and command you to take him out into the forest, and kill him.’
\nThey took him forth, but when they should have killed him, they could not
\ndo it for pity, and let him go, and they cut the eyes and tongue out of a
\ndeer that they might carry them to the old man as a token.<\/p>\n
The youth wandered on, and after some time came to a fortress where he
\nbegged for a night’s lodging. ‘Yes,’ said the lord of the castle, ‘if you
\nwill pass the night down there in the old tower, go thither; but I warn
\nyou, it is at the peril of your life, for it is full of wild dogs, which
\nbark and howl without stopping, and at certain hours a man has to be given
\nto them, whom they at once devour.’ The whole district was in sorrow and
\ndismay because of them, and yet no one could do anything to stop this. The
\nyouth, however, was without fear, and said: ‘Just let me go down to the
\nbarking dogs, and give me something that I can throw to them; they will do
\nnothing to harm me.’ As he himself would have it so, they gave him some
\nfood for the wild animals, and led him down to the tower. When he went
\ninside, the dogs did not bark at him, but wagged their tails quite
\namicably around him, ate what he set before them, and did not hurt one
\nhair of his head. Next morning, to the astonishment of everyone, he came
\nout again safe and unharmed, and said to the lord of the castle: ‘The dogs
\nhave revealed to me, in their own language, why they dwell there, and
\nbring evil on the land. They are bewitched, and are obliged to watch over
\na great treasure which is below in the tower, and they can have no rest
\nuntil it is taken away, and I have likewise learnt, from their discourse,
\nhow that is to be done.’ Then all who heard this rejoiced, and the lord of
\nthe castle said he would adopt him as a son if he accomplished it
\nsuccessfully. He went down again, and as he knew what he had to do, he did
\nit thoroughly, and brought a chest full of gold out with him. The howling
\nof the wild dogs was henceforth heard no more; they had disappeared, and
\nthe country was freed from the trouble.<\/p>\n
After some time he took it in his head that he would travel to Rome. On
\nthe way he passed by a marsh, in which a number of frogs were sitting
\ncroaking. He listened to them, and when he became aware of what they were
\nsaying, he grew very thoughtful and sad. At last he arrived in Rome, where
\nthe Pope had just died, and there was great doubt among the cardinals as
\nto whom they should appoint as his successor. They at length agreed that
\nthe person should be chosen as pope who should be distinguished by some
\ndivine and miraculous token. And just as that was decided on, the young
\ncount entered into the church, and suddenly two snow-white doves flew on
\nhis shoulders and remained sitting there. The ecclesiastics recognized
\ntherein the token from above, and asked him on the spot if he would be
\npope. He was undecided, and knew not if he were worthy of this, but the
\ndoves counselled him to do it, and at length he said yes. Then was he
\nanointed and consecrated, and thus was fulfilled what he had heard from
\nthe frogs on his way, which had so affected him, that he was to be his
\nHoliness the Pope. Then he had to sing a mass, and did not know one word
\nof it, but the two doves sat continually on his shoulders, and said it all
\nin his ear.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE FOX AND THE CAT<\/h2>\n
It happened that the cat met the fox in a forest, and as she thought to
\nherself: ‘He is clever and full of experience, and much esteemed in the
\nworld,’ she spoke to him in a friendly way. ‘Good day, dear Mr Fox, how
\nare you? How is all with you? How are you getting on in these hard times?’
\nThe fox, full of all kinds of arrogance, looked at the cat from head to
\nfoot, and for a long time did not know whether he would give any answer or
\nnot. At last he said: ‘Oh, you wretched beard-cleaner, you piebald fool,
\nyou hungry mouse-hunter, what can you be thinking of? Have you the cheek
\nto ask how I am getting on? What have you learnt? How many arts do you
\nunderstand?’ ‘I understand but one,’ replied the cat, modestly. ‘What art
\nis that?’ asked the fox. ‘When the hounds are following me, I can spring
\ninto a tree and save myself.’ ‘Is that all?’ said the fox. ‘I am master of
\na hundred arts, and have into the bargain a sackful of cunning. You make
\nme sorry for you; come with me, I will teach you how people get away from
\nthe hounds.’ Just then came a hunter with four dogs. The cat sprang nimbly
\nup a tree, and sat down at the top of it, where the branches and foliage
\nquite concealed her. ‘Open your sack, Mr Fox, open your sack,’ cried the
\ncat to him, but the dogs had already seized him, and were holding him
\nfast. ‘Ah, Mr Fox,’ cried the cat. ‘You with your hundred arts are left in
\nthe lurch! Had you been able to climb like me, you would not have lost
\nyour life.’<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS<\/h2>\n
‘Dear children,’ said a poor man to his four sons, ‘I have nothing to give
\nyou; you must go out into the wide world and try your luck. Begin by
\nlearning some craft or another, and see how you can get on.’ So the four
\nbrothers took their walking-sticks in their hands, and their little
\nbundles on their shoulders, and after bidding their father goodbye, went
\nall out at the gate together. When they had got on some way they came to
\nfour crossways, each leading to a different country. Then the eldest said,
\n‘Here we must part; but this day four years we will come back to this
\nspot, and in the meantime each must try what he can do for himself.’<\/p>\n
So each brother went his way; and as the eldest was hastening on a man met
\nhim, and asked him where he was going, and what he wanted. ‘I am going to
\ntry my luck in the world, and should like to begin by learning some art or
\ntrade,’ answered he. ‘Then,’ said the man, ‘go with me, and I will teach
\nyou to become the cunningest thief that ever was.’ ‘No,’ said the other,
\n‘that is not an honest calling, and what can one look to earn by it in the
\nend but the gallows?’ ‘Oh!’ said the man, ‘you need not fear the gallows;
\nfor I will only teach you to steal what will be fair game: I meddle with
\nnothing but what no one else can get or care anything about, and where no
\none can find you out.’ So the young man agreed to follow his trade, and he
\nsoon showed himself so clever, that nothing could escape him that he had
\nonce set his mind upon.<\/p>\n
The second brother also met a man, who, when he found out what he was
\nsetting out upon, asked him what craft he meant to follow. ‘I do not know
\nyet,’ said he. ‘Then come with me, and be a star-gazer. It is a noble art,
\nfor nothing can be hidden from you, when once you understand the stars.’
\nThe plan pleased him much, and he soon became such a skilful star-gazer,
\nthat when he had served out his time, and wanted to leave his master, he
\ngave him a glass, and said, ‘With this you can see all that is passing in
\nthe sky and on earth, and nothing can be hidden from you.’<\/p>\n
The third brother met a huntsman, who took him with him, and taught him so
\nwell all that belonged to hunting, that he became very clever in the craft
\nof the woods; and when he left his master he gave him a bow, and said,
\n‘Whatever you shoot at with this bow you will be sure to hit.’<\/p>\n
The youngest brother likewise met a man who asked him what he wished to
\ndo. ‘Would not you like,’ said he, ‘to be a tailor?’ ‘Oh, no!’ said the
\nyoung man; ‘sitting cross-legged from morning to night, working backwards
\nand forwards with a needle and goose, will never suit me.’ ‘Oh!’ answered
\nthe man, ‘that is not my sort of tailoring; come with me, and you will
\nlearn quite another kind of craft from that.’ Not knowing what better to
\ndo, he came into the plan, and learnt tailoring from the beginning; and
\nwhen he left his master, he gave him a needle, and said, ‘You can sew
\nanything with this, be it as soft as an egg or as hard as steel; and the
\njoint will be so fine that no seam will be seen.’<\/p>\n
After the space of four years, at the time agreed upon, the four brothers
\nmet at the four cross-roads; and having welcomed each other, set off
\ntowards their father’s home, where they told him all that had happened to
\nthem, and how each had learned some craft.<\/p>\n
Then, one day, as they were sitting before the house under a very high
\ntree, the father said, ‘I should like to try what each of you can do in
\nthis way.’ So he looked up, and said to the second son, ‘At the top of
\nthis tree there is a chaffinch’s nest; tell me how many eggs there are in
\nit.’ The star-gazer took his glass, looked up, and said, ‘Five.’ ‘Now,’
\nsaid the father to the eldest son, ‘take away the eggs without letting the
\nbird that is sitting upon them and hatching them know anything of what you
\nare doing.’ So the cunning thief climbed up the tree, and brought away to
\nhis father the five eggs from under the bird; and it never saw or felt
\nwhat he was doing, but kept sitting on at its ease. Then the father took
\nthe eggs, and put one on each corner of the table, and the fifth in the
\nmiddle, and said to the huntsman, ‘Cut all the eggs in two pieces at one
\nshot.’ The huntsman took up his bow, and at one shot struck all the five
\neggs as his father wished.<\/p>\n
‘Now comes your turn,’ said he to the young tailor; ‘sew the eggs and the
\nyoung birds in them together again, so neatly that the shot shall have
\ndone them no harm.’ Then the tailor took his needle, and sewed the eggs as
\nhe was told; and when he had done, the thief was sent to take them back to
\nthe nest, and put them under the bird without its knowing it. Then she
\nwent on sitting, and hatched them: and in a few days they crawled out, and
\nhad only a little red streak across their necks, where the tailor had sewn
\nthem together.<\/p>\n
‘Well done, sons!’ said the old man; ‘you have made good use of your time,
\nand learnt something worth the knowing; but I am sure I do not know which
\nought to have the prize. Oh, that a time might soon come for you to turn
\nyour skill to some account!’<\/p>\n
Not long after this there was a great bustle in the country; for the
\nking’s daughter had been carried off by a mighty dragon, and the king
\nmourned over his loss day and night, and made it known that whoever
\nbrought her back to him should have her for a wife. Then the four brothers
\nsaid to each other, ‘Here is a chance for us; let us try what we can do.’
\nAnd they agreed to see whether they could not set the princess free. ‘I
\nwill soon find out where she is, however,’ said the star-gazer, as he
\nlooked through his glass; and he soon cried out, ‘I see her afar off,
\nsitting upon a rock in the sea, and I can spy the dragon close by,
\nguarding her.’ Then he went to the king, and asked for a ship for himself
\nand his brothers; and they sailed together over the sea, till they came to
\nthe right place. There they found the princess sitting, as the star-gazer
\nhad said, on the rock; and the dragon was lying asleep, with his head upon
\nher lap. ‘I dare not shoot at him,’ said the huntsman, ‘for I should kill
\nthe beautiful young lady also.’ ‘Then I will try my skill,’ said the
\nthief, and went and stole her away from under the dragon, so quietly and
\ngently that the beast did not know it, but went on snoring.<\/p>\n
Then away they hastened with her full of joy in their boat towards the
\nship; but soon came the dragon roaring behind them through the air; for he
\nawoke and missed the princess. But when he got over the boat, and wanted
\nto pounce upon them and carry off the princess, the huntsman took up his
\nbow and shot him straight through the heart so that he fell down dead.
\nThey were still not safe; for he was such a great beast that in his fall
\nhe overset the boat, and they had to swim in the open sea upon a few
\nplanks. So the tailor took his needle, and with a few large stitches put
\nsome of the planks together; and he sat down upon these, and sailed about
\nand gathered up all pieces of the boat; and then tacked them together so
\nquickly that the boat was soon ready, and they then reached the ship and
\ngot home safe.<\/p>\n
When they had brought home the princess to her father, there was great
\nrejoicing; and he said to the four brothers, ‘One of you shall marry her,
\nbut you must settle amongst yourselves which it is to be.’ Then there
\narose a quarrel between them; and the star-gazer said, ‘If I had not found
\nthe princess out, all your skill would have been of no use; therefore she
\nought to be mine.’ ‘Your seeing her would have been of no use,’ said the
\nthief, ‘if I had not taken her away from the dragon; therefore she ought
\nto be mine.’ ‘No, she is mine,’ said the huntsman; ‘for if I had not
\nkilled the dragon, he would, after all, have torn you and the princess
\ninto pieces.’ ‘And if I had not sewn the boat together again,’ said the
\ntailor, ‘you would all have been drowned, therefore she is mine.’ Then the
\nking put in a word, and said, ‘Each of you is right; and as all cannot
\nhave the young lady, the best way is for neither of you to have her: for
\nthe truth is, there is somebody she likes a great deal better. But to make
\nup for your loss, I will give each of you, as a reward for his skill, half
\na kingdom.’ So the brothers agreed that this plan would be much better
\nthan either quarrelling or marrying a lady who had no mind to have them.
\nAnd the king then gave to each half a kingdom, as he had said; and they
\nlived very happily the rest of their days, and took good care of their
\nfather; and somebody took better care of the young lady, than to let
\neither the dragon or one of the craftsmen have her again.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
LILY AND THE LION<\/h2>\n
A merchant, who had three daughters, was once setting out upon a journey;
\nbut before he went he asked each daughter what gift he should bring back
\nfor her. The eldest wished for pearls; the second for jewels; but the
\nthird, who was called Lily, said, ‘Dear father, bring me a rose.’ Now it
\nwas no easy task to find a rose, for it was the middle of winter; yet as
\nshe was his prettiest daughter, and was very fond of flowers, her father
\nsaid he would try what he could do. So he kissed all three, and bid them
\ngoodbye.<\/p>\n
And when the time came for him to go home, he had bought pearls and jewels
\nfor the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for the rose; and
\nwhen he went into any garden and asked for such a thing, the people
\nlaughed at him, and asked him whether he thought roses grew in snow. This
\ngrieved him very much, for Lily was his dearest child; and as he was
\njourneying home, thinking what he should bring her, he came to a fine
\ncastle; and around the castle was a garden, in one half of which it seemed
\nto be summer-time and in the other half winter. On one side the finest
\nflowers were in full bloom, and on the other everything looked dreary and
\nburied in the snow. ‘A lucky hit!’ said he, as he called to his servant,
\nand told him to go to a beautiful bed of roses that was there, and bring
\nhim away one of the finest flowers.<\/p>\n
This done, they were riding away well pleased, when up sprang a fierce
\nlion, and roared out, ‘Whoever has stolen my roses shall be eaten up
\nalive!’ Then the man said, ‘I knew not that the garden belonged to you;
\ncan nothing save my life?’ ‘No!’ said the lion, ‘nothing, unless you
\nundertake to give me whatever meets you on your return home; if you agree
\nto this, I will give you your life, and the rose too for your daughter.’
\nBut the man was unwilling to do so and said, ‘It may be my youngest
\ndaughter, who loves me most, and always runs to meet me when I go home.’
\nThen the servant was greatly frightened, and said, ‘It may perhaps be only
\na cat or a dog.’ And at last the man yielded with a heavy heart, and took
\nthe rose; and said he would give the lion whatever should meet him first
\non his return.<\/p>\n
And as he came near home, it was Lily, his youngest and dearest daughter,
\nthat met him; she came running, and kissed him, and welcomed him home; and
\nwhen she saw that he had brought her the rose, she was still more glad.
\nBut her father began to be very sorrowful, and to weep, saying, ‘Alas, my
\ndearest child! I have bought this flower at a high price, for I have said
\nI would give you to a wild lion; and when he has you, he will tear you in
\npieces, and eat you.’ Then he told her all that had happened, and said she
\nshould not go, let what would happen.<\/p>\n
But she comforted him, and said, ‘Dear father, the word you have given
\nmust be kept; I will go to the lion, and soothe him: perhaps he will let
\nme come safe home again.’<\/p>\n
The next morning she asked the way she was to go, and took leave of her
\nfather, and went forth with a bold heart into the wood. But the lion was
\nan enchanted prince. By day he and all his court were lions, but in the
\nevening they took their right forms again. And when Lily came to the
\ncastle, he welcomed her so courteously that she agreed to marry him. The
\nwedding-feast was held, and they lived happily together a long time. The
\nprince was only to be seen as soon as evening came, and then he held his
\ncourt; but every morning he left his bride, and went away by himself, she
\nknew not whither, till the night came again.<\/p>\n
After some time he said to her, ‘Tomorrow there will be a great feast in
\nyour father’s house, for your eldest sister is to be married; and if you
\nwish to go and visit her my lions shall lead you thither.’ Then she
\nrejoiced much at the thoughts of seeing her father once more, and set out
\nwith the lions; and everyone was overjoyed to see her, for they had
\nthought her dead long since. But she told them how happy she was, and
\nstayed till the feast was over, and then went back to the wood.<\/p>\n
Her second sister was soon after married, and when Lily was asked to go to
\nthe wedding, she said to the prince, ‘I will not go alone this time\u2014you
\nmust go with me.’ But he would not, and said that it would be a very
\nhazardous thing; for if the least ray of the torch-light should fall upon
\nhim his enchantment would become still worse, for he should be changed
\ninto a dove, and be forced to wander about the world for seven long years.
\nHowever, she gave him no rest, and said she would take care no light
\nshould fall upon him. So at last they set out together, and took with them
\ntheir little child; and she chose a large hall with thick walls for him to
\nsit in while the wedding-torches were lighted; but, unluckily, no one saw
\nthat there was a crack in the door. Then the wedding was held with great
\npomp, but as the train came from the church, and passed with the torches
\nbefore the hall, a very small ray of light fell upon the prince. In a
\nmoment he disappeared, and when his wife came in and looked for him, she
\nfound only a white dove; and it said to her, ‘Seven years must I fly up
\nand down over the face of the earth, but every now and then I will let
\nfall a white feather, that will show you the way I am going; follow it,
\nand at last you may overtake and set me free.’<\/p>\n
This said, he flew out at the door, and poor Lily followed; and every now
\nand then a white feather fell, and showed her the way she was to journey.
\nThus she went roving on through the wide world, and looked neither to the
\nright hand nor to the left, nor took any rest, for seven years. Then she
\nbegan to be glad, and thought to herself that the time was fast coming
\nwhen all her troubles should end; yet repose was still far off, for one
\nday as she was travelling on she missed the white feather, and when she
\nlifted up her eyes she could nowhere see the dove. ‘Now,’ thought she to
\nherself, ‘no aid of man can be of use to me.’ So she went to the sun and
\nsaid, ‘Thou shinest everywhere, on the hill’s top and the valley’s depth\u2014hast
\nthou anywhere seen my white dove?’ ‘No,’ said the sun, ‘I have not seen
\nit; but I will give thee a casket\u2014open it when thy hour of need
\ncomes.’<\/p>\n
So she thanked the sun, and went on her way till eventide; and when the
\nmoon arose, she cried unto it, and said, ‘Thou shinest through the night,
\nover field and grove\u2014hast thou nowhere seen my white dove?’ ‘No,’
\nsaid the moon, ‘I cannot help thee but I will give thee an egg\u2014break
\nit when need comes.’<\/p>\n
Then she thanked the moon, and went on till the night-wind blew; and she
\nraised up her voice to it, and said, ‘Thou blowest through every tree and
\nunder every leaf\u2014hast thou not seen my white dove?’ ‘No,’ said the
\nnight-wind, ‘but I will ask three other winds; perhaps they have seen it.’
\nThen the east wind and the west wind came, and said they too had not seen
\nit, but the south wind said, ‘I have seen the white dove\u2014he has fled
\nto the Red Sea, and is changed once more into a lion, for the seven years
\nare passed away, and there he is fighting with a dragon; and the dragon is
\nan enchanted princess, who seeks to separate him from you.’ Then the
\nnight-wind said, ‘I will give thee counsel. Go to the Red Sea; on the
\nright shore stand many rods\u2014count them, and when thou comest to the
\neleventh, break it off, and smite the dragon with it; and so the lion will
\nhave the victory, and both of them will appear to you in their own forms.
\nThen look round and thou wilt see a griffin, winged like bird, sitting by
\nthe Red Sea; jump on to his back with thy beloved one as quickly as
\npossible, and he will carry you over the waters to your home. I will also
\ngive thee this nut,’ continued the night-wind. ‘When you are half-way
\nover, throw it down, and out of the waters will immediately spring up a
\nhigh nut-tree on which the griffin will be able to rest, otherwise he
\nwould not have the strength to bear you the whole way; if, therefore, thou
\ndost forget to throw down the nut, he will let you both fall into the
\nsea.’<\/p>\n
So our poor wanderer went forth, and found all as the night-wind had said;
\nand she plucked the eleventh rod, and smote the dragon, and the lion
\nforthwith became a prince, and the dragon a princess again. But no sooner
\nwas the princess released from the spell, than she seized the prince by
\nthe arm and sprang on to the griffin’s back, and went off carrying the
\nprince away with her.<\/p>\n
Thus the unhappy traveller was again forsaken and forlorn; but she took
\nheart and said, ‘As far as the wind blows, and so long as the cock crows,
\nI will journey on, till I find him once again.’ She went on for a long,
\nlong way, till at length she came to the castle whither the princess had
\ncarried the prince; and there was a feast got ready, and she heard that
\nthe wedding was about to be held. ‘Heaven aid me now!’ said she; and she
\ntook the casket that the sun had given her, and found that within it lay a
\ndress as dazzling as the sun itself. So she put it on, and went into the
\npalace, and all the people gazed upon her; and the dress pleased the bride
\nso much that she asked whether it was to be sold. ‘Not for gold and
\nsilver.’ said she, ‘but for flesh and blood.’ The princess asked what she
\nmeant, and she said, ‘Let me speak with the bridegroom this night in his
\nchamber, and I will give thee the dress.’ At last the princess agreed, but
\nshe told her chamberlain to give the prince a sleeping draught, that he
\nmight not hear or see her. When evening came, and the prince had fallen
\nasleep, she was led into his chamber, and she sat herself down at his
\nfeet, and said: ‘I have followed thee seven years. I have been to the sun,
\nthe moon, and the night-wind, to seek thee, and at last I have helped thee
\nto overcome the dragon. Wilt thou then forget me quite?’ But the prince
\nall the time slept so soundly, that her voice only passed over him, and
\nseemed like the whistling of the wind among the fir-trees.<\/p>\n
Then poor Lily was led away, and forced to give up the golden dress; and
\nwhen she saw that there was no help for her, she went out into a meadow,
\nand sat herself down and wept. But as she sat she bethought herself of the
\negg that the moon had given her; and when she broke it, there ran out a
\nhen and twelve chickens of pure gold, that played about, and then nestled
\nunder the old one’s wings, so as to form the most beautiful sight in the
\nworld. And she rose up and drove them before her, till the bride saw them
\nfrom her window, and was so pleased that she came forth and asked her if
\nshe would sell the brood. ‘Not for gold or silver, but for flesh and
\nblood: let me again this evening speak with the bridegroom in his chamber,
\nand I will give thee the whole brood.’<\/p>\n
Then the princess thought to betray her as before, and agreed to what she
\nasked: but when the prince went to his chamber he asked the chamberlain
\nwhy the wind had whistled so in the night. And the chamberlain told him
\nall\u2014how he had given him a sleeping draught, and how a poor maiden
\nhad come and spoken to him in his chamber, and was to come again that
\nnight. Then the prince took care to throw away the sleeping draught; and
\nwhen Lily came and began again to tell him what woes had befallen her, and
\nhow faithful and true to him she had been, he knew his beloved wife’s
\nvoice, and sprang up, and said, ‘You have awakened me as from a dream, for
\nthe strange princess had thrown a spell around me, so that I had
\naltogether forgotten you; but Heaven hath sent you to me in a lucky hour.’<\/p>\n
And they stole away out of the palace by night unawares, and seated
\nthemselves on the griffin, who flew back with them over the Red Sea. When
\nthey were half-way across Lily let the nut fall into the water, and
\nimmediately a large nut-tree arose from the sea, whereon the griffin
\nrested for a while, and then carried them safely home. There they found
\ntheir child, now grown up to be comely and fair; and after all their
\ntroubles they lived happily together to the end of their days.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE FOX AND THE HORSE<\/h2>\n
A farmer had a horse that had been an excellent faithful servant to him:
\nbut he was now grown too old to work; so the farmer would give him nothing
\nmore to eat, and said, ‘I want you no longer, so take yourself off out of
\nmy stable; I shall not take you back again until you are stronger than a
\nlion.’ Then he opened the door and turned him adrift.<\/p>\n
The poor horse was very melancholy, and wandered up and down in the wood,
\nseeking some little shelter from the cold wind and rain. Presently a fox
\nmet him: ‘What’s the matter, my friend?’ said he, ‘why do you hang down
\nyour head and look so lonely and woe-begone?’ ‘Ah!’ replied the horse,
\n‘justice and avarice never dwell in one house; my master has forgotten all
\nthat I have done for him so many years, and because I can no longer work
\nhe has turned me adrift, and says unless I become stronger than a lion he
\nwill not take me back again; what chance can I have of that? he knows I
\nhave none, or he would not talk so.’<\/p>\n
However, the fox bid him be of good cheer, and said, ‘I will help you; lie
\ndown there, stretch yourself out quite stiff, and pretend to be dead.’ The
\nhorse did as he was told, and the fox went straight to the lion who lived
\nin a cave close by, and said to him, ‘A little way off lies a dead horse;
\ncome with me and you may make an excellent meal of his carcase.’ The lion
\nwas greatly pleased, and set off immediately; and when they came to the
\nhorse, the fox said, ‘You will not be able to eat him comfortably here;
\nI’ll tell you what\u2014I will tie you fast to his tail, and then you can
\ndraw him to your den, and eat him at your leisure.’<\/p>\n
This advice pleased the lion, so he laid himself down quietly for the fox
\nto make him fast to the horse. But the fox managed to tie his legs
\ntogether and bound all so hard and fast that with all his strength he
\ncould not set himself free. When the work was done, the fox clapped the
\nhorse on the shoulder, and said, ‘Jip! Dobbin! Jip!’ Then up he sprang,
\nand moved off, dragging the lion behind him. The beast began to roar and
\nbellow, till all the birds of the wood flew away for fright; but the horse
\nlet him sing on, and made his way quietly over the fields to his master’s
\nhouse.<\/p>\n
‘Here he is, master,’ said he, ‘I have got the better of him’: and when
\nthe farmer saw his old servant, his heart relented, and he said. ‘Thou
\nshalt stay in thy stable and be well taken care of.’ And so the poor old
\nhorse had plenty to eat, and lived\u2014till he died.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE BLUE LIGHT<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time a soldier who for many years had served the
\nking faithfully, but when the war came to an end could serve no longer
\nbecause of the many wounds which he had received. The king said to him:
\n‘You may return to your home, I need you no longer, and you will not
\nreceive any more money, for he only receives wages who renders me service
\nfor them.’ Then the soldier did not know how to earn a living, went away
\ngreatly troubled, and walked the whole day, until in the evening he
\nentered a forest. When darkness came on, he saw a light, which he went up
\nto, and came to a house wherein lived a witch. ‘Do give me one night’s
\nlodging, and a little to eat and drink,’ said he to her, ‘or I shall
\nstarve.’ ‘Oho!’ she answered, ‘who gives anything to a run-away soldier?
\nYet will I be compassionate, and take you in, if you will do what I wish.’
\n‘What do you wish?’ said the soldier. ‘That you should dig all round my
\ngarden for me, tomorrow.’ The soldier consented, and next day laboured
\nwith all his strength, but could not finish it by the evening. ‘I see well
\nenough,’ said the witch, ‘that you can do no more today, but I will keep
\nyou yet another night, in payment for which you must tomorrow chop me a
\nload of wood, and chop it small.’ The soldier spent the whole day in doing
\nit, and in the evening the witch proposed that he should stay one night
\nmore. ‘Tomorrow, you shall only do me a very trifling piece of work.
\nBehind my house, there is an old dry well, into which my light has fallen,
\nit burns blue, and never goes out, and you shall bring it up again.’ Next
\nday the old woman took him to the well, and let him down in a basket. He
\nfound the blue light, and made her a signal to draw him up again. She did
\ndraw him up, but when he came near the edge, she stretched down her hand
\nand wanted to take the blue light away from him. ‘No,’ said he, perceiving
\nher evil intention, ‘I will not give you the light until I am standing
\nwith both feet upon the ground.’ The witch fell into a passion, let him
\nfall again into the well, and went away.<\/p>\n
The poor soldier fell without injury on the moist ground, and the blue
\nlight went on burning, but of what use was that to him? He saw very well
\nthat he could not escape death. He sat for a while very sorrowfully, then
\nsuddenly he felt in his pocket and found his tobacco pipe, which was still
\nhalf full. ‘This shall be my last pleasure,’ thought he, pulled it out,
\nlit it at the blue light and began to smoke. When the smoke had circled
\nabout the cavern, suddenly a little black dwarf stood before him, and
\nsaid: ‘Lord, what are your commands?’ ‘What my commands are?’ replied the
\nsoldier, quite astonished. ‘I must do everything you bid me,’ said the
\nlittle man. ‘Good,’ said the soldier; ‘then in the first place help me out
\nof this well.’ The little man took him by the hand, and led him through an
\nunderground passage, but he did not forget to take the blue light with
\nhim. On the way the dwarf showed him the treasures which the witch had
\ncollected and hidden there, and the soldier took as much gold as he could
\ncarry. When he was above, he said to the little man: ‘Now go and bind the
\nold witch, and carry her before the judge.’ In a short time she came by
\nlike the wind, riding on a wild tom-cat and screaming frightfully. Nor was
\nit long before the little man reappeared. ‘It is all done,’ said he, ‘and
\nthe witch is already hanging on the gallows. What further commands has my
\nlord?’ inquired the dwarf. ‘At this moment, none,’ answered the soldier;
\n‘you can return home, only be at hand immediately, if I summon you.’
\n‘Nothing more is needed than that you should light your pipe at the blue
\nlight, and I will appear before you at once.’ Thereupon he vanished from
\nhis sight.<\/p>\n
The soldier returned to the town from which he came. He went to the best
\ninn, ordered himself handsome clothes, and then bade the landlord furnish
\nhim a room as handsome as possible. When it was ready and the soldier had
\ntaken possession of it, he summoned the little black manikin and said: ‘I
\nhave served the king faithfully, but he has dismissed me, and left me to
\nhunger, and now I want to take my revenge.’ ‘What am I to do?’ asked the
\nlittle man. ‘Late at night, when the king’s daughter is in bed, bring her
\nhere in her sleep, she shall do servant’s work for me.’ The manikin said:
\n‘That is an easy thing for me to do, but a very dangerous thing for you,
\nfor if it is discovered, you will fare ill.’ When twelve o’clock had
\nstruck, the door sprang open, and the manikin carried in the princess.
\n‘Aha! are you there?’ cried the soldier, ‘get to your work at once! Fetch
\nthe broom and sweep the chamber.’ When she had done this, he ordered her
\nto come to his chair, and then he stretched out his feet and said: ‘Pull
\noff my boots,’ and then he threw them in her face, and made her pick them
\nup again, and clean and brighten them. She, however, did everything he
\nbade her, without opposition, silently and with half-shut eyes. When the
\nfirst cock crowed, the manikin carried her back to the royal palace, and
\nlaid her in her bed.<\/p>\n
Next morning when the princess arose she went to her father, and told him
\nthat she had had a very strange dream. ‘I was carried through the streets
\nwith the rapidity of lightning,’ said she, ‘and taken into a soldier’s
\nroom, and I had to wait upon him like a servant, sweep his room, clean his
\nboots, and do all kinds of menial work. It was only a dream, and yet I am
\njust as tired as if I really had done everything.’ ‘The dream may have
\nbeen true,’ said the king. ‘I will give you a piece of advice. Fill your
\npocket full of peas, and make a small hole in the pocket, and then if you
\nare carried away again, they will fall out and leave a track in the
\nstreets.’ But unseen by the king, the manikin was standing beside him when
\nhe said that, and heard all. At night when the sleeping princess was again
\ncarried through the streets, some peas certainly did fall out of her
\npocket, but they made no track, for the crafty manikin had just before
\nscattered peas in every street there was. And again the princess was
\ncompelled to do servant’s work until cock-crow.<\/p>\n
Next morning the king sent his people out to seek the track, but it was
\nall in vain, for in every street poor children were sitting, picking up
\npeas, and saying: ‘It must have rained peas, last night.’ ‘We must think
\nof something else,’ said the king; ‘keep your shoes on when you go to bed,
\nand before you come back from the place where you are taken, hide one of
\nthem there, I will soon contrive to find it.’ The black manikin heard this
\nplot, and at night when the soldier again ordered him to bring the
\nprincess, revealed it to him, and told him that he knew of no expedient to
\ncounteract this stratagem, and that if the shoe were found in the
\nsoldier’s house it would go badly with him. ‘Do what I bid you,’ replied
\nthe soldier, and again this third night the princess was obliged to work
\nlike a servant, but before she went away, she hid her shoe under the bed.<\/p>\n
Next morning the king had the entire town searched for his daughter’s
\nshoe. It was found at the soldier’s, and the soldier himself, who at the
\nentreaty of the dwarf had gone outside the gate, was soon brought back,
\nand thrown into prison. In his flight he had forgotten the most valuable
\nthings he had, the blue light and the gold, and had only one ducat in his
\npocket. And now loaded with chains, he was standing at the window of his
\ndungeon, when he chanced to see one of his comrades passing by. The
\nsoldier tapped at the pane of glass, and when this man came up, said to
\nhim: ‘Be so kind as to fetch me the small bundle I have left lying in the
\ninn, and I will give you a ducat for doing it.’ His comrade ran thither
\nand brought him what he wanted. As soon as the soldier was alone again, he
\nlighted his pipe and summoned the black manikin. ‘Have no fear,’ said the
\nlatter to his master. ‘Go wheresoever they take you, and let them do what
\nthey will, only take the blue light with you.’ Next day the soldier was
\ntried, and though he had done nothing wicked, the judge condemned him to
\ndeath. When he was led forth to die, he begged a last favour of the king.
\n‘What is it?’ asked the king. ‘That I may smoke one more pipe on my way.’
\n‘You may smoke three,’ answered the king, ‘but do not imagine that I will
\nspare your life.’ Then the soldier pulled out his pipe and lighted it at
\nthe blue light, and as soon as a few wreaths of smoke had ascended, the
\nmanikin was there with a small cudgel in his hand, and said: ‘What does my
\nlord command?’ ‘Strike down to earth that false judge there, and his
\nconstable, and spare not the king who has treated me so ill.’ Then the
\nmanikin fell on them like lightning, darting this way and that way, and
\nwhosoever was so much as touched by his cudgel fell to earth, and did not
\nventure to stir again. The king was terrified; he threw himself on the
\nsoldier’s mercy, and merely to be allowed to live at all, gave him his
\nkingdom for his own, and his daughter to wife.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE RAVEN<\/h2>\n
There was once a queen who had a little daughter, still too young to run
\nalone. One day the child was very troublesome, and the mother could not
\nquiet it, do what she would. She grew impatient, and seeing the ravens
\nflying round the castle, she opened the window, and said: ‘I wish you were
\na raven and would fly away, then I should have a little peace.’ Scarcely
\nwere the words out of her mouth, when the child in her arms was turned
\ninto a raven, and flew away from her through the open window. The bird
\ntook its flight to a dark wood and remained there for a long time, and
\nmeanwhile the parents could hear nothing of their child.<\/p>\n
Long after this, a man was making his way through the wood when he heard a
\nraven calling, and he followed the sound of the voice. As he drew near,
\nthe raven said, ‘I am by birth a king’s daughter, but am now under the
\nspell of some enchantment; you can, however, set me free.’ ‘What am I to
\ndo?’ he asked. She replied, ‘Go farther into the wood until you come to a
\nhouse, wherein lives an old woman; she will offer you food and drink, but
\nyou must not take of either; if you do, you will fall into a deep sleep,
\nand will not be able to help me. In the garden behind the house is a large
\ntan-heap, and on that you must stand and watch for me. I shall drive there
\nin my carriage at two o’clock in the afternoon for three successive days;
\nthe first day it will be drawn by four white, the second by four chestnut,
\nand the last by four black horses; but if you fail to keep awake and I
\nfind you sleeping, I shall not be set free.’<\/p>\n
The man promised to do all that she wished, but the raven said, ‘Alas! I
\nknow even now that you will take something from the woman and be unable to
\nsave me.’ The man assured her again that he would on no account touch a
\nthing to eat or drink.<\/p>\n
When he came to the house and went inside, the old woman met him, and
\nsaid, ‘Poor man! how tired you are! Come in and rest and let me give you
\nsomething to eat and drink.’<\/p>\n
‘No,’ answered the man, ‘I will neither eat not drink.’<\/p>\n
But she would not leave him alone, and urged him saying, ‘If you will not
\neat anything, at least you might take a draught of wine; one drink counts
\nfor nothing,’ and at last he allowed himself to be persuaded, and drank.<\/p>\n
As it drew towards the appointed hour, he went outside into the garden and
\nmounted the tan-heap to await the raven. Suddenly a feeling of fatigue
\ncame over him, and unable to resist it, he lay down for a little while,
\nfully determined, however, to keep awake; but in another minute his eyes
\nclosed of their own accord, and he fell into such a deep sleep, that all
\nthe noises in the world would not have awakened him. At two o’clock the
\nraven came driving along, drawn by her four white horses; but even before
\nshe reached the spot, she said to herself, sighing, ‘I know he has fallen
\nasleep.’ When she entered the garden, there she found him as she had
\nfeared, lying on the tan-heap, fast asleep. She got out of her carriage
\nand went to him; she called him and shook him, but it was all in vain, he
\nstill continued sleeping.<\/p>\n
The next day at noon, the old woman came to him again with food and drink
\nwhich he at first refused. At last, overcome by her persistent entreaties
\nthat he would take something, he lifted the glass and drank again.<\/p>\n
Towards two o’clock he went into the garden and on to the tan-heap to
\nwatch for the raven. He had not been there long before he began to feel so
\ntired that his limbs seemed hardly able to support him, and he could not
\nstand upright any longer; so again he lay down and fell fast asleep. As
\nthe raven drove along her four chestnut horses, she said sorrowfully to
\nherself, ‘I know he has fallen asleep.’ She went as before to look for
\nhim, but he slept, and it was impossible to awaken him.<\/p>\n
The following day the old woman said to him, ‘What is this? You are not
\neating or drinking anything, do you want to kill yourself?’<\/p>\n
He answered, ‘I may not and will not either eat or drink.’<\/p>\n
But she put down the dish of food and the glass of wine in front of him,
\nand when he smelt the wine, he was unable to resist the temptation, and
\ntook a deep draught.<\/p>\n
When the hour came round again he went as usual on to the tan-heap in the
\ngarden to await the king’s daughter, but he felt even more overcome with
\nweariness than on the two previous days, and throwing himself down, he
\nslept like a log. At two o’clock the raven could be seen approaching, and
\nthis time her coachman and everything about her, as well as her horses,
\nwere black.<\/p>\n
She was sadder than ever as she drove along, and said mournfully, ‘I know
\nhe has fallen asleep, and will not be able to set me free.’ She found him
\nsleeping heavily, and all her efforts to awaken him were of no avail. Then
\nshe placed beside him a loaf, and some meat, and a flask of wine, of such
\na kind, that however much he took of them, they would never grow less.
\nAfter that she drew a gold ring, on which her name was engraved, off her
\nfinger, and put it upon one of his. Finally, she laid a letter near him,
\nin which, after giving him particulars of the food and drink she had left
\nfor him, she finished with the following words: ‘I see that as long as you
\nremain here you will never be able to set me free; if, however, you still
\nwish to do so, come to the golden castle of Stromberg; this is well within
\nyour power to accomplish.’ She then returned to her carriage and drove to
\nthe golden castle of Stromberg.<\/p>\n
When the man awoke and found that he had been sleeping, he was grieved at
\nheart, and said, ‘She has no doubt been here and driven away again, and it
\nis now too late for me to save her.’ Then his eyes fell on the things
\nwhich were lying beside him; he read the letter, and knew from it all that
\nhad happened. He rose up without delay, eager to start on his way and to
\nreach the castle of Stromberg, but he had no idea in which direction he
\nought to go. He travelled about a long time in search of it and came at
\nlast to a dark forest, through which he went on walking for fourteen days
\nand still could not find a way out. Once more the night came on, and worn
\nout he lay down under a bush and fell asleep. Again the next day he
\npursued his way through the forest, and that evening, thinking to rest
\nagain, he lay down as before, but he heard such a howling and wailing that
\nhe found it impossible to sleep. He waited till it was darker and people
\nhad begun to light up their houses, and then seeing a little glimmer ahead
\nof him, he went towards it.<\/p>\n
He found that the light came from a house which looked smaller than it
\nreally was, from the contrast of its height with that of an immense giant
\nwho stood in front of it. He thought to himself, ‘If the giant sees me
\ngoing in, my life will not be worth much.’ However, after a while he
\nsummoned up courage and went forward. When the giant saw him, he called
\nout, ‘It is lucky for that you have come, for I have not had anything to
\neat for a long time. I can have you now for my supper.’ ‘I would rather
\nyou let that alone,’ said the man, ‘for I do not willingly give myself up
\nto be eaten; if you are wanting food I have enough to satisfy your
\nhunger.’ ‘If that is so,’ replied the giant, ‘I will leave you in peace; I
\nonly thought of eating you because I had nothing else.’<\/p>\n
So they went indoors together and sat down, and the man brought out the
\nbread, meat, and wine, which although he had eaten and drunk of them, were
\nstill unconsumed. The giant was pleased with the good cheer, and ate and
\ndrank to his heart’s content. When he had finished his supper the man
\nasked him if he could direct him to the castle of Stromberg. The giant
\nsaid, ‘I will look on my map; on it are marked all the towns, villages,
\nand houses.’ So he fetched his map, and looked for the castle, but could
\nnot find it. ‘Never mind,’ he said, ‘I have larger maps upstairs in the
\ncupboard, we will look on those,’ but they searched in vain, for the
\ncastle was not marked even on these. The man now thought he should like to
\ncontinue his journey, but the giant begged him to remain for a day or two
\nlonger until the return of his brother, who was away in search of
\nprovisions. When the brother came home, they asked him about the castle of
\nStromberg, and he told them he would look on his own maps as soon as he
\nhad eaten and appeased his hunger. Accordingly, when he had finished his
\nsupper, they all went up together to his room and looked through his maps,
\nbut the castle was not to be found. Then he fetched other older maps, and
\nthey went on looking for the castle until at last they found it, but it
\nwas many thousand miles away. ‘How shall I be able to get there?’ asked
\nthe man. ‘I have two hours to spare,’ said the giant, ‘and I will carry
\nyou into the neighbourhood of the castle; I must then return to look after
\nthe child who is in our care.’<\/p>\n
The giant, thereupon, carried the man to within about a hundred leagues of
\nthe castle, where he left him, saying, ‘You will be able to walk the
\nremainder of the way yourself.’ The man journeyed on day and night till he
\nreached the golden castle of Stromberg. He found it situated, however, on
\na glass mountain, and looking up from the foot he saw the enchanted maiden
\ndrive round her castle and then go inside. He was overjoyed to see her,
\nand longed to get to the top of the mountain, but the sides were so
\nslippery that every time he attempted to climb he fell back again. When he
\nsaw that it was impossible to reach her, he was greatly grieved, and said
\nto himself, ‘I will remain here and wait for her,’ so he built himself a
\nlittle hut, and there he sat and watched for a whole year, and every day
\nhe saw the king’s daughter driving round her castle, but still was unable
\nto get nearer to her.<\/p>\n
Looking out from his hut one day he saw three robbers fighting and he
\ncalled out to them, ‘God be with you.’ They stopped when they heard the
\ncall, but looking round and seeing nobody, they went on again with their
\nfighting, which now became more furious. ‘God be with you,’ he cried
\nagain, and again they paused and looked about, but seeing no one went back
\nto their fighting. A third time he called out, ‘God be with you,’ and then
\nthinking he should like to know the cause of dispute between the three
\nmen, he went out and asked them why they were fighting so angrily with one
\nanother. One of them said that he had found a stick, and that he had but
\nto strike it against any door through which he wished to pass, and it
\nimmediately flew open. Another told him that he had found a cloak which
\nrendered its wearer invisible; and the third had caught a horse which
\nwould carry its rider over any obstacle, and even up the glass mountain.
\nThey had been unable to decide whether they would keep together and have
\nthe things in common, or whether they would separate. On hearing this, the
\nman said, ‘I will give you something in exchange for those three things;
\nnot money, for that I have not got, but something that is of far more
\nvalue. I must first, however, prove whether all you have told me about
\nyour three things is true.’ The robbers, therefore, made him get on the
\nhorse, and handed him the stick and the cloak, and when he had put this
\nround him he was no longer visible. Then he fell upon them with the stick
\nand beat them one after another, crying, ‘There, you idle vagabonds, you
\nhave got what you deserve; are you satisfied now!’<\/p>\n
After this he rode up the glass mountain. When he reached the gate of the
\ncastle, he found it closed, but he gave it a blow with his stick, and it
\nflew wide open at once and he passed through. He mounted the steps and
\nentered the room where the maiden was sitting, with a golden goblet full
\nof wine in front of her. She could not see him for he still wore his
\ncloak. He took the ring which she had given him off his finger, and threw
\nit into the goblet, so that it rang as it touched the bottom. ‘That is my
\nown ring,’ she exclaimed, ‘and if that is so the man must also be here who
\nis coming to set me free.’<\/p>\n
She sought for him about the castle, but could find him nowhere. Meanwhile
\nhe had gone outside again and mounted his horse and thrown off the cloak.
\nWhen therefore she came to the castle gate she saw him, and cried aloud
\nfor joy. Then he dismounted and took her in his arms; and she kissed him,
\nand said, ‘Now you have indeed set me free, and tomorrow we will celebrate
\nour marriage.’<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE GOLDEN GOOSE<\/h2>\n
There was a man who had three sons, the youngest of whom was called
\nDummling,[*] and was despised, mocked, and sneered at on every occasion.<\/p>\n
It happened that the eldest wanted to go into the forest to hew wood, and
\nbefore he went his mother gave him a beautiful sweet cake and a bottle of
\nwine in order that he might not suffer from hunger or thirst.<\/p>\n
When he entered the forest he met a little grey-haired old man who bade
\nhim good day, and said: ‘Do give me a piece of cake out of your pocket,
\nand let me have a draught of your wine; I am so hungry and thirsty.’ But
\nthe clever son answered: ‘If I give you my cake and wine, I shall have
\nnone for myself; be off with you,’ and he left the little man standing and
\nwent on.<\/p>\n
But when he began to hew down a tree, it was not long before he made a
\nfalse stroke, and the axe cut him in the arm, so that he had to go home
\nand have it bound up. And this was the little grey man’s doing.<\/p>\n
After this the second son went into the forest, and his mother gave him,
\nlike the eldest, a cake and a bottle of wine. The little old grey man met
\nhim likewise, and asked him for a piece of cake and a drink of wine. But
\nthe second son, too, said sensibly enough: ‘What I give you will be taken
\naway from myself; be off!’ and he left the little man standing and went
\non. His punishment, however, was not delayed; when he had made a few blows
\nat the tree he struck himself in the leg, so that he had to be carried
\nhome.<\/p>\n
Then Dummling said: ‘Father, do let me go and cut wood.’ The father
\nanswered: ‘Your brothers have hurt themselves with it, leave it alone, you
\ndo not understand anything about it.’ But Dummling begged so long that at
\nlast he said: ‘Just go then, you will get wiser by hurting yourself.’ His
\nmother gave him a cake made with water and baked in the cinders, and with
\nit a bottle of sour beer.<\/p>\n
When he came to the forest the little old grey man met him likewise, and
\ngreeting him, said: ‘Give me a piece of your cake and a drink out of your
\nbottle; I am so hungry and thirsty.’ Dummling answered: ‘I have only
\ncinder-cake and sour beer; if that pleases you, we will sit down and eat.’
\nSo they sat down, and when Dummling pulled out his cinder-cake, it was a
\nfine sweet cake, and the sour beer had become good wine. So they ate and
\ndrank, and after that the little man said: ‘Since you have a good heart,
\nand are willing to divide what you have, I will give you good luck. There
\nstands an old tree, cut it down, and you will find something at the
\nroots.’ Then the little man took leave of him.<\/p>\n
Dummling went and cut down the tree, and when it fell there was a goose
\nsitting in the roots with feathers of pure gold. He lifted her up, and
\ntaking her with him, went to an inn where he thought he would stay the
\nnight. Now the host had three daughters, who saw the goose and were
\ncurious to know what such a wonderful bird might be, and would have liked
\nto have one of its golden feathers.<\/p>\n
The eldest thought: ‘I shall soon find an opportunity of pulling out a
\nfeather,’ and as soon as Dummling had gone out she seized the goose by the
\nwing, but her finger and hand remained sticking fast to it.<\/p>\n
The second came soon afterwards, thinking only of how she might get a
\nfeather for herself, but she had scarcely touched her sister than she was
\nheld fast.<\/p>\n
At last the third also came with the like intent, and the others screamed
\nout: ‘Keep away; for goodness’ sake keep away!’ But she did not understand
\nwhy she was to keep away. ‘The others are there,’ she thought, ‘I may as
\nwell be there too,’ and ran to them; but as soon as she had touched her
\nsister, she remained sticking fast to her. So they had to spend the night
\nwith the goose.<\/p>\n
The next morning Dummling took the goose under his arm and set out,
\nwithout troubling himself about the three girls who were hanging on to it.
\nThey were obliged to run after him continually, now left, now right,
\nwherever his legs took him.<\/p>\n
In the middle of the fields the parson met them, and when he saw the
\nprocession he said: ‘For shame, you good-for-nothing girls, why are you
\nrunning across the fields after this young man? Is that seemly?’ At the
\nsame time he seized the youngest by the hand in order to pull her away,
\nbut as soon as he touched her he likewise stuck fast, and was himself
\nobliged to run behind.<\/p>\n
Before long the sexton came by and saw his master, the parson, running
\nbehind three girls. He was astonished at this and called out: ‘Hi! your
\nreverence, whither away so quickly? Do not forget that we have a
\nchristening today!’ and running after him he took him by the sleeve, but
\nwas also held fast to it.<\/p>\n
Whilst the five were trotting thus one behind the other, two labourers
\ncame with their hoes from the fields; the parson called out to them and
\nbegged that they would set him and the sexton free. But they had scarcely
\ntouched the sexton when they were held fast, and now there were seven of
\nthem running behind Dummling and the goose.<\/p>\n
Soon afterwards he came to a city, where a king ruled who had a daughter
\nwho was so serious that no one could make her laugh. So he had put forth a
\ndecree that whosoever should be able to make her laugh should marry her.
\nWhen Dummling heard this, he went with his goose and all her train before
\nthe king’s daughter, and as soon as she saw the seven people running on
\nand on, one behind the other, she began to laugh quite loudly, and as if
\nshe would never stop. Thereupon Dummling asked to have her for his wife;
\nbut the king did not like the son-in-law, and made all manner of excuses
\nand said he must first produce a man who could drink a cellarful of wine.
\nDummling thought of the little grey man, who could certainly help him; so
\nhe went into the forest, and in the same place where he had felled the
\ntree, he saw a man sitting, who had a very sorrowful face. Dummling asked
\nhim what he was taking to heart so sorely, and he answered: ‘I have such a
\ngreat thirst and cannot quench it; cold water I cannot stand, a barrel of
\nwine I have just emptied, but that to me is like a drop on a hot stone!’<\/p>\n
‘There, I can help you,’ said Dummling, ‘just come with me and you shall
\nbe satisfied.’<\/p>\n
He led him into the king’s cellar, and the man bent over the huge barrels,
\nand drank and drank till his loins hurt, and before the day was out he had
\nemptied all the barrels. Then Dummling asked once more for his bride, but
\nthe king was vexed that such an ugly fellow, whom everyone called
\nDummling, should take away his daughter, and he made a new condition; he
\nmust first find a man who could eat a whole mountain of bread. Dummling
\ndid not think long, but went straight into the forest, where in the same
\nplace there sat a man who was tying up his body with a strap, and making
\nan awful face, and saying: ‘I have eaten a whole ovenful of rolls, but
\nwhat good is that when one has such a hunger as I? My stomach remains
\nempty, and I must tie myself up if I am not to die of hunger.’<\/p>\n
At this Dummling was glad, and said: ‘Get up and come with me; you shall
\neat yourself full.’ He led him to the king’s palace where all the flour in
\nthe whole Kingdom was collected, and from it he caused a huge mountain of
\nbread to be baked. The man from the forest stood before it, began to eat,
\nand by the end of one day the whole mountain had vanished. Then Dummling
\nfor the third time asked for his bride; but the king again sought a way
\nout, and ordered a ship which could sail on land and on water. ‘As soon as
\nyou come sailing back in it,’ said he, ‘you shall have my daughter for
\nwife.’<\/p>\n
Dummling went straight into the forest, and there sat the little grey man
\nto whom he had given his cake. When he heard what Dummling wanted, he
\nsaid: ‘Since you have given me to eat and to drink, I will give you the
\nship; and I do all this because you once were kind to me.’ Then he gave
\nhim the ship which could sail on land and water, and when the king saw
\nthat, he could no longer prevent him from having his daughter. The wedding
\nwas celebrated, and after the king’s death, Dummling inherited his kingdom
\nand lived for a long time contentedly with his wife.<\/p>\n
     [*] Simpleton\r\n<\/pre>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE WATER OF LIFE<\/h2>\n
Long before you or I were born, there reigned, in a country a great way
\noff, a king who had three sons. This king once fell very ill\u2014so ill
\nthat nobody thought he could live. His sons were very much grieved at
\ntheir father’s sickness; and as they were walking together very mournfully
\nin the garden of the palace, a little old man met them and asked what was
\nthe matter. They told him that their father was very ill, and that they
\nwere afraid nothing could save him. ‘I know what would,’ said the little
\nold man; ‘it is the Water of Life. If he could have a draught of it he
\nwould be well again; but it is very hard to get.’ Then the eldest son
\nsaid, ‘I will soon find it’: and he went to the sick king, and begged that
\nhe might go in search of the Water of Life, as it was the only thing that
\ncould save him. ‘No,’ said the king. ‘I had rather die than place you in
\nsuch great danger as you must meet with in your journey.’ But he begged so
\nhard that the king let him go; and the prince thought to himself, ‘If I
\nbring my father this water, he will make me sole heir to his kingdom.’<\/p>\n
Then he set out: and when he had gone on his way some time he came to a
\ndeep valley, overhung with rocks and woods; and as he looked around, he
\nsaw standing above him on one of the rocks a little ugly dwarf, with a
\nsugarloaf cap and a scarlet cloak; and the dwarf called to him and said,
\n‘Prince, whither so fast?’ ‘What is that to thee, you ugly imp?’ said the
\nprince haughtily, and rode on.<\/p>\n
But the dwarf was enraged at his behaviour, and laid a fairy spell of
\nill-luck upon him; so that as he rode on the mountain pass became narrower
\nand narrower, and at last the way was so straitened that he could not go
\nto step forward: and when he thought to have turned his horse round and go
\nback the way he came, he heard a loud laugh ringing round him, and found
\nthat the path was closed behind him, so that he was shut in all round. He
\nnext tried to get off his horse and make his way on foot, but again the
\nlaugh rang in his ears, and he found himself unable to move a step, and
\nthus he was forced to abide spellbound.<\/p>\n
Meantime the old king was lingering on in daily hope of his son’s return,
\ntill at last the second son said, ‘Father, I will go in search of the
\nWater of Life.’ For he thought to himself, ‘My brother is surely dead, and
\nthe kingdom will fall to me if I find the water.’ The king was at first
\nvery unwilling to let him go, but at last yielded to his wish. So he set
\nout and followed the same road which his brother had done, and met with
\nthe same elf, who stopped him at the same spot in the mountains, saying,
\nas before, ‘Prince, prince, whither so fast?’ ‘Mind your own affairs,
\nbusybody!’ said the prince scornfully, and rode on.<\/p>\n
But the dwarf put the same spell upon him as he put on his elder brother,
\nand he, too, was at last obliged to take up his abode in the heart of the
\nmountains. Thus it is with proud silly people, who think themselves above
\neveryone else, and are too proud to ask or take advice.<\/p>\n
When the second prince had thus been gone a long time, the youngest son
\nsaid he would go and search for the Water of Life, and trusted he should
\nsoon be able to make his father well again. So he set out, and the dwarf
\nmet him too at the same spot in the valley, among the mountains, and said,
\n‘Prince, whither so fast?’ And the prince said, ‘I am going in search of
\nthe Water of Life, because my father is ill, and like to die: can you help
\nme? Pray be kind, and aid me if you can!’ ‘Do you know where it is to be
\nfound?’ asked the dwarf. ‘No,’ said the prince, ‘I do not. Pray tell me if
\nyou know.’ ‘Then as you have spoken to me kindly, and are wise enough to
\nseek for advice, I will tell you how and where to go. The water you seek
\nsprings from a well in an enchanted castle; and, that you may be able to
\nreach it in safety, I will give you an iron wand and two little loaves of
\nbread; strike the iron door of the castle three times with the wand, and
\nit will open: two hungry lions will be lying down inside gaping for their
\nprey, but if you throw them the bread they will let you pass; then hasten
\non to the well, and take some of the Water of Life before the clock
\nstrikes twelve; for if you tarry longer the door will shut upon you for
\never.’<\/p>\n
Then the prince thanked his little friend with the scarlet cloak for his
\nfriendly aid, and took the wand and the bread, and went travelling on and
\non, over sea and over land, till he came to his journey’s end, and found
\neverything to be as the dwarf had told him. The door flew open at the
\nthird stroke of the wand, and when the lions were quieted he went on
\nthrough the castle and came at length to a beautiful hall. Around it he
\nsaw several knights sitting in a trance; then he pulled off their rings
\nand put them on his own fingers. In another room he saw on a table a sword
\nand a loaf of bread, which he also took. Further on he came to a room
\nwhere a beautiful young lady sat upon a couch; and she welcomed him
\njoyfully, and said, if he would set her free from the spell that bound
\nher, the kingdom should be his, if he would come back in a year and marry
\nher. Then she told him that the well that held the Water of Life was in
\nthe palace gardens; and bade him make haste, and draw what he wanted
\nbefore the clock struck twelve.<\/p>\n
He walked on; and as he walked through beautiful gardens he came to a
\ndelightful shady spot in which stood a couch; and he thought to himself,
\nas he felt tired, that he would rest himself for a while, and gaze on the
\nlovely scenes around him. So he laid himself down, and sleep fell upon him
\nunawares, so that he did not wake up till the clock was striking a quarter
\nto twelve. Then he sprang from the couch dreadfully frightened, ran to the
\nwell, filled a cup that was standing by him full of water, and hastened to
\nget away in time. Just as he was going out of the iron door it struck
\ntwelve, and the door fell so quickly upon him that it snapped off a piece
\nof his heel.<\/p>\n
When he found himself safe, he was overjoyed to think that he had got the
\nWater of Life; and as he was going on his way homewards, he passed by the
\nlittle dwarf, who, when he saw the sword and the loaf, said, ‘You have
\nmade a noble prize; with the sword you can at a blow slay whole armies,
\nand the bread will never fail you.’ Then the prince thought to himself, ‘I
\ncannot go home to my father without my brothers’; so he said, ‘My dear
\nfriend, cannot you tell me where my two brothers are, who set out in
\nsearch of the Water of Life before me, and never came back?’ ‘I have shut
\nthem up by a charm between two mountains,’ said the dwarf, ‘because they
\nwere proud and ill-behaved, and scorned to ask advice.’ The prince begged
\nso hard for his brothers, that the dwarf at last set them free, though
\nunwillingly, saying, ‘Beware of them, for they have bad hearts.’ Their
\nbrother, however, was greatly rejoiced to see them, and told them all that
\nhad happened to him; how he had found the Water of Life, and had taken a
\ncup full of it; and how he had set a beautiful princess free from a spell
\nthat bound her; and how she had engaged to wait a whole year, and then to
\nmarry him, and to give him the kingdom.<\/p>\n
Then they all three rode on together, and on their way home came to a
\ncountry that was laid waste by war and a dreadful famine, so that it was
\nfeared all must die for want. But the prince gave the king of the land the
\nbread, and all his kingdom ate of it. And he lent the king the wonderful
\nsword, and he slew the enemy’s army with it; and thus the kingdom was once
\nmore in peace and plenty. In the same manner he befriended two other
\ncountries through which they passed on their way.<\/p>\n
When they came to the sea, they got into a ship and during their voyage
\nthe two eldest said to themselves, ‘Our brother has got the water which we
\ncould not find, therefore our father will forsake us and give him the
\nkingdom, which is our right’; so they were full of envy and revenge, and
\nagreed together how they could ruin him. Then they waited till he was fast
\nasleep, and poured the Water of Life out of the cup, and took it for
\nthemselves, giving him bitter sea-water instead.<\/p>\n
When they came to their journey’s end, the youngest son brought his cup to
\nthe sick king, that he might drink and be healed. Scarcely, however, had
\nhe tasted the bitter sea-water when he became worse even than he was
\nbefore; and then both the elder sons came in, and blamed the youngest for
\nwhat they had done; and said that he wanted to poison their father, but
\nthat they had found the Water of Life, and had brought it with them. He no
\nsooner began to drink of what they brought him, than he felt his sickness
\nleave him, and was as strong and well as in his younger days. Then they
\nwent to their brother, and laughed at him, and said, ‘Well, brother, you
\nfound the Water of Life, did you? You have had the trouble and we shall
\nhave the reward. Pray, with all your cleverness, why did not you manage to
\nkeep your eyes open? Next year one of us will take away your beautiful
\nprincess, if you do not take care. You had better say nothing about this
\nto our father, for he does not believe a word you say; and if you tell
\ntales, you shall lose your life into the bargain: but be quiet, and we
\nwill let you off.’<\/p>\n
The old king was still very angry with his youngest son, and thought that
\nhe really meant to have taken away his life; so he called his court
\ntogether, and asked what should be done, and all agreed that he ought to
\nbe put to death. The prince knew nothing of what was going on, till one
\nday, when the king’s chief huntsmen went a-hunting with him, and they were
\nalone in the wood together, the huntsman looked so sorrowful that the
\nprince said, ‘My friend, what is the matter with you?’ ‘I cannot and dare
\nnot tell you,’ said he. But the prince begged very hard, and said, ‘Only
\ntell me what it is, and do not think I shall be angry, for I will forgive
\nyou.’ ‘Alas!’ said the huntsman; ‘the king has ordered me to shoot you.’
\nThe prince started at this, and said, ‘Let me live, and I will change
\ndresses with you; you shall take my royal coat to show to my father, and
\ndo you give me your shabby one.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said the huntsman;
\n‘I am sure I shall be glad to save you, for I could not have shot you.’
\nThen he took the prince’s coat, and gave him the shabby one, and went away
\nthrough the wood.<\/p>\n
Some time after, three grand embassies came to the old king’s court, with
\nrich gifts of gold and precious stones for his youngest son; now all these
\nwere sent from the three kings to whom he had lent his sword and loaf of
\nbread, in order to rid them of their enemy and feed their people. This
\ntouched the old king’s heart, and he thought his son might still be
\nguiltless, and said to his court, ‘O that my son were still alive! how it
\ngrieves me that I had him killed!’ ‘He is still alive,’ said the huntsman;
\n‘and I am glad that I had pity on him, but let him go in peace, and
\nbrought home his royal coat.’ At this the king was overwhelmed with joy,
\nand made it known throughout all his kingdom, that if his son would come
\nback to his court he would forgive him.<\/p>\n
Meanwhile the princess was eagerly waiting till her deliverer should come
\nback; and had a road made leading up to her palace all of shining gold;
\nand told her courtiers that whoever came on horseback, and rode straight
\nup to the gate upon it, was her true lover; and that they must let him in:
\nbut whoever rode on one side of it, they must be sure was not the right
\none; and that they must send him away at once.<\/p>\n
The time soon came, when the eldest brother thought that he would make
\nhaste to go to the princess, and say that he was the one who had set her
\nfree, and that he should have her for his wife, and the kingdom with her.
\nAs he came before the palace and saw the golden road, he stopped to look
\nat it, and he thought to himself, ‘It is a pity to ride upon this
\nbeautiful road’; so he turned aside and rode on the right-hand side of it.
\nBut when he came to the gate, the guards, who had seen the road he took,
\nsaid to him, he could not be what he said he was, and must go about his
\nbusiness.<\/p>\n
The second prince set out soon afterwards on the same errand; and when he
\ncame to the golden road, and his horse had set one foot upon it, he
\nstopped to look at it, and thought it very beautiful, and said to himself,
\n‘What a pity it is that anything should tread here!’ Then he too turned
\naside and rode on the left side of it. But when he came to the gate the
\nguards said he was not the true prince, and that he too must go away about
\nhis business; and away he went.<\/p>\n
Now when the full year was come round, the third brother left the forest
\nin which he had lain hid for fear of his father’s anger, and set out in
\nsearch of his betrothed bride. So he journeyed on, thinking of her all the
\nway, and rode so quickly that he did not even see what the road was made
\nof, but went with his horse straight over it; and as he came to the gate
\nit flew open, and the princess welcomed him with joy, and said he was her
\ndeliverer, and should now be her husband and lord of the kingdom. When the
\nfirst joy at their meeting was over, the princess told him she had heard
\nof his father having forgiven him, and of his wish to have him home again:
\nso, before his wedding with the princess, he went to visit his father,
\ntaking her with him. Then he told him everything; how his brothers had
\ncheated and robbed him, and yet that he had borne all those wrongs for the
\nlove of his father. And the old king was very angry, and wanted to punish
\nhis wicked sons; but they made their escape, and got into a ship and
\nsailed away over the wide sea, and where they went to nobody knew and
\nnobody cared.<\/p>\n
And now the old king gathered together his court, and asked all his
\nkingdom to come and celebrate the wedding of his son and the princess. And
\nyoung and old, noble and squire, gentle and simple, came at once on the
\nsummons; and among the rest came the friendly dwarf, with the sugarloaf
\nhat, and a new scarlet cloak.<\/p>\n
  And the wedding was held, and the merry bells run.\r\n  And all the good people they danced and they sung,\r\n  And feasted and frolick'd I can't tell how long.\r\n<\/pre>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE TWELVE HUNTSMEN<\/h2>\n
There was once a king’s son who had a bride whom he loved very much. And
\nwhen he was sitting beside her and very happy, news came that his father
\nlay sick unto death, and desired to see him once again before his end.
\nThen he said to his beloved: ‘I must now go and leave you, I give you a
\nring as a remembrance of me. When I am king, I will return and fetch you.’
\nSo he rode away, and when he reached his father, the latter was
\ndangerously ill, and near his death. He said to him: ‘Dear son, I wished
\nto see you once again before my end, promise me to marry as I wish,’ and
\nhe named a certain king’s daughter who was to be his wife. The son was in
\nsuch trouble that he did not think what he was doing, and said: ‘Yes, dear
\nfather, your will shall be done,’ and thereupon the king shut his eyes,
\nand died.<\/p>\n
When therefore the son had been proclaimed king, and the time of mourning
\nwas over, he was forced to keep the promise which he had given his father,
\nand caused the king’s daughter to be asked in marriage, and she was
\npromised to him. His first betrothed heard of this, and fretted so much
\nabout his faithfulness that she nearly died. Then her father said to her:
\n‘Dearest child, why are you so sad? You shall have whatsoever you will.’
\nShe thought for a moment and said: ‘Dear father, I wish for eleven girls
\nexactly like myself in face, figure, and size.’ The father said: ‘If it be
\npossible, your desire shall be fulfilled,’ and he caused a search to be
\nmade in his whole kingdom, until eleven young maidens were found who
\nexactly resembled his daughter in face, figure, and size.<\/p>\n
When they came to the king’s daughter, she had twelve suits of huntsmen’s
\nclothes made, all alike, and the eleven maidens had to put on the
\nhuntsmen’s clothes, and she herself put on the twelfth suit. Thereupon she
\ntook her leave of her father, and rode away with them, and rode to the
\ncourt of her former betrothed, whom she loved so dearly. Then she asked if
\nhe required any huntsmen, and if he would take all of them into his
\nservice. The king looked at her and did not know her, but as they were
\nsuch handsome fellows, he said: ‘Yes,’ and that he would willingly take
\nthem, and now they were the king’s twelve huntsmen.<\/p>\n
The king, however, had a lion which was a wondrous animal, for he knew all
\nconcealed and secret things. It came to pass that one evening he said to
\nthe king: ‘You think you have twelve huntsmen?’ ‘Yes,’ said the king,
\n‘they are twelve huntsmen.’ The lion continued: ‘You are mistaken, they
\nare twelve girls.’ The king said: ‘That cannot be true! How will you prove
\nthat to me?’ ‘Oh, just let some peas be strewn in the ante-chamber,’
\nanswered the lion, ‘and then you will soon see. Men have a firm step, and
\nwhen they walk over peas none of them stir, but girls trip and skip, and
\ndrag their feet, and the peas roll about.’ The king was well pleased with
\nthe counsel, and caused the peas to be strewn.<\/p>\n
There was, however, a servant of the king’s who favoured the huntsmen, and
\nwhen he heard that they were going to be put to this test he went to them
\nand repeated everything, and said: ‘The lion wants to make the king
\nbelieve that you are girls.’ Then the king’s daughter thanked him, and
\nsaid to her maidens: ‘Show some strength, and step firmly on the peas.’ So
\nnext morning when the king had the twelve huntsmen called before him, and
\nthey came into the ante-chamber where the peas were lying, they stepped so
\nfirmly on them, and had such a strong, sure walk, that not one of the peas
\neither rolled or stirred. Then they went away again, and the king said to
\nthe lion: ‘You have lied to me, they walk just like men.’ The lion said:
\n‘They have been informed that they were going to be put to the test, and
\nhave assumed some strength. Just let twelve spinning-wheels be brought
\ninto the ante-chamber, and they will go to them and be pleased with them,
\nand that is what no man would do.’ The king liked the advice, and had the
\nspinning-wheels placed in the ante-chamber.<\/p>\n
But the servant, who was well disposed to the huntsmen, went to them, and
\ndisclosed the project. So when they were alone the king’s daughter said to
\nher eleven girls: ‘Show some constraint, and do not look round at the
\nspinning-wheels.’ And next morning when the king had his twelve huntsmen
\nsummoned, they went through the ante-chamber, and never once looked at the
\nspinning-wheels. Then the king again said to the lion: ‘You have deceived
\nme, they are men, for they have not looked at the spinning-wheels.’ The
\nlion replied: ‘They have restrained themselves.’ The king, however, would
\nno longer believe the lion.<\/p>\n
The twelve huntsmen always followed the king to the chase, and his liking
\nfor them continually increased. Now it came to pass that once when they
\nwere out hunting, news came that the king’s bride was approaching. When
\nthe true bride heard that, it hurt her so much that her heart was almost
\nbroken, and she fell fainting to the ground. The king thought something
\nhad happened to his dear huntsman, ran up to him, wanted to help him, and
\ndrew his glove off. Then he saw the ring which he had given to his first
\nbride, and when he looked in her face he recognized her. Then his heart
\nwas so touched that he kissed her, and when she opened her eyes he said:
\n‘You are mine, and I am yours, and no one in the world can alter that.’ He
\nsent a messenger to the other bride, and entreated her to return to her
\nown kingdom, for he had a wife already, and someone who had just found an
\nold key did not require a new one. Thereupon the wedding was celebrated,
\nand the lion was again taken into favour, because, after all, he had told
\nthe truth.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN<\/h2>\n
There was once a merchant who had only one child, a son, that was very
\nyoung, and barely able to run alone. He had two richly laden ships then
\nmaking a voyage upon the seas, in which he had embarked all his wealth, in
\nthe hope of making great gains, when the news came that both were lost.
\nThus from being a rich man he became all at once so very poor that nothing
\nwas left to him but one small plot of land; and there he often went in an
\nevening to take his walk, and ease his mind of a little of his trouble.<\/p>\n
One day, as he was roaming along in a brown study, thinking with no great
\ncomfort on what he had been and what he now was, and was like to be, all
\non a sudden there stood before him a little, rough-looking, black dwarf.
\n‘Prithee, friend, why so sorrowful?’ said he to the merchant; ‘what is it
\nyou take so deeply to heart?’ ‘If you would do me any good I would
\nwillingly tell you,’ said the merchant. ‘Who knows but I may?’ said the
\nlittle man: ‘tell me what ails you, and perhaps you will find I may be of
\nsome use.’ Then the merchant told him how all his wealth was gone to the
\nbottom of the sea, and how he had nothing left but that little plot of
\nland. ‘Oh, trouble not yourself about that,’ said the dwarf; ‘only
\nundertake to bring me here, twelve years hence, whatever meets you first
\non your going home, and I will give you as much as you please.’ The
\nmerchant thought this was no great thing to ask; that it would most likely
\nbe his dog or his cat, or something of that sort, but forgot his little
\nboy Heinel; so he agreed to the bargain, and signed and sealed the bond to
\ndo what was asked of him.<\/p>\n
But as he drew near home, his little boy was so glad to see him that he
\ncrept behind him, and laid fast hold of his legs, and looked up in his
\nface and laughed. Then the father started, trembling with fear and horror,
\nand saw what it was that he had bound himself to do; but as no gold was
\ncome, he made himself easy by thinking that it was only a joke that the
\ndwarf was playing him, and that, at any rate, when the money came, he
\nshould see the bearer, and would not take it in.<\/p>\n
About a month afterwards he went upstairs into a lumber-room to look for
\nsome old iron, that he might sell it and raise a little money; and there,
\ninstead of his iron, he saw a large pile of gold lying on the floor. At
\nthe sight of this he was overjoyed, and forgetting all about his son, went
\ninto trade again, and became a richer merchant than before.<\/p>\n
Meantime little Heinel grew up, and as the end of the twelve years drew
\nnear the merchant began to call to mind his bond, and became very sad and
\nthoughtful; so that care and sorrow were written upon his face. The boy
\none day asked what was the matter, but his father would not tell for some
\ntime; at last, however, he said that he had, without knowing it, sold him
\nfor gold to a little, ugly-looking, black dwarf, and that the twelve years
\nwere coming round when he must keep his word. Then Heinel said, ‘Father,
\ngive yourself very little trouble about that; I shall be too much for the
\nlittle man.’<\/p>\n
When the time came, the father and son went out together to the place
\nagreed upon: and the son drew a circle on the ground, and set himself and
\nhis father in the middle of it. The little black dwarf soon came, and
\nwalked round and round about the circle, but could not find any way to get
\ninto it, and he either could not, or dared not, jump over it. At last the
\nboy said to him. ‘Have you anything to say to us, my friend, or what do
\nyou want?’ Now Heinel had found a friend in a good fairy, that was fond of
\nhim, and had told him what to do; for this fairy knew what good luck was
\nin store for him. ‘Have you brought me what you said you would?’ said the
\ndwarf to the merchant. The old man held his tongue, but Heinel said again,
\n‘What do you want here?’ The dwarf said, ‘I come to talk with your father,
\nnot with you.’ ‘You have cheated and taken in my father,’ said the son;
\n‘pray give him up his bond at once.’ ‘Fair and softly,’ said the little
\nold man; ‘right is right; I have paid my money, and your father has had
\nit, and spent it; so be so good as to let me have what I paid it for.’
\n‘You must have my consent to that first,’ said Heinel, ‘so please to step
\nin here, and let us talk it over.’ The old man grinned, and showed his
\nteeth, as if he should have been very glad to get into the circle if he
\ncould. Then at last, after a long talk, they came to terms. Heinel agreed
\nthat his father must give him up, and that so far the dwarf should have
\nhis way: but, on the other hand, the fairy had told Heinel what fortune
\nwas in store for him, if he followed his own course; and he did not choose
\nto be given up to his hump-backed friend, who seemed so anxious for his
\ncompany.<\/p>\n
So, to make a sort of drawn battle of the matter, it was settled that
\nHeinel should be put into an open boat, that lay on the sea-shore hard by;
\nthat the father should push him off with his own hand, and that he should
\nthus be set adrift, and left to the bad or good luck of wind and weather.
\nThen he took leave of his father, and set himself in the boat, but before
\nit got far off a wave struck it, and it fell with one side low in the
\nwater, so the merchant thought that poor Heinel was lost, and went home
\nvery sorrowful, while the dwarf went his way, thinking that at any rate he
\nhad had his revenge.<\/p>\n
The boat, however, did not sink, for the good fairy took care of her
\nfriend, and soon raised the boat up again, and it went safely on. The
\nyoung man sat safe within, till at length it ran ashore upon an unknown
\nland. As he jumped upon the shore he saw before him a beautiful castle but
\nempty and dreary within, for it was enchanted. ‘Here,’ said he to himself,
\n‘must I find the prize the good fairy told me of.’ So he once more
\nsearched the whole palace through, till at last he found a white snake,
\nlying coiled up on a cushion in one of the chambers.<\/p>\n
Now the white snake was an enchanted princess; and she was very glad to
\nsee him, and said, ‘Are you at last come to set me free? Twelve long years
\nhave I waited here for the fairy to bring you hither as she promised, for
\nyou alone can save me. This night twelve men will come: their faces will
\nbe black, and they will be dressed in chain armour. They will ask what you
\ndo here, but give no answer; and let them do what they will\u2014beat,
\nwhip, pinch, prick, or torment you\u2014bear all; only speak not a word,
\nand at twelve o’clock they must go away. The second night twelve others
\nwill come: and the third night twenty-four, who will even cut off your
\nhead; but at the twelfth hour of that night their power is gone, and I
\nshall be free, and will come and bring you the Water of Life, and will
\nwash you with it, and bring you back to life and health.’ And all came to
\npass as she had said; Heinel bore all, and spoke not a word; and the third
\nnight the princess came, and fell on his neck and kissed him. Joy and
\ngladness burst forth throughout the castle, the wedding was celebrated,
\nand he was crowned king of the Golden Mountain.<\/p>\n
They lived together very happily, and the queen had a son. And thus eight
\nyears had passed over their heads, when the king thought of his father;
\nand he began to long to see him once again. But the queen was against his
\ngoing, and said, ‘I know well that misfortunes will come upon us if you
\ngo.’ However, he gave her no rest till she agreed. At his going away she
\ngave him a wishing-ring, and said, ‘Take this ring, and put it on your
\nfinger; whatever you wish it will bring you; only promise never to make
\nuse of it to bring me hence to your father’s house.’ Then he said he would
\ndo what she asked, and put the ring on his finger, and wished himself near
\nthe town where his father lived.<\/p>\n
Heinel found himself at the gates in a moment; but the guards would not
\nlet him go in, because he was so strangely clad. So he went up to a
\nneighbouring hill, where a shepherd dwelt, and borrowed his old frock, and
\nthus passed unknown into the town. When he came to his father’s house, he
\nsaid he was his son; but the merchant would not believe him, and said he
\nhad had but one son, his poor Heinel, who he knew was long since dead: and
\nas he was only dressed like a poor shepherd, he would not even give him
\nanything to eat. The king, however, still vowed that he was his son, and
\nsaid, ‘Is there no mark by which you would know me if I am really your
\nson?’ ‘Yes,’ said his mother, ‘our Heinel had a mark like a raspberry on
\nhis right arm.’ Then he showed them the mark, and they knew that what he
\nhad said was true.<\/p>\n
He next told them how he was king of the Golden Mountain, and was married
\nto a princess, and had a son seven years old. But the merchant said, ‘that
\ncan never be true; he must be a fine king truly who travels about in a
\nshepherd’s frock!’ At this the son was vexed; and forgetting his word,
\nturned his ring, and wished for his queen and son. In an instant they
\nstood before him; but the queen wept, and said he had broken his word, and
\nbad luck would follow. He did all he could to soothe her, and she at last
\nseemed to be appeased; but she was not so in truth, and was only thinking
\nhow she should punish him.<\/p>\n
One day he took her to walk with him out of the town, and showed her the
\nspot where the boat was set adrift upon the wide waters. Then he sat
\nhimself down, and said, ‘I am very much tired; sit by me, I will rest my
\nhead in your lap, and sleep a while.’ As soon as he had fallen asleep,
\nhowever, she drew the ring from his finger, and crept softly away, and
\nwished herself and her son at home in their kingdom. And when he awoke he
\nfound himself alone, and saw that the ring was gone from his finger. ‘I
\ncan never go back to my father’s house,’ said he; ‘they would say I am a
\nsorcerer: I will journey forth into the world, till I come again to my
\nkingdom.’<\/p>\n
So saying he set out and travelled till he came to a hill, where three
\ngiants were sharing their father’s goods; and as they saw him pass they
\ncried out and said, ‘Little men have sharp wits; he shall part the goods
\nbetween us.’ Now there was a sword that cut off an enemy’s head whenever
\nthe wearer gave the words, ‘Heads off!’; a cloak that made the owner
\ninvisible, or gave him any form he pleased; and a pair of boots that
\ncarried the wearer wherever he wished. Heinel said they must first let him
\ntry these wonderful things, then he might know how to set a value upon
\nthem. Then they gave him the cloak, and he wished himself a fly, and in a
\nmoment he was a fly. ‘The cloak is very well,’ said he: ‘now give me the
\nsword.’ ‘No,’ said they; ‘not unless you undertake not to say, “Heads
\noff!” for if you do we are all dead men.’ So they gave it him, charging
\nhim to try it on a tree. He next asked for the boots also; and the moment
\nhe had all three in his power, he wished himself at the Golden Mountain;
\nand there he was at once. So the giants were left behind with no goods to
\nshare or quarrel about.<\/p>\n
As Heinel came near his castle he heard the sound of merry music; and the
\npeople around told him that his queen was about to marry another husband.
\nThen he threw his cloak around him, and passed through the castle hall,
\nand placed himself by the side of the queen, where no one saw him. But
\nwhen anything to eat was put upon her plate, he took it away and ate it
\nhimself; and when a glass of wine was handed to her, he took it and drank
\nit; and thus, though they kept on giving her meat and drink, her plate and
\ncup were always empty.<\/p>\n
Upon this, fear and remorse came over her, and she went into her chamber
\nalone, and sat there weeping; and he followed her there. ‘Alas!’ said she
\nto herself, ‘was I not once set free? Why then does this enchantment still
\nseem to bind me?’<\/p>\n
‘False and fickle one!’ said he. ‘One indeed came who set thee free, and
\nhe is now near thee again; but how have you used him? Ought he to have had
\nsuch treatment from thee?’ Then he went out and sent away the company, and
\nsaid the wedding was at an end, for that he was come back to the kingdom.
\nBut the princes, peers, and great men mocked at him. However, he would
\nenter into no parley with them, but only asked them if they would go in
\npeace or not. Then they turned upon him and tried to seize him; but he
\ndrew his sword. ‘Heads Off!’ cried he; and with the word the traitors’
\nheads fell before him, and Heinel was once more king of the Golden
\nMountain.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
DOCTOR KNOWALL<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time a poor peasant called Crabb, who drove with two
\noxen a load of wood to the town, and sold it to a doctor for two talers.
\nWhen the money was being counted out to him, it so happened that the
\ndoctor was sitting at table, and when the peasant saw how well he ate and
\ndrank, his heart desired what he saw, and would willingly have been a
\ndoctor too. So he remained standing a while, and at length inquired if he
\ntoo could not be a doctor. ‘Oh, yes,’ said the doctor, ‘that is soon
\nmanaged.’ ‘What must I do?’ asked the peasant. ‘In the first place buy
\nyourself an A B C book of the kind which has a cock on the frontispiece;
\nin the second, turn your cart and your two oxen into money, and get
\nyourself some clothes, and whatsoever else pertains to medicine; thirdly,
\nhave a sign painted for yourself with the words: “I am Doctor Knowall,”
\nand have that nailed up above your house-door.’ The peasant did everything
\nthat he had been told to do. When he had doctored people awhile, but not
\nlong, a rich and great lord had some money stolen. Then he was told about
\nDoctor Knowall who lived in such and such a village, and must know what
\nhad become of the money. So the lord had the horses harnessed to his
\ncarriage, drove out to the village, and asked Crabb if he were Doctor
\nKnowall. Yes, he was, he said. Then he was to go with him and bring back
\nthe stolen money. ‘Oh, yes, but Grete, my wife, must go too.’ The lord was
\nwilling, and let both of them have a seat in the carriage, and they all
\ndrove away together. When they came to the nobleman’s castle, the table
\nwas spread, and Crabb was told to sit down and eat. ‘Yes, but my wife,
\nGrete, too,’ said he, and he seated himself with her at the table. And
\nwhen the first servant came with a dish of delicate fare, the peasant
\nnudged his wife, and said: ‘Grete, that was the first,’ meaning that was
\nthe servant who brought the first dish. The servant, however, thought he
\nintended by that to say: ‘That is the first thief,’ and as he actually was
\nso, he was terrified, and said to his comrade outside: ‘The doctor knows
\nall: we shall fare ill, he said I was the first.’ The second did not want
\nto go in at all, but was forced. So when he went in with his dish, the
\npeasant nudged his wife, and said: ‘Grete, that is the second.’ This
\nservant was equally alarmed, and he got out as fast as he could. The third
\nfared no better, for the peasant again said: ‘Grete, that is the third.’
\nThe fourth had to carry in a dish that was covered, and the lord told the
\ndoctor that he was to show his skill, and guess what was beneath the
\ncover. Actually, there were crabs. The doctor looked at the dish, had no
\nidea what to say, and cried: ‘Ah, poor Crabb.’ When the lord heard that,
\nhe cried: ‘There! he knows it; he must also know who has the money!’<\/p>\n
On this the servants looked terribly uneasy, and made a sign to the doctor
\nthat they wished him to step outside for a moment. When therefore he went
\nout, all four of them confessed to him that they had stolen the money, and
\nsaid that they would willingly restore it and give him a heavy sum into
\nthe bargain, if he would not denounce them, for if he did they would be
\nhanged. They led him to the spot where the money was concealed. With this
\nthe doctor was satisfied, and returned to the hall, sat down to the table,
\nand said: ‘My lord, now will I search in my book where the gold is
\nhidden.’ The fifth servant, however, crept into the stove to hear if the
\ndoctor knew still more. But the doctor sat still and opened his A B C
\nbook, turned the pages backwards and forwards, and looked for the cock. As
\nhe could not find it immediately he said: ‘I know you are there, so you
\nhad better come out!’ Then the fellow in the stove thought that the doctor
\nmeant him, and full of terror, sprang out, crying: ‘That man knows
\neverything!’ Then Doctor Knowall showed the lord where the money was, but
\ndid not say who had stolen it, and received from both sides much money in
\nreward, and became a renowned man.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE SEVEN RAVENS<\/h2>\n
There was once a man who had seven sons, and last of all one daughter.
\nAlthough the little girl was very pretty, she was so weak and small that
\nthey thought she could not live; but they said she should at once be
\nchristened.<\/p>\n
So the father sent one of his sons in haste to the spring to get some
\nwater, but the other six ran with him. Each wanted to be first at drawing
\nthe water, and so they were in such a hurry that all let their pitchers
\nfall into the well, and they stood very foolishly looking at one another,
\nand did not know what to do, for none dared go home. In the meantime the
\nfather was uneasy, and could not tell what made the young men stay so
\nlong. ‘Surely,’ said he, ‘the whole seven must have forgotten themselves
\nover some game of play’; and when he had waited still longer and they yet
\ndid not come, he flew into a rage and wished them all turned into ravens.
\nScarcely had he spoken these words when he heard a croaking over his head,
\nand looked up and saw seven ravens as black as coal flying round and
\nround. Sorry as he was to see his wish so fulfilled, he did not know how
\nwhat was done could be undone, and comforted himself as well as he could
\nfor the loss of his seven sons with his dear little daughter, who soon
\nbecame stronger and every day more beautiful.<\/p>\n
For a long time she did not know that she had ever had any brothers; for
\nher father and mother took care not to speak of them before her: but one
\nday by chance she heard the people about her speak of them. ‘Yes,’ said
\nthey, ‘she is beautiful indeed, but still ’tis a pity that her brothers
\nshould have been lost for her sake.’ Then she was much grieved, and went
\nto her father and mother, and asked if she had any brothers, and what had
\nbecome of them. So they dared no longer hide the truth from her, but said
\nit was the will of Heaven, and that her birth was only the innocent cause
\nof it; but the little girl mourned sadly about it every day, and thought
\nherself bound to do all she could to bring her brothers back; and she had
\nneither rest nor ease, till at length one day she stole away, and set out
\ninto the wide world to find her brothers, wherever they might be, and free
\nthem, whatever it might cost her.<\/p>\n
She took nothing with her but a little ring which her father and mother
\nhad given her, a loaf of bread in case she should be hungry, a little
\npitcher of water in case she should be thirsty, and a little stool to rest
\nupon when she should be weary. Thus she went on and on, and journeyed till
\nshe came to the world’s end; then she came to the sun, but the sun looked
\nmuch too hot and fiery; so she ran away quickly to the moon, but the moon
\nwas cold and chilly, and said, ‘I smell flesh and blood this way!’ so she
\ntook herself away in a hurry and came to the stars, and the stars were
\nfriendly and kind to her, and each star sat upon his own little stool; but
\nthe morning star rose up and gave her a little piece of wood, and said,
\n‘If you have not this little piece of wood, you cannot unlock the castle
\nthat stands on the glass-mountain, and there your brothers live.’ The
\nlittle girl took the piece of wood, rolled it up in a little cloth, and
\nwent on again until she came to the glass-mountain, and found the door
\nshut. Then she felt for the little piece of wood; but when she unwrapped
\nthe cloth it was not there, and she saw she had lost the gift of the good
\nstars. What was to be done? She wanted to save her brothers, and had no
\nkey of the castle of the glass-mountain; so this faithful little sister
\ntook a knife out of her pocket and cut off her little finger, that was
\njust the size of the piece of wood she had lost, and put it in the door
\nand opened it.<\/p>\n
As she went in, a little dwarf came up to her, and said, ‘What are you
\nseeking for?’ ‘I seek for my brothers, the seven ravens,’ answered she.
\nThen the dwarf said, ‘My masters are not at home; but if you will wait
\ntill they come, pray step in.’ Now the little dwarf was getting their
\ndinner ready, and he brought their food upon seven little plates, and
\ntheir drink in seven little glasses, and set them upon the table, and out
\nof each little plate their sister ate a small piece, and out of each
\nlittle glass she drank a small drop; but she let the ring that she had
\nbrought with her fall into the last glass.<\/p>\n
On a sudden she heard a fluttering and croaking in the air, and the dwarf
\nsaid, ‘Here come my masters.’ When they came in, they wanted to eat and
\ndrink, and looked for their little plates and glasses. Then said one after
\nthe other,<\/p>\n
‘Who has eaten from my little plate? And who has been drinking out of my
\nlittle glass?’<\/p>\n
 'Caw! Caw! well I ween\r\n  Mortal lips have this way been.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
When the seventh came to the bottom of his glass, and found there the
\nring, he looked at it, and knew that it was his father’s and mother’s, and
\nsaid, ‘O that our little sister would but come! then we should be free.’
\nWhen the little girl heard this (for she stood behind the door all the
\ntime and listened), she ran forward, and in an instant all the ravens took
\ntheir right form again; and all hugged and kissed each other, and went
\nmerrily home.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE WEDDING OF MRS FOX<\/h2>\n
FIRST STORY<\/p>\n
There was once upon a time an old fox with nine tails, who believed that
\nhis wife was not faithful to him, and wished to put her to the test. He
\nstretched himself out under the bench, did not move a limb, and behaved as
\nif he were stone dead. Mrs Fox went up to her room, shut herself in, and
\nher maid, Miss Cat, sat by the fire, and did the cooking. When it became
\nknown that the old fox was dead, suitors presented themselves. The maid
\nheard someone standing at the house-door, knocking. She went and opened
\nit, and it was a young fox, who said:<\/p>\n
 'What may you be about, Miss Cat?\r\n  Do you sleep or do you wake?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
She answered:<\/p>\n
 'I am not sleeping, I am waking,\r\n  Would you know what I am making?\r\n  I am boiling warm beer with butter,\r\n  Will you be my guest for supper?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘No, thank you, miss,’ said the fox, ‘what is Mrs Fox doing?’ The maid
\nreplied:<\/p>\n
 'She is sitting in her room,\r\n  Moaning in her gloom,\r\n  Weeping her little eyes quite red,\r\n  Because old Mr Fox is dead.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Do just tell her, miss, that a young fox is here, who would like to woo
\nher.’ ‘Certainly, young sir.’<\/p>\n
  The cat goes up the stairs trip, trap,\r\n  The door she knocks at tap, tap, tap,\r\n 'Mistress Fox, are you inside?'\r\n 'Oh, yes, my little cat,' she cried.\r\n 'A wooer he stands at the door out there.'\r\n 'What does he look like, my dear?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘Has he nine as beautiful tails as the late Mr Fox?’ ‘Oh, no,’ answered
\nthe cat, ‘he has only one.’ ‘Then I will not have him.’<\/p>\n
Miss Cat went downstairs and sent the wooer away. Soon afterwards there
\nwas another knock, and another fox was at the door who wished to woo Mrs
\nFox. He had two tails, but he did not fare better than the first. After
\nthis still more came, each with one tail more than the other, but they
\nwere all turned away, until at last one came who had nine tails, like old
\nMr Fox. When the widow heard that, she said joyfully to the cat:<\/p>\n
 'Now open the gates and doors all wide,\r\n  And carry old Mr Fox outside.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
But just as the wedding was going to be solemnized, old Mr Fox stirred
\nunder the bench, and cudgelled all the rabble, and drove them and Mrs Fox
\nout of the house.<\/p>\n
SECOND STORY<\/p>\n
When old Mr Fox was dead, the wolf came as a suitor, and knocked at the
\ndoor, and the cat who was servant to Mrs Fox, opened it for him. The wolf
\ngreeted her, and said:<\/p>\n
 'Good day, Mrs Cat of Kehrewit,\r\n  How comes it that alone you sit?\r\n  What are you making good?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The cat replied:<\/p>\n
 'In milk I'm breaking bread so sweet,\r\n  Will you be my guest, and eat?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
‘No, thank you, Mrs Cat,’ answered the wolf. ‘Is Mrs Fox not at home?’<\/p>\n
The cat said:<\/p>\n
 'She sits upstairs in her room,\r\n  Bewailing her sorrowful doom,\r\n  Bewailing her trouble so sore,\r\n  For old Mr Fox is no more.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
The wolf answered:<\/p>\n
 'If she's in want of a husband now,\r\n  Then will it please her to step below?'\r\n  The cat runs quickly up the stair,\r\n  And lets her tail fly here and there,\r\n  Until she comes to the parlour door.\r\n  With her five gold rings at the door she knocks:\r\n 'Are you within, good Mistress Fox?\r\n  If you're in want of a husband now,\r\n  Then will it please you to step below?\r\n<\/pre>\n
Mrs Fox asked: ‘Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has he a pointed
\nmouth?’ ‘No,’ answered the cat. ‘Then he won’t do for me.’<\/p>\n
When the wolf was gone, came a dog, a stag, a hare, a bear, a lion, and
\nall the beasts of the forest, one after the other. But one of the good
\nqualities which old Mr Fox had possessed, was always lacking, and the cat
\nhad continually to send the suitors away. At length came a young fox. Then
\nMrs Fox said: ‘Has the gentleman red stockings on, and has a little
\npointed mouth?’ ‘Yes,’ said the cat, ‘he has.’ ‘Then let him come
\nupstairs,’ said Mrs Fox, and ordered the servant to prepare the wedding
\nfeast.<\/p>\n
 'Sweep me the room as clean as you can,\r\n  Up with the window, fling out my old man!\r\n  For many a fine fat mouse he brought,\r\n  Yet of his wife he never thought,\r\n  But ate up every one he caught.'\r\n<\/pre>\n
Then the wedding was solemnized with young Mr Fox, and there was much
\nrejoicing and dancing; and if they have not left off, they are dancing
\nstill.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE SALAD<\/h2>\n
As a merry young huntsman was once going briskly along through a wood,
\nthere came up a little old woman, and said to him, ‘Good day, good day;
\nyou seem merry enough, but I am hungry and thirsty; do pray give me
\nsomething to eat.’ The huntsman took pity on her, and put his hand in his
\npocket and gave her what he had. Then he wanted to go his way; but she
\ntook hold of him, and said, ‘Listen, my friend, to what I am going to tell
\nyou; I will reward you for your kindness; go your way, and after a little
\ntime you will come to a tree where you will see nine birds sitting on a
\ncloak. Shoot into the midst of them, and one will fall down dead: the
\ncloak will fall too; take it, it is a wishing-cloak, and when you wear it
\nyou will find yourself at any place where you may wish to be. Cut open the
\ndead bird, take out its heart and keep it, and you will find a piece of
\ngold under your pillow every morning when you rise. It is the bird’s heart
\nthat will bring you this good luck.’<\/p>\n
The huntsman thanked her, and thought to himself, ‘If all this does
\nhappen, it will be a fine thing for me.’ When he had gone a hundred steps
\nor so, he heard a screaming and chirping in the branches over him, and
\nlooked up and saw a flock of birds pulling a cloak with their bills and
\nfeet; screaming, fighting, and tugging at each other as if each wished to
\nhave it himself. ‘Well,’ said the huntsman, ‘this is wonderful; this
\nhappens just as the old woman said’; then he shot into the midst of them
\nso that their feathers flew all about. Off went the flock chattering away;
\nbut one fell down dead, and the cloak with it. Then the huntsman did as
\nthe old woman told him, cut open the bird, took out the heart, and carried
\nthe cloak home with him.<\/p>\n
The next morning when he awoke he lifted up his pillow, and there lay the
\npiece of gold glittering underneath; the same happened next day, and
\nindeed every day when he arose. He heaped up a great deal of gold, and at
\nlast thought to himself, ‘Of what use is this gold to me whilst I am at
\nhome? I will go out into the world and look about me.’<\/p>\n
Then he took leave of his friends, and hung his bag and bow about his
\nneck, and went his way. It so happened that his road one day led through a
\nthick wood, at the end of which was a large castle in a green meadow, and
\nat one of the windows stood an old woman with a very beautiful young lady
\nby her side looking about them. Now the old woman was a witch, and said to
\nthe young lady, ‘There is a young man coming out of the wood who carries a
\nwonderful prize; we must get it away from him, my dear child, for it is
\nmore fit for us than for him. He has a bird’s heart that brings a piece of
\ngold under his pillow every morning.’ Meantime the huntsman came nearer
\nand looked at the lady, and said to himself, ‘I have been travelling so
\nlong that I should like to go into this castle and rest myself, for I have
\nmoney enough to pay for anything I want’; but the real reason was, that he
\nwanted to see more of the beautiful lady. Then he went into the house, and
\nwas welcomed kindly; and it was not long before he was so much in love
\nthat he thought of nothing else but looking at the lady’s eyes, and doing
\neverything that she wished. Then the old woman said, ‘Now is the time for
\ngetting the bird’s heart.’ So the lady stole it away, and he never found
\nany more gold under his pillow, for it lay now under the young lady’s, and
\nthe old woman took it away every morning; but he was so much in love that
\nhe never missed his prize.<\/p>\n
‘Well,’ said the old witch, ‘we have got the bird’s heart, but not the
\nwishing-cloak yet, and that we must also get.’ ‘Let us leave him that,’
\nsaid the young lady; ‘he has already lost his wealth.’ Then the witch was
\nvery angry, and said, ‘Such a cloak is a very rare and wonderful thing,
\nand I must and will have it.’ So she did as the old woman told her, and
\nset herself at the window, and looked about the country and seemed very
\nsorrowful; then the huntsman said, ‘What makes you so sad?’ ‘Alas! dear
\nsir,’ said she, ‘yonder lies the granite rock where all the costly
\ndiamonds grow, and I want so much to go there, that whenever I think of it
\nI cannot help being sorrowful, for who can reach it? only the birds and
\nthe flies\u2014man cannot.’ ‘If that’s all your grief,’ said the
\nhuntsman, ‘I’ll take you there with all my heart’; so he drew her under his
\ncloak, and the moment he wished to be on the granite mountain they were
\nboth there. The diamonds glittered so on all sides that they were
\ndelighted with the sight and picked up the finest. But the old witch made
\na deep sleep come upon him, and he said to the young lady, ‘Let us sit
\ndown and rest ourselves a little, I am so tired that I cannot stand any
\nlonger.’ So they sat down, and he laid his head in her lap and fell
\nasleep; and whilst he was sleeping on she took the cloak from his
\nshoulders, hung it on her own, picked up the diamonds, and wished herself
\nhome again.<\/p>\n
When he awoke and found that his lady had tricked him, and left him alone
\non the wild rock, he said, ‘Alas! what roguery there is in the world!’ and
\nthere he sat in great grief and fear, not knowing what to do. Now this
\nrock belonged to fierce giants who lived upon it; and as he saw three of
\nthem striding about, he thought to himself, ‘I can only save myself by
\nfeigning to be asleep’; so he laid himself down as if he were in a sound
\nsleep. When the giants came up to him, the first pushed him with his foot,
\nand said, ‘What worm is this that lies here curled up?’ ‘Tread upon him
\nand kill him,’ said the second. ‘It’s not worth the trouble,’ said the
\nthird; ‘let him live, he’ll go climbing higher up the mountain, and some
\ncloud will come rolling and carry him away.’ And they passed on. But the
\nhuntsman had heard all they said; and as soon as they were gone, he
\nclimbed to the top of the mountain, and when he had sat there a short time
\na cloud came rolling around him, and caught him in a whirlwind and bore
\nhim along for some time, till it settled in a garden, and he fell quite
\ngently to the ground amongst the greens and cabbages.<\/p>\n
Then he looked around him, and said, ‘I wish I had something to eat, if
\nnot I shall be worse off than before; for here I see neither apples nor
\npears, nor any kind of fruits, nothing but vegetables.’ At last he thought
\nto himself, ‘I can eat salad, it will refresh and strengthen me.’ So he
\npicked out a fine head and ate of it; but scarcely had he swallowed two
\nbites when he felt himself quite changed, and saw with horror that he was
\nturned into an ass. However, he still felt very hungry, and the salad
\ntasted very nice; so he ate on till he came to another kind of salad, and
\nscarcely had he tasted it when he felt another change come over him, and
\nsoon saw that he was lucky enough to have found his old shape again.<\/p>\n
Then he laid himself down and slept off a little of his weariness; and
\nwhen he awoke the next morning he broke off a head both of the good and
\nthe bad salad, and thought to himself, ‘This will help me to my fortune
\nagain, and enable me to pay off some folks for their treachery.’ So he
\nwent away to try and find the castle of his friends; and after wandering
\nabout a few days he luckily found it. Then he stained his face all over
\nbrown, so that even his mother would not have known him, and went into the
\ncastle and asked for a lodging; ‘I am so tired,’ said he, ‘that I can go
\nno farther.’ ‘Countryman,’ said the witch, ‘who are you? and what is your
\nbusiness?’ ‘I am,’ said he, ‘a messenger sent by the king to find the
\nfinest salad that grows under the sun. I have been lucky enough to find
\nit, and have brought it with me; but the heat of the sun scorches so that
\nit begins to wither, and I don’t know that I can carry it farther.’<\/p>\n
When the witch and the young lady heard of his beautiful salad, they
\nlonged to taste it, and said, ‘Dear countryman, let us just taste it.’ ‘To
\nbe sure,’ answered he; ‘I have two heads of it with me, and will give you
\none’; so he opened his bag and gave them the bad. Then the witch herself
\ntook it into the kitchen to be dressed; and when it was ready she could
\nnot wait till it was carried up, but took a few leaves immediately and put
\nthem in her mouth, and scarcely were they swallowed when she lost her own
\nform and ran braying down into the court in the form of an ass. Now the
\nservant-maid came into the kitchen, and seeing the salad ready, was going
\nto carry it up; but on the way she too felt a wish to taste it as the old
\nwoman had done, and ate some leaves; so she also was turned into an ass
\nand ran after the other, letting the dish with the salad fall on the
\nground. The messenger sat all this time with the beautiful young lady, and
\nas nobody came with the salad and she longed to taste it, she said, ‘I
\ndon’t know where the salad can be.’ Then he thought something must have
\nhappened, and said, ‘I will go into the kitchen and see.’ And as he went
\nhe saw two asses in the court running about, and the salad lying on the
\nground. ‘All right!’ said he; ‘those two have had their share.’ Then he
\ntook up the rest of the leaves, laid them on the dish and brought them to
\nthe young lady, saying, ‘I bring you the dish myself that you may not wait
\nany longer.’ So she ate of it, and like the others ran off into the court
\nbraying away.<\/p>\n
Then the huntsman washed his face and went into the court that they might
\nknow him. ‘Now you shall be paid for your roguery,’ said he; and tied them
\nall three to a rope and took them along with him till he came to a mill
\nand knocked at the window. ‘What’s the matter?’ said the miller. ‘I have
\nthree tiresome beasts here,’ said the other; ‘if you will take them, give
\nthem food and room, and treat them as I tell you, I will pay you whatever
\nyou ask.’ ‘With all my heart,’ said the miller; ‘but how shall I treat
\nthem?’ Then the huntsman said, ‘Give the old one stripes three times a day
\nand hay once; give the next (who was the servant-maid) stripes once a day
\nand hay three times; and give the youngest (who was the beautiful lady)
\nhay three times a day and no stripes’: for he could not find it in his
\nheart to have her beaten. After this he went back to the castle, where he
\nfound everything he wanted.<\/p>\n
Some days after, the miller came to him and told him that the old ass was
\ndead; ‘The other two,’ said he, ‘are alive and eat, but are so sorrowful
\nthat they cannot last long.’ Then the huntsman pitied them, and told the
\nmiller to drive them back to him, and when they came, he gave them some of
\nthe good salad to eat. And the beautiful young lady fell upon her knees
\nbefore him, and said, ‘O dearest huntsman! forgive me all the ill I have
\ndone you; my mother forced me to it, it was against my will, for I always
\nloved you very much. Your wishing-cloak hangs up in the closet, and as for
\nthe bird’s heart, I will give it you too.’ But he said, ‘Keep it, it will
\nbe just the same thing, for I mean to make you my wife.’ So they were
\nmarried, and lived together very happily till they died.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
THE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN WHAT FEAR WAS<\/h2>\n
A certain father had two sons, the elder of who was smart and sensible,
\nand could do everything, but the younger was stupid and could neither
\nlearn nor understand anything, and when people saw him they said: ‘There’s
\na fellow who will give his father some trouble!’ When anything had to be
\ndone, it was always the elder who was forced to do it; but if his father
\nbade him fetch anything when it was late, or in the night-time, and the
\nway led through the churchyard, or any other dismal place, he answered:
\n‘Oh, no father, I’ll not go there, it makes me shudder!’ for he was
\nafraid. Or when stories were told by the fire at night which made the
\nflesh creep, the listeners sometimes said: ‘Oh, it makes us shudder!’ The
\nyounger sat in a corner and listened with the rest of them, and could not
\nimagine what they could mean. ‘They are always saying: “It makes me
\nshudder, it makes me shudder!” It does not make me shudder,’ thought he.
\n‘That, too, must be an art of which I understand nothing!’<\/p>\n
Now it came to pass that his father said to him one day: ‘Hearken to me,
\nyou fellow in the corner there, you are growing tall and strong, and you
\ntoo must learn something by which you can earn your bread. Look how your
\nbrother works, but you do not even earn your salt.’ ‘Well, father,’ he
\nreplied, ‘I am quite willing to learn something\u2014indeed, if it could
\nbut be managed, I should like to learn how to shudder. I don’t understand
\nthat at all yet.’ The elder brother smiled when he heard that, and thought
\nto himself: ‘Goodness, what a blockhead that brother of mine is! He will
\nnever be good for anything as long as he lives! He who wants to be a
\nsickle must bend himself betimes.’<\/p>\n
The father sighed, and answered him: ‘You shall soon learn what it is to
\nshudder, but you will not earn your bread by that.’<\/p>\n
Soon after this the sexton came to the house on a visit, and the father
\nbewailed his trouble, and told him how his younger son was so backward in
\nevery respect that he knew nothing and learnt nothing. ‘Just think,’ said
\nhe, ‘when I asked him how he was going to earn his bread, he actually
\nwanted to learn to shudder.’ ‘If that be all,’ replied the sexton, ‘he can
\nlearn that with me. Send him to me, and I will soon polish him.’ The
\nfather was glad to do it, for he thought: ‘It will train the boy a
\nlittle.’ The sexton therefore took him into his house, and he had to ring
\nthe church bell. After a day or two, the sexton awoke him at midnight, and
\nbade him arise and go up into the church tower and ring the bell. ‘You
\nshall soon learn what shuddering is,’ thought he, and secretly went there
\nbefore him; and when the boy was at the top of the tower and turned round,
\nand was just going to take hold of the bell rope, he saw a white figure
\nstanding on the stairs opposite the sounding hole. ‘Who is there?’ cried
\nhe, but the figure made no reply, and did not move or stir. ‘Give an
\nanswer,’ cried the boy, ‘or take yourself off, you have no business here
\nat night.’<\/p>\n
The sexton, however, remained standing motionless that the boy might think
\nhe was a ghost. The boy cried a second time: ‘What do you want here?\u2014speak
\nif you are an honest fellow, or I will throw you down the steps!’ The
\nsexton thought: ‘He can’t mean to be as bad as his words,’ uttered no
\nsound and stood as if he were made of stone. Then the boy called to him
\nfor the third time, and as that was also to no purpose, he ran against him
\nand pushed the ghost down the stairs, so that it fell down the ten steps
\nand remained lying there in a corner. Thereupon he rang the bell, went
\nhome, and without saying a word went to bed, and fell asleep. The sexton’s
\nwife waited a long time for her husband, but he did not come back. At
\nlength she became uneasy, and wakened the boy, and asked: ‘Do you know
\nwhere my husband is? He climbed up the tower before you did.’ ‘No, I don’t
\nknow,’ replied the boy, ‘but someone was standing by the sounding hole on
\nthe other side of the steps, and as he would neither gave an answer nor go
\naway, I took him for a scoundrel, and threw him downstairs. Just go there
\nand you will see if it was he. I should be sorry if it were.’ The woman
\nran away and found her husband, who was lying moaning in the corner, and
\nhad broken his leg.<\/p>\n
She carried him down, and then with loud screams she hastened to the boy’s
\nfather, ‘Your boy,’ cried she, ‘has been the cause of a great misfortune!
\nHe has thrown my husband down the steps so that he broke his leg. Take the
\ngood-for-nothing fellow out of our house.’ The father was terrified, and
\nran thither and scolded the boy. ‘What wicked tricks are these?’ said he.
\n‘The devil must have put them into your head.’ ‘Father,’ he replied, ‘do
\nlisten to me. I am quite innocent. He was standing there by night like one
\nintent on doing evil. I did not know who it was, and I entreated him three
\ntimes either to speak or to go away.’ ‘Ah,’ said the father, ‘I have
\nnothing but unhappiness with you. Go out of my sight. I will see you no
\nmore.’<\/p>\n
‘Yes, father, right willingly, wait only until it is day. Then will I go
\nforth and learn how to shudder, and then I shall, at any rate, understand
\none art which will support me.’ ‘Learn what you will,’ spoke the father,
\n‘it is all the same to me. Here are fifty talers for you. Take these and
\ngo into the wide world, and tell no one from whence you come, and who is
\nyour father, for I have reason to be ashamed of you.’ ‘Yes, father, it
\nshall be as you will. If you desire nothing more than that, I can easily
\nkeep it in mind.’<\/p>\n
When the day dawned, therefore, the boy put his fifty talers into his
\npocket, and went forth on the great highway, and continually said to
\nhimself: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!’ Then a man
\napproached who heard this conversation which the youth was holding with
\nhimself, and when they had walked a little farther to where they could see
\nthe gallows, the man said to him: ‘Look, there is the tree where seven men
\nhave married the ropemaker’s daughter, and are now learning how to fly.
\nSit down beneath it, and wait till night comes, and you will soon learn
\nhow to shudder.’ ‘If that is all that is wanted,’ answered the youth, ‘it
\nis easily done; but if I learn how to shudder as fast as that, you shall
\nhave my fifty talers. Just come back to me early in the morning.’ Then the
\nyouth went to the gallows, sat down beneath it, and waited till evening
\ncame. And as he was cold, he lighted himself a fire, but at midnight the
\nwind blew so sharply that in spite of his fire, he could not get warm. And
\nas the wind knocked the hanged men against each other, and they moved
\nbackwards and forwards, he thought to himself: ‘If you shiver below by the
\nfire, how those up above must freeze and suffer!’ And as he felt pity for
\nthem, he raised the ladder, and climbed up, unbound one of them after the
\nother, and brought down all seven. Then he stoked the fire, blew it, and
\nset them all round it to warm themselves. But they sat there and did not
\nstir, and the fire caught their clothes. So he said: ‘Take care, or I will
\nhang you up again.’ The dead men, however, did not hear, but were quite
\nsilent, and let their rags go on burning. At this he grew angry, and said:
\n‘If you will not take care, I cannot help you, I will not be burnt with
\nyou,’ and he hung them up again each in his turn. Then he sat down by his
\nfire and fell asleep, and the next morning the man came to him and wanted
\nto have the fifty talers, and said: ‘Well do you know how to shudder?’
\n‘No,’ answered he, ‘how should I know? Those fellows up there did not open
\ntheir mouths, and were so stupid that they let the few old rags which they
\nhad on their bodies get burnt.’ Then the man saw that he would not get the
\nfifty talers that day, and went away saying: ‘Such a youth has never come
\nmy way before.’<\/p>\n
The youth likewise went his way, and once more began to mutter to himself:
\n‘Ah, if I could but shudder! Ah, if I could but shudder!’ A waggoner who
\nwas striding behind him heard this and asked: ‘Who are you?’ ‘I don’t
\nknow,’ answered the youth. Then the waggoner asked: ‘From whence do you
\ncome?’ ‘I know not.’ ‘Who is your father?’ ‘That I may not tell you.’
\n‘What is it that you are always muttering between your teeth?’ ‘Ah,’
\nreplied the youth, ‘I do so wish I could shudder, but no one can teach me
\nhow.’ ‘Enough of your foolish chatter,’ said the waggoner. ‘Come, go with
\nme, I will see about a place for you.’ The youth went with the waggoner,
\nand in the evening they arrived at an inn where they wished to pass the
\nnight. Then at the entrance of the parlour the youth again said quite
\nloudly: ‘If I could but shudder! If I could but shudder!’ The host who
\nheard this, laughed and said: ‘If that is your desire, there ought to be a
\ngood opportunity for you here.’ ‘Ah, be silent,’ said the hostess, ‘so
\nmany prying persons have already lost their lives, it would be a pity and
\na shame if such beautiful eyes as these should never see the daylight
\nagain.’<\/p>\n
But the youth said: ‘However difficult it may be, I will learn it. For
\nthis purpose indeed have I journeyed forth.’ He let the host have no rest,
\nuntil the latter told him, that not far from thence stood a haunted castle
\nwhere anyone could very easily learn what shuddering was, if he would but
\nwatch in it for three nights. The king had promised that he who would
\nventure should have his daughter to wife, and she was the most beautiful
\nmaiden the sun shone on. Likewise in the castle lay great treasures, which
\nwere guarded by evil spirits, and these treasures would then be freed, and
\nwould make a poor man rich enough. Already many men had gone into the
\ncastle, but as yet none had come out again. Then the youth went next
\nmorning to the king, and said: ‘If it be allowed, I will willingly watch
\nthree nights in the haunted castle.’<\/p>\n
The king looked at him, and as the youth pleased him, he said: ‘You may
\nask for three things to take into the castle with you, but they must be
\nthings without life.’ Then he answered: ‘Then I ask for a fire, a turning
\nlathe, and a cutting-board with the knife.’<\/p>\n
The king had these things carried into the castle for him during the day.
\nWhen night was drawing near, the youth went up and made himself a bright
\nfire in one of the rooms, placed the cutting-board and knife beside it,
\nand seated himself by the turning-lathe. ‘Ah, if I could but shudder!’
\nsaid he, ‘but I shall not learn it here either.’ Towards midnight he was
\nabout to poke his fire, and as he was blowing it, something cried suddenly
\nfrom one corner: ‘Au, miau! how cold we are!’ ‘You fools!’ cried he, ‘what
\nare you crying about? If you are cold, come and take a seat by the fire
\nand warm yourselves.’ And when he had said that, two great black cats came
\nwith one tremendous leap and sat down on each side of him, and looked
\nsavagely at him with their fiery eyes. After a short time, when they had
\nwarmed themselves, they said: ‘Comrade, shall we have a game of cards?’
\n‘Why not?’ he replied, ‘but just show me your paws.’ Then they stretched
\nout their claws. ‘Oh,’ said he, ‘what long nails you have! Wait, I must
\nfirst cut them for you.’ Thereupon he seized them by the throats, put them
\non the cutting-board and screwed their feet fast. ‘I have looked at your
\nfingers,’ said he, ‘and my fancy for card-playing has gone,’ and he struck
\nthem dead and threw them out into the water. But when he had made away
\nwith these two, and was about to sit down again by his fire, out from
\nevery hole and corner came black cats and black dogs with red-hot chains,
\nand more and more of them came until he could no longer move, and they
\nyelled horribly, and got on his fire, pulled it to pieces, and tried to
\nput it out. He watched them for a while quietly, but at last when they
\nwere going too far, he seized his cutting-knife, and cried: ‘Away with
\nyou, vermin,’ and began to cut them down. Some of them ran away, the
\nothers he killed, and threw out into the fish-pond. When he came back he
\nfanned the embers of his fire again and warmed himself. And as he thus
\nsat, his eyes would keep open no longer, and he felt a desire to sleep.
\nThen he looked round and saw a great bed in the corner. ‘That is the very
\nthing for me,’ said he, and got into it. When he was just going to shut
\nhis eyes, however, the bed began to move of its own accord, and went over
\nthe whole of the castle. ‘That’s right,’ said he, ‘but go faster.’ Then
\nthe bed rolled on as if six horses were harnessed to it, up and down, over
\nthresholds and stairs, but suddenly hop, hop, it turned over upside down,
\nand lay on him like a mountain. But he threw quilts and pillows up in the
\nair, got out and said: ‘Now anyone who likes, may drive,’ and lay down by
\nhis fire, and slept till it was day. In the morning the king came, and
\nwhen he saw him lying there on the ground, he thought the evil spirits had
\nkilled him and he was dead. Then said he: ‘After all it is a pity,\u2014for
\nso handsome a man.’ The youth heard it, got up, and said: ‘It has not come
\nto that yet.’ Then the king was astonished, but very glad, and asked how
\nhe had fared. ‘Very well indeed,’ answered he; ‘one night is past, the two
\nothers will pass likewise.’ Then he went to the innkeeper, who opened his
\neyes very wide, and said: ‘I never expected to see you alive again! Have
\nyou learnt how to shudder yet?’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘it is all in vain. If
\nsomeone would but tell me!’<\/p>\n
The second night he again went up into the old castle, sat down by the
\nfire, and once more began his old song: ‘If I could but shudder!’ When
\nmidnight came, an uproar and noise of tumbling about was heard; at first
\nit was low, but it grew louder and louder. Then it was quiet for a while,
\nand at length with a loud scream, half a man came down the chimney and
\nfell before him. ‘Hullo!’ cried he, ‘another half belongs to this. This is
\nnot enough!’ Then the uproar began again, there was a roaring and howling,
\nand the other half fell down likewise. ‘Wait,’ said he, ‘I will just stoke
\nup the fire a little for you.’ When he had done that and looked round
\nagain, the two pieces were joined together, and a hideous man was sitting
\nin his place. ‘That is no part of our bargain,’ said the youth, ‘the bench
\nis mine.’ The man wanted to push him away; the youth, however, would not
\nallow that, but thrust him off with all his strength, and seated himself
\nagain in his own place. Then still more men fell down, one after the
\nother; they brought nine dead men’s legs and two skulls, and set them up
\nand played at nine-pins with them. The youth also wanted to play and said:
\n‘Listen you, can I join you?’ ‘Yes, if you have any money.’ ‘Money
\nenough,’ replied he, ‘but your balls are not quite round.’ Then he took
\nthe skulls and put them in the lathe and turned them till they were round.
\n‘There, now they will roll better!’ said he. ‘Hurrah! now we’ll have fun!’
\nHe played with them and lost some of his money, but when it struck twelve,
\neverything vanished from his sight. He lay down and quietly fell asleep.
\nNext morning the king came to inquire after him. ‘How has it fared with
\nyou this time?’ asked he. ‘I have been playing at nine-pins,’ he answered,
\n‘and have lost a couple of farthings.’ ‘Have you not shuddered then?’
\n‘What?’ said he, ‘I have had a wonderful time! If I did but know what it
\nwas to shudder!’<\/p>\n
The third night he sat down again on his bench and said quite sadly: ‘If I
\ncould but shudder.’ When it grew late, six tall men came in and brought a
\ncoffin. Then he said: ‘Ha, ha, that is certainly my little cousin, who
\ndied only a few days ago,’ and he beckoned with his finger, and cried:
\n‘Come, little cousin, come.’ They placed the coffin on the ground, but he
\nwent to it and took the lid off, and a dead man lay therein. He felt his
\nface, but it was cold as ice. ‘Wait,’ said he, ‘I will warm you a little,’
\nand went to the fire and warmed his hand and laid it on the dead man’s
\nface, but he remained cold. Then he took him out, and sat down by the fire
\nand laid him on his breast and rubbed his arms that the blood might
\ncirculate again. As this also did no good, he thought to himself: ‘When
\ntwo people lie in bed together, they warm each other,’ and carried him to
\nthe bed, covered him over and lay down by him. After a short time the dead
\nman became warm too, and began to move. Then said the youth, ‘See, little
\ncousin, have I not warmed you?’ The dead man, however, got up and cried:
\n‘Now will I strangle you.’<\/p>\n
‘What!’ said he, ‘is that the way you thank me? You shall at once go into
\nyour coffin again,’ and he took him up, threw him into it, and shut the
\nlid. Then came the six men and carried him away again. ‘I cannot manage to
\nshudder,’ said he. ‘I shall never learn it here as long as I live.’<\/p>\n
Then a man entered who was taller than all others, and looked terrible. He
\nwas old, however, and had a long white beard. ‘You wretch,’ cried he, ‘you
\nshall soon learn what it is to shudder, for you shall die.’ ‘Not so fast,’
\nreplied the youth. ‘If I am to die, I shall have to have a say in it.’ ‘I
\nwill soon seize you,’ said the fiend. ‘Softly, softly, do not talk so big.
\nI am as strong as you are, and perhaps even stronger.’ ‘We shall see,’
\nsaid the old man. ‘If you are stronger, I will let you go\u2014come, we
\nwill try.’ Then he led him by dark passages to a smith’s forge, took an
\naxe, and with one blow struck an anvil into the ground. ‘I can do better
\nthan that,’ said the youth, and went to the other anvil. The old man
\nplaced himself near and wanted to look on, and his white beard hung down.
\nThen the youth seized the axe, split the anvil with one blow, and in it
\ncaught the old man’s beard. ‘Now I have you,’ said the youth. ‘Now it is
\nyour turn to die.’ Then he seized an iron bar and beat the old man till he
\nmoaned and entreated him to stop, when he would give him great riches. The
\nyouth drew out the axe and let him go. The old man led him back into the
\ncastle, and in a cellar showed him three chests full of gold. ‘Of these,’
\nsaid he, ‘one part is for the poor, the other for the king, the third
\nyours.’ In the meantime it struck twelve, and the spirit disappeared, so
\nthat the youth stood in darkness. ‘I shall still be able to find my way
\nout,’ said he, and felt about, found the way into the room, and slept
\nthere by his fire. Next morning the king came and said: ‘Now you must have
\nlearnt what shuddering is?’ ‘No,’ he answered; ‘what can it be? My dead
\ncousin was here, and a bearded man came and showed me a great deal of
\nmoney down below, but no one told me what it was to shudder.’ ‘Then,’ said
\nthe king, ‘you have saved the castle, and shall marry my daughter.’ ‘That
\nis all very well,’ said he, ‘but still I do not know what it is to
\nshudder!’<\/p>\n
Then the gold was brought up and the wedding celebrated; but howsoever
\nmuch the young king loved his wife, and however happy he was, he still
\nsaid always: ‘If I could but shudder\u2014if I could but shudder.’ And
\nthis at last angered her. Her waiting-maid said: ‘I will find a cure for
\nhim; he shall soon learn what it is to shudder.’ She went out to the
\nstream which flowed through the garden, and had a whole bucketful of
\ngudgeons brought to her. At night when the young king was sleeping, his
\nwife was to draw the clothes off him and empty the bucket full of cold
\nwater with the gudgeons in it over him, so that the little fishes would
\nsprawl about him. Then he woke up and cried: ‘Oh, what makes me shudder
\nso?\u2014what makes me shudder so, dear wife? Ah! now I know what it is
\nto shudder!’<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
KING GRISLY-BEARD<\/h2>\n
A great king of a land far away in the East had a daughter who was very
\nbeautiful, but so proud, and haughty, and conceited, that none of the
\nprinces who came to ask her in marriage was good enough for her, and she
\nonly made sport of them.<\/p>\n
Once upon a time the king held a great feast, and asked thither all her
\nsuitors; and they all sat in a row, ranged according to their rank\u2014kings,
\nand princes, and dukes, and earls, and counts, and barons, and knights.
\nThen the princess came in, and as she passed by them she had something
\nspiteful to say to every one. The first was too fat: ‘He’s as round as a
\ntub,’ said she. The next was too tall: ‘What a maypole!’ said she. The
\nnext was too short: ‘What a dumpling!’ said she. The fourth was too pale,
\nand she called him ‘Wallface.’ The fifth was too red, so she called him
\n‘Coxcomb.’ The sixth was not straight enough; so she said he was like a
\ngreen stick, that had been laid to dry over a baker’s oven. And thus she
\nhad some joke to crack upon every one: but she laughed more than all at a
\ngood king who was there. ‘Look at him,’ said she; ‘his beard is like an
\nold mop; he shall be called Grisly-beard.’ So the king got the nickname of
\nGrisly-beard.<\/p>\n
But the old king was very angry when he saw how his daughter behaved, and
\nhow she ill-treated all his guests; and he vowed that, willing or
\nunwilling, she should marry the first man, be he prince or beggar, that
\ncame to the door.<\/p>\n
Two days after there came by a travelling fiddler, who began to play under
\nthe window and beg alms; and when the king heard him, he said, ‘Let him
\ncome in.’ So they brought in a dirty-looking fellow; and when he had sung
\nbefore the king and the princess, he begged a boon. Then the king said,
\n‘You have sung so well, that I will give you my daughter for your wife.’
\nThe princess begged and prayed; but the king said, ‘I have sworn to give
\nyou to the first comer, and I will keep my word.’ So words and tears were
\nof no avail; the parson was sent for, and she was married to the fiddler.
\nWhen this was over the king said, ‘Now get ready to go\u2014you must not
\nstay here\u2014you must travel on with your husband.’<\/p>\n
Then the fiddler went his way, and took her with him, and they soon came
\nto a great wood. ‘Pray,’ said she, ‘whose is this wood?’ ‘It belongs to
\nKing Grisly-beard,’ answered he; ‘hadst thou taken him, all had been
\nthine.’ ‘Ah! unlucky wretch that I am!’ sighed she; ‘would that I had
\nmarried King Grisly-beard!’ Next they came to some fine meadows. ‘Whose
\nare these beautiful green meadows?’ said she. ‘They belong to King
\nGrisly-beard, hadst thou taken him, they had all been thine.’ ‘Ah! unlucky
\nwretch that I am!’ said she; ‘would that I had married King Grisly-beard!’<\/p>\n
Then they came to a great city. ‘Whose is this noble city?’ said she. ‘It
\nbelongs to King Grisly-beard; hadst thou taken him, it had all been
\nthine.’ ‘Ah! wretch that I am!’ sighed she; ‘why did I not marry King
\nGrisly-beard?’ ‘That is no business of mine,’ said the fiddler: ‘why
\nshould you wish for another husband? Am not I good enough for you?’<\/p>\n
At last they came to a small cottage. ‘What a paltry place!’ said she; ‘to
\nwhom does that little dirty hole belong?’ Then the fiddler said, ‘That is
\nyour and my house, where we are to live.’ ‘Where are your servants?’ cried
\nshe. ‘What do we want with servants?’ said he; ‘you must do for yourself
\nwhatever is to be done. Now make the fire, and put on water and cook my
\nsupper, for I am very tired.’ But the princess knew nothing of making
\nfires and cooking, and the fiddler was forced to help her. When they had
\neaten a very scanty meal they went to bed; but the fiddler called her up
\nvery early in the morning to clean the house. Thus they lived for two
\ndays: and when they had eaten up all there was in the cottage, the man
\nsaid, ‘Wife, we can’t go on thus, spending money and earning nothing. You
\nmust learn to weave baskets.’ Then he went out and cut willows, and
\nbrought them home, and she began to weave; but it made her fingers very
\nsore. ‘I see this work won’t do,’ said he: ‘try and spin; perhaps you will
\ndo that better.’ So she sat down and tried to spin; but the threads cut
\nher tender fingers till the blood ran. ‘See now,’ said the fiddler, ‘you
\nare good for nothing; you can do no work: what a bargain I have got!
\nHowever, I’ll try and set up a trade in pots and pans, and you shall stand
\nin the market and sell them.’ ‘Alas!’ sighed she, ‘if any of my father’s
\ncourt should pass by and see me standing in the market, how they will
\nlaugh at me!’<\/p>\n
But her husband did not care for that, and said she must work, if she did
\nnot wish to die of hunger. At first the trade went well; for many people,
\nseeing such a beautiful woman, went to buy her wares, and paid their money
\nwithout thinking of taking away the goods. They lived on this as long as
\nit lasted; and then her husband bought a fresh lot of ware, and she sat
\nherself down with it in the corner of the market; but a drunken soldier
\nsoon came by, and rode his horse against her stall, and broke all her
\ngoods into a thousand pieces. Then she began to cry, and knew not what to
\ndo. ‘Ah! what will become of me?’ said she; ‘what will my husband say?’ So
\nshe ran home and told him all. ‘Who would have thought you would have been
\nso silly,’ said he, ‘as to put an earthenware stall in the corner of the
\nmarket, where everybody passes? but let us have no more crying; I see you
\nare not fit for this sort of work, so I have been to the king’s palace,
\nand asked if they did not want a kitchen-maid; and they say they will take
\nyou, and there you will have plenty to eat.’<\/p>\n
Thus the princess became a kitchen-maid, and helped the cook to do all the
\ndirtiest work; but she was allowed to carry home some of the meat that was
\nleft, and on this they lived.<\/p>\n
She had not been there long before she heard that the king’s eldest son
\nwas passing by, going to be married; and she went to one of the windows
\nand looked out. Everything was ready, and all the pomp and brightness of
\nthe court was there. Then she bitterly grieved for the pride and folly
\nwhich had brought her so low. And the servants gave her some of the rich
\nmeats, which she put into her basket to take home.<\/p>\n
All on a sudden, as she was going out, in came the king’s son in golden
\nclothes; and when he saw a beautiful woman at the door, he took her by the
\nhand, and said she should be his partner in the dance; but she trembled
\nfor fear, for she saw that it was King Grisly-beard, who was making sport
\nof her. However, he kept fast hold, and led her in; and the cover of the
\nbasket came off, so that the meats in it fell about. Then everybody
\nlaughed and jeered at her; and she was so abashed, that she wished herself
\na thousand feet deep in the earth. She sprang to the door to run away; but
\non the steps King Grisly-beard overtook her, and brought her back and
\nsaid, ‘Fear me not! I am the fiddler who has lived with you in the hut. I
\nbrought you there because I really loved you. I am also the soldier that
\noverset your stall. I have done all this only to cure you of your silly
\npride, and to show you the folly of your ill-treatment of me. Now all is
\nover: you have learnt wisdom, and it is time to hold our marriage feast.’<\/p>\n
Then the chamberlains came and brought her the most beautiful robes; and
\nher father and his whole court were there already, and welcomed her home
\non her marriage. Joy was in every face and every heart. The feast was
\ngrand; they danced and sang; all were merry; and I only wish that you and
\nI had been of the party.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
IRON HANS<\/h2>\n
There was once upon a time a king who had a great forest near his palace,
\nfull of all kinds of wild animals. One day he sent out a huntsman to shoot
\nhim a roe, but he did not come back. ‘Perhaps some accident has befallen
\nhim,’ said the king, and the next day he sent out two more huntsmen who
\nwere to search for him, but they too stayed away. Then on the third day,
\nhe sent for all his huntsmen, and said: ‘Scour the whole forest through,
\nand do not give up until you have found all three.’ But of these also,
\nnone came home again, none were seen again. From that time forth, no one
\nwould any longer venture into the forest, and it lay there in deep
\nstillness and solitude, and nothing was seen of it, but sometimes an eagle
\nor a hawk flying over it. This lasted for many years, when an unknown
\nhuntsman announced himself to the king as seeking a situation, and offered
\nto go into the dangerous forest. The king, however, would not give his
\nconsent, and said: ‘It is not safe in there; I fear it would fare with you
\nno better than with the others, and you would never come out again.’ The
\nhuntsman replied: ‘Lord, I will venture it at my own risk, of fear I know
\nnothing.’<\/p>\n
The huntsman therefore betook himself with his dog to the forest. It was
\nnot long before the dog fell in with some game on the way, and wanted to
\npursue it; but hardly had the dog run two steps when it stood before a
\ndeep pool, could go no farther, and a naked arm stretched itself out of
\nthe water, seized it, and drew it under. When the huntsman saw that, he
\nwent back and fetched three men to come with buckets and bale out the
\nwater. When they could see to the bottom there lay a wild man whose body
\nwas brown like rusty iron, and whose hair hung over his face down to his
\nknees. They bound him with cords, and led him away to the castle. There
\nwas great astonishment over the wild man; the king, however, had him put
\nin an iron cage in his courtyard, and forbade the door to be opened on
\npain of death, and the queen herself was to take the key into her keeping.
\nAnd from this time forth everyone could again go into the forest with
\nsafety.<\/p>\n
The king had a son of eight years, who was once playing in the courtyard,
\nand while he was playing, his golden ball fell into the cage. The boy ran
\nthither and said: ‘Give me my ball out.’ ‘Not till you have opened the
\ndoor for me,’ answered the man. ‘No,’ said the boy, ‘I will not do that;
\nthe king has forbidden it,’ and ran away. The next day he again went and
\nasked for his ball; the wild man said: ‘Open my door,’ but the boy would
\nnot. On the third day the king had ridden out hunting, and the boy went
\nonce more and said: ‘I cannot open the door even if I wished, for I have
\nnot the key.’ Then the wild man said: ‘It lies under your mother’s pillow,
\nyou can get it there.’ The boy, who wanted to have his ball back, cast all
\nthought to the winds, and brought the key. The door opened with
\ndifficulty, and the boy pinched his fingers. When it was open the wild man
\nstepped out, gave him the golden ball, and hurried away. The boy had
\nbecome afraid; he called and cried after him: ‘Oh, wild man, do not go
\naway, or I shall be beaten!’ The wild man turned back, took him up, set
\nhim on his shoulder, and went with hasty steps into the forest. When the
\nking came home, he observed the empty cage, and asked the queen how that
\nhad happened. She knew nothing about it, and sought the key, but it was
\ngone. She called the boy, but no one answered. The king sent out people to
\nseek for him in the fields, but they did not find him. Then he could
\neasily guess what had happened, and much grief reigned in the royal court.<\/p>\n
When the wild man had once more reached the dark forest, he took the boy
\ndown from his shoulder, and said to him: ‘You will never see your father
\nand mother again, but I will keep you with me, for you have set me free,
\nand I have compassion on you. If you do all I bid you, you shall fare
\nwell. Of treasure and gold have I enough, and more than anyone in the
\nworld.’ He made a bed of moss for the boy on which he slept, and the next
\nmorning the man took him to a well, and said: ‘Behold, the gold well is as
\nbright and clear as crystal, you shall sit beside it, and take care that
\nnothing falls into it, or it will be polluted. I will come every evening
\nto see if you have obeyed my order.’ The boy placed himself by the brink
\nof the well, and often saw a golden fish or a golden snake show itself
\ntherein, and took care that nothing fell in. As he was thus sitting, his
\nfinger hurt him so violently that he involuntarily put it in the water. He
\ndrew it quickly out again, but saw that it was quite gilded, and
\nwhatsoever pains he took to wash the gold off again, all was to no
\npurpose. In the evening Iron Hans came back, looked at the boy, and said:
\n‘What has happened to the well?’ ‘Nothing nothing,’ he answered, and held
\nhis finger behind his back, that the man might not see it. But he said:
\n‘You have dipped your finger into the water, this time it may pass, but
\ntake care you do not again let anything go in.’ By daybreak the boy was
\nalready sitting by the well and watching it. His finger hurt him again and
\nhe passed it over his head, and then unhappily a hair fell down into the
\nwell. He took it quickly out, but it was already quite gilded. Iron Hans
\ncame, and already knew what had happened. ‘You have let a hair fall into
\nthe well,’ said he. ‘I will allow you to watch by it once more, but if
\nthis happens for the third time then the well is polluted and you can no
\nlonger remain with me.’<\/p>\n
On the third day, the boy sat by the well, and did not stir his finger,
\nhowever much it hurt him. But the time was long to him, and he looked at
\nthe reflection of his face on the surface of the water. And as he still
\nbent down more and more while he was doing so, and trying to look straight
\ninto the eyes, his long hair fell down from his shoulders into the water.
\nHe raised himself up quickly, but the whole of the hair of his head was
\nalready golden and shone like the sun. You can imagine how terrified the
\npoor boy was! He took his pocket-handkerchief and tied it round his head,
\nin order that the man might not see it. When he came he already knew
\neverything, and said: ‘Take the handkerchief off.’ Then the golden hair
\nstreamed forth, and let the boy excuse himself as he might, it was of no
\nuse. ‘You have not stood the trial and can stay here no longer. Go forth
\ninto the world, there you will learn what poverty is. But as you have not
\na bad heart, and as I mean well by you, there is one thing I will grant
\nyou; if you fall into any difficulty, come to the forest and cry: “Iron
\nHans,” and then I will come and help you. My power is great, greater than
\nyou think, and I have gold and silver in abundance.’<\/p>\n
Then the king’s son left the forest, and walked by beaten and unbeaten
\npaths ever onwards until at length he reached a great city. There he
\nlooked for work, but could find none, and he learnt nothing by which he
\ncould help himself. At length he went to the palace, and asked if they
\nwould take him in. The people about court did not at all know what use
\nthey could make of him, but they liked him, and told him to stay. At
\nlength the cook took him into his service, and said he might carry wood
\nand water, and rake the cinders together. Once when it so happened that no
\none else was at hand, the cook ordered him to carry the food to the royal
\ntable, but as he did not like to let his golden hair be seen, he kept his
\nlittle cap on. Such a thing as that had never yet come under the king’s
\nnotice, and he said: ‘When you come to the royal table you must take your
\nhat off.’ He answered: ‘Ah, Lord, I cannot; I have a bad sore place on my
\nhead.’ Then the king had the cook called before him and scolded him, and
\nasked how he could take such a boy as that into his service; and that he
\nwas to send him away at once. The cook, however, had pity on him, and
\nexchanged him for the gardener’s boy.<\/p>\n
And now the boy had to plant and water the garden, hoe and dig, and bear
\nthe wind and bad weather. Once in summer when he was working alone in the
\ngarden, the day was so warm he took his little cap off that the air might
\ncool him. As the sun shone on his hair it glittered and flashed so that
\nthe rays fell into the bedroom of the king’s daughter, and up she sprang
\nto see what that could be. Then she saw the boy, and cried to him: ‘Boy,
\nbring me a wreath of flowers.’ He put his cap on with all haste, and
\ngathered wild field-flowers and bound them together. When he was ascending
\nthe stairs with them, the gardener met him, and said: ‘How can you take
\nthe king’s daughter a garland of such common flowers? Go quickly, and get
\nanother, and seek out the prettiest and rarest.’ ‘Oh, no,’ replied the
\nboy, ‘the wild ones have more scent, and will please her better.’ When he
\ngot into the room, the king’s daughter said: ‘Take your cap off, it is not
\nseemly to keep it on in my presence.’ He again said: ‘I may not, I have a
\nsore head.’ She, however, caught at his cap and pulled it off, and then
\nhis golden hair rolled down on his shoulders, and it was splendid to
\nbehold. He wanted to run out, but she held him by the arm, and gave him a
\nhandful of ducats. With these he departed, but he cared nothing for the
\ngold pieces. He took them to the gardener, and said: ‘I present them to
\nyour children, they can play with them.’ The following day the king’s
\ndaughter again called to him that he was to bring her a wreath of
\nfield-flowers, and then he went in with it, she instantly snatched at his
\ncap, and wanted to take it away from him, but he held it fast with both
\nhands. She again gave him a handful of ducats, but he would not keep them,
\nand gave them to the gardener for playthings for his children. On the
\nthird day things went just the same; she could not get his cap away from
\nhim, and he would not have her money.<\/p>\n
Not long afterwards, the country was overrun by war. The king gathered
\ntogether his people, and did not know whether or not he could offer any
\nopposition to the enemy, who was superior in strength and had a mighty
\narmy. Then said the gardener’s boy: ‘I am grown up, and will go to the
\nwars also, only give me a horse.’ The others laughed, and said: ‘Seek one
\nfor yourself when we are gone, we will leave one behind us in the stable
\nfor you.’ When they had gone forth, he went into the stable, and led the
\nhorse out; it was lame of one foot, and limped hobblety jib, hobblety jib;
\nnevertheless he mounted it, and rode away to the dark forest. When he came
\nto the outskirts, he called ‘Iron Hans’ three times so loudly that it
\nechoed through the trees. Thereupon the wild man appeared immediately, and
\nsaid: ‘What do you desire?’ ‘I want a strong steed, for I am going to the
\nwars.’ ‘That you shall have, and still more than you ask for.’ Then the
\nwild man went back into the forest, and it was not long before a
\nstable-boy came out of it, who led a horse that snorted with its nostrils,
\nand could hardly be restrained, and behind them followed a great troop of
\nwarriors entirely equipped in iron, and their swords flashed in the sun.
\nThe youth made over his three-legged horse to the stable-boy, mounted the
\nother, and rode at the head of the soldiers. When he got near the
\nbattlefield a great part of the king’s men had already fallen, and little
\nwas wanting to make the rest give way. Then the youth galloped thither
\nwith his iron soldiers, broke like a hurricane over the enemy, and beat
\ndown all who opposed him. They began to flee, but the youth pursued, and
\nnever stopped, until there was not a single man left. Instead of returning
\nto the king, however, he conducted his troop by byways back to the forest,
\nand called forth Iron Hans. ‘What do you desire?’ asked the wild man.
\n‘Take back your horse and your troops, and give me my three-legged horse
\nagain.’ All that he asked was done, and soon he was riding on his
\nthree-legged horse. When the king returned to his palace, his daughter
\nwent to meet him, and wished him joy of his victory. ‘I am not the one who
\ncarried away the victory,’ said he, ‘but a strange knight who came to my
\nassistance with his soldiers.’ The daughter wanted to hear who the strange
\nknight was, but the king did not know, and said: ‘He followed the enemy,
\nand I did not see him again.’ She inquired of the gardener where his boy
\nwas, but he smiled, and said: ‘He has just come home on his three-legged
\nhorse, and the others have been mocking him, and crying: “Here comes our
\nhobblety jib back again!” They asked, too: “Under what hedge have you been
\nlying sleeping all the time?” So he said: “I did the best of all, and it
\nwould have gone badly without me.” And then he was still more ridiculed.’<\/p>\n
The king said to his daughter: ‘I will proclaim a great feast that shall
\nlast for three days, and you shall throw a golden apple. Perhaps the
\nunknown man will show himself.’ When the feast was announced, the youth
\nwent out to the forest, and called Iron Hans. ‘What do you desire?’ asked
\nhe. ‘That I may catch the king’s daughter’s golden apple.’ ‘It is as safe
\nas if you had it already,’ said Iron Hans. ‘You shall likewise have a suit
\nof red armour for the occasion, and ride on a spirited chestnut-horse.’
\nWhen the day came, the youth galloped to the spot, took his place amongst
\nthe knights, and was recognized by no one. The king’s daughter came
\nforward, and threw a golden apple to the knights, but none of them caught
\nit but he, only as soon as he had it he galloped away.<\/p>\n
On the second day Iron Hans equipped him as a white knight, and gave him a
\nwhite horse. Again he was the only one who caught the apple, and he did
\nnot linger an instant, but galloped off with it. The king grew angry, and
\nsaid: ‘That is not allowed; he must appear before me and tell his name.’
\nHe gave the order that if the knight who caught the apple, should go away
\nagain they should pursue him, and if he would not come back willingly,
\nthey were to cut him down and stab him.<\/p>\n
On the third day, he received from Iron Hans a suit of black armour and a
\nblack horse, and again he caught the apple. But when he was riding off
\nwith it, the king’s attendants pursued him, and one of them got so near
\nhim that he wounded the youth’s leg with the point of his sword. The youth
\nnevertheless escaped from them, but his horse leapt so violently that the
\nhelmet fell from the youth’s head, and they could see that he had golden
\nhair. They rode back and announced this to the king.<\/p>\n
The following day the king’s daughter asked the gardener about his boy.
\n‘He is at work in the garden; the queer creature has been at the festival
\ntoo, and only came home yesterday evening; he has likewise shown my
\nchildren three golden apples which he has won.’<\/p>\n
The king had him summoned into his presence, and he came and again had his
\nlittle cap on his head. But the king’s daughter went up to him and took it
\noff, and then his golden hair fell down over his shoulders, and he was so
\nhandsome that all were amazed. ‘Are you the knight who came every day to
\nthe festival, always in different colours, and who caught the three golden
\napples?’ asked the king. ‘Yes,’ answered he, ‘and here the apples are,’
\nand he took them out of his pocket, and returned them to the king. ‘If you
\ndesire further proof, you may see the wound which your people gave me when
\nthey followed me. But I am likewise the knight who helped you to your
\nvictory over your enemies.’ ‘If you can perform such deeds as that, you
\nare no gardener’s boy; tell me, who is your father?’ ‘My father is a
\nmighty king, and gold have I in plenty as great as I require.’ ‘I well
\nsee,’ said the king, ‘that I owe my thanks to you; can I do anything to
\nplease you?’ ‘Yes,’ answered he, ‘that indeed you can. Give me your
\ndaughter to wife.’ The maiden laughed, and said: ‘He does not stand much
\non ceremony, but I have already seen by his golden hair that he was no
\ngardener’s boy,’ and then she went and kissed him. His father and mother
\ncame to the wedding, and were in great delight, for they had given up all
\nhope of ever seeing their dear son again. And as they were sitting at the
\nmarriage-feast, the music suddenly stopped, the doors opened, and a
\nstately king came in with a great retinue. He went up to the youth,
\nembraced him and said: ‘I am Iron Hans, and was by enchantment a wild man,
\nbut you have set me free; all the treasures which I possess, shall be your
\nproperty.’<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
CAT-SKIN<\/h2>\n
There was once a king, whose queen had hair of the purest gold, and was so
\nbeautiful that her match was not to be met with on the whole face of the
\nearth. But this beautiful queen fell ill, and when she felt that her end
\ndrew near she called the king to her and said, ‘Promise me that you will
\nnever marry again, unless you meet with a wife who is as beautiful as I
\nam, and who has golden hair like mine.’ Then when the king in his grief
\npromised all she asked, she shut her eyes and died. But the king was not
\nto be comforted, and for a long time never thought of taking another wife.
\nAt last, however, his wise men said, ‘this will not do; the king must
\nmarry again, that we may have a queen.’ So messengers were sent far and
\nwide, to seek for a bride as beautiful as the late queen. But there was no
\nprincess in the world so beautiful; and if there had been, still there was
\nnot one to be found who had golden hair. So the messengers came home, and
\nhad had all their trouble for nothing.<\/p>\n
Now the king had a daughter, who was just as beautiful as her mother, and
\nhad the same golden hair. And when she was grown up, the king looked at
\nher and saw that she was just like this late queen: then he said to his
\ncourtiers, ‘May I not marry my daughter? She is the very image of my dead
\nwife: unless I have her, I shall not find any bride upon the whole earth,
\nand you say there must be a queen.’ When the courtiers heard this they
\nwere shocked, and said, ‘Heaven forbid that a father should marry his
\ndaughter! Out of so great a sin no good can come.’ And his daughter was
\nalso shocked, but hoped the king would soon give up such thoughts; so she
\nsaid to him, ‘Before I marry anyone I must have three dresses: one must be
\nof gold, like the sun; another must be of shining silver, like the moon;
\nand a third must be dazzling as the stars: besides this, I want a mantle
\nof a thousand different kinds of fur put together, to which every beast in
\nthe kingdom must give a part of his skin.’ And thus she thought he would
\nthink of the matter no more. But the king made the most skilful workmen in
\nhis kingdom weave the three dresses: one golden, like the sun; another
\nsilvery, like the moon; and a third sparkling, like the stars: and his
\nhunters were told to hunt out all the beasts in his kingdom, and to take
\nthe finest fur out of their skins: and thus a mantle of a thousand furs
\nwas made.<\/p>\n
When all were ready, the king sent them to her; but she got up in the
\nnight when all were asleep, and took three of her trinkets, a golden ring,
\na golden necklace, and a golden brooch, and packed the three dresses\u2014of
\nthe sun, the moon, and the stars\u2014up in a nutshell, and wrapped
\nherself up in the mantle made of all sorts of fur, and besmeared her face
\nand hands with soot. Then she threw herself upon Heaven for help in her
\nneed, and went away, and journeyed on the whole night, till at last she
\ncame to a large wood. As she was very tired, she sat herself down in the
\nhollow of a tree and soon fell asleep: and there she slept on till it was
\nmidday.<\/p>\n
Now as the king to whom the wood belonged was hunting in it, his dogs came
\nto the tree, and began to snuff about, and run round and round, and bark.
\n‘Look sharp!’ said the king to the huntsmen, ‘and see what sort of game
\nlies there.’ And the huntsmen went up to the tree, and when they came back
\nagain said, ‘In the hollow tree there lies a most wonderful beast, such as
\nwe never saw before; its skin seems to be of a thousand kinds of fur, but
\nthere it lies fast asleep.’ ‘See,’ said the king, ‘if you can catch it
\nalive, and we will take it with us.’ So the huntsmen took it up, and the
\nmaiden awoke and was greatly frightened, and said, ‘I am a poor child that
\nhas neither father nor mother left; have pity on me and take me with you.’
\nThen they said, ‘Yes, Miss Cat-skin, you will do for the kitchen; you can
\nsweep up the ashes, and do things of that sort.’ So they put her into the
\ncoach, and took her home to the king’s palace. Then they showed her a
\nlittle corner under the staircase, where no light of day ever peeped in,
\nand said, ‘Cat-skin, you may lie and sleep there.’ And she was sent into
\nthe kitchen, and made to fetch wood and water, to blow the fire, pluck the
\npoultry, pick the herbs, sift the ashes, and do all the dirty work.<\/p>\n
Thus Cat-skin lived for a long time very sorrowfully. ‘Ah! pretty
\nprincess!’ thought she, ‘what will now become of thee?’ But it happened
\none day that a feast was to be held in the king’s castle, so she said to
\nthe cook, ‘May I go up a little while and see what is going on? I will
\ntake care and stand behind the door.’ And the cook said, ‘Yes, you may go,
\nbut be back again in half an hour’s time, to rake out the ashes.’ Then she
\ntook her little lamp, and went into her cabin, and took off the fur skin,
\nand washed the soot from off her face and hands, so that her beauty shone
\nforth like the sun from behind the clouds. She next opened her nutshell,
\nand brought out of it the dress that shone like the sun, and so went to
\nthe feast. Everyone made way for her, for nobody knew her, and they
\nthought she could be no less than a king’s daughter. But the king came up
\nto her, and held out his hand and danced with her; and he thought in his
\nheart, ‘I never saw any one half so beautiful.’<\/p>\n
When the dance was at an end she curtsied; and when the king looked round
\nfor her, she was gone, no one knew wither. The guards that stood at the
\ncastle gate were called in: but they had seen no one. The truth was, that
\nshe had run into her little cabin, pulled off her dress, blackened her
\nface and hands, put on the fur-skin cloak, and was Cat-skin again. When
\nshe went into the kitchen to her work, and began to rake the ashes, the
\ncook said, ‘Let that alone till the morning, and heat the king’s soup; I
\nshould like to run up now and give a peep: but take care you don’t let a
\nhair fall into it, or you will run a chance of never eating again.’<\/p>\n
As soon as the cook went away, Cat-skin heated the king’s soup, and
\ntoasted a slice of bread first, as nicely as ever she could; and when it
\nwas ready, she went and looked in the cabin for her little golden ring,
\nand put it into the dish in which the soup was. When the dance was over,
\nthe king ordered his soup to be brought in; and it pleased him so well,
\nthat he thought he had never tasted any so good before. At the bottom he
\nsaw a gold ring lying; and as he could not make out how it had got there,
\nhe ordered the cook to be sent for. The cook was frightened when he heard
\nthe order, and said to Cat-skin, ‘You must have let a hair fall into the
\nsoup; if it be so, you will have a good beating.’ Then he went before the
\nking, and he asked him who had cooked the soup. ‘I did,’ answered the
\ncook. But the king said, ‘That is not true; it was better done than you
\ncould do it.’ Then he answered, ‘To tell the truth I did not cook it, but
\nCat-skin did.’ ‘Then let Cat-skin come up,’ said the king: and when she
\ncame he said to her, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am a poor child,’ said she, ‘that
\nhas lost both father and mother.’ ‘How came you in my palace?’ asked he.
\n‘I am good for nothing,’ said she, ‘but to be scullion-girl, and to have
\nboots and shoes thrown at my head.’ ‘But how did you get the ring that was
\nin the soup?’ asked the king. Then she would not own that she knew
\nanything about the ring; so the king sent her away again about her
\nbusiness.<\/p>\n
After a time there was another feast, and Cat-skin asked the cook to let
\nher go up and see it as before. ‘Yes,’ said he, ‘but come again in half an
\nhour, and cook the king the soup that he likes so much.’ Then she ran to
\nher little cabin, washed herself quickly, and took her dress out which was
\nsilvery as the moon, and put it on; and when she went in, looking like a
\nking’s daughter, the king went up to her, and rejoiced at seeing her
\nagain, and when the dance began he danced with her. After the dance was at
\nan end she managed to slip out, so slyly that the king did not see where
\nshe was gone; but she sprang into her little cabin, and made herself into
\nCat-skin again, and went into the kitchen to cook the soup. Whilst the
\ncook was above stairs, she got the golden necklace and dropped it into the
\nsoup; then it was brought to the king, who ate it, and it pleased him as
\nwell as before; so he sent for the cook, who was again forced to tell him
\nthat Cat-skin had cooked it. Cat-skin was brought again before the king,
\nbut she still told him that she was only fit to have boots and shoes
\nthrown at her head.<\/p>\n
But when the king had ordered a feast to be got ready for the third time,
\nit happened just the same as before. ‘You must be a witch, Cat-skin,’ said
\nthe cook; ‘for you always put something into your soup, so that it pleases
\nthe king better than mine.’ However, he let her go up as before. Then she
\nput on her dress which sparkled like the stars, and went into the
\nball-room in it; and the king danced with her again, and thought she had
\nnever looked so beautiful as she did then. So whilst he was dancing with
\nher, he put a gold ring on her finger without her seeing it, and ordered
\nthat the dance should be kept up a long time. When it was at an end, he
\nwould have held her fast by the hand, but she slipped away, and sprang so
\nquickly through the crowd that he lost sight of her: and she ran as fast
\nas she could into her little cabin under the stairs. But this time she
\nkept away too long, and stayed beyond the half-hour; so she had not time
\nto take off her fine dress, and threw her fur mantle over it, and in her
\nhaste did not blacken herself all over with soot, but left one of her
\nfingers white.<\/p>\n
Then she ran into the kitchen, and cooked the king’s soup; and as soon as
\nthe cook was gone, she put the golden brooch into the dish. When the king
\ngot to the bottom, he ordered Cat-skin to be called once more, and soon
\nsaw the white finger, and the ring that he had put on it whilst they were
\ndancing: so he seized her hand, and kept fast hold of it, and when she
\nwanted to loose herself and spring away, the fur cloak fell off a little
\non one side, and the starry dress sparkled underneath it.<\/p>\n
Then he got hold of the fur and tore it off, and her golden hair and
\nbeautiful form were seen, and she could no longer hide herself: so she
\nwashed the soot and ashes from her face, and showed herself to be the most
\nbeautiful princess upon the face of the earth. But the king said, ‘You are
\nmy beloved bride, and we will never more be parted from each other.’ And
\nthe wedding feast was held, and a merry day it was, as ever was heard of
\nor seen in that country, or indeed in any other.<\/p>\n
<\/a>
\n<\/p>\n
<\/div>\n
SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED<\/h2>\n
There was once a poor widow who lived in a lonely cottage. In front of the
\ncottage was a garden wherein stood two rose-trees, one of which bore white
\nand the other red roses. She had two children who were like the two
\nrose-trees, and one was called Snow-white, and the other Rose-red. They
\nwere as good and happy, as busy and cheerful as ever two children in the
\nworld were, only Snow-white was more quiet and gentle than Rose-red.
\nRose-red liked better to run about in the meadows and fields seeking
\nflowers and catching butterflies; but Snow-white sat at home with her
\nmother, and helped her with her housework, or read to her when there was
\nnothing to do.<\/p>\n
The two children were so fond of one another that they always held each
\nother by the hand when they went out together, and when Snow-white said:
\n‘We will not leave each other,’ Rose-red answered: ‘Never so long as we
\nlive,’ and their mother would add: ‘What one has she must share with the
\nother.’<\/p>\n
They often ran about the forest alone and gathered red berries, and no
\nbeasts did them any harm, but came close to them trustfully. The little
\nhare would eat a cabbage-leaf out of their hands, the roe grazed by their
\nside, the stag leapt merrily by them, and the birds sat still upon the
\nboughs, and sang whatever they knew.<\/p>\n
No mishap overtook them; if they had stayed too late in the forest, and
\nnight came on, they laid themselves down near one another upon the moss,
\nand slept until morning came, and their mother knew this and did not worry
\non their account.<\/p>\n
Once when they had spent the night in the wood and the dawn had roused
\nthem, they saw a beautiful child in a shining white dress sitting near
\ntheir bed. He got up and looked quite kindly at them, but said nothing and
\nwent into the forest. And when they looked round they found that they had
\nbeen sleeping quite close to a precipice, and would certainly have fallen
\ninto it in the darkness if they had gone only a few paces further. And
\ntheir mother told them that it must have been the angel who watches over
\ngood children.<\/p>\n
Snow-white and Rose-red kept their mother’s little cottage so neat that it
\nwas a pleasure to look inside it. In the summer Rose-red took care of the
\nhouse, and every morning laid a wreath of flowers by her mother’s bed
\nbefore she awoke, in which was a rose from each tree. In the winter
\nSnow-white lit the fire and hung the kettle on the hob. The kettle was of
\nbrass and shone like gold, so brightly was it polished. In the evening,
\nwhen the snowflakes fell, the mother said: ‘Go, Snow-white, and bolt the
\ndoor,’ and then they sat round the hearth, and the mother took her
\nspectacles and read aloud out of a large book, and the two girls listened
\nas they sat and spun. And close by them lay a lamb upon the floor, and
\nbehind them upon a perch sat a white dove with its head hidden beneath its
\nwings.<\/p>\n
One evening, as they were thus sitting comfortably together, someone
\nknocked at the door as if he wished to be let in. The mother said: ‘Quick,
\nRose-red, open the door, it must be a traveller who is seeking shelter.’
\nRose-red went and pushed back the bolt, thinking that it was a poor man,
\nbut it was not; it was a bear that stretched his broad, black head within
\nthe door.<\/p>\n
Rose-red screamed and sprang back, the lamb bleated, the dove fluttered,
\nand Snow-white hid herself behind her mother’s bed. But the bear began to
\nspeak and said: ‘Do not be afraid, I will do you no harm! I am
\nhalf-frozen, and only want to warm myself a little beside you.’<\/p>\n
‘Poor bear,’ said the mother, ‘lie down by the fire, only take care that
\nyou do not burn your coat.’ Then she cried: ‘Snow-white, Rose-red, come
\nout, the bear will do you no harm, he means well.’ So they both came out,
\nand by-and-by the lamb and dove came nearer, and were not afraid of him.
\nThe bear said: ‘Here, children, knock the snow out of my coat a little’;
\nso they brought the broom and swept the bear’s hide clean; and he
\nstretched himself by the fire and growled contentedly and comfortably. It
\nwas not long before they grew quite at home, and played tricks with their
\nclumsy guest. They tugged his hair with their hands, put their feet upon
\nhis back and rolled him about, or they took a hazel-switch and beat him,
\nand when he growled they laughed. But the bear took it all in good part,
\nonly when they were too rough he called out: ‘Leave me alive, children,<\/p>\n
  Snow-white, Rose-red,\r\n  Will you beat your wooer dead?'\r\n<\/pre>\n
When it was bed-time, and the others went to bed, the mother said to the
\nbear: ‘You can lie there by the hearth, and then you will be safe from the
\ncold and the bad weather.’ As soon as day dawned the two children let him
\nout, and he trotted across the snow into the forest.<\/p>\n
Henceforth the bear came every evening at the same time, laid himself down
\nby the hearth, and let the children amuse themselves with him as much as
\nthey liked; and they got so used to him that the doors were never fastened
\nuntil their black friend had arrived.<\/p>\n
When spring had come and all outside was green, the bear said one morning
\nto Snow-white: ‘Now I must go away, and cannot come back for the whole
\nsummer.’ ‘Where are you going, then, dear bear?’ asked Snow-white. ‘I must
\ngo into the forest and guard my treasures from the wicked dwarfs. In the
\nwinter, when the earth is frozen hard, they are obliged to stay below and
\ncannot work their way through; but now, when the sun has thawed and warmed
\nthe earth, they break through it, and come out to pry and steal; and what
\nonce gets into their hands, and in their caves, does not easily see
\ndaylight again.’<\/p>\n
Snow-white was quite sorry at his departure, and as she unbolted the door
\nfor him, and the bear was hurrying out, he caught against the bolt and a
\npiece of his hairy coat was torn off, and it seemed to Snow-white as if
\nshe had seen gold shining through it, but she was not sure about it. The
\nbear ran away quickly, and was soon out of sight behind the trees.<\/p>\n
A short time afterwards the mother sent her children into the forest to
\nget firewood. There they found a big tree which lay felled on the ground,
\nand close by the trunk something was jumping backwards and forwards in the
\ngrass, but they could not make out what it was. When they came nearer they
\nsaw a dwarf with an old withered face and a snow-white beard a yard long.
\nThe end of the beard was caught in a crevice of the tree, and the little
\nfellow was jumping about like a dog tied to a rope, and did not know what
\nto do.<\/p>\n
He glared at the girls with his fiery red eyes and cried: ‘Why do you
\nstand there? Can you not come here and help me?’ ‘What are you up to,
\nlittle man?’ asked Rose-red. ‘You stupid, prying goose!’ answered the
\ndwarf: ‘I was going to split the tree to get a little wood for cooking.
\nThe little bit of food that we people get is immediately burnt up with
\nheavy logs; we do not swallow so much as you coarse, greedy folk. I had
\njust driven the wedge safely in, and everything was going as I wished; but
\nthe cursed wedge was too smooth and suddenly sprang out, and the tree
\nclosed so quickly that I could not pull out my beautiful white beard; so
\nnow it is tight and I cannot get away, and the silly, sleek, milk-faced
\nthings laugh! Ugh! how odious you are!’<\/p>\n
The children tried very hard, but they could not pull the beard out, it
\nwas caught too fast. ‘I will run and fetch someone,’ said Rose-red. ‘You
\nsenseless goose!’ snarled the dwarf; ‘why should you fetch someone? You
\nare already two too many for me; can you not think of something better?’
\n‘Don’t be impatient,’ said Snow-white, ‘I will help you,’ and she pulled
\nher scissors out of her pocket, and cut off the end of the beard.<\/p>\n
As soon as the dwarf felt himself free he laid hold of a bag which lay
\namongst the roots of the tree, and which was full of gold, and lifted it
\nup, grumbling to himself: ‘Uncouth people, to cut off a piece of my fine
\nbeard. Bad luck to you!’ and then he swung the bag upon his back, and went
\noff without even once looking at the children.<\/p>\n
Some time afterwards Snow-white and Rose-red went to catch a dish of fish.
\nAs they came near the brook they saw something like a large grasshopper
\njumping towards the water, as if it were going to leap in. They ran to it
\nand found it was the dwarf. ‘Where are you going?’ said Rose-red; ‘you
\nsurely don’t want to go into the water?’ ‘I am not such a fool!’ cried the
\ndwarf; ‘don’t you see that the accursed fish wants to pull me in?’ The
\nlittle man had been sitting there fishing, and unluckily the wind had
\ntangled up his beard with the fishing-line; a moment later a big fish made
\na bite and the feeble creature had not strength to pull it out; the fish
\nkept the upper hand and pulled the dwarf towards him. He held on to all
\nthe reeds and rushes, but it was of little good, for he was forced to
\nfollow the movements of the fish, and was in urgent danger of being
\ndragged into the water.<\/p>\n
The girls came just in time; they held him fast and tried to free his
\nbeard from the line, but all in vain, beard and line were entangled fast
\ntogether. There was nothing to do but to bring out the scissors and cut
\nthe beard, whereby a small part of it was lost. When the dwarf saw that he
\nscreamed out: ‘Is that civil, you toadstool, to disfigure a man’s face?
\nWas it not enough to clip off the end of my beard? Now you have cut off
\nthe best part of it. I cannot let myself be seen by my people. I wish you
\nhad been made to run the soles off your shoes!’ Then he took out a sack of
\npearls which lay in the rushes, and without another word he dragged it
\naway and disappeared behind a stone.<\/p>\n
It happened that soon afterwards the mother sent the two children to the
\ntown to buy needles and thread, and laces and ribbons. The road led them
\nacross a heath upon which huge pieces of rock lay strewn about. There they
\nnoticed a large bird hovering in the air, flying slowly round and round
\nabove them; it sank lower and lower, and at last settled near a rock not
\nfar away. Immediately they heard a loud, piteous cry. They ran up and saw
\nwith horror that the eagle had seized their old acquaintance the dwarf,
\nand was going to carry him off.<\/p>\n
The children, full of pity, at once took tight hold of the little man, and
\npulled against the eagle so long that at last he let his booty go. As soon
\nas the dwarf had recovered from his first fright he cried with his shrill
\nvoice: ‘Could you not have done it more carefully! You dragged at my brown
\ncoat so that it is all torn and full of holes, you clumsy creatures!’ Then
\nhe took up a sack full of precious stones, and slipped away again under
\nthe rock into his hole. The girls, who by this time were used to his
\ningratitude, went on their way and did their business in town.<\/p>\n
As they crossed the heath again on their way home they surprised the
\ndwarf, who had emptied out his bag of precious stones in a clean spot, and
\nhad not thought that anyone would come there so late. The evening sun
\nshone upon the brilliant stones; they glittered and sparkled with all
\ncolours so beautifully that the children stood still and stared at them.
\n‘Why do you stand gaping there?’ cried the dwarf, and his ashen-grey face
\nbecame copper-red with rage. He was still cursing when a loud growling was
\nheard, and a black bear came trotting towards them out of the forest. The
\ndwarf sprang up in a fright, but he could not reach his cave, for the bear
\nwas already close. Then in the dread of his heart he cried: ‘Dear Mr Bear,
\nspare me, I will give you all my treasures; look, the beautiful jewels
\nlying there! Grant me my life; what do you want with such a slender little
\nfellow as I? you would not feel me between your teeth. Come, take these
\ntwo wicked girls, they are tender morsels for you, fat as young quails;
\nfor mercy’s sake eat them!’ The bear took no heed of his words, but gave
\nthe wicked creature a single blow with his paw, and he did not move again.<\/p>\n
The girls had run away, but the bear called to them: ‘Snow-white and
\nRose-red, do not be afraid; wait, I will come with you.’ Then they
\nrecognized his voice and waited, and when he came up to them suddenly his
\nbearskin fell off, and he stood there a handsome man, clothed all in gold.
\n‘I am a king’s son,’ he said, ‘and I was bewitched by that wicked dwarf,
\nwho had stolen my treasures; I have had to run about the forest as a
\nsavage bear until I was freed by his death. Now he has got his
\nwell-deserved punishment.<\/p>\n
Snow-white was married to him, and Rose-red to his brother, and they
\ndivided between them the great treasure which the dwarf had gathered
\ntogether in his cave. The old mother lived peacefully and happily with her
\nchildren for many years. She took the two rose-trees with her, and they
\nstood before her window, and every year bore the most beautiful roses,
\nwhite and red.<\/p>\n
\n
\n
The Brothers Grimm, Jacob (1785-1863) and Wilhelm (1786-1859), were born
\nin Hanau, near Frankfurt, in the German state of Hesse. Throughout their
\nlives they remained close friends, and both studied law at Marburg
\nUniversity. Jacob was a pioneer in the study of German philology, and
\nalthough Wilhelm’s work was hampered by poor health the brothers
\ncollaborated in the creation of a German dictionary, not completed until
\na century after their deaths. But they were best (and universally) known
\nfor the collection of over two hundred folk tales they made from oral
\nsources and published in two volumes of ‘Nursery and Household Tales’ in
\n1812 and 1814. Although their intention was to preserve such material as
\npart of German cultural and literary history, and their collection was
\nfirst published with scholarly notes and no illustration, the tales soon
\ncame into the possession of young readers. This was in part due to Edgar
\nTaylor, who made the first English translation in 1823, selecting about
\nfifty stories ‘with the amusement of some young friends principally in
\nview.’ They have been an essential ingredient of children’s reading ever
\nsince.<\/p>\n
 <\/p>\n<\/div>\n
 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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